Page 3 of Fundamentals of Being a Good Girl
“Glasses ofmagic.”
“I wish Alessandro were here,” Leo says, and Sloane nods. Alessandro Ottaviano is a professor of neurosurgery at the Astra University Medical Center in Kansas City and is too busy digging inside people’s brains to come hang out. He’s the only one of the group aside from Sara who isn’t here tonight.*
The DJ comes on the microphone and shouts over the music, “Please give a big old Mount Astra welcome to tonight’s birthday girl, Maddie Kowa-kowaltch...” A pause. “Maddie from California!”
The bar hoots and cheers as a fair young woman with golden hair takes the stage. She’s fat, with smaller curves up top and hips and thighs for days, all of it showcased in a tight sweater set and pencil skirt. Her mouth is a little too wide and sinfully full, and her large eyes are as green as a pit viper’s.
“That’s her,” Bram says.
His voice is strange... low and breathless. Like he’s just won a race but he’s pissed about it.
“Who?” Joey asks, plucking his Big Guy Touchdown off the table.
“Thebrat.”
The DJ now has Maddie from California facing the side wall with her hands splayed inside the Sharpie’d outlines that have contained the hands of scores of birthday spank-ees throughout the years. The green and copper paddle comes out.
Next to Joey, Bram stiffens.
“How old are you today?” the DJ asks.
“Twenty-six!” chirps Maddie.
“Your safe word iscash tips only!” the DJ says, and starts swinging. The swats start out as mere taps, but the bar shouts along with the DJ as if each tap is a catastrophic wallop, and Maddie looks to the side at the crowd, a smile on her plush mouth.
And then she and Bram lock eyes.
Bram’s hand is a fist on the table. His jaw clenches.
His eyes have hooded a little, and when the DJ gives Maddie a final, no-shit swat with the paddle—hard enough to make her whimper—Bram sucks in a breath.
“Maybe you should go discuss parking etiquette with her,” Leo suggests. “After you can stand up without committing a crime of public obscenity, of course.”
“Fuck off,” says Bram, distractedly. His eyes are still on Maddie as the DJ helps her off the stage.
A slow smile pulls across Leo’s face, making him look briefly like one of God’s favorite angels, all sculpted features and gorgeous symmetry. “Did Bram Loe just tell me tofuck off?”
Joey claps his hands together. The shots are working already!
“More shots!” Joey yells, and Leo holds out his credit card, the black metal one that looks like a prop from a movie about Wall Street stockbrokers.
“I’ll get this round,” says the rich asshole. “I want to see how far we can push Professor Nice Guy tonight.”
10:02 P.M.
Joey skips up to the bar for another Big Guy Touchdown and watches Robbie come down the narrow stairs before slipping behind the counter and reaching for a fresh shot glass.
“You still living upstairs, Robbie?” Joey asks.
Robbie shakes his head. “Moved out years ago. Been slowly renovating the space up there to make it easier to sell the place.”
“You can’t sell it!” Joey exclaims, panicked. “This bar is a staple of the community! The Dry BeanisMount Astra, Kansas!”
Robbie pulls a battered wallet out of his jeans and thumbs around for a picture. For a minute, Joey thinks he’s going to see a picture of Robbie’s spouse or kids or grandkids, but when Robbie unfolds the picture and sets it on the bar in front of Joey, it becomes clear that it’s a picture of a pontoon boat. A very old, very ugly pontoon boat.
“She’s waiting for me,” says Robbie wistfully. “At the Lake of the Ozarks. All I need is to get my name off this shithole’s deed.”
10:57 P.M.
