Maybe Baby Lite

by ANDREA SMITH

  I finally managed to crawl up from my crouched position. I flushed the toilet, staggering over to the double sink vanity. I looked like something a cat puked up. My mascara was smeared halfway down my check on each side. My eyes were bloodshot and my hair was matted. I ran my fingers through it and realized it was vomit.

  Eeww!

  I debated whether I could stand long enough to take a shower. There's no way I was going to bed with puke in my hair. I made my way to my room, using the walls on each side of the hall to bounce off of until I reached it. I grabbed clean undies and Trey’s navy blue bathrobe and headed back to Trey’s bathroom.

  Once there, I stepped out of my clothes and turned the shower on, getting the temperature adjusted. I stepped in and began scrubbing myself. I shampooed my hair, twice. Gingerly stepping out of the shower, I wrapped my hair up in a towel and wrapped Trey’s robe around me.

  What to sleep in? I turned the light on in Trey’s closet and stepped in it was nearly the size of a small bedroom. He had rows of neatly pressed shirts, dress pants, casual pants, and shirts. I saw one of his french cuffed white business shirts hanging on a hook, as if he'd changed quickly and hadn’t had time to throw it in the laundry chute in the bathroom. I lifted one of the sleeves up to my face, catching his scent. I quickly shed the robe and put the shirt on, rolling up the sleeves as their length went clear over my hands. I buttoned it up to just above my breasts and rubbed it against my skin.

  I returned to Trey’s bathroom and brushed my teeth and gargled. My head was still pounding. I dug through the medicine chest and found some Advil, popping a couple. I didn’t bother to take the towel off of my head; I went back into the bedroom, pulled down the covers of Trey’s bed and climbed in, pulling the blankets up under my chin. I looked over at the clock on Trey’s bedside table. It was almost 3 a.m. How did we even get back here? I must've blacked out. So not good.

  It seemed as if no time had passed since my head hit the pillow that there was a faint knocking on my door.

  “Come in,” I called out, the echo of my voice reverberating in my head, amplified a hundred times. Gina bounced in, wearing her short silk robe, holding a cup of coffee and her unlit cigarette. She hopped up on the bed, putting her coffee on the nightstand, while she climbed under the covers.

  “You going to sleep all day, girlfriend?” she asked in her usual bubbly manner. She grabbed the remote off the nightstand and turned on the flat-screen. She channel surfed as well as any man I knew, and just before I was about to snap at her to stop, she landed a channel that caught her attention.

  “Oh Ty,” she said, “TCM's running Hitchcock movies all weekend!”

  “Oh God, turn it down a notch,” I said, wrapping the goose-down pillow around my still throbbing head.

  “This is one of my favorites, ‘Marnie,’” she continued, all bubbly and normal. She glanced over, sensing my less-than-enthusiastic mood. “You look like shit; we can fix that.”

  She bounced off of the bed and padded over to the intercom on the wall, hitting the button to alert someone on the staff. In a few moments, Thatcher’s voice came over the intercom.

  “Yes, miss?”

  “Thatch, this is Gina here.”

  Oh God, she’s calling him 'Thatch'.

  “Tylar's a bit under the weather this afternoon. Could you please send up a tray with the following?”

  I couldn’t listen any more when she started rattling off various food items. I wrapped the pillow tightly over my head. She climbed back into bed after advising the staff what was required as if she owned the place. Gina had balls.

  “You’ll be fixed up shortly, girlfriend. No worries. I’m not going to let you ruin one of our perfectly good days off.”

  I eyed her warily.

  “Hey, I cleaned up pretty well at the track last night. I’m $250 richer today,” she bragged.

  “Is that after you paid our bar tab?” I asked.

  “There, she’s coming around folks, getting back to her normal smart-ass self.”

  “How can you possibly be so chipper?”

  “Simple, Ty, I left a note on the kitchen counter before I went upstairs to my own puke-fest last night requesting what I needed on my breakfast tray, and what time I needed it brought to my room.”

