Whisky Moments

by Bowie, Emily

  “Think about it,” I state as the two-minute warning is called out for the hermit races to begin. Standing, I reach for her hand, loving the way it feels in mine and pulling her toward the bar. Before long, a crowd has gathered and I’ve caged her into my arms. Her perfume keeps hitting me as more people start calling out their crab of choice. Each hermit crab has a colored sticker on their back. The three crabs—red, blue, and yellow—sit on a red circle with a mesh cage on top of them.

  “Red!” I call out. Unable to rest, I speak low into her ear, “What color is it going to be?”

  “Yellow.”

  She hasn’t once told me to remove my hand that rests, holding onto the bar, while she stays put. An air horn blows, and people start cheering as the cage is lifted off. The first crab to touch the black outline of the circle mat is considered the winner.

  “Winner’s choice?” I place my fate into an unknown crab. She looks up at me, nodding, her smile growing bigger by the second as she begins to cheer for her crab.

  “Blue!” is the winner called out. “Don’t worry, folks. It’s going to be best out of three this round,” the announcer with the microphone tells the happy crowd.

  “Drink?” I question as I raise my hand out for the bartender to grab me a beer.

  “No, I’m good.” Her eyes stay on the board as the crabs are set under the mesh cage once again.

  “Want to change your winner?”

  She turns around, her back against the ledge while her forehead creases as she looks me up and down. Her finger trails up my chest till she taps me on the cheek twice. “Nervous I’ll win?”

  A full, deep chuckle leaves me. “Nope, I’m looking forward to us spending a lot more nights together.” I wink at her, my body fully relaxed, enjoying myself. “Once you get to know me, you’ll see I’m a fun guy. I’m betting you might actually learn to like me. You’ll be calling me your new best friend in no time.”

  “You want to be my best friend?”

  “I’d rather know what you taste like, but I’ll settle for best friend.” I wiggle my eyebrows, loving the way her cheeks pinken at my comment.

  “At the end of the night, you’re still going to be homeless.”

  “If it means having you by my side, I’ll take that homeless option. I’ll even let you snap another picture.”

  This has her glaring at me and turning around just as the cage is lifted off the crabs. This time, the yellow and red crabs are practically crawling on each other, heading toward the finish while the blue one has yet to step off the red circle.

  “It’s a tie, folks!” is hollered into the room. My beer is handed to me, and I take a long sip.

  “What should happen if neither of us wins?” I ask her, wanting her attention back.

  “I go home by myself,” she responds instantly.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” My hand releases the ledge and comes up in a questioning gesture.

  “To be honest, Rhett, I don’t have time in my life for fun. I don’t have time for you or your games.” She sighs.

  “Round three!”

  Neither of us moves to look at the hermit crabs. “If you need me to be serious, I can do that too.”

  Her look is so full of expression, showing me she thinks that’s impossible. I’m a hard worker, just like her. What she doesn’t realize is the media has chosen to portray both of us in the opposite ends of the spectrum, when we’re more alike than either of us would have ever thought.

  “Blue wins.”

  “Looks like we’re stuck together now.”

  She thinks about what I’m saying, and I think I have her until she shakes her head. I panic—there is no other plan; this is it. And damn if I don’t think we have something together.

  “Rhett, I can’t.” My breath is sucked out of me. I see everything washing away, including her.

  “I know about the hospital,” I bluff. All I know is she goes there but not to volunteer.

  Her face pales immediately, her eyes darting around to see if anyone is listening.

  “Fuck you, Rhett.” She’s back to being all fire.

  This is territory I’m used to. I know how to control this. “Your call, roommate.”

  She stares me down, probably envisioning my death in some slow manner.

  “Goodbye, Rhett.” She pushes me back, walking away from me, from us.

  “Race you home,” I smugly respond, reminding her I already moved in. It’s amazing what I can get done just by flashing my face around.

  She stomps her foot in frustration before she storms out of the dimly lit bar.

