Chapter Fourteen
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 whisky, 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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