“Surprisingly, CJ, I don’t follow your logic. Georgia is female, yes?” I watched him grin as I sipped from my water bottle.
“Yeah, but it’s not like that. We went to high school together until senior year when her dad pulled her out of school and moved her here. He used to own that bar in Provincetown we played at in high school. Dunes, remember?”
I nodded. Dunes was kind of a dive bar, but it was the only one that let us play on weekends when we were teenagers. I had no recollection of Georgia, though I did have a clear memory of the owner of the place, and it wasn’t a pretty one. He was kind of straggly with your standard town-drunk demeanor. The fact that he had children at all was concerning on a number of levels.
“Anyway,” CJ continued, “we stayed friends after she moved, and...”
I cut him off as I spit out my water. “I’m sorry,” I coughed, “what the hell did you just say? Friends? And a girl? In the same sentence?”
“Fuck off,” he mumbled, sitting back and crossing his arms.
“Okay, okay, no need to get your panties in a bunch. We’ll go to E’s to meet your friend.” My air-quotes around the last word was a little too much and earned me a punch in the arm.
E’s Tavern was on Ash Street, and from the outside looked as much like a grocery store as a bar. The bright-blue painted wood exterior had me fearing I’d end up in the middle of a happy hour for senior citizens. Reminding myself that I was in the middle of South Park quelled my fears. I’d heard from a lot of friends around the country that this hip area of San Diego was where I’d want to make a home for myself. Checking out the wildly painted bungalows all around me, and hearing the saxophonist playing on the corner, I’d say they were right.
“We can’t stay here for too long, Ceej. I still need to find a place to live.” I slammed my door shut and shoved my hands into my jeans’ pockets.
“Relax, dude. We’ll have a drink or two, I’ll catch up with Georgia, and we’ll go.” He held the door open as if he’d been there a thousand times before.
Stepping in, I was indeed relieved. E’s was a spacious tavern with lots of dark wood. Tables and mismatched chairs painted different colors scattered the floor and a sizable bar wrapped around two sides of the interior. It was a Saturday, but it was only late afternoon, and the place was pretty busy. That was a good sign, and once I spotted the large square stage in the far corner, I took that as a really good sign. South Park just might be my neighborhood after all.
Halfway on our walk up to the bar, I stopped dead in my tracks. CJ was right. I knew her when I saw her. Georgia. Not because I recognized her from somewhere, but because all the energy from the bar orbited around her. CJ’s face lit up a second before the short girl with bleach blonde hair tied up in a red bandana looked up from pouring a drink, and shrieked.
“CJ!”
“G!” The smile on CJ’s face was more honest than I’d ever seen him look. It went all the way to his eyes, and he didn’t even stick out his tongue ring.
Ignoring social convention, this girl gripped the edge of the bar and leapt over it as if it were a pommel horse. The closer she got to us, the shorter she looked. She was a good foot shorter than me, putting her around 5’3”, but her smile and fierce indigo eyes made up for the difference in an instant. She wore a short-sleeved red plaid shirt tied at the waist, which was perfectly positioned to show off a silver belly button ring, and short jean shorts with frayed threads hanging from the hem.
As she jumped into CJ’s arms and wrapped her arms around his neck, I noticed the boots. Black combat boots with an inch or so of red and black striped socks peeking out from the top. I don’t know what struck me as most odd — that she was wearing all of that, or that she pulled it off like she could never wear anything else. CJ swung her around once before setting her down.
“How the hell have you been?” she asked as he patted her head like she was his little sister. A diamond stud in her nose caught the light as her face pulled back into a bigger smile.
“Better, now. Georgia, this is my cousin, Regan. Regan, this is Georgia Hall.” I swear to you he was blushing.
Georgia.
The name CJ scoffed at when I’d asked if he’d slept with her. Given that reaction, I’d assumed she was ... something other than this intriguing girl with amazing curves standing in front of me.
I stuck out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Georgia.”
Looking me head-to-toe once with an intense look in her eyes, she finally stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, too, Regan. I gotta get back to the bar.” Turning on her heels we were left to follow her to the deep mahogany bar. It was then that I caught a black keyhole tattoo behind her right ear.
Interesting.
Just as we gave Georgia our drink orders, the phone rang at the far end of the bar, and she had to answer it.
“So ... Georgia...” I turned to CJ as he continuously drummed his hands on the bar. He never stopped.