  She smiled, pleased with herself. She leaned back against the pillows she'd stuffed behind her back, turning the volume up just a bit on the television. “I love this part where he takes her on a cruise for their honeymoon and she won’t sleep with him. Who wouldn’t want to sleep with Sean Connery? Frigid bitch. It’s all her mom’s fault, the bible-thumping old prostitute.”

  I was uncomfortable with the movie critique Gina was providing.

  “Can we watch something else, please?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Gina said, picking up the remote to resume surfing.

  She finally landed on an “I Love Lucy” marathon.

  “So,” I rolled over onto my side, bending my arm to support my throbbing head. “How'd we make it back here last night?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Obviously not, Gina, if I’m asking you.”

  She gave out a loud hoot of laughter. Not good for the head. “Thatch picked us up.”

  “You called him to come get us? Gina, you're running the staff ragged here. We can’t take advantage of Trey’s generosity and hospitality like that!” I was genuinely pissed. I didn’t want Trey or his staff thinking that I was some kind of a gold-digging bitch.

  “Hold up there, girlfriend,” she replied. “I did not call Thatcher to pick us up. Trey did.”

  “Trey? How'd Trey know where we were?”

  “I’m thinking that picture of you and the twins might've tipped him off. You know the one I accidently saved and sent, instead of just saved?”

  Oh, yes. It was all coming back to me now.

  “After you hung up on him he evidently called Thatcher and instructed him to come and collect us at the track. He wanted to make sure that we got home okay. He probably could tell you were drunk on the phone.”

  “Thank you very much, Gina!”

  I was so in trouble and I knew it. I looked over at her, trying to muster a glare. She was leaning back, sipping her coffee as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She wasn’t the one in trouble, I was!

  “Hey Tylar,” she said, “Watch this.”

  She took a long drag off of her unlit cigarette and pressed her lips into a tight circle, puckering in and out several times with her head tilted upward. She looked over at my questioning stare.

  “Smoke rings for Chrissake,” she said, exasperated that I'd missed something so obvious. Just then, there was a light tap at the door.

  “Come in,” Gina called.

  Thatcher proceeded in with a tray that he set carefully down on the nightstand on my side of the bed.

  “Hope this will help you feel better Ms. Preston. Please let me know if there's anything else I can get for you.”

  He is calling me Ms. Preston again. I'm in deep, deep shit.

  He looked over at Gina. “May I get you anything, Mrs. Hatton?” he inquired. Gina gave him her signature smile.

  “I’m good for now, Thatch. Thanks again for all of your help last night and today.”

  “Very well, then. I’ll come back later to pick up the tray.”

  Gina got up and circled around the bed to my side. She reached down and picked up a glass of tomato juice that had a stalk of celery sticking out of it. “Here,” she instructed, handing me the glass, “drink this down, fast.”

  “What’s in it besides tomato juice?” I asked.

  “Don’t ask,” she replied. “Just do it.”

  I did as instructed, chugging it as quickly as I could. It didn’t taste that bad at first, but then the after-burner kicked in. I felt the heat in the pit of my stomach, rising up through my chest, then to my throat. I let out the most disgusting belch that seemed to drag on for a full 10 seconds. Then it was over. My stomach felt fine, the
burning had subsided.

  “Now,” she continued, handing me a tall glass of ice water, “take these and drink the full glass.” She handed me a couple of ibuprofen tablets that had been placed on the tray. I did as instructed. “Those will get rid of the headache and the water will hydrate you.” She removed the stainless steel domed cover revealing dry toast and assorted melon pieces. “Eat as much as you can,” she advised.

  I obliged by taking a slice of toast, biting off a corner and chewing it. Not bad. I forked some melon slices into my mouth, suddenly feeling better. I guess Nurse Gina knew what she was doing after all.

  “I'll have to give Thatcher special thanks for picking us up last night and getting us back here safely,” I commented, chewing another chunk of honeydew melon. Gina nodded her head.

  “Yeah,” she said, “he’s a pretty mellow dude. He didn’t even bat any eye when you tossed all over the backseat of his car.”