  For the first time in my life, I feel bad for dragging someone into my world who didn’t want to be there. Camilla deserves better, but I need her more. I vow to myself this won’t be in vain. I’ll make sure her career lights up like a fucking Christmas tree. It’s all I can offer her.

  Walking to the bar, I hold up one finger. “Give me your best Canadian whisky.” It feels fitting.

  “Crown Royal coming up.” He turns to the shelving behind him and pours me a shot glass full.

  “I’ve known you for four years and you have never once ordered a whisky.”

  “What can I say? I’m learning to appreciate the beautiful things in life.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Sure as heck, I open my door and piled in my small living room is a bunch of crap that’s not mine. Boxes with no labels are scattered throughout my living room without any care about placement, turning my perfectly organized house into a mess. Placing my hands on top of my head, I do a full circle, still unsure how this happened under my watch.

  Blowing my breath out, I begin to realize that my nemesis has now become my new unwanted roommate. I don’t know how Rhett thinks he can get away with shit like this. Rounding the corner is my black-and-white ‘cat’—or so her license claims. She’s about the size of a small dog and cuddly as hell. She curls around my foot before I pick her up.

  “How was your night, Mrs. Skunk? Did those men scare you or did you scare them? Make them think they’d need a tomato juice bath later?” I hope it’s the latter. She nudges her head into me as I pet the top of her head. I found her two years ago when I was back home in Alberta. Her mother was killed and she and her litter were left to try to survive without her. She was the only one that made it. I had her scent glands removed and she’s been with me ever since.

  I’m too tired and emotionally drained from everything Rhett to even deal with the mountain of stuff now sitting in my house. If I lived in a building with security, this would have never happened. I shut that thought down, knowing Rhett would’ve found a way no matter what. Picking up the chain lock, I flick it into place. Something tells me Rhett will be trying to sleep here tonight.

  *

  Waking up in the morning, I stretch, placing my hand out for Mrs. Skunk, but she’s nowhere in my room. That’s odd. Then I realize my house is silent. There was no knocking or banging in the middle of the night. A smile takes over as I think I’ve beat Rhett at his own game. Camilla—1, Rhett—0.

  My feet patter against my beautiful hardwood as I head into my no-expense-spared kitchen. I bought this house, loving its location. It’s close enough to work and the city for me. But it’s not pretentious. I gutted the whole place, making it mine when I bought it. It’s my sanctuary.

  Rounding the corner, the first thing I see are large feet dangling off my suede couch. My mouth hangs open, realizing he’s beat me in his game. Crossing my arms, I inspect him with disdain.

  He better not have drooled and caused a stain.

  Walking over to him, forgetting about my coffee, I nudge his foot with mine, not wanting to touch him more than necessary. He doesn’t even stir. Instead, I see my lazy, striped pet stretching out beside his head like I just woke her up from the greatest sleep she’s ever had.

  How the hell did he get in here?

  “Traitor,” I scold in a hushed tone, and she shows me her teeth before placing her ass up in the air and curli
ng upright on his head. If my cell phone was in my hand, I’d be calling the cops on him right now. Not only is he trying to blackmail me, but now my cute, innocent skunk likes him more than me! I’ve been replaced, and it took less than six hours. “I bottle-fed you,” I tell Mrs. Skunk, who pretends not to hear me.

  I kick him harder on his leg, and his body moves, a loud, awful snore escaping his throat. It sounds phlegmy and like he’s choking on it. It doesn’t stop until he turns over on his own. I watch in disgust as his chest rises and falls till another loud choking phlegm sound escapes. If I were sleeping, I would swear a train was going right through my house. Continuing my examination of him, I’m taken aback. His face is red. As I get closer, Mrs. Skunk finally gets annoyed by all the movements and jumps off him. His eyes are swollen, his face puffy.

  What the hell happened to him?

