Sunshine & Whiskey
Page 4
Justin texted me while I was shopping that we are going someplace called Cosmo-something, which is sophisticated. This is what he actually texted me.
Wear something sophisticated
Douche.
Anyway, that prompted me to get a white strapless dress that hit mid-thigh, new camel colored heels and turquoise jewelry. I am sophisticated. My phone rings while I’m digging through my purse trying to find my new key. It’s my best friend. Laura still lives in New York, where I used to live a few years ago. I miss her. I miss New York. I miss who I was when I lived there.
“Hey asshole,” I answer.
“Megan,” she sobs.
I drop my bag and focus on the call, sitting on the front steps because my feet hurt. “Laura, are you okay?” Laura is a sensitive person, but she’s not a sobber. Yes, I know I made that word up. Get over it.
“I just got laid off. What the fuck am I going to do?” She wails into the phone.
“Oh no, what happened?”
“Something about the economy and yada yada here’s your severance.” Laura is sniffling into the phone.
“Where are you?”
“I’m sitting in the park, crying my eyes out like a baby.”
“How much did you get?”
“A year’s severance,” she says.
“Oh my God, get your ass down here. We’ll hang for a while and figure out what you want to do.” A year’s severance is amazing in this day and age.
“But I love my job,” Laura complains.
“Not anymore,” I rebut. I know…I’m not good at sympathy. I’m good at a lot of things, but not any dealings with emotions. It’s who I am and I own it.
“Megan, this was my job. My dream job. Now what am I going to do?”
“Well, with your severance you won’t have to really worry about that for a little bit.”
She exhales a deep breath. “You’re right,” she admits. “Oh shit, are you in the middle of something?”
I know, you’re thinking none of my friends call me, but this is only during work hours. Really…
“Actually, I just went shopping and I’m at home,” I say hesitantly. Why you ask? Because I haven’t broken the news about Chad, and I don’t want to be a one upper. You know that girl who is always trying to outdo your stories. Oh, you just got fired, well I found my live in boyfriend fucking his secretary. That’s a one upper. Sometimes you have to wallow in your friend’s darkness because she needs company in that hole, you know the one with all the shit in it.
“Why are you home?” she asks.
“Mental health day,” I declare. That is not even a lie. I smile as I pull my purse in front of me and start pulling things out trying to find that key.
“Mental health day?” Her voice sounds better, she’s not crying anymore.
Score, I find the key and I put it on my ring. “Yeah, you know, I needed a day. I got my brief done and went shopping.”
“Why would you need a mental health day?” she asks, her words halting and curious.
I get up and grab my bags, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder. As I open the door, I throw my things on the floor. I kick off my office heels. Fuck, my feet feel broken. Look, I love heels, but not to shop in or dance in. I totally should know better than to shop in them. I should bring flip flops with me everywhere, just in case.
“Um, you know I’m a lawyer, right?” I laugh.
“I know, but…”
“Stop asking shit about me,” I interrupt. “Let’s get you down here and you can find out all the things that have led me to purchase $1,000 worth of new clothes and shoes.”
“Damn.” She laughs.
“Yeah, pretty much. Now, when are you coming?”
“Well, I’ll check into tickets as soon as we get off the phone. You really don’t care if I come hang with you and veg on your couch?”
“Care?” I ask incredulously. “I demand it.” I walk to my bedroom and throw a huge bag on the bed. Of course I bought new sheets and a duvet cover. You knew that, right? They are lovely, even better than my old ones. Spending $800 on new bedding might make my bank account weep, but at least I’ll be able to sleep in my bed again. You don’t know what you’d do? You might’ve used the knife I threatened them with.
“Okay, I’m going to get online and see if I can catch a quick flight. Then you can guide me in my pursuit of my next job.”
“Okay, call me and let me know and I’ll come get you at the airport.”
“You’re not working this weekend?” Her voice is cautious again.
“Of course,” I hedge. I work every weekend, I’m a lawyer trying to make partner, remember? “I’ll just leave to come get you.”
Saturday comes and I take an Uber car to Cosmo Nightclub. It’s April so there’s a bite to the night air. As I exit the car and make my way to the entrance, I wrap my turquoise wrap around my bare shoulders. Justin already texted me to tell me they are out back. I pay the exorbitant cover charge and head through the club. It really is a gorgeous place with candles lit on the bars, the tables, and the mantels. It’s an understated elegance, and I take in the clientele. There is a disco ball hanging from the ceiling that casts beautiful reflections around the room and is in stark contrast to the remainder of the club’s decorations. I decide I want a disco ball in my bedroom. Yes, I’ve had a few drinks before I hit the club. I mean it is eleven o’clock.
As I walk to the back deck, I see a group of five well dressed men, Justin included, seated at a table with carafes of liquor and heaters on either side of the table.
“Megan!” Justin gets up and walks quickly to me. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you, you do as well.”
Justin’s hair, which is usually either combed with a side part or tousled, is sticking straight up in a modern faux-hawk. His three-quarter length sleeve purple sweater has a very deep v-neck and is paired with mint green very tight pants, which shows off his physique.
“You’re showing a lot of cleavage.” I poke fun at him.
“More than you,” he agrees, kisses me on the cheek, and leads me to his table.
“Everyone this is Megan, she works with me.”
I smile at all the really attractive, so gorgeous they must be gay, men.
“Megan,” Justin continues. “This is everyone.”
“Hi, everyone.” I take my seat.
“Megan, I’m Sam. Justin told me all about what happened.” He pours me a drink, mixing the liquids from the bottles. “I have to tell you, you have a set of balls bigger than mine. I mean to bring her panties and vibrator to work…”
All of the men break out in laughter and then start talking at the same time.
The rest of the night is full of drinks, laughter, and dancing. It’s just exactly what I need. I dance through being utterly humiliated. I drink through the reality I will have to see Vibrator and Chad every fucking day. I laugh through the fact I’ll have mortification rubbed constantly in my face.
At four in the morning, we shut down the club and I decide not to go with the guys to an all night diner. I’m going home. I need to pass out. I jump in a cab and try to stay awake until I get home. I walk into a very dark, very quiet house. I put my hand in my purse to get my phone while I’m turning on all the lights. A loud clunk reverberates through the silence as I put my purse on the island in the kitchen. I pour myself a massive amount of water and kick my heels off. Before I chug the water I look in my purse again for my phone. A trickle of fear starts in my gut. Irritated, I dump the contents of my entire bag on the counter. My phone falls out along with a ton of stray pieces of paper. I sift through them, thinking it would be a good time to clean out my bag. Then I see my lotto tickets.
“Oooo I need to see if I won,” I slur to myself. I unzip my dress and let it fall to the floor and unhook my strapless bra. This is the best feeling in the world. It really does rival a good orgasm. I walk in my underwear to my closet and pull on a shirt. I flop on my bed and tap on
my iPad, going to the lottery