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“There’s something else. That’s it, right? You aren’t telling me everything?”
I shrugged. “Fine. I’m scared he’ll take him away from me.” Olivia gave me a bewildered look. “When he finally accepts Jason as his son, he might want to take him away from me, and I’d be too helpless to stop him.”
“Darling, trust me, you’ve got to tell him.”
Did I really, though?
- ALE AND LOOSE TONGUES
ADRIAN BLACK
Evening came with a sharp orange glow and contrasting grey clouds. It had been a really long day as there was a surge in the number of patients. It was good for business, but it was also alarming. I cracked my knuckles as I finished writing the last entry of my journal. I kept one for all the different aspects of my life. I guess you could say it keeps me in order. My eyes wandered from the clock on the wall to the framed picture of my girls on the desk. It was 8 pm, and as much as I loved my girls, I wasn’t looking forward to going home.
In the past week, I’ve had to call Claire and have her babysit the girls a total of five times. And the nights have been tough too. As I swept into the dimly lit bar, I was hit with the usual smell of sweat and cheap booze. I stumbled upon the bar a few days after Dana’s demise. And despite it been whack, I loved that there were no chances of bumping into anyone I knew, as no one in my class would frequent a bar like that. Well, no one except me. The familiar dark red walls were welcoming as I strolled in, clutching my bag tightly to my side. You never can tell in a place like that. I walked to the liquor counter and flashed a forced smile at the bartender, Simon. I took a seat on one of the wooden bar stools. A few people were already seated. I ordered a glass of whisky and took a quick look around the bar as Simon poured my drink.
And there she was, hunched over the counter. She was difficult to miss with her thick red locks that always came across as shimmering. She beckoned on Simon while pushing her empty glass forward. Long, endless legs were on display as she wobbled off the stool. Even plowed, she still looked very beautiful. Her skin glowed from perspiration or excellent cosmetics. It was hard to tell. She bit her plump lower lip as she bent closer over the counter. I wondered what it would feel like to taste their honeyed softness.
“Who do I need to sleep with around here to get a drink?” she yelled over the sound of music pouring in through speakers fixed to the four corners of the bar. Simon pushed a glass of bubbly brown liquid, and she snatched it and downed it in one go, almost. Almost because, like a flash of lightning, I was by her side and took the glass out of her hand.
“Hey. Why’d you do that?” Her face creased in a frown, and she tried to reach for the glass, but I pushed it out of her reach. She stumbled, and I quickly caught and steadied her.
“You’re definitely wasted.”
She shook her head vehemently, her frown now morphing into a full-blown death glare.
“I think you need to slow down.”
“And I think you should piss off.’
Oops, kitty’s got claws.
“She’s been here for a while. Five cups of whiskey, and she’s wasted. Now I need to call someone or find her a ride,” Simon ranted.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got this handled,” I assured. I’d like to assume that he didn’t make it a norm to have patrons ‘handle’ other patrons, but he had a lot on his hands and could use the help.
I grabbed her arm and pulled her to the section of the bar with comfortable cushioned chairs and ordered a glass of water with lemon. “Here, gently,” I crooned as I helped her settle into the more comfortable seat.
“Is there anyone I can call to come pick you up?”
Something must have been on my face ‘cause I was pretty sure I didn’t say anything funny, and yet, there she was, throwing her head back in rancorous laughter. I whipped around, trying to see if I could find the source of her amusement. But there was no such thing. With a soft sigh, I stooped over her, lowering my head to her level.
“I didn’t come here to babysit either. I’m just trying to help. If I could just get a name…”, I trailed off while searching for her phone in her small shoulder bag.
“Why?”
“Why what?” I found the phone, and next came the herculean task of unlocking it.
She poked at my chest. “Why are you trying to help me?”
I gave a little shrug and typed in 1-2-3. Surely no one would be so stupid to use such an easy password.
Incorrect.
“What’s your password?”
“Why should I tell you?” she snarled.
“‘Cause I’m trying to help.”
