Bad Blood

This is my entry for A Song from My Story, a Story for My Song. Once again, big thanks to Verbalinians for helping me to formulate the characters and edit the story. As I continue to tweak stories all the way up to publication, any errors are mine. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!

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"It could've been me, but it was you, who went and bit off a little bit more than he could chew; you said that you had it made, but you'd been had; the woman no good, no how, thinkin' maybe the blood is bad" -- Neil Sedaka

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Let me tell you about my older brother. His name's Bradley Montello; he's 29, 6'3", 230 pounds. The DNA lottery was good to him; it gave him our mom's height, blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. Brad's also the 'successful' one; he's handsome, works out at the gym, drives a Porsche Cayenne, lives in a nice 3-bedroom condo, and has lots of disposable income from his job as a Quality Engineer at a Sacramento area aerospace firm.

I'm Steven Montello, 27 years old and the brother that lost the DNA lottery; I'm one who looks like our dad; 5'11", 220 pounds, plain brown hair and plain brown eyes. (How our regular-looking tax accountant dad managed to win our stunning flight attendant mom and make babies with him is a mystery for the ages, but they've been happily married since 1977.)

Of the two of us, I'm the 'regular' guy; I don't go to the gym, so I'm a little thick in the middle, I drive a 2002 Ford F150, I live in an apartment, and make an OK living by managing the Handy Hardware Home Improvement Center in Rancho Cordova, a suburb of Sacramento, California.

Don't get me wrong, I love my brother. He's my best friend and confidant. We occasionally hang out on weekends, and sometimes even go to the bars together. Make no mistake, when we do, I'm always his wingman. With Mom's looks, Brad is EXTREMELY popular with the ladies; when he's busy charming the evening's DH (designated hottie) I'm usually the one that gets matched with the DH's 'friend'. I have no objections, but more often than not the DH's friend has zero interest in me because, well, I look like an accountant. (Sorry, Dad.)

There was one Friday night a few months back, though, where the odds seemed to turn in my favor. Brad was going to meet me at Sutter's Mill, a new bar in the Old Sacramento Historic District. Virtually all the buildings in this area date from the 19th century; maintaining a resemblance of their original 1850's appearance, they now house tourist attractions like restaurants and gift shops. And, of course, bars like this one.

I got to Sutter's Mill early and managed to strike up a conversation with a lovely young woman named Darlene Chantelle. She was 5'7' and slim with light red hair, a cute, freckled nose, and breasts that filled out her zipper hoodie quite nicely. I couldn't help but notice, as she wore it with the zipper low enough to reveal a sexy hint of freckled cleavage. As sexy as she was, it was her voice and Louisiana accent that I found intoxicating.

She was sitting two barstools down as we talked; I mentioned to Darlene that I loved her voice, and she drawled, "Oooh, you like da way I talk? Dis bayou girl sound hot to you? Eh las bas," and she patted the barstool between us. I was about to move over next to her when Brad showed up and took the seat.

I tried to assert myself, "Hey, Brad, I was just making the acquaintance of Miss Chantelle here. She's from Louisiana." I may as well have been an old hound barking at the moon. Brad had attracted her attention; I was out of the race.

Darlene's eyes narrowed, like a predator focusing on fresh prey, "Ooooh, who is dis tall handsome drink o' water? Komon sa va, cherie?"

Brad was an engineering genius but didn't speak a word of French, let alone Creole French. That fact didn't seem to faze him, though. "Hello, I'm Brad Montello. I see you've been talking to my little brother."

She batted her eyes (must be a Southern belle thing), and replied, "Dat dere's your brother? You shore? Maybe dere was mix-up at da maternity ward, eh?" This was hardly the first time I'd heard that comment, but I had to admit coming out of that mouth at least it sounded pleasant.

I decided to take a Hail Mary shot and blurted out, "Miss Darlene, would you be interested in having dinner with me Saturday?"

Not missing a beat, she fired back, "Dat's sweet, but how about you go on by youself? I'm afraid I got plans dat night." Then she turned to Brad, "Well, is you or ain't you gon' ax me out for Saturday, shugar?"

Brad smiled and replied, "Well, of course I is! What time and where should I pick you up?" Then he turned to me and flippantly tossed me an apology. "Sorry, little bro, I hate to be a buzzkill, but this one's too hot for you to handle. Big brother Brad's stepping in and taking over."

You ever hear that old saying, "Bros before hoes?" I'm here to tell you it's pure bullshit. After I left the bar I didn't talk to my brother again for over three months.

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Being the middle of summer, it seemed like everybody in Rancho Cordova was working on home improvement projects; Handy Hardware's manual checkout lines were being overwhelmed; we lost a lot of business from people getting tired of waiting and just walking out.

The automated self-checkout machines were faring no better; the heat seemed to be scrambling their circuits. Of the 6 self-serve checkout stations, 3 were down and one would only accept cash, its credit card reader refused to work.

A quick call to Corporate got us no help with the automated checkout machines; they were made by a Chinese company whose closest technician in North America was in Halifax, Nova Scotia; he could get here within three weeks. Fat lot of good that would do for the pissed-off customer who got tired of waiting for Checker #6 and walked out, leaving 265 worth of new tools he wanted to buy sitting on the floor.

Finally, some useless jabroni from Handy Hardware Corporate HR sent me an email and told me I was authorized to temporarily hire three more cashiers until the automated units were fixed. Long story short, I called a temp agency and hired Misty Chantelle and two others.

During new hire orientation, I couldn't keep my eyes off Misty; she was a cross between MaryAnn on Gilligan's Island and Martha the cute MTV VeeJay from the 1980s. She was girl-next-door-adorable, about 5'6", and when she opened her mouth, a light sexy Louisiana accent came out. I was hooked. Her new hire paperwork said she was 25, not too young, just a couple of years younger than me.

Of course, I was also her boss, so if I wanted to take her out, I may as well have chained myself to a post for all the good it did me. In our litigious society, for a supervisor to have a relationship with an employee was inviting a lawsuit; the useless jackalope from Corporate HR would have an absolute stroke if word got back to him I was dating a subordinate.

Being her supervisor did not prevent me from talking to her in the break room; THAT, I could do. One day I mentioned, "Hey, Misty, it's a funny coincidence, but I once met someone with the same last name as you in a bar; I can't remember her first name, but she had the same Louisiana accent as you."

Misty got a look on her face like she'd been hit with a Taser. "That wouldn't have been Darlene Chantelle by any chance? Heavy accent, skinny, big boobs, freckles, red hair?"

I snapped my fingers, "YES! That's her!"

Her eyes still wide, Misty asked, "Boss, you're not goin' out with her, are you?"

"No," I replied bitterly, "My older brother Brad is. I asked Darlene to have dinner with me, but because he's better looking she blew me off to go out with him."

"Darlene Chantelle is my older cousin; she and her widow momma Honor moved out here not long after I did. Those two are bad news, Boss! They ain't never done an honest thing in their lives. You should warn your brother off Darlene."

Not that it was Misty's business; she was just trying to be helpful. Instead of snapping at her, I calmly replied, "It's nice that you're trying to be helpful, Misty, but my older brother Brad is a grown man with a good job; in fact, at Thanksgiving he makes a point to brag to our parents how he earns at least twice as much as I do every year. His Porsche is worth ten times as much as my Ford pickup. He owns a nice 3-bedroom condominium, while I rent a 2-bedroom apartment."

I was trying not to get too carried away, but I was getting hot under the collar, "Topping things off, Brad and your cousin went out of their way to insult me before I left that bar. I haven't spoken to my brother since; it was my Mom who told me he was dating Darlene, and it looked like a steady thing. So, I wish them both good luck and they can both fuck the hell off!" Whoops! I just swore in front of an employee. I hope she didn't report me now to Corporate HR.

What Misty did next shocked me; she put her coffee down and wrapped her arms around me.

"Whoa, Misty, what are you doing? If anyone walks into the break room right now and sees us, I'll be in deep shit!"

"I'm sorry, Steven," she said softly. This shook me - Misty had always called me 'Boss', never called me by my first name. What did this mean? She continued, "I'm sorry that your brother and Darlene insulted you, and I'm sorry for what Darlene and Honor are going to do to him."

"What do you mean by that? What will they do?"

"I don't know for sure, but I do know it ain't gonna be good. All that nice stuff you said he has? Don't be surprised if he don't have it much longer."

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Approximately 90 days later, the self-checkout technician Zhao Lijian finally arrived from Halifax. Apparently, the US Border Patrol had kept him in Canada until they were satisfied that he wasn't going to permanently take any American jobs.

