That was over an hour ago. I called Rogan and then left right away.
The guy at the liquor store was more than happy to help me cram my vehicle with boxes of assorted liters of alcohol. I wondered if my little car would even be able to move when I drove out of the parking lot. Heaven forbid I break down or get into a wreck. It would surely look like I have an enormous drinking problem. It seems to be doing fine, though, as I carefully take each curve on the way to the lake.
I slow down as I search for the gated drive that will lead me to the “island.” Even though I’m watching for it, I cruise right by the entrance. I drive farther down the road, searching for a place to turn around. It seems there’s just a big bunch of nothing past the very private entrance to the island. Finally, I just stop, check my rearview for oncoming traffic, of which there is none since this isn’t exactly a well-traveled street, then I steer the car into a wide arc and perform about a six-point turn right in the middle of the road. I’m relieved when I don’t get caught or hit. On my return, I watch more carefully for the gate. From this angle, I see that it’s slightly ajar. Probably Ronnie, making it easier for me to get in.
I smile as I think of him. The friendly redhead has been very very nice to me from day one at the studio. I see him almost every morning and he’s always kind and sweet.
The trees on either side of the road part farther, forming a clearing that boasts an amazing view of the lake. Six cheerfully-striped canvas cabanas housing intimate seating groups are set up in a semi-circle. They face a central tent in white canvas that covers several tables. Each is draped in linen and set with all kinds of food. Sitting along the back “wall” is a tiki bar.
I look around for signs of life. I don’t see Ronnie anywhere, but at least I know where I’m supposed to take all this liquor.
I park sideways. I’m blocking the road, but I don’t really care. It’ll be easier to unload my car this way.
I lug the first of the boxes out of the trunk. I carry it toward the lake, between two cabanas and under the main tent to the bar at the back where I set it down on the ground. Dusting off my hands, I go to turn around. I yelp when I find Ronnie standing right behind me.
“Wow!” he exclaims, his eyes raking me appreciatively from head to toe. “And I thought you looked amazing in work clothes.”
I didn’t think to change clothes before I left. Not that I would have. I mean, the jeans and scoop-necked tee I’m wearing are hardly indecent. They’re just a bit more . . . fitted than the clothes I normally wear to work, which consist of either loose cotton dresses or dress pants and blouses. Nothing fancy, nothing with much personality. It’s been years since I’ve dressed to impress anyone.
Until Rogan.
Damn it.
“Thanks,” I reply casually. “Wanna help me unload some boxes?”
“Anything for you,” he declares with his easy smile.
A dozen boxes and enough liquor to rot a small town’s liver later, we are finished setting up the bar.
Ronnie is standing with his hands in his pockets, grinning at me. “What do you say we open up one of those bottles of vodka and break it in?”
I put on my politely removed face. “I’d love to, but I can’t.”
“You sure?” he asks, walking to the bar and pulling out a clear liter. He disappears for a second and when his head pops back up, he’s holding two martini glasses, a shallow dish of something and a lemon. “I make a kick-ass lemon drop.”
I’m just about to reiterate my refusal when my phone rings. It’s Mona again.
“Did you get the liquor? Did you find the place? Was Ronnie still there?”
“Yes, yes and yes. Now breathe.”
So she does. She exhales so loudly I can hear it whooshing in my ear. “You are an angel. An absolute angel!”
Even though she can’t see me, I shrug. “It was no problem.”