by Liv Morris
DRUNK and DISORDERLY
by Liv Morris
Copyright © 2013 Liv Morris
Digital Edition: June 2013
Edited by Dee Ward
Cover image licensed by www.istockphoto.com
Cover Photo design by Jada D’Lee
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. If certain places or characters are referenced it is for entertainment purposes only.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the Author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Dedication
Dedicated to Michelle Esch.
Thank you for giving me the best refrigerator magnet ever. Without it, this book would likely not exist.
Table of Contents
DRUNK and DISORDERLY
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
A Sneak Peek of Adam’s Apple
About the Author
Chapter 1
People often ask me how I met “The Infamous Andrew Cooper.” He’s rather a big deal here in Atlanta. You see, Andrew is a former NFL star and tight end for the Atlanta Falcons. The best way to describe Andrew? Chiseled, sculpted from head to toe, drop dead (or your panties) handsome and he sports a rather luscious tight end himself. Basically, he’s a rival to Michelangelo’s David. Can you hear me sighing at the comparison? Oh, another important thing I almost forgot. He’s also the man I fell desperately in hate with. Yes, hate. I’ll explain that part later.
Who am I? Well, I’m, Amelia Montgomery. My friends call me Millie. I’m just an average girl who was raised in the Deep South. Nothing spectacular or unique about me except perhaps my freakish love for art. I’m just your normal, everyday girl next door. This little fact makes the story of how Andrew and I met even harder to believe. And to think it all began with a simple phone call one August morning…
Somewhere in my purse, I hear my cell phone’s ring tone going off. When I finally get my hands on it and view the screen, I see a number I don’t recognize. My heart starts to race when I realize it’s an Atlanta area code. I’ve been hoping and praying for a call from there. Maybe the man upstairs isn’t too upset with me after all.
“Hello?” I answer quickly.
“Is this Amelia Montgomery?” an older man asks.
“Yes, sir. This is she.” Gotta love those good old-fashioned Southern manners.
“Good morning, Ms. Montgomery. This is Stuart Reynolds, the principal of Peachtree High School in Atlanta. I hope I’m calling at a good time.”
Be still my thumping heart. It was the call. “Oh, this is a perfect time. I’m not doing a thing right now.”
Hell, could I sound any more pathetic? Truth is I’m beyond desperate. Panic mode is more like it. I haven’t heard back from a single high school that I’ve applied to for a position as an art teacher. Wait, sorry, that’s not totally true. I’ve heard back from them, but they’ve all given me a big fat, NO! No, we aren’t hiring. No, we don’t want you. And last but not least, Please, no more phone calls or inquiries; we’ll call you if and when we have an opening.
Four years of undergraduate studies and a master’s degree in education and I haven’t had even a tiny nibble. Until now.
“Glad this is a good time.” I swear I hear a little laugh in his voice. I cringe and try to take a few deep breaths away from the phone. I didn’t want to sound like a perverted heavy breather through the receiver. “I’m calling to discuss a position that has just opened up at our high school. Our current art teacher is retiring. A very sudden thing. I guess winning the lottery will do that to you.”
He’s really chuckling now. I like this guy, Mr. Reynolds. He’s made me relax, put me at ease, and I’m actually breathing normally again.
“I can imagine,” I pipe in.
“That gets me to the purpose of my call today. I would like to have you come to Atlanta for an interview as the art teacher’s replacement. Your friend, Priscilla Caldwell, has recommended you to us and it looks like we have your resume and information here too.”
I know, I know. That name! Priscilla. Her mother is a big Elvis fan. Did I mention her middle name is Presley? Crazy, right? She’s my lifelong friend and also a biology teacher at Peachtree. And right now, she’s my favorite person on God’s green earth. Oh, by the way, no offense if your name is Priscilla.
“I’d love to come interview for the position.” I want to start jumping around like a monkey but I manage to keep myself still. Not an easy feat for me. “And yes, you should have all my information and the most up-to-date resume too. I sent it a few weeks ago just in case an opening came up.”
“I see you have references from your student teaching days as well as photos of your own art portfolio. You’re very talented, Ms. Montgomery.”
“Thank you.” I feel like he can see me blushing through the phone’s connection. “Art’s my passion so that really means a lot to me.”
“Well, your work is definitely impressive.” I can’t hold the excitement in any longer and start pumping my fist into the air. I hope I’m not celebrating too early, but I can’t imagine this conversation going any better, other than Mr. Reynolds telling me I’m starting next week. “I’d like to have you come in this Wednesday at 10a.m. Does that time work out well with your schedule?”
I almost said, “What schedule?” but thankfully, I held my tongue.
“Let me check—.” I pause for a moment. I’m lying as you know, but I hate to appear too anxious. “That works out well for me. I’m really looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Reynolds.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting you too.” Again, I swear there’s a quiet laugh behind his words. Maybe he’s just a jolly guy, but his demeanor is so different from the jaded principals I’ve met over the last few years while working as a student teacher. “Come to the front office, and my assistant, Mrs. Peterson, will give you some forms to fill out. General employment documents. Boring bureaucratic paperwork.”
