the f loor.
“Kingsley.”
He raised his hand to silence her. Maggie looked at him
with compassion but said nothing.
“The club, it would have been something special, Mags.
You would have loved it there. The Renaissance, it was perfect for it. I’ve never wanted a place so much in my life. That
club was my baby.”
“You can still build it. We’ll find somewhere else for you.
I’ll help you any way I can.”
Kingsley gave her a tired smile. It was a relief in a way, letting his dream die. He had all the money he’d ever need, all
the lovers any man could want… It was fine. Time to move
on. Sam had turned on him and he’d been too hurt to even
ask her why. Whatever her reasons, he wasn’t going to start a
fight with her over it. No more causalities. The war was over. And yet…
“I’m sorry, King,” Maggie said, squeezing his hands. “I
know surrender isn’t your forte.”
“If it was only me, I’d fight to the bitter end.”
“I know you would. And I think a few years ago you would
have kept fighting anyway, collateral damage be damned.
You’re getting noble in your old age.”
“I’m twenty-eight. Same age as your boy-toy.” “Daniel’s not my toy. I’m his.” Maggie f lashed him a seductive grin as she gathered her things again.
“I’ll never forgive you for getting married.”
“I didn’t ask for your forgiveness.” She stood up, bent over
and gave him the quickest of kisses on the lips. “I’ll contact
Fuller’s attorney for you. You stay away from the man. No
more antagonizing him.”
“You’re enjoying telling me what to do, aren’t you?” “Remember that night you made me suck your cock for
two straight hours?”
“That was as much work for me as it was for you.” “Go home,” Maggie said. “I’ll call you when it’s all taken
care of.”
“I don’t want to go home,” Kingsley said, leaning his head
back and running his fingers through his hair in exhaustion. “Last call,” Maggie said at the door. She pointed to the
closed sign. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay
here.”
She gave him a wink and walked out. He hadn’t been kidding. As much as he loved Chez Kingsley, he was far too restless and worried to go home and sit waiting for Maggie to call
him. He didn’t want to go home. And he didn’t want to be
alone. And he didn’t want to be sober another second. He reached behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of Jack
Daniel’s. He sat it on the counter in front of him. If he closed
his eyes he could picture Sam standing behind the bar, the
bottle in her hand, f lipping and catching it. He didn’t want
to drink the Jack. He wanted to inhale it, every drop until his
heart stopped beating and his brain stopped thinking. And yet
in the back of his mind he could hear S?ren’s voice. Drinking is for celebrating, not for suicide.
Too bad he didn’t have anything to celebrate.
Maybe it was a Catholic feast day or something. He pushed
the bottle aside, picked up the phone behind the bar and dialed a number.
“What day is this?” Kingsley asked.
“It’s Sunday,” S?ren said, “which means it’s still been eleven
years.”
“Is it a saint’s day or a feast day?”
“It’s always a saint’s day. It’s also Clergy Appreciation Day,
according to Diane. Seems to be the only explanation for why
my desk is covered in baked goods,” S?ren said, sounding utterly bewildered.
“Clergy Appreciation Day. That will work. On my way.” “On your way?”
“Yes. I need to get drunk. I’m depressed and miserable
and angry. And you said I can’t drink unless I’m celebrating something. You and I can celebrate Clergy Appreciation
Day together. And you owe me. I destroyed First Presbyterian for you.”
“I owe you?”
“Oui.”
S?ren paused. Kingsley waited.
“The rectory at nine,” S?ren said.