I don't call Noah to go out with me. I don't call Clark. I don't call
anyone. I am going to go out, by myself, and I'm going to get drunk as
hell. I may go home with a stranger or I may go home alone. I don't know
yet.
I dress in a soft pink top with small white and gray pearls
stitched along the neckline. I put on my favorite pair of white jeans
and a cute pair of gray knit ballet flats. I dab a drop of perfume
behind my ears, on my wrists and then take another drop to run through
my hair. After this I pull my honey blonde hair into a slightly off
kilter half-up style. I accent my eyes with shimmer mascara and use a
touch of sparkling pink lip gloss.
Once I have finished dressing,
I make sure that Snuggles has food and water. I turn off all the lights
except the one above the stove and I lock the doors. Because I was
unable to drive myself home yesterday I am sans one mode of
transportation. I wouldn't want to tempt myself with driving anyway. The
last thing I need is a wreck while I am driving drunk. Taking a deep
breath, I begin my trek to the bus stop down the street.
I take
the bus downtown and it drops me off just down the block from "Alice's
Wonderland." I walk calmly up the street until I am standing under the
glittering lights of decadence realized. I try to take a deep breath,
but it hitches in my ribs somewhere. The ache of betraying Jahan, of the
bitterness David has given me, reverberate through my bones. Or maybe
that is the thrumming of a bass line. I won't let any of this stop me. I
am going inside and I am going to forget for a time.
When I open
the door the music and the smell of alcohol hit me full in the face. I
try not to stagger, but trip over my own feet. I am caught by cute guy
with shoulder length, wavy, black hair with one strip of blood red. He
smiles as he helps me right myself and then he holds the door open so
that I can walk inside.
The lights are dazzling and the dance
floor is packed. The gentleman who assisted me at the door, smiles again
and points toward a couple stools at the bar. I just stare for a
moment, completely out of my element. Gently, he places his hand on the
small of my back and guides me to the stools.
"Set the lady up
with whatever she wants, on me." He smiles and hands his card to the
bartender. He turns and winks at me then saunters off to the speak with
the DJ. Completely bewilder, I look at the bartender.
"What'll it be miss?" He smiles as he wipes out a glass.
"I don't know. What do you recommend?"
"Do you like apples? I have a sweet new drink with a kick. It has apple liqueur in it, though."
"Sounds interesting. What kind of drink is it?" I lean forward a little with my elbows resting on the bar.
"I call it 'George Washington's Apple'. Its got whiskey, sour apple vodka, apple liqueur and a spritz of soda."
"Will it get me drunk quickly?" I ask, leaning forward a little more.
"I
suppose that depends on how fast you drink it." He winks and mixes up
the drink in a tall glass. He pours it over ice and hands it to me.
"Cheers, girly."
I take a sip and close my eyes. It is sweet and
sour, with a vague alcohol taste. I don't wait for the ice to water it
down and I down it as quickly as I can. The bartender's eyes widen as I
try to catch the breath that just got knocked out by the alcohol rush. I
smile a flirty smile and ask for another. This one without ice. I throw
it back like I've been a drunk my whole life.
After two more of
those and an appletini with a sugared rim, my drink total is up to five.
I feel pleasantly tipsy and the room tips with me. I decide it is time
to dance and flirt, so leaving the safety of my bar stool I float to the
floor. At least, it feels like I float. For all I know I could be
drooling and stumbling all the way there.
I happen to catch the
eye of the cutie that helped me in the door and I motion him over. I ask
him to dance with me and he obliges with a quirky grin. While we are
dancing I have the opportunity to really look at him.
He looks
like a Korean movie star. His eyes look like they were painted on a
porcelain doll. I've never seen such beautiful eyes. They are the color
of a lime's insides. Of course this could be the alcohol talking. I am
pretty tipsy right now. Maybe a little more than that.
His lips
are kind of feminine. Perfect Cupid's bow upper lip. A perfect bow in
general. One corner lifts in the cutest way, giving him that quirky
grin. He's a little feminine though, but not so much as to be
unattractive. Not that he would be unattractive to me anyway. I like his
look. I love his hair. Its so soft and for some reason he is letting me
run my fingers through it. I twist the red strip around my fingers and
giggle when I let it go.
"What's your name?" I ask, noting a slight slurring to my speech.
"Jae." He smiles and puts his hands on my hips. "And your name?"
"Abra. What's a cute, nice, guy like you doing in a place like this?"
"Trying
to find a piece of Wonderland, I suppose. What is a beautiful, and
naive, girl like you doing in a place like this?" Our hips move in
rhythm with the music and I am feeling drunk, not just from the alcohol,
but from his eyes and the way he talks. His dancing isn't so bad
either.
"Why do you, why do you say I'm naive?"