“Thanks again for calling and considering me for this position.”
“You’re welcome, Ms. Montgomery. Have a good day and see you on Wednesday.”
As soon as our connection ends, I pull up Priscilla’s number and call her.
“Hey, Millie.”
“Oh, my God! Guess who just called me?” I am officially jumping up and down now.
“That’s an easy one, Mr. Reynolds, right?” She’s laughing at me.
“I guess I don’t have to wonder how you knew. But, Priscilla, I can’t thank you enough.”
“It was nothing, really. I think you have a good chance at getting this job. They’re only interviewing two people. You and another teacher from the area.” I stop dead in my tracks. Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.
“Another teacher? Someone with experience?” I’m hoping she says no.
“Yes, but don’t worry. I think you’re a shoe-in. Honestly, I do.” I flop myself back onto the sofa as the air is being released out of my happy balloon.
“Well, I hate to get too excited about it, but I hope that you’re right. I really need this job. All those student loans I have freak me out.”
“Don’t I know. When’s your interview?”
“In two days, on Wednesday. Ten in the morning. Which is perfect. Not too early.” I can do mornings, but I should wear a sign around my neck stating, “Proceed with caution.”
“I’m assuming you’ll drive to Atlanta tomorrow?”
“I just got off the phone with Mr. Reynolds, but that makes sense. Do you mind if I stay at your place? I don’t think I can spring for a hotel right now.” I can’t borrow another cent from my folks as I’ve been a leach long enough.
“Mi casa’s your casa. You know that. I’m leaving Wednesday morning to visit my mother in Florida. She wants me to see her new place.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot that your mother moved away from Augusta.” Priscilla and I grew up in Augusta, Georgia. Great place, but I want to live in Atlanta so badly. It’s always been my dream.
“I’m not staying there long. I’ll be back in Atlanta on Friday. Why don’t you stay at my place until I get back? We can hang out over the weekend together. Hopefully celebrate your new job.”
“Sounds great and thanks. Thanks for everything. I wouldn’t have this job interview if it wasn’t for you.”
“It was no biggie. You’ll do great. I have a good feeling about this. You know the teacher who’s job your applying for won the lottery? The mother effing lottery. Seems like fate to me that this came up for you.”
“Yeah, Mr. Reynolds told me that. I hope you’re right as I could us a big dose of fate right about now.”
“I hear you on that one. What time were you thinking about coming in tomorrow?”
“I’ll shoot for around noon. That will give us the whole afternoon and evening to catch up. Does that sound okay?”
“Works for me. Can’t wait to see you.”
“Same here. See you tomorrow.”
Chapter 2
So I’m skipping ahead to Wednesday morning at about 9:30 a.m., a few minutes shy of my interview time. Priscilla and I had a great time together on Tuesday. We ordered pizza from her favorite place and drank a couple beers while watching the movie, Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion, one of my personal favorites.
It was a great girl’s night in but we ended it early. I wanted to get some sleep and look rested, not hung over for the job interview the next day, so lights were out just before eleven. The pizza put me into a carb coma, which let me turn my mind off and get a full night’s sleep.
Anyway, I’m just now entering the main office Mr. Reynolds told me about. It appears orderly and quiet, most likely due to the fact that school isn’t in session right now. I tiptoe into the room so my heels don’t click on the hard tiles announcing that I’m here.
Toward the back office area, I see a woman typing away on her laptop. She doesn’t hear me come in. Now I’m worried that I’ll scare the shit out of her when I do speak so I let my heels fall onto the tile before I make it to the carpeted area.
We now have eye contact and the woman, who I’m assuming is Mrs. Peterson, smiles at me. A very welcoming sight indeed. I see she’s dressed very casually and I feel a little overdressed in my interview attire. I’m wearing a navy dress, with a respectable hem length and little cap sleeves. I opted against pantyhose. You may not know this but a woman showing up to a job interview in the South without stockings on is almost a cardinal sin. However, it’s ninety-one degrees outside and as humid as the rainforest so I left the hose at home. After seeing how casual this woman is, I’m thankful that I did.
“Mrs. Peterson?” I ask.
“Yes, you must be Ms. Montgomery.”
“That’s me.” I smile big back at her.
“Well, welcome to Peachtree High. You’re early.” I like arriving early to important things like this. I bet that surprises you. Most people would likely peg me as being late to everything, but in this one area of my life I’ve risen above my chaotic, scattered self.
“Just a little bit. Mr. Reynolds said there was some paperwork that I needed to fill out, so I thought I’d get here a little early. Get a head start on it if possible.”
“You’re right. There is a lot of paperwork for you. Forms galore.” She reaches for a clipboard and hands it to me. “Here’s everything you need to fill out. If you’d like, you can sit at the empty desk up front. The receptionist is on vacation until the week before school starts up again. I’m pretty much Mr. Reynolds’ gatekeeper for now.” She laughs but I have a feeling she keeps good guard for him. I see something in her eyes. They have a keen, observing look to them like she misses nothing.
