So, this takes place about a month after the film ended. It's just a prologue to introduce Jack's girlfriend – there are no original characters as yet, but wait and then you will get a whole lotta Bobby!
Lydia picked up her phone. She scrolled through the contacts, even though she knew his number by heart, before chickening out and putting the phone back down. He'd said he would call, but he'd left for Detroit a month ago. Did he just not want her anymore? Old insecurities came bubbling up again and her eyes threatened to tear at this new rejection – one in a long list.
Oh for fuck sake! She thought – one guy, one new let down. It's not like Jack Mercer was the first person to screw her and then screw her over – guys had been doing that since she was twelve.
Using the anger to cover up the growing hole in her chest, Lydia got up and showered. After throwing on work clothes and make-up, Lydia left the apartment, narrowly avoiding the landlord who was owed two months' rent and never failed to tell Lydia about the ways she could settle this without cash. She swore to herself she would never sell herself – a promise she made to her mother when Stacey had been lying in hospital after getting beaten up by a punter. Three days later, her mother had been released. It happened again six weeks later – same story, different guy. She didn't get released this time. That was when Lydia was ten. With father 'unknown' she'd been packed off to the nearest foster home. Eight years of dodging scumbags couldn't keep their hands – or what was in their pants – to themselves without proper incentives and foster mothers that didn't give a damn as long as the checks kept coming and she had been old enough to live alone. Eight years that felt like eight lifetimes.
She was older now, and smarter than the first time a guy had left her after getting what he wanted. She really liked Jack, was in real danger of loving him, but she had learnt long ago not to let her life revolve around one person. Because people leave, people always leave eventually, if they stick around in the first place. No matter how many times they tell you they love you.
The sudden warmth that heralded her entrance to the club cut of this train of thought before she could start to brood – naturally intense, Lydia could brood with the best of them. Tony was behind the bar as usual when she came in from the back.
'Club's open in ten, kid, where ya been?'
'Sorry, Tony, lost track of the time.'
'Been thinking about that musician of yours?' At six foot and three hundred pounds of tattoos and piercings, Tony did not look like Dr. Phil. He still tried to go a pretty good impression when Lydia was going through another rough patch. The closest she'd ever got to have an authority figure that actually had some authority, Tony knew Lydia in a way no one else did. He'd found on the doorstep out back, a tiny, skeletal thing with a mean left hook. He'd picked her up by the scruff of the neck, dusted her off and given her a job. She hadn't met someone like Tony before; a scary, yet stand up guy, you only had to fear Tony when you got out of line. Fiercely protective, he'd given her a sofa to sleep, never suggesting she could share his bed, and cuffed her on the head when she'd asked if he was a fag – the idea of a guy being nice to her because he could was beyond Lydia at that point, she had seen to much to prove otherwise.
Lydia didn't answer. That someone, even if it was Tony, could tell she was hung up on Jack was bad. She gained a reputation as an ice maiden and only Jack, with his battered guitar, soulful eyes and own emotional baggage, had had any success in getting her to thaw. Now the cracks were showing and she knew the guys around here enough that they'd take the chance to get into her pants. Keep tryin', boys, she thought, there's nothing for you down there.
Tony shook his head and wiped down the bar again. He liked Jack – wouldn't let the Mercer kid get away with so much if he didn't, but if he kept messing Dee around, well, Tony may find a reason to visit Detroit. With a baseball bat.
Lydia soon hit her stride and the evening melted into night with ease. Having worked at Tony's for six years now, she felt more at home in the dingy, warm bar than she ever did in her apartment. But tonight, something was wrong – it was too hot, Lydia was plucking at the clingy red top, getting more and more pissed as the evening wore on. Finally, about 12.30am Lydia gave up and fainted.
Tony heard the thud followed by gasps and looked around to see Dee out cold on the floor. Picking her up, he yelled that the club was closed, time for everyone to go on home. This announcement was greeted with yells and protests before Tony asked if anyone wanted to take it up with him personally. The club was cleared in five minutes.
Laying Lydia on the sofa in the office, Tony wiped her face with a damp cloth. Lydia slowly came around, took one look at him and threw up on the floor.
'Nice, kid. Is this the thanks I get for losing business for you?'
'Sorry, Tony. I don't know what the matter with me is.' Lydia sat up and then grabbed Tony when her head spun.
'What? NO! I'm not. I'm just ill. I must be. I can't be … I'm not … oh shit! ...I' gonna kill Jack Mercer!'