  “Rhett?” I don’t know what to do, seeing his face like this, and his throat makes another awful vibration. I forget all about asking how he managed to break into my house and calling the cops.

  Slowly, I see movement behind his eyelids. His eyes are practically swollen shut as he tries to open them.

  “What’s wrong with your face?” I’m terrified and horrified. I might hate the man, but I don’t want him found dead in my house either.

  Sitting up, he sneezes close to ten times in a row. “Do you have a pet?” he wheezes out, and I watch his nose begin to run.

  If I wasn’t so scared he might die in my house, I would find this ironic and satisfying. But I get none of those feelings. I’m actually worried for him. My eyes feel like they’re ten sizes larger, and I begin to debate what to do.

  “Yes, I would have told you this if you asked before you moved in.” My voice is rising and going an octave higher than normal as I begin to pace around his boxes.

  “Benadryl.” He chokes on some phlegm.

  “I think you need more than that.” I’m already going to my room to change into somewhat presentable clothing in order to drive him to the hospital. As fast as humanly possible, I drag on a pair of sweatpants, a large hoodie, and a hat, hoping it will be discreet enough. I don’t need to be seen in public with Rhett again.

  “I will be fine. I used to live on a ranch; I know how to handle myself.” Even in his state, he’s full of confidence. I make a disagreeing puff, knowing he’s already trying to push me even on this. Rhett can’t do anything easy.

  Grabbing my purse, I go to take his arm, and the smell of alcohol has me holding my breath. He’s still wearing the same clothes from last night, so that doesn’t help him. His shower is going to have to wait. But once I save him, he better be thankful and move along to his next victim.

  His body is sluggish at first as I guide him to my front door, his movements slowly picking up as I get him near my car. I’m not even sure if he can see, because his eyes are so puffy and red. He holds onto my waist as I lead him.

  His whole large self plops down into the passenger seat, shaking the frame. “You’re not going to let me drive?” he tries to joke as he grunts, turning his body into the small space. I can’t respond, even in the severity of his condition, he can’t take it seriously. When I don’t respond, he lets his seat fall backward.

  “Drug store,” he commands, tilting his head back in what looks like he’s concentrating on breathing without making too much noise.

  I’ve had it with him. If he doesn’t want help, I can’t force him to take it. He’s the one who’s going to have to go out in public looking the way he does.

  Dragging him into the store against my own opinion, I take him to the counter, explaining what happened and asking what the pharmacist suggests we use.

  I’ve tried to put us “undercover” by placing baseball caps on, but I still notice a few people staring. All I can think about is killing Rhett Steele as soon as he is healthy enough. I want to be able to enjoy it, and right now, he’s sucking all the fun out of this situation.

  When we get home, I watch in horror as he begins to self-medicate, going against the directions he was given. I swear he listens to no one but himself.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve done this before,” he informs me with his know-it-all attitude. Within an hour, he’s back to being passed out on my couch, and his shit is still making a mess in my living room.

  How is this my life?

  Going to check his pulse and to make sure he’s breathing, I find it’s strong. It kills me to do it, but for the first time ever, I lock up my Mrs. Skunk in the bathroom till I can figure out how to get Rhett out of my house.

  Heading to the hospital for my appointment, my cell phone rings. The caller ID says Savior, because he’s saved me more times than not.

  “Hey,” I answer, walking through the sliding glass doors and heading toward the elevator.

  “I have bad news and honest news. Which one do you want?” Charlie, my in at TMZ, states dryly.

  My heartbeat picks up and I close my eyes. “What’s the bad news?” I already know the honest news. I’ve worked my whole career to keep this as my own personal business. In order to do that, I’ve had to sell other stories about myself.

  “There’s a story about a drunk, beat-up Rhett, and you’re guiding him in to get more prescription drugs that he uses to get high with. It’s been said that after not even one day of living with you, he’s had to succumb to his old habits, and you’re the reason.”

  “So pretty much I’m being put down for his downfall?” This is bullshit.

