"I don't want to do it your way
I don't want to do it your way
I don't want to give it to you, your way
I don't want to know."
-Under Control, The Strokes
__________
Liana sat at the bar, jotting down ideas in her notebook. Every few lines, she'd scan the crowd to be sure Harlan was still in sight.
Mark and Kyle seemed to be trying to "man up" one another over the same blonde in the corner. It was quite comical—each chugging a pitcher of beer, seeing who could drink the most of it without spilling.
Her eyes trailed to Harlan, seeing two young women beside him, one under each arm. He was sitting in the lounge, his dirty boot propped on the table with sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose—there was a cigarette in his hand. Although it wasn't lit, Liana could see he was itching to smoke it, which meant he would be stepping out of the bar soon.
She groaned quietly, closing her notebook before chugging the remainder of her beer. She took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself to deal with Harlan.
Awkward was an understatement; Harlan went out of his way to ignore her—to make her feel uncomfortable. She couldn't seem to figure out why. If he hated her so much, why had he agreed to play for her—share a stage with her?
"Hey." A warm voice spoke from beside her. Liana turned, smiling up at the attractive young man wearing a leather jacket. He had piercing blue eyes and jet black hair. He looked suave and clean cut; the smell of cologne overpowering the alcohol in the air.
"You're Liana, right? My niece is a huge fan."
She laughed, "Yeah. What's your nieces' name?"
"Uh, Lynn."
"That's such a pretty name. I can sign something for her if you'd like." Liana was already reaching for her notebook and pen. She was still trying to wrap her head around the fact people knew her—people she didn't know. She was starting to believe people were only coming to her shows to see Harlan Hayworth.
The thought pulled Liana out of the moment; she was turning back toward the crowd to be sure Harlan was still sitting in the booth—he wasn't.
"May I just say, you're way hotter in person." The guy smiled, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.
Liana laughed nervously, suddenly feeling a little uneasy. This was typical, it happened occasionally; a drunk guy from a bar hitting on Liana, coming up with some bullshit excuse to approach her.
"How do you spell your niece's name-"
"What did you just say?" Harlan's voice broke through Liana's, causing both to look in his direction. The guy stood dumbfounded, looking to Harlan with questioning eyes.
"Oh shit, you're Harlan Hayworth." The patron spoke excitedly, covering his hands over his mouth in disbelief. "Wow, man... it's such an honor."
"Let's see a picture of your niece." Harlan stepped forward, closing the small space between them.
Liana's eyes moved back and forth between the pair, suddenly worried of Harlan's behavior. She had seen him down two shots back to back—no telling how much he had drank when her eyes weren't on him.
In the two months she had known him, never once had he seemed moderately protective of her, but something about his stance in this moment suggested otherwise. She became anxious, telepathically sending signals of distress to her band mates in the corner too busy flirting with the blonde.
Harlan was drunk. He was looking for an excuse to fight someone. Seeing as how he never cared for Liana, it was obvious that he was using her for his testosterone/liquor induced cause.
"Oh, I don't have a picture of her." The man spoke with a smile.
Harlan's usually bored and uninterested eyes turned into small angry slits, staring daggers at the black haired man. Harlan nodded; his tongue trailed cross his lower lip before clapping his hands together. His sunglasses were in his hairline, the neon signs glowing behind the bar reflecting on the dark lenses.
"So, what... you live in the stone age or some shit? You ain't gotta Facebook, Instagram?" Harlan was stepping even closer now, their noses nearly touching.
"Harlan." Liana spoke authoritatively—it was difficult, but goddamnit she needed him to back off.
"I'm just gonna go. I uh, I didn't realize she was with you." The young man walked away, trailing his hand through his hair in defeat.
Liana watched as he moved through the crowd, making his way to the booth in the back. She noticed him take a seat by two other young men, both just as attractive.
Her eyes moved to Harlan, seeing that he was now sitting beside her at the bar, taking a swig of beer.
"What the fuck was that all about?" She snapped.
"Oh come on, did you really buy that guy havin' a niece?" Harlan said, his eyes growing bored again. It was a relief to see that he had calmed down when only moments ago he was ready to fight.
"Who cares if he did or didn't?"
"You don't start any relationship built on a lie, no matter how small it is, you don't do that." Harlan turned in the stool, facing Liana completely with his fingers intertwined in his lap.
"He was just some guy." Liana laughed. "I wasn't about to start any type of relationship with him. He was just using it as an excuse to hit on me. Believe it or not Harlan, some men find me attractive. There's no harm in that, so what if he lied about his reasons?" Liana's mouth closed abruptly, wishing she hadn't unloaded so quickly.
This was the longest conversation she'd ever had with Harlan. And just like a deer, she didn't want to spook him. As annoyingly drunk as he always seemed to be, he was still Harlan Hayworth.
"Maybe, but you were nothing but a bet between him and his buddies over there. One by one, those idiots were gonna come over here and try to pick you up." Harlan stood, drinking the rest of his beer before setting the empty glass down. His hand smacked down on the surface of the bar; his lips pursing with a swallow before looking to her once more. "I can't believe you were just gonna let it happen. Not the kinda girl I took you for." His brows raised, titling his head slightly.
"You don't know anything about me." Liana seethed, frustrated by how much he seemed to know everything—how much he thought he knew everything.
"Oh I don't?" Harlan's hand went to his chest, looking at Liana in disbelief. She kept her eyes on the bracelets around his wrists—random, obscure bracelets; some from old concerts. "Well I know you're it tonight. I may not know you, but I know your motives." Harlan patted Liana's shoulder, bending down as his lips went to her ear. "How can you look after me when you can't even look after yourself?" Harlan whispered, causing the fine hairs on her arms to raise. His breath was hot and muggy with an overpowering scent of alcohol. He patted her shoulder again, the gesture causing her eyes to move to his. "You're too naive, baby girl... too naive."
That was it.
Liana was done—she didn't care if Harlan spent the night in jail for fighting someone. Maybe a night in jail would teach him a lesson.
She stood from the table, marching toward the exit. It seemed that Mark had won over the bimbo, with his arm slinked around her waist. She appeared to be eating up his affections—Kyle sitting alone with his pitcher of beer.
"I'm done. Kyle, you're it." Liana spoke over the jukebox, making her way outside the bar.
"Baby girl."
What kind of nickname is that? A childish, bullshit name is what it is. She was only seven years younger than Harlan, what gave him the right to say such a thing? And "naive?" He was the one with lack of judgement—getting blasted every night and sleeping with whomever spread their legs for him.
Gross.
Despicable, even.
It didn't matter though, he was Kyle and Mark's problem now.