"Because
you had no idea what to expect when you walked in here. And the tripping
at the door didn't help to prove it otherwise."
I lean my cheek
against his chest as a slow song comes on. He smells good and he feels
so right underneath my hands and face. When the song ends and the next
begins I pull away and go back to the bar stool.
I order six
Buttery Nipples, a Sex on the Beach and a Cotton Candy twister before
Jae comes up and stops me. At this point I can't see straight, think
straight or even speak straight. He helps me off of my stool and begins
to lead me outside. At first I fight back, trying to go back for another
shot of something or other. After a futile effort on my part, I give up
and allow myself to be practically carried out. Once we are outside, I
realize just how attracted I am to this man. I notice how tall he is and
how he carries himself. I find that I am burning up, not just from the
alcohol.
"You are so so so so beautiful, you know." I stammer. He smiles and I want to melt a little.
"You are beautiful too. Probably more so when you aren't wasted." He places his hands on my shoulders to steady me.
"I?
I drunk? Never, sir. 'Tis only a trick of the flashy lights. Truly. I
have never been more sober in all my life." I pull away and try to
strike a pose. I almost fall on my face before he catches me.
"And
a pitiful liar too. Do you have someone who could come and pick you
up?" He has doubled in my vision. Now there are three hot Koreans
holding me up.
"No pick ups, only let downs. No lovers, no
friends. Do you want my lover to be?" I lean into him, my head and my
heart dancing a tango on a sinking ship. I feel sick. "I think I need
another drink. I'm not drunk enough."
"I think you are plenty
drunk." He says, preventing me from walking, or falling, back to the
club. "I think I'll call you a taxi."
"No taxes on dances." I
grab his hand and try a tarantella. I fail miserably. Partially because
I'm drunk. Or, maybe entirely because I'm drunk. Then, without warning, I
kiss him. It isn't the most amazing kiss in the world, but it isn't the
worst all things considered. To my drunken surprise, he kisses me back.
His arms come around me and he kisses me like David should've kissed me
when we were together. With passion and meaning, with a zest for love
and life.
I lose track of how long we kiss, but he does break it
off and calls for a taxi. He rides with me to my apartment, even having
the taxi driver pull over for bagels, which I am suddenly dying for. He
helps me up the stairs to my apartment and he carries me inside. He sets
me on the couch while I contentedly munch on a bagel. Snuggles meows at
this dastardly intruder and then proves that he is the worst watch-cat
ever by purring and wrapping himself around said intruder's leg. Jae
squats to pet him and then comes over to sit by me.
Suddenly, I
feel very nauseous. I stand up and stumble to the bathroom. He follows
me. I crumple in front of the toilet and begin throwing up. Shockingly,
he comes up and holds my hair out of my face.
"I swear to dog, I'll never eat bagels again." I sputter, in-between bouts of retching.
"I'm sure you won't." He says, a little chuckle under his breath barely audible above my vomiting.
"Its not funny." I whimper.
"No,
it isn't. But maybe next time you won't have four 'George Washington's
Apples', an appletini, six Buttery nipples, a cotton candy twister and a
Sex on the Beach. You should be happy that I'm not having to rush you
to the hospital."
"I'll try to the remember that when my stomach falls out of my mouth and into the toilet."
Once
I have completely emptied my innards, he washes my face and carries me
to my bedroom. He slips off my shoes and pulls the covers over me. He
kisses my cheek and gently rubs my temples, which are throbbing now.
"It was nice to meet you, sleep well." He kisses me again and is gone before I pass out.
The
next morning I can't remember a damn thing. I vaguely remember a
beautiful Asian man and dancing. I remember drinking interestingly
titled drinks. I remember throwing up. But that is it. And I have the
worst hang-over in the world. There has to be an easier way to forget
the past. Clearly drinking it away isn't going to work. Except in the
short term.
I stumble out of my room and into the kitchen for a
cup of coffee. There is a bag of half eaten bagels lying on the counter.
What the hell happened last night? Seeing as how I am still fully
dressed I didn't sleep with anyone. But where did I get bagels and why?
How did I get home?
Instead of trying to figure it out, I lie
down on the couch and let Snuggles curl up with me. My head is pounding
as the coffee brews. I swear I am never doing that again. At least not
until the next time I fuck something up royally.
Maybe I should
try again tonight. Except this time only have one or two drinks. And
take someone with me so that I don't hook my way home. Not that there is
any proof that I did that last night. Or maybe I should just give up
the whole goddamn scheme and call it a day. I can't, of course, but it
is nice to think about. I'm already too far gone to stop now.
I
spend my day sleeping off my hang-over and watching bad soap operas on
TV. I decide it would be better to go out again tomorrow or the next
night. I should really give my liver and kidneys time to recover from
the bender we went on last night. The cat seems happy with this
decision.