“Thanks.” I take the clipboard and proceed to the desk Mrs. Peterson suggested. As I’m finishing the forms a door opens up and I hear two people speaking behind me. Their voices fill the silent room. Looking in the direction of the sounds, I see a portly man standing at the door behind Mrs. Peterson’s desk.
I think it’s safe to assume the man in the doorway is Mr. Reynolds. Funny thing though, he resembles Boss Hogg on the old TV show Dukes of Hazzard, minus the white suit. As a southern girl, I suffered through watching reruns of that show with my dear father. A few years ago, Jessica Simpson starred in the movie remake of the TV sitcom. Truthfully, it isn’t even close to the real thing. Most remakes never are.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Reynolds.” I hear a sex-laced, sultry female’s voice. You know the kind that makes men fall to their knees. With my eye trained on the office door, I watch a woman walk through the threshold and stand a couple feet from Boss Hogg’s twin brother.
As I get a closer look at this woman, I believe a better term for her is drop-dead gorgeous. Jeez. She’s tall, statuesque-like, and her silky, long hair would make any Crystal Gayle fan hot under the collar. Who’s Crystal Gayle you’re likely wondering? She’s an old-school country singer whose brown eyes turned blue with hair so long it was likely a safety hazard.
The interaction between Mr. Reynolds and “The Hair” is blatantly flirtatious. She’s coyly batting her eyelashes and he appears to be blushing a bit too. She reaches out and shakes his hand. The way he’s looking between her and their joined hands makes me wonder if he might dip his head and plant a kiss on her knuckles.
“We’ll let you know one way or another about the teaching position, Ms. Lannon. You should be hearing from us by the middle of next week. We need to get the art teacher position filled as soon as possible.”
Wait. What? This is my competition?
Holy crap. Did you hear my hopes and dreams hit the floor just now? Hold it. That sound was just my pen crashing against the tile when I dropped it in shock. But the scuffle of my reaching down and retrieving the damn thing has everyone’s eyes on me now.
Looking up from my half-bent position to pick-up the pen, I give my audience a weak smile. It says, “I’m sorry to have bothered you. Please look away.” And thankfully they do.
“I look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Reynolds. If you have any more questions, give me a call. You have my number.” The Hair continues on unaffected by my interruption. She’s as smooth as silk.
She turns away from him to exit the office and it feels like her parade across the room’s in slow motion. Each step she takes with her long legs, every flip of her glossy hair, and each twist of her hip, all in slow motion. She floats by the desk I’m cowering at without even a glance in my direction.
All I can think of is how totally and utterly screwed I am. Maybe I should just gather up my purse and leave. Avoid the humiliation. But I really need this job desperately, so I sit up straight as a board in my chair and pray that my confidence returns. I plaster on a fake smile that says the glamazon’s beauty pageant presence means nothing to me. But you know that I’m a big, fat liar. That woman totally outshines me. She’s a hot bonfire and I’m just a flickering flame compared to her.
After she’s left the office area, I pick up the clipboard on the table and start walking back toward Mrs. Peterson. All the paperwork is filled out, as if it even matters at this point.
“Here’
s the paperwork. I believe it’s all completed.” As I’m standing at her desk, I swear I smell the lingering scent of some expensive perfume. I bet The Hair left it behind. Dammit. I have to admit it smells divine.
“Thanks, Ms. Montgomery. Let me introduce you to Principal Reynolds.” Mrs. Peterson rises out of her chair and motions for me to join her on the other side of her desk and I politely comply.
“Mr. Reynolds, this is Amelia Montgomery.” Sweet Mrs. Peterson. She winks at me as she finishes the introduction. I wonder if she can sense my disappointment after seeing the last candidate breeze through here.
“Ms. Montgomery. Pleasure to meet you. Thanks for coming in all the way from Augusta on such short notice.” We shake hands quickly as he welcomes me.
“Nice to meet you too and it was no problem. Two days was plenty of time to get to Atlanta.”
“Why don’t we step into my office?” Mr. Reynolds speaks to me as he turns and walks back through the open door of his office.
I smile back at Mrs. Peterson and follow behind Mr. Reynolds. Once in the office, I see a wall of windows taking up the entire back wall giving the room a nice view. The office isn’t too large but there’s enough space for a couple of chairs.
“Please have a seat.” He points to one of the chairs in front of his desk.
I sit down gracefully and then the questions begin…
“So tell me a little about yourself, Ms. Montgomery.”
That’s also when the lies begin to pour out of me like a gusher. I sure as heck can’t tell him the sad truth. That I’m an unemployed, overeducated slacker living back at my parents’ house. A place I swore I’d only visit on special occasions and government holidays. But reality bites, so I basically lie my ass off. Literally, there was nothing left of said ass when the interview was finished. It’s a good thing I didn’t wear pantyhose after all or they’d have fallen down around my knees. There isn’t anything there now to hold them up.