SIX

"Dive bar on the East Side

Where you at?"

———

February 9th, 2018

That Friday, Taylor had wrapped up her second practice session with the tour dancers. As a way to celebrate the end of a successful first week, they were all going to go out for some drinks.

Taylor glanced at her phone on the bathroom counter as she carefully applied some mascara to her lashes. She was waiting on a text from Martha—who she'd invited to come along— stating that she was at the entrance to her apartment. From there, the two of them would hop into the back of an SUV and meet the others at a bar in the East Village.

Taylor was more than ready to knock back a few shots with the other blonde and the rest of the group, as she was exhausted from the week. She started the evening off with a glass of wine as she did her makeup and was now committed to becoming more than tipsy by the end of the night.

Though she was fully back to doing what she loved most, it was stressful. Along with the anxiety that she knew was never going to disappear, she was still thinking about Dorothea Jane. Taylor had stopped caring about her unanswered message days ago, but the girl had taken a permanent place at the front of her mind.

She wondered if she, too, had a spot in Dorothea's thoughts.

Taylor's phone suddenly chimed with a notification from Martha. She hurried to finish applying her lipstick and left the en-suite bathroom. Then, after tossing a few last things into her purse, she quickly examined herself in the full-length mirror next to the door: A soft, oversized v-neck sweater and black jeans with heels. Nice, yet still casual enough for a dive bar.

"Hey! Where's your coat? It's freezing out here!" Martha exclaimed as Taylor emerged from the entrance to her apartment building.

"And Bar None is always hotter than Hell," Taylor noted, laughing. She was cold, but before she could shiver the black SUV pulled up to the edge of the curb next to them. She then followed Martha through the open back door held by one of her security guards, letting out a heavy sigh as she sat down and sank against the leather seat.

Martha laughed as Taylor closed her eyes. "You sure you're gonna make it tonight? It's barely after nine."

"Oh, don't mind me. Just doing some Pre-Blackout mental preparation, over here."

The other woman lifted her eyebrows. "Is that what's happening tonight?"

"Well, if I don't take a shot within the first two minutes of walking in there, I'm heading for the liquor store on the corner," Taylor deadpanned.

"In that case, should I call our order in to the bartender right now?" Martha asked. She smiled as she watched Taylor let out another deep sigh, but then her expression fell. "Something on your mind?"

"Always," Taylor breathed. She then gave a feathery laugh as she opened her eyes and turned to the other woman. "Do you ever ignore text messages?" She asked.

Martha furrowed her eyebrows as she looked at her across the backseat. "Not usually," she said, "but I guess it depends on who it's from. Why? Are you trying to ignore someone?"

"Nope," Taylor replied, popping the "p" in the word. She then hesitated a moment, before saying, "I just want an answer."

The other blonde nodded slowly. "Okay, well...Is there another way you can get one?"

"Nope," Taylor repeated, straightening up in her seat and looking out the window. She circled her eyes over the people on the sidewalk as they passed, thinking for some reason that fate would make one of them the one she was desperate to see.

"Well, what better way to wait for a response than to drink?" Martha laughed.

"Exactly." Taylor turned her deep blue hues towards the blonde and smiled. "Does this mean you'll accept an invitation to join Club Blackout?" She inquired.

"Maybe?" Her friend said, laughing again. "We'll see where the night takes us."

When the pair arrived at Bar None, they entered through a beat-up wooden door covered in posters and stickers. Taylor was right about the temperature in the low-lit dive; it was a hot space that was no bigger than her bedroom and closet combined. There was a long bar at the rear and a wall lined with shelves of just about anything one might want to drink. The rest of the place was filled with standing tables, three booths, a pool table, and a couple of arcade game machines.

And Taylor thought they had the best whiskey in Manhattan.

Much to her relief, she consumed a shot of it within the first couple of minutes of being there. The liquid slid down her throat in a sharp swallow, burning pleasantly. She already felt much more relaxed; blissful that her thoughts were softening and bringing her back to the present moment.

But an hour into socializing with the group, Taylor was drunk. She was surprised at how quickly the feeling hit her, even though she'd initially been taking shots in pairs as opposed to with a group (meaning more shots, and therefore, more alcohol; always a dangerous move). But as long as she slowed down from there, she wouldn't black out just yet.

