Colette is the kind of woman you swear fealty to, like the knights in the Middle Ages. She’s the kind of woman you thank whatever god you pray to for each night. The kind of woman who makes your god jealous because you spend so much time worshipping the ground she walks on.
Nope, I don’t have room to appreciate a woman like Colette right now, and she probably wouldn’t be interested anyway. She’s just been through a breakup, and if old Fernando is anything to judge by, she’s into assholes, which I am not.
Right. You’re not an asshole, I remind myself as Fernando launches into another bitch fest. Which means you should quit eavesdropping, pay for your beer, and get out of here.
Instead, I pull out my phone and pretend to read my book while I listen.
“I believe you,” the brunette coos, rubbing a hand up and down Fernando’s back as she leans her head closer to his. “Any woman who would try to go to a sperm bank without talking to her man about it first is not right in the head.”
“Well, she talked about it,” Fernando says. His words begin to slur as he adds, “She’s done nothing but talk about it. She even said she was saving up to use a sperm donor, just in case I refused to get on board the baby train. But I didn’t think she was serious.”
“Why would you?” The brunette nods, easily changing tacks, proving she’s willing to say whatever it takes to keep his attention. “What kind of person does that?”
Fernando snorts. “A nutjob.” He grabs the fresh glass of whiskey Debbie sets down in front of him without bothering to say thank you, his lip curling as he adds, “And a fucking whore.”
“Hey there, no talk like that in my bar,” Debbie says, setting the brunette’s martini down before knocking her knuckles on the wood in front of Fernando. “Curse all you want, but no name-calling. Especially with the ladies. Women have enough shit to deal with without name-calling on top of it.”
Fernando balls his hand into a fist beside his whiskey. “She was my girlfriend, and she went behind my back and fucked a test tube. She had another man’s cum inside her. What do you call a woman like that if she’s not a whore?”
Debbie rolls her eyes. “I call her a go-getter. She knew what she wanted, and she went after it. And last time I checked, a whore gets paid; she doesn’t shell out her own hard-earned money to try to have a baby because her boyfriend isn’t ready to commit.”
“I was ready! I asked her to marry me,” Fernando protests, his face going red beneath his olive skin. “She said no. Said she wanted to have a baby without getting married first and we could ‘see about that’ later. She’s the one who wanted to give birth to a bastard, and where I come from, that makes her a whore. Plain and simple.”
“Well, this isn’t where you come from. This is my bar,” Debbie says, her voice taking on a hard, no-nonsense edge. “And I’m not here to debate your personal business. I’m here to keep this bar a civil place to drink. So if you can’t share your beef without getting nasty, you can take it outside.”
“You’re on her side,” Fernando accuses, his jaw clenching as he grabs his drink, sloshing whiskey over the edge as he draws it sharply closer to his chest. “You’re all on her side. Even my mother.”
“I’m not on her side,” the brunette pipes up, bouncing on her stool, but Fernando doesn’t appear to hear her.
“You all think there’s something wrong with me,” he continues, drinking deeply from his glass before continuing in a rougher voice, “but I was doing my part. I was a good fucking boyfriend. I gave her everything she ever wanted. I cooked on Saturdays. I did housework if I stayed over more than a couple of nights a week. I even stopped smoking for her.” He slaps a hand to his chest with a grin, fumbling into the front pocket of his dress shirt. “But no more. Now that she’s out of my life, I’m finally fucking free again. I can smoke as much as I want.”
“Good for you,” Debbie says dryly. “But smoke ’em outside.” She shifts her attention to the brunette. “You need anything else, kid?”
The brunette shakes her head. “No, thanks. I’m good.” She flutters her lashes in Fernando’s direction. “I’ll come with you. I don’t smoke, but I don’t mind if you do.”
“Thanks, but I’ve gotta piss,” Fernando says. Sliding off his stool, he stumbles back a step before recovering his balance with a hand on the bar.
“Oh, okay.” The woman sits up straighter, thrusting her cleavage his way as he steers himself around her and heads for the back of the bar. “But you’ll probably need to go next door,” she calls after him. “I think the men’s room is closed.”