  “I did?” I wailed. Was there no end to my agony?

  “Uh huh. It was actually kind of humorous. You thought the window was down, so you went to stick your head out of it to puke. You banged your head against the closed car window, fell back onto the seat where you puked and then laid your head in it and fell asleep.”

  “How'd I get up here?” I asked.

  “Well, I guess Trey called Ray too to ask him to find us at the track so that Thatch could bring us home. So Ray ended up having to leave when he saw how wasted we were and he followed Thatch here, helping to get us in the house.”

  “I remember being with you in your bathroom when you were being sick, though. Did I dream that?”

  “No, silly. You were just kind of hanging out with me in my bathroom once Ray delivered me there. Then you told Ray you felt like you were going to be sick, and insisted you wanted to puke in Trey’s toilet, so he carried you down here I guess.”

  Oh God, I don't want to hear any more!

  “Do you realize how angry Trey is with me right now?”

  “Why should he be angry with you, Tylar?” Gina sounded pissed. “You don’t remember what you told me last night, do you?”

  “I don’t remember a lot of things about last night.”

  “Let me fill you in. You told me that it'd been Trey on the phone with you when I walked in your room yesterday, and that he told you he was working on the case all weekend. You told me that you heard the voice of a blond slut in the background telling him that it was time they left for their dinner reservation. I’m not sure how you knew that she was blond. You know, all blonds are not sluts, Tylar.”

  I didn’t say anything. I hadn’t realized that I’d confided all of that to her. I wondered what else I might have confided.

  “Hey,” she said elbowing me, “That's supposed to be a joke. I’m blond. You calling all blonds whores, get it?”

  “I’m sorry, Gina. I’m just thinking about that phone call."

  “Listen Tylar,” she said, taking hold of my hands. “I know that we just met a week ago, not even, but I like you. I've got to tell you something that only a friend would tell another friend.”

  Oh no, what was it? Did she know something about Trey that she hadn’t told me up to this point?

  “I don’t see Trey as committing to anything or anyone. I know that I don’t know him well in recent years, but I can tell you from what I remember, he's a loner. For him to be engaged that one time was a real shocker to me and everyone else. When that ended so badly, I can’t think he'd ever risk it again. I mean fucking him is one thing, but keep your heart out of it, okay?"

  I nodded afraid to speak with the lump in my throat. Gina hadn’t really told me anything I wasn’t already starting to believe myself. I mean of course she was right. Only we hadn't even fucked so why the hell did he care what I did?

  “I know you're right, Gina. I just have to figure out where I go from here. I can’t continue to work here with him being so close, you know? It'd be hard for me to keep my distance."

  “I know,” she said. “We’ll figure something out.”

  We watched a couple more episodes of “I Love Lucy,” which helped bring me out of my funk. I glanced over at the clock, surprised to see it was already 4:30 in the afternoon.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said.

  “I’m good with that, but where are we going to go, and how will we get there?”

  “Not a problem,” I smiled, getting up from the bed and walking over to Trey’s dresser. I reached on top and grabbed his set of keys to the Lamborghini. “We’ve got wheels.”

  “You do realize your hair is still wrapped up in a towel?” Gina pointed out. We laughed.

  “I'll be dressed and ready in 15 minutes, how about you?”

  “I'll be dressed and ready in 14 minutes, Ms. Preston, see you downstairs!”

  I ripped the towel off of my head and headed into Trey’s bathroom, eventually getting a comb through my hair. I pulled it up into a high, skinny ponytail, brushed my teeth and then applied tinted lip-gloss.

  Back in my room, I dressed in a pair of my new low-slung red shorts and a white half-tee. I grabbed a pair of flip-flops. I'd no clue where my purse was, hoping that my cell phone was still in it. Heading downstairs, Gina was in the entry hall ready and waiting.

  “Your purse is on the hall table there,” she said, nodding her head in that direction.

  “Well some good news for a change,” I remarked. I dangled the Lamborghini key chain at her and grinned. “Let’s go!”