I dream of the cute guy from the bar and wonder if we
did anything last night that I can't remember. Did we even talk? I have
no idea. I remember how nice the bartender was with each drink I ordered
though. Of course that was probably just because I was spending money.
Wait.
I didn't spend any money last night, did I? I don't remember. How else
could I have gotten all that alcohol though? I must've spent something.
However, when I check my purse I discover that I am only missing five
dollars. And in its place is a receipt for a bag of bagels. Well that
explains the bagels. I still have no idea why I got them. All I know is
that when I look at them I get queasy. I think I should avoid them for a
few days.
About ten o'clock my phone rings. I don't recognize the number, but I pick up anyway. My thinking isn't exactly clear right now.
"House of pain and inconsistent memories, how may we help you?"
"Abra, its Alice." My eyes snap open and I feel a righteous indignation building up underneath the blinding pain in my head.
"What the hell do you want?"
"I want to talk to you. Now. Where can I meet you?" She sounds like she actually believes I'll meet up with her.
"Why would I want to meet with you anywhere?"
"Because we need to settle a few things."
"Look,
for you things may be unsettled, but for me I'm as settled as I'm going
to be and I don't care to have anything more to do with you or your
asshole husband."
"Pull your head out of your ass and meet me at the park in fifteen minutes."
"I'd
really like to oblige, but I can't hear you because my ears are so full
of shit from my head being plugged up my ass. Thanks for playing
though. Buh-bye." I hang up. As I begin to walk away from the phone it
rings again.
"What do you want with me, huh? Want to humiliate me some more?"
"No. I want to talk."
"You can kiss my ass, we're done talking."
"No,
we're not! We're nowhere near done talking. I know you slept with
David. I know what you are trying to do and I think its pathetic." She
is spits each word out as if it is poisonous.
"What am I trying to do that you haven't already done?"
"That's low, even for you."
"Really?
Low, you say? Hm, you know what's low? Low is, oh I don't know,
stealing your best friend's fiance away from her on her wedding day.
That's pretty low, don't you think? Or encouraging your best friend's
boyfriend, fiance, significant asshole to sleep with her and propose to
her even though he isn't in love with her. That's pretty low too. You
know what's really low though? The fact that you have the gall to be
upset with me for sleeping with your husband when you've been sleeping
with my boyfriend for Lucifer's dark angels only know how long. So suck
it the fuck up and get over yourself." With that I hang up, again. This
time she doesn't call back.
To be honest, I can't help but want
her to call again so I can rant some more. It feels nice to finally say
all the things I've kept bottled up since this whole mess started. When
you think about it, it is truly unfair that she hasn't let me do this
sooner. I wish she would call back. Of course, I have caller ID so I
could technically call her, but its so much more satisfying to have her
crawling back for another heaping helping of bitch.
I am so riled
up that I can't sleep now. I pace around the floor wondering if she'll
get up the nerve to call me again. I practice what I'd like to say to
her, the sniveling coward. It is one thing for her to steal my man out
from under me and claim to be my friend, but heaven forbid I utilize
turnabout to do the same. How could I have been so completely blind to
all of this?
Out of the blue I decide to bake a pie. I don't
really care what kind of pie. I just want to make one. Something to keep
my mind off Alice, off of Jahan, off of everything. At least for a
little while. I scour my cupboards for pudding mixes and discover I have
a pistachio pudding and a chocolate cherry. I opt for the pistachio and
busily set about making a crust for it. It is so much fun that I
completely forget that my ex-lover and my ex-best friend are probably
having sex right now and I'm just making a pie so that I can get fat. Or
not.
After my crust is done baking I fill it with pistachio
pudding and put it in the fridge. I pop in a Cary Grant DVD and get a
bowl of Vanilla Latte ice cream while I wait for my pie to firm up. Why
can't all men be suave and sophisticated like Cary Grant? Why can't I
find a sweet, funny, intelligent and handsome man who will completely
sweep me off my feet?
After that movie is over I pop in "Gone
with the Wind" and decide that it is already one in the morning, may as
well watch a long movie. I end up falling asleep just as Miss Melanie
has her baby and Rhett swoops in to save the day.
I dream of
Clark Gable and Cary Grant whisking me away in a horse drawn carriage
through a burning city with a Godzilla sized bitch-o-saurus named Alice
chasing after us. At the last minute we are saved by a talking pistachio
pie that leads us to a night club in the middle of a desert. The
desert, of course, is located inside a giant beating heart and there is a
handsome Asian man across the ventricles beckoning me to dance with
him. He kisses me and the heart explodes into a thousand beautiful
pieces and I wake up alone, and utterly bewildered, in my apartment.
That is the last time I eat Vanilla Latte ice cream and watch "Gone with the Wind" before bed.
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