Cherry places two cocktail glasses on the bar as Drew slides onto a stool. He watches as she drops a cube of sugar into each, then adds a dash of bitters and a tiny bit of water. She muddles the sugar until it dissolves, then adds ice cubes, a generous pour of rye, and two maraschino cherries per glass. It seems like a lot of work for one drink. But she’s not done.
She plucks an orange out of the fridge behind her and deftly shaves off a thin section of peel. Using a lighter, she burns the rind for about five seconds while squeezing it, which creates a fairly decent flame. Then she rubs the burnt peel around the rim of the glass and drops that in, too. She slides his drink over. The aroma is out of this world, a citrusy, smoky caramel.
“Taste it,” Cherry says. “And then tell me it’s the best old-fashioned you’ve ever had.”
Drew takes a sip. “It’s the best cocktail I’ve ever had.”
She lifts her glass. “To Ruby.”
Fuck, no. “To Joey.”
They clink, and they drink.
Somewhere nearby, a phone vibrates. Drew pats his pocket, but it’s not his. He watches as Cherry reaches into her ample cleavage and pulls out a small gold iPhone.
“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking,” Cherry says, catching his expression. “I’m not supposed to keep my phone in my bra because it might cause cancer, blah blah blah. But trust me, honey, there’s so much silicone in here, ain’t no room for anything else to grow.”
Drew laughs. That wasn’t what he was thinking. At all.
“I’m having an issue with a delivery.” She frowns at her screen. “This might take a few minutes. You okay to wait?”
Drew lifts his glass again. “I’m good.”
But he isn’t good. Not really.
Everything here at the Cherry reminds him of Joey. Because before today, the only time he’d ever been in here was the night Joey died. It was New Year’s Eve, in the hours before 1998 turned into 1999.
It was also the night of his stupid bachelor party. Nearly two decades later, it remains the worst night of his life. Nothing before, or after, has even come close.
* * *
A New Year’s Day wedding wouldn’t have been Drew’s choice, but there aren’t a lot of options when it’s a shotgun wedding. Drew was back in Toronto after a year in Vancouver, and though he had explicitly said he had no desire for a bachelor party, his friends surprised him with one anyway. They booked a VIP table at the Golden Cherry, which turned out to be a hell of a way to discover that Joey was a stripper.
Had it been any other female friend, it might have been comedy fodder, a funny bachelor party story that would be told and retold for years to come. But it was Joey. There she was, one of maybe fifty girls working at the Cherry on New Year’s Eve, wearing high heels and her necklace and nothing else. There was nothing funny about it, and when Drew saw her, it was all he could do not to rip her out of his buddy’s lap and carry her the hell out of there.
But he didn’t. He’d pretended not to know her, and she had done the same. It wasn’t entirely untrue. The Joey he knew was shy and modest, who shrank if people looked at her too long. This Joey was a confident, alluring stranger with false eyelashes, red lips, and a brand-new tattoo inked across her thigh.
It was a butterfly. A symbol of transformation. Was that what this was?
Maybe he’d know the answer if he and Simone hadn’t lost touch with her not long after they moved to the west coast the year before. Or a more accurate way to put it would be that Drew had simply stopped returning Joey’s calls. By the time he returned to Toronto for the holidays and the wedding, it seemed awkward to reach out. Too much had happened since he’d left for Vancouver.
Too much had happened since he left her.
After the countdown to 1999 was over, Drew cited the need for a good night’s sleep and said goodbye to his friends, who were moving on to a nightclub downtown to finish out the night. It was a lie. There was no way he could sleep. Not until he talked to Joey. After they dropped him off at his mother’s house, he borrowed his sister’s car and drove back to the Cherry. He grabbed a roti at Junior’s, then sat in the parking lot at the back and waited.
The dancers started coming out the back door after last call, around two a.m. Each one looked more tired than the last. He stepped out of the car, knowing Joey wouldn’t recognize his sister’s Sunfire, and stood shivering in the freezing air. He must have looked a little shady, because one of the bouncers eventually came out and asked him why he was hanging around so close to the staff entrance. Even now, Drew can still remember what the guy looked like. He used to watch professional wrestling back then, and the bouncer was a dead ringer for The Rock.