Angellica
Things went downhill pretty quickly. The morning after Aunt Mable and I had our heartbreak feast, this morning to be exact, I was thrust into the hangover from all hangovers by my ringing cell phone. As it turns out, when I was really drunk, Aunt Mable convinced me to apply for a job as a school nurse in the sleepy little town of Tall Pines, Texas; bayou adjacent mind you. Upon wiping the drool from my mouth and the crust from my eyes, I answered my phone.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Yes, is this Miss Andrews?” A sweet old lady voice asked.
“Yes, this is she?” I answer.
“This is Mrs. Truesdal, I am the secretary of Tall Pines High School. I’m calling to offer you an interview for the school nurse position.”
“What?” I barked confused.
“The school nurse position. We would very much like to meet you, Ms. Andrews. I have a spot open with the Principal and the Mayor at four o’clock this afternoon.”
“Ma’am, I’m in New York. I am fairly sure I couldn’t make it there in time. I am very sorry.” And also concerned because I cannot remember applying for a job in a town I have been to once in my entire life.
“My understanding is that all the arrangements have already been made. We will see you at the school at four o’clock.” And with that she hung up on me.
I look up, unsure of what just happened. Clearly, people in Texas are straight up crazy. There is no way I can make it to Texas by this afternoon. I don’t even have plane tickets to Dallas and then another puddle jumper to a small airport in East Texas. From there, it’s finding a ride to Tall Pines. When I raise my gaze, Aunt Mable is standing in the entry way to the kitchen looking at me with a guilty smirk on her face.
“What did you do?” I growl narrowing my gaze on my duplicitous aunt.
“Just helping you get to Texas, baby.” She says with a syrupy sweet smile and a wink.
“And how, pray tell, did you accomplish that?” I question firmly.
“Well, the owner of the Winkler owns another gallery in Dallas. I might have promised him a showing of originals that I will paint while we’re in Texas — Tall Pines inspired. So he offered his private plane. Which is really great news,” She hurries on. “Because we don’t have to fly to Dallas first, we can go direct to Lake Miller Field.” I sigh. She arranged it all. And with that thought, I ran to the bathroom and tossed my cookies, vowing never to drink again. Oh, the lies we tell ourselves.
While in the bathroom, I decide to wash the rest of the drunk out of my hair and off my skin. I brush my teeth twice and head to my room to get dressed. Deciding on comfort, I throw on my favorite dark jeggings that are secretly super comfy, a white vee neck t-shirt, a mustard yellow boyfriend cardigan and black ballet flats. I top it off with a multi colored paisley infinity scarf. I bundle my wet curls on top of my head in a messy bun and put my glasses on my face.
Quickly, I throw a decent interview outfit in my carryon bag and basic makeup bag. I throw more clothes and shoes in a duffle bag hoping against hope I didn’t forget anything. I head to the kitchen to pour a pot of coffee in my face but I must have stood up too fast because all of a sudden I feel clammy and dizzy.
“Here, try this.” Aunt Mable says as she hands me a glass with questionable contents. I raise a brow in question, but she merely shrugs and says, “Hair of the dog. You might want to just shoot it.” She says showing me every bit of the formidable ER nurse she was. I like to think I get that from her.
It looks like a bloody Mary so I figure it can’t be that bad. And let me tell you, I figured wrong. It was bloody Mary mix for sure, and it also had some vodka in it, but that was where the fun stopped because choking back the three raw eggs that bobbed around in it was tough stuff. I slammed the glass on the counter with a shudder and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Here, now chug this.” The “this” in question is a bottle of pedialyte. At this point, I will do anything to feel better and get the taste out of my mouth of that foul bloody Mary. When I set the bottle down, I feel better. Like livable better. I can’t believe I’m going to a job interview hungover. I’m moderately embarrassed for the state I seem to be finding myself in.
“Ok. I’m ready.” I say as we make our way out of the brownstone, lugging our bags into the back of a cab, and make our way to JFK. As we drive over the bridge, I thought, what if I never came back to New York, would anyone miss me? And then I thought, I don’t much care. Here’s to my next adventure.
We don’t go through the ticketing counter and security. Aunt Mable has the cabbie drive us through a back gate where our names are on a special list with security. He drives us all the way to the small hangars in the back where a small, sleek looking killer is waiting for us all shined up and freshly fueled.
A set of stairs folds down from the door, a smartly dressed man comes down and takes our suitcases from where the cabbie is unloading them from the trunk, and carried them up and into the airplane. I stare in awe at the plane, I have never traveled like this before.
“Well, are you coming or what?” Mable stares at me from halfway up the little stairs. I scurry out of the cab, throw my cute little coach purse over my shoulder, and grab my carryon with all my rations in it.
I climb the sleek chrome steps and am getting a little excited for this trip. When I walk through the door, there is the most gorgeous brunette smiling at me, telling me I can sit anywhere I want and that the bathroom was in the back.
I quickly stow my bag in the compartment and break out my iPad, thinking I’ll relax with either a movie or a fun book. Maybe a romance with a hot baseball player or a sexy fireman. I take my seat next to Aunt Mable and buckle up.
I’m surprised to hear an attractive woman’s husky voice over the intercom tell us that she is the Captain and that we should be taking off shortly. Girl power, I dig it. And it was possibly the smoothest flight ever. She taxied down the runway like a seasoned pro, takeoff was so easy, I was sure I was going to be sick since I was still a little hungover, but I never felt a thing. I look over at Aunt Mable, my eyes wide in surprise and she just smiles and winks at me.
I’m deep in my book about a handsome MLB player who is looking to end his wild ways and settle down with the girl next door, when the flight attendant places her hand on my shoulder.
“Would you like something to drink, Miss? I have juice, soft drinks, coffee, and a variety of adult beverages,” she tells me. My stomach turns at the thought of more alcohol. I look over at Aunt Mable and she’s daintily sipping a glass of champagne while she flips through some magazine like she does not have one care in the world.
“Maybe coffee. Black,” I tell her. She quietly pours me a mug. Like a real mug. And I hold the warmth in my hands. Talk about snazzy. This plane pulled out all the stops. And for the first time I’m wondering exactly what the intentions of this gallery owner are with my sweet aunt.