The bar had been quite empty when they arrived, but now it was packed. The one good thing about being somewhat drunk was that Taylor wasn't as bothered by constantly bumping and nudging into other people. But the crowd did make the already-hot space feel like a sauna, as well as much more difficult to aim a pool cue.

Taylor had just high-fived one of the dancers she was paired with to play pool when a few shouting voices broke out near the bar. She was about to ignore it—bars, of course, were loud by nature— but the sound only escalated. She noticed a few other people had turned to look in the same direction, as well. Taylor couldn't see what was happening, but one of the voices involved was definitely female.

"Yo, the bartender's going at it with that girl," Mark, one of the dancers, commented as he came up to the pool table to hand out a few beers.

"What girl? Does she know him?" Martha asked, standing on her tip-toes to try and get a better look.

"Not sure. Might be his girlfriend?" He guessed. "I don't know, but she's pissed. She looked like she was about to hop the bar and strangle him when I was over there."

"What? Really?" Martha said, suddenly laughing in disbelief. "That short girl? With the brown hair—"

Taylor froze in the middle of sipping her drink.

No. There was no way—Obviously. Not a chance. The odds were so unlikely, she should have burst out laughing at her delusional, intoxicated thoughts. It couldn't be her.

But it was.

Taylor slipped between members of the crowd to an opening where she could see the bar. She leaned to the left, then right, and cocked her head so she could see the back of a brunette girl with her hands gripped around the edge of the counter. The muscular bartender had his arms crossed, looking both annoyed and desperate to get her away from him.

Taylor stepped to the side to try and see the girl's profile. But then, she halted as the female turned to leave, and the flash of Dorothea's pissed-off face filled every inch of her mind. She, along with a few other people who'd been observing the scene unfold, watched the girl make a direct path to the back exit.

But Taylor was the only one that followed her.

———

Dorothea hardly ever got mad. If she was in an argument, she'd be the first to cry and the last to scream. She never understood how impulsively violent some people could be when they were upset; breaking things, hitting things, shouting until the veins in their necks looked like a spiderweb of fury. It never solved anything. Yet it always made everything worse.

But that Friday night when she ripped off her work uniform, she was pissed. As she took off each piece of clothing, she threw it down onto her bedroom floor with equal spite. She knew it was stupid, but at the same time it felt justified.

Dorothea yanked her dresser drawers open, pulling out a pair of jeans and a sweater. The last thing she wanted to do was go to Bar None that night, but she didn't have a choice. After trying to reach Nick multiple times earlier in the week, she'd received the dreaded This number is no longer in service recording on Wednesday, and she had to resist the urge to topple every trash can in the alley behind The Pearl.

With great reluctance, she'd finally tried calling Tyler, but received no answer from him, either. So, the next step in her aggravating, hopeless journey to find the father of her baby was to go to Bar None. She had no idea if Tyler still worked there, but she was desperate and quickly running out of options.

During her week of failed communication, though, Dorothea had determined that Bar None would be it. If she couldn't reach Nick from there, then he didn't deserve to know about the baby. The angry part of Dorothea was more than willing to settle for that. But the scared part of her was overwhelmed by the idea of carrying their child completely on her own.

Dorothea's second dream to working in fashion had always been to become a mother, but she hadn't imagined it happening like this. She thought she'd be at least four years older. Engaged, but ideally married. A homeowner, or at least renting a much nicer place than she currently was. And finally, holding a steady, full-time job that paid a good salary to raise her child as best as she possibly could.

But she didn't have a single one of those things.

Dorothea's emotions swung like a nauseating seesaw as she shrugged into her coat and grabbed her purse. Her thoughts ebbed between hurt and frustration, yet she had to come up with a way to approach Tyler. As one of Nick's friends, she knew he would have the details on her missing ex, only she knew he wouldn't tell her without a reason. But telling Tyler that she was pregnant was out of the question. So what sort of excuse could she give instead?

She still wasn't sure when she arrived at the bar, but she opened the door and walked in anyway. It was packed. It was also very warm, and the tiny grain of rice inside of her was not a fan of the scent of beer laced in the air. Dorothea swallowed, then forced herself into the crowd.

