Page 37 of Earl

“That is stereotyping. And he might be looking at you.”

“Oh no, darling, he is definitely looking at you. What do you say?”

“I say no, because I am in a strange country, and I was never one to pick up men in clubs. I leave that to you.”

“Mean girl!” Kissing her on the cheek, he guided her through the crowd until they were at the bar. “Let’s drink our miseryaway. We don’t have to drive, thank God for that, so we can take advantage of whatever they are serving.

And we also get to look our fill at the live entertainments, especially the acrobats.” He nudged her onto a bar stool. “And hopefully enjoy ourselves.”

She did. Within minutes she found herself being entertained. With Justin around, it was hard for one to stay in the doldrums.

He made her laugh, his acerbic wit had her in stitches. He made fun of the men and women and disparaged the singer who went on stage. He also made certain she danced. They were both very good dancers and very soon they had the entire room staring and cheering them on.

She danced with several men and when a couple of them became too handsy, she gave him a look that had him behaving. She drank tequila, rum, Bacardi Blanco, and vodka and as the night advanced, found her head spinning and her body going fluid.

“It’s time to go.”

“What? No. I am having fun.” She protested.

“You are drunk darling.”

“I am not!”

“You were planning on dancing on the tabletop.” He grinned at her. “Let’s get you out of here before you start taking off your clothes.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Let’s ensure you don’t.”

*****

Who was she with? He wondered, feeling the pain settling inside his chest. There were several times during his trip back home that he was tempted to call. And was hoping she would use the initiative to reach out.

He would have welcomed hearing her voice. Would have put aside his misgivings, his insecurities at the sound of her voice. But his phone remained silent. Not even a text message.

He had been plagued by memories of his childhood. The conversation with Diana had brought it all back. Not that it was ever far from his subconscious. It was always there, taunting him.

He recalled an incident when he had taken it up on himself to go into his mother’s bedroom. She and his father had separate suites and for a very long time, he thought it was natural for husbands and wives not to share the same space, until he was a teenager.

He had pushed the doors open to see her sitting around her vanity, brushing her long ink black hair. Her eyes had met his in the mirror and a disapproving frown had marred her smooth brow. “Where is nanny?”

“She is in bed. I had a nightmare. Mother, can you read me a story?”

Putting down the gold back brush with a snap, she rose gracefully. “Go back to bed.”

“I cannot sleep.”

She had stared at him coldly until he felt as if he wanted to just shrivel up and die.

“Is that how we brought you up? To complain and be afraid of your own shadow?” She had instantly rung the bell that had the nanny come running.

“Mistress!” The poor woman had gasped in fright as she came into the room.

“We pay you an exorbitant amount of money to take care of the children. See to the boy.”

“Mother, please.”

“Get him out of here and from now on, I do not expect this to happen again. Am I clear?”