  “You are the Black Widow. It’s what you do,” my friend teases me. We both know it’s not true, but if it means I don’t get press on the other side of my life, I will accept what they write.

  “This will blow away the other story, and it’s not on the block. I can guarantee it.”

  “Do it,” I say strongly. I don’t care what people say about me. They don’t know me. I’m stronger than that.

  “Are you sure? I think people would respect what you’re doing.”

  “Stop. This isn’t my story to tell anymore.”

  “You’re too good for the line of work you’re in.” This isn’t the first time he’s told me that.

  “No one else knows that. We good?” I ask, confirming what I’m doing at the hospital stays with only me.

  CHAPTER 15

  The Black Widow takes a bite out of her next song.

  The hourglass figure of the one and only Black Widow is seen pulling a drunk and beat up Rhett Steele into a local pharmacy to get him some drugs. It looks like she wants to play with her meal before swallowing him whole.

  “I couldn’t have planned this better!” Dick is practically salivating at the news story. My fists clench, hating his every word. This isn’t about my image anymore to me. I honestly want to get to know Camilla, and sadly, this is the only way I know she can’t refuse me.

  “I don’t know what you’re so happy about. Look at me. I look drunk, high, and like I got the shit beat out of me.” This picture has to be my worst yet. There is no way I would have won that CMA award if this came out before then.

  “What are you talking about? This is you.” Dick levels me with a look. “You can’t afford to keep yourself out of the headlines, so we have to guide them to be in a better light. This paper is blaming Camilla for your stupidity. It’s the best-case scenario we talked about. You can’t get your shit together, and this is better than the truth. A pussy sat on your face, and you got hives.” He laughs at my expense, hitting his leg as he does.

  Dick is blunt and always to the point. It’s one of the reasons I like him. In this industry, it’s hard to find people like this. Yet this, I can’t see the humor in it, and for the first time, I find myself disagreeing with Dick. It’s not helping Camilla or me.

  My gut twists, feeling guilty that I’ve placed Camilla into this position. For as much as she hates me right now, I know being nice to me must have killed her. I’m slowly starting to realize this girl always puts everyone else first above herself.

  “
Maybe I should head to Three Rivers for a few days?” I think aloud, wondering if this needs a day or so to pass.

  “What is it with you and that place? When I found you, you practically ran as fast as you could to get away. Now, I can’t seem to keep you away from it.”

  I scratch my head, thinking about it. I guess I’m not the scared boy I was back then. I’ve changed, and no one intimidates me anymore. I’ve had to get thicker skin, living where everyone puts me under the microscope and dissects my life for every moment they get.

  I don’t tell him this. In fact, it’s been years since I’ve thought about it. Not living in Three Rivers allowed me to erase my old life. But now, I seem closer to my family than I ever was before.

  I shrug, placing my hands in my pockets. I feel bad for talking about this in Camilla’s house after she was the one to help me with my allergic reaction. My body feels itchy from her pet skunk. I try to focus on Dick instead of scratching my skin. I need a shower to try to clean the hair and dandruff of her precious pet off me. I look to her main bathroom, where the black and white “cat” is. Looks like I’m going to have to shower in her room now that the guest bathroom has been contaminated.

  “Can you book me my flight?” I stretch, allowing my hands to move above my head.

  He shakes his head. I wonder if it’s a money thing and make a note to check my bank account. Slowly, it’s going up, but not by the amount I’m used to.

  “Nope. I have you booked doing a concert. Some fundraiser thing. There was a last-minute cancelation and I got you in.”

  I stare down at him, feeling like this is not what I need right now.

  “You’ll thank me later, son.” He pats me on the shoulder, and I grit my teeth, like every time he calls me son. I’m not his son. And when did he get the idea he makes all my decisions for me like this? He walks out, leaving me by myself. I’m left standing here, wondering when my life stopped being mine. When did I stop making my own decisions?