So Tyler still worked at Bar None. An uncomfortable feeling surfaced within Dorothea when she spotted her ex's six-foot-tall friend. He was racing around behind the bar, pouring drinks with one hand and taking cash with the other. It wasn't a good time. But she also realized that it never would be.

"Hi there, what can I get you—" Tyler stopped when his dark eyes landed on Dorothea standing at the counter. He then glanced from side-to-side, clearing his throat. "Dorothea?"

"Hey," she said, her tone neutral, "do you have a second?"

He let out a sudden, sharp laugh, going back to the drink he was mixing. "Not really. But go ahead, what's up?"

Dorothea tried to ignore his brisk attitude and rested her elbows on the counter. "Have you been in contact with Nick recently?" She asked.

He lifted an eyebrow but didn't look at her. "Not for the past few weeks. Why?"

"I need to talk to him. But he—" Dorothea stopped, suddenly laughing as she shook her head. "Did he get a new number or something? Because when I tried calling he—"

"Yeah, he got a new phone recently," Tyler cut in dismissively.

Dorothea stared at the counter as he wiped it with a towel. He was being as difficult as she'd predicted, but her frustration was now simmering to the surface. She let out a smoldering breath through her nose. "Okay, well, I don't have his new number," she explained. "Could you give it to me?"

"Nope."

Dorothea's features morphed. "Are you serious?"

"Thea, I don't have time to deal with this right now—"

"But I need to talk to him about something," Dorothea pressed, "if you just give me his new number, I'll leave you alone!"

"Sorry, no can do—"

Dorothea leaned across the bar as he began walking away. "Seriously, Tyler? What the hell? What difference does it make to you?"

Tyler wheeled back in her direction and leaned towards her across the bar, his tone low, "Thea, this is not the time. You can't just come here during my busiest shift of the fucking week and demand my attention—"

"Fuck your job!" She screamed. She sensed a few heads spin in their direction, but the leash to her anger had officially snapped. "What, are you trying to protect him, or something? Nick's a fucking adult, he doesn't need you sticking your dick out for him. And believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was to come here, but I didn't have a choice!"

"Really?" Tyler crossed his arms, squaring his gaze on her. "And just what the fuck could you possibly need to talk to your ex-boyfriend about?" He demanded.

Dorothea drew in a breath to scream the reason in his face, but she hesitated. Again, she felt a small group of bystanders watching her, waiting for her to return fire in the ambush she'd started at Bar None. "I can't tell you," she said, her voice lowered, "but please, Tyler. I promise it's important—"

"And I promise that I couldn't give less of a shit, Dorothea Madison," he said, letting out an ugly, dry laugh. He turned away from her to fill a cup of beer, then said, "you can order a drink in the next two minutes, or get the fuck out of here."

Dorothea had a sudden wild impulse to jump over the bar and throw him against the shelves of liquor lining the wall. But instead, she curled her hands around the edge of the bar counter. "Fuck you," she spat.

Before he had the chance to respond, Dorothea spun on her heels and made for the exit. She ignored the eyes that followed her, using every ounce of strength to not shed a single tear in that disgusting dive bar. But as soon as she stepped outside, the cold air sliced across her eyes, and her vision blurred.

Dorothea walked a few steps and sank down onto the concrete curb. The angry part of her had just made the first regrettable decision in the After, and it had severed her last connection to the father of her baby. If she hadn't lost her self-control, she might've been talking to Nick right now.

But who was she kidding? It was obvious he didn't want to be found.

And now she was alone.

Dorothea pressed her palms against the edge of the sidewalk and squeezed her eyes shut. If the After was a wildfire, she was surrounded by flames; choked and blinded by the smoke. No matter what direction she chose to run in, it seemed as though she'd have no choice but to be burned alive.

"Dorothea?"

Dorothea's eyes snapped open. She swiped her hands across her face, then turned in the direction of the voice. When her gaze landed on Taylor Swift hovering by the bar exit, her mind went blank.

"Hey—Taylor?" Dorothea stammered. Her vision was suddenly tunneling; Taylor was inside. Taylor heard her screaming and saw her storm away from the bar. The horror of the thought sent her heart hammering. Just what sort of twisted fate did the After have in store for her? But out of the corner of her eye, she watched Taylor's long legs move in her direction.

The singer then stopped and lowered herself onto the sidewalk at Dorothea's side.