The Cruelest Summer

Chapter 5- Pulled Me Right Into that Dive Bar

After spending ten minutes frantically rummaging through her closet, Taylor finally settled on her favorite pair of black jeans (they nicely hugged her ass), black combat boots, and a dark grey sweater that gave a hint of her cleavage. She honestly wasn't sure what the unofficial dress code for dive bars was. Taylor didn't want to dress too casual and accidentally come across as lazy to Joe, but she equally feared dressing too slutty in the case that she had misread things with him.

Her woes were understandable given that she had never been the recipient of an invitation quite like this. Most of her friends invited her to private clubs and Michelin-star bistros and overly pretentious cafes. A dive bar was uncharted territory.

Brandon, Taylor's driver/security guard, held a similar token of confusion. "132 East 7th Street is a dive bar," he explained, staring blankly at the GPS on his phone. "Did you send me the right address?"

Taylor glanced at his screen and nodded her head. "Yup, that's the one. Lovers of Today."

Brandon opened and closed his mouth, trying to choose his words carefully as to not overstep any professional boundaries. "So you want me to take you to this dive bar at a quarter to midnight in the pouring rain?"

Taylor looked over at her front entry window. Huh. She hadn't even noticed the torrential downpour that was currently turning Cornelia Street into a lazy river. She must've been too caught up in her outfit dilemma to pay any attention. The nasty weather wasn't going to derail Taylor's plans, however. "I'll just wear a hat and run inside with an umbrella," she elucidated. "It's honestly better that way because then I can go in unnoticed."

"Alright then," Brandon chuckled. Taylor grinned and the two made a mad dash for the blacked-out Suburban.

Inside the dry vehicle, Taylor anxiously watched the wet city streets fly by. She was second-guessing her decision. Less than an hour ago she was wrapped up in bed, and now...she was en route to a bar. It was as if some strange existential force was propelling her to the joint.

Before she knew it, the car came to a sudden halt: the kind that makes tires screech and seat-belts jerk forwards. Taylor winced as filthy NYC street water splashed over the already soaked sidewalk, knowing that she'd have to trudge through it in her leather boots.

"Sorry 'bout that," Brandon apologized. He turned off the engine and opened his car door, ready to escort his employer into the bar.

Taylor stared at him for a second, a foreign expression on her face. "Wait," she said breathlessly. "I think I want to go in by myself."

This warranted an aghast look from her security guard. "Are you joking?"

Taylor shook her head. "No, I-I think I should do this by myself. I can't explain why- I don't even know why- but something is telling me that I need to be at this bar and I need to go alone."

Taylor was unsure why she suddenly decided to drop her security. She had hardly gone anywhere in the past six years without being escorted by a group of tall, burly men. Yes, it was annoying to have to show up at Whole Foods with a fucking armed entourage, but after a while, Taylor accepted this as the 'norm'. She constantly reminded herself that having a security team was better than being swarmed by a mob of crazed fans at the grocery store or being attacked by one of her stalkers on a lunch date.

Clearly, that methodology was failing at the moment, with Taylor impulsively deciding to go without her safety line. Something in her chest was telling her to forget about Taylor Swift for a night and just be Taylor instead. Taylor Swift traveled with former Navy Seals. Taylor walked alone, on foot. Taylor Swift dined at upscale restaurants. Taylor drank beer at dive bars. Taylor Swift was canceled by 86% of the world's population. Taylor had someone waiting for her at 'Lovers of Today'.

"If that's what you have to do, then fine. I'll stay close by and Jeff or I will pick you up," Brandon said exasperatedly. "Please, do me a favor and be safe though."

"I promise," Taylor assured him. "I'm in good hands."

And with that Taylor went skipping into the dive bar, her heart practically in her throat. She was feeling jittery all of a sudden. Taylor brushed this feeling off, however, and convinced herself that she was simply anxious about being spotted by the paparazzi. This was partly true and she was grateful for the protection that her Yankees hat and umbrella provided. Her dad had bought her the hat a few weeks ago at a game and mistakenly purchased one that was far too big. This, however, worked in Taylor's favor in that its large circumference allowed the hat to cover her eyes.

Certain that she was unidentifiable now, she shuffled over to the back of the bar. Taylor scanned the area...and there he was as promised.