  We were giggling the whole way across the side yard to the five-car garage. I pressed a couple of different buttons on the remote hanging on the key chain and eventually a garage door opened. There was Trey’s shiny black sports car. Gina had brought some of my CDs from my room so we’d had some good music for our adventure. I pressed another button and the doors unlocked.

  “Wow,” Gina exclaimed, “check it out, sweet black rims on this baby!”

  She grabbed a couple of black baseball caps that were hanging on a hook in the garage. They had the Lamborghini logo on the front. She tossed one over to me.

  “Here, let’s put these on because that convertible top is coming down.”

  We slid into the car; I was in the driver’s seat.

  “Uh oh,” I exclaimed.

  “What uh oh?”

  “I can’t drive a manual transmission,” I wailed.

  “It’s the standard H-box six speed,” she responded, as if there was nothing to it.

  “You can drive this then?” I asked.

  “Hell yes, this thing is like zero to 60 in what, four seconds?”

  “Less, three point two,” I corrected her.

  We both got out and switched places. “Fasten your seat belts,” Gina instructed, “and prepare for takeoff.” She fired the car up, pushing the button to put the convertible top down. Gina backed the car out carefully onto the concrete drive. She shifted into first gear, and gave it plenty of gas.

  “And we’re off!” she hollered, the wind catching our breath.

  The day was beautiful for a drive, sunny and clear. She pulled the car out onto the two-lane highway, and sped off towards Bristol. It felt so invigorating to be out on the open highway, in a car that everyone gawked at, that rode like a dream. The controls were all on the steering wheel. Gina quickly found the one for the stereo system and hit the CD button. Instantly classical music blasted from the speakers.

  “What the fuck is this?” Gina asked. She pressed another button from ‘mission control’ and the CD ejected. She read the title aloud, “Debussy’s Greatest Hits conducted by English Chamber Orchestra”? I don’t think so,” she laughed, pitching the CD out of the convertible.

  “What are you doing?” I shrieked. “That’s Trey’s. Now I’m going to have to replace it!”

  “Let non-girlfriend Charlotte replace it,” she said. “It’s a given he didn’t buy it to seduce you now did he? I could be wrong, but I can’t see you getting into all of the vampirey music shit.”

  “V
ampirey's not a word!” I retorted. “You do see the irony in what you just said having gotten a Vampire’s Kiss pierced on your freakin’ neck, right?”

  Gina laughed good-naturedly. “My girl's back, yes and in fighting form! Now let’s see about putting a CD in there that we can relate to, okay?” I nodded and sorted through the stack of CDs. In the meantime, Gina opened up the Lamborghini full throttle. I was so distracted that I didn’t see the black stretch limo that passed us going in the opposite direction.

  “How about Pink? You sort of remind me of her.”

  “Yeah?” Gina asked, obviously flattered. “You know I’ve heard that.”

  “You kind of have an attitude like hers, too.”

  “I’ve heard that said as well.”

  I placed the CD into the tray, and it automatically slid back into the player. In a couple of seconds, Pink’s song, “Fuckin’ Perfect” was playing. I loved this song, a rare side of Pink. Gina pulled off the road into a Dairy Queen.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “I’m in the mood for a slushie,” she said. “How about you? My treat.”

  “Sure, blueberry,” I replied.

  “Got it.”

  She left the car running while she went to the order window, coming back with two giant slushies, blueberry for me, root beer for her. We sat in the car, slurping our slushies, reflecting. Gina hadn’t mentioned Ian at all since yesterday. I knew she was still pissed and had turned her cell phone off for that reason. She probably wanted him to worry about what she was doing. I knew she was thinking about him when she got quiet like this.

  Gina played with the controls on the steering wheel and skipped tracks to “So What.”

  “Oh, I love this one!” she exclaimed and started singing along. She surprisingly had a really good voice. Coupled with her resemblance to Pink and us being in this car, it was conceivable someone could mistake her for Pink. But who could I be…maybe her agent?