A/N: This one is shorter and I apologize for the hold up, my best friend got married this weekend and that took up a lot of time lately. Please review – I would love to hear what you think.
So he started off as a busboy, and somehow ended up owning the place. "Has it really been ten years?" He wondered to himself for the second time that evening. He was wiping down the mahogany bar when she tapped on the window. It was late. Too late, he thought as he saw the red glow of her hair through the window.
He smiled lazily and walked toward the door. He opened it a crack and said the first thing that came to mind. "We're closed."
"But, Johnny," she whined. He hated it when she called him that. Actually, in a sick perverse way, he hated her. "You haven't called in two weeks." She pouted.
"Correction, I've never called you, Lana. It's you who calls me." He looked at her with almost disgust. He hated the way he always went for redheads, and how they all seemed so inadequate somehow. Sure, Lana had served her time and done it well, but out of bed she was a bore. More than that, she was a tiresome bore.
"Let me in, Johnny, pour me a whiskey." She said as she started to push her way in the door. John loomed where he was and his expression became dangerous.
"Not tonight, Lana, go find some other guy to pour you a drink and to take to bed. I'm not interested." He replied, and meant it too. He found that lately taking girls to bed was getting to be more of a hassle than anything else. They always ended up attached, and he always ended up leaving.
When she continued to whine, he promptly shut the door and chained it. Walking back to the bar he picked up a glass, put in two cubes of ice and poured himself a finger of whiskey. Knowing she was still watching him, he raised the glass in a silent toast, and she raised her middle finger and left.
He chuckled out loud as he set the alarm and walked up the stairs to his studio loft above his bar. God, he loved New York City, he thought as rummaged underneath his bed for his suitcase. He couldn't believe he was packing his bags and going to Shermer, of all places.
He didn't even attempt to fool himself as to why he was going. He wanted to see her. Wanted her to see him. He wanted her to show up, feeling hollow and empty with her expensive clothing and phoney husband, and her to see him. To realize his success and maybe have a quick moment of regret. Nothing too dramatic or sorrowful, just a "what might have been" moment. Then, maybe, he could close the door to that chapter of his life. The ten year chapter of his life, where all he wanted was to see her.
Finding his suitcase he tossed it out of the door of his bedroom before taking a handful of clothes and kicking the suitcase toward his black leather couch. He turned on the television and it was already on the channel he was looking for. The Report of Business channel started talking about the stocks and he silently cheered while folding his socks, his stocks went up again. Sure one plummeted, he'd have to get his broker on that one, but overall it was a gain, which he felt pride in.
His mood quickly dropped when the phone rang. It was 2:30 in the morning. Who the hell was calling at 2:30 in the morning? He picked up the phone while zipping up the suitcase. "Yeah?" He asked into the telephone.
"Sir? You're car has arrived, whenever you're ready." A formal voice came across the telephone.
"Thank you." He responded before hanging up. Oh well, sleep was for pussies anyway. So he gathered up his things and his thoughts and carried on. Looking down at the jeans and black button down he was wearing he supposed it would have to do.
He jogged down the stairs, punching numbers into the alarm system he disarmed the alarm. He crossed the dark hardwood floors, armed the alarm and left, locking the door. You can never be too careful.
Leaving Chelsea, he settled into the back seat of the car while it headed to Newark. If he was lucky he would be able to catch a couple of hours shut-eye before arriving in Shermer just in time for a late breakfast.