It took Lijian several days to completely clean the UPC readers and sync up the credit card processing hardware; then one more day to download the latest operating system update on all the units. We thanked him, and he was gone like a leaf in a hurricane. Not even an hour later, my favorite asshat from Corporate HR called me to get the final hours for the temporary cashiers; since the self-service stations were now functional, the headcount was no longer authorized and Corporate wanted them gone.

The next day I called Natalie, Myrna, and Misty into my office and informed them they were being released effective immediately. I thanked them for their service and helping the store through a tough time. I gave them each their final paystubs, along with a glowing letter of recommendation that I wrote personally.

As they began to leave, I said, "Misty, before you go, can I have a moment?" She sat back down, and I walked over and closed the door, surreptitiously locking it so we wouldn't be interrupted. Then instead of resuming my seat behind the desk, I sat in the chair next to her.

"Miss Chantelle -- Misty -- thanks for giving me a moment of your time. As of this moment, you are no longer employed by Handy Hardware." She nodded, and I felt like an idiot for stating the obvious, "So as of now there would be no conflict of interest if, ummmm," this was a lot harder than I'd imagined.

Misty saved me the trouble. "If you're asking me to go out with you, the answer is yes."

I sat upright, surprised. "Oh, that's, umm, good, because ever since I met you in orientation..."

"You were crushing on me, I could tell. So could everyone else in the store except for Joe in the paint department because he's too busy hating everybody and never notices anything."

Misty surprised me again my getting up and sitting in my lap. She put her arms around my neck, and whispered in my ear, "Do you know how hard it is to have to wait for 3 months for a super-cute guy to make a move on you? Do you know how frustrating it is that he's so professional it's impossible to make him break the rules?"

She shifted her weight, her bottom rubbing on my erection. "Pick me up Friday at 7:00pm and be ready to reward me for my patience." She kissed me deeply, then handed me her paystub. "My address is on there, if you need it."

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I got off work and went home to shower. I also needed to change my briefs, as my erection from her teasing had left a large wet precum spot. I was drying off when my cellphone rang. It was Brad.

I answered, "What do you want dickface? I'm getting ready for a date. Did you run out of pussy and plan on stealing this one from me too?"

"Steven, dude, I'm sorry, more sorry than you know. I need to talk to you, I think I'm in deep shit."

"Come on, Brad, since when are you EVER in deep shit? All your life, every time things go sideways you always come out smelling like a fucking rose. I'll tell you what, though, if you loan me your Porsche for my date tonight, we can talk when I bring it back."

"Dude, I can't do that, I - " BEEP. I thumbed the disconnect button. Fuck my brother.

My cell rang again. Brad wasn't giving up tonight. "Dude, please don't hang up. I'm staying at the Budget Bay Inn on Highway 99 in Elk Grove. Room 381. Come as soon as you - " BEEP. Buh-bye, golden boy. Maybe tomorrow, tonight belongs to Misty.

The address on Misty's paystub was a little studio apartment on Lemon Hill Avenue. Using a ride share service, I picked her up promptly at 7:55pm and we rode to Le Palais Grande, a fancy French restaurant where you had to book reservations at least 45 days in advance. Not me, though - I had an inside man: Phillipe Bardin, the restaurant's sommelier.

I'd hooked Phillipe up with a super sweet deal on a gazebo for his house, and he owed me a favor. He got us a table in a small private room that was usually used by politicians trying to avoid being seen with their mistresses. The state legislature was on summer break, so it was available.

Misty was wearing a dark blue dress this evening, with matching hoop earrings; her hair was done up in a French twist, so she looked much more sophisticated than when she'd been dressed in jeans, white t-shirt and a cheesy green Handy Hardware vest. Rather than sit directly across from my date, I sat in the chair next to hers. For 90+ days I'd been keeping her at a distance; now I wanted her close as possible to me!

The waiter handed us both menus, and Misty's eyes got big, whether from the food choices or the prices I wasn't sure. "Misty," I said to her, "my Dad was old-fashioned, and raised me to believe a man should order for his date. This is the twenty-first century, and I won't presume to just go ahead, but if you'll allow me, I'd like to order for you."

"I'd like that very much, Steven," she replied, "I don't know what half the stuff on here is!"

"Do you prefer chicken, beef, or seafood?"

"Beef, please!"

"Would you like some wine to go with your meal?"

"I'd love some!"

"Great!" I'd done my homework and studied the menu earlier this afternoon. I was ready. When the waiter came up up the table, I told him I'd be ordering for the two of us.

"We'd like to start with the Escargot De Bourgogne, followed by the Salads Au Chevre Chaud. As her entrée, the lady will have the Filet Mignon Au Poivre Vert, while I'll be having the Confit Du Canard; for dessert, we'd like to share a Crème Brûlée and a Tarte Aux Pommes, so two spoons with each."

My buddy Phillipe approached the table and gave me a conspiratorial wink. "Would you like any wine with your dinner, sir?" It was time for what they call the 'finishing move' in professional wrestling. Summoning up my most erudite and sophisticated voice, I let it fly.

"Ah, wine! Yes, please, we'd like a bottle of the 2008 Chateau Latour Pauillac Cabernet Sauvignon, as well as a bottle of sparkling water."

Phillipe raised his eyebrows and smiled, making a show as if I'd impressed him. "A very fine choice! Right away, sir!"

Phillipe returned shortly thereafter with our bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, holding it reverentially as if he were a priest about to administer a sacrament. He uncorked it and poured a little into my glass. Just as Phillipe had taught me, I twirled it around, sniffed it, and tasted it before pronouncing it perfect. He filled Misty's glass, then mine, and we both sipped. An explosion of flavors covered my tongue. This was an incredible experience.

Misty's eyes were wide as she put her glass down. "Oh my God, Steven, this is amazing!"

Trying to keep a nonchalant face as if this was something I did every day, I replied in my best James Bond voice, "Splendid. Have you ever tasted a $800 bottle of wine?"

"Oh, no, my family didn't drink much wine, but when we did it was mostly box wines and bottles with screw-tops. Daddy didn't like getting the cork out."

"Well, now you have."

Misty looked at me in disbelief, "You're kidding me, right?"

"No, I'm not kidding. You specifically said I should be ready to reward you for your patience, so I've gone all out on dinner tonight. I hope you'll find it adequately rewarding."

"This is way beyond what I had in mind! Can you afford all this?"

"Affordability is merely a construct. Am I rich? I live in an apartment and drive an 18-year-old truck, so I can safely answer that no, I am not rich. The rich guy is my asshole brother Brad. From my perspective, I consider this a special occasion, like a vacation, that I've saved up for.

"What makes it so special?"

"You, Misty. You make it special. I've tried to keep my feelings hidden for 90 days, although you say I did a lousy job of it. Well, no more. Tonight's the first night I can finally tell you how I really feel." I took another sip of the crazy expensive wine. I was on a roll, baby.

"Misty, I love your pretty hazel eyes, I love your cute nose and I love that Louisiana accent. I'm over the moon about being with you; I'm the luckiest guy in the whole city because you're here with ME, and not with some rich aerospace engineer like my brother."

Her pretty eyes narrowed, and she smiled a wicked smile. "Wow. Be careful Steven, those kinds of words are dangerous -- they're sure to win a girl's heart. Is that what you really want?" She leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips. BOOM! My girl-stealing brother could go fuck himself, this dream girl just kissed ME!

I took another sip of wine and held my hand up, index finger extended; class was in session, and Professor Steven's lecture was starting! "That kiss right there, Misty? That one kiss was worth way more to me than the price of the wine; hell yeah, that's what I want!" I was loving this; I could feel my smug self-satisfied grin all the way to my toes.

Misty giggled, "My, oh, my Steven. I may have to call the police and file a crime report because y'all just stole my heart." She threw her arms around my neck, "And if you liked THAT kiss, I got a bunch more where that come from."

Taking the initiative, I leaned over and kissed Misty, then whispered in her ear, "I can't wait."

The appetizers arrived, and an epicurean experience followed. In addition to her filet, Misty had to taste everything on my plate; when the two desserts came that we were going to share, Misty ate her half and most of mine as well, and I didn't mind a bit. After all, this dinner was supposed to be her reward. Frankly, I enjoyed watching her eat. I was falling HARD for this angel.

And after those kisses, no way I would deny her anything. Hell, as buzzed as I was, at this point I'd have bought her a house in Phoenix and blown up San Diego just so she could have an ocean view.

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In the car on the way home, still feeling the effects of the Cabernet Sauvignon I let my freak flag fly and peppered Misty with stupid drunk nerd questions. Fortunately, she seemed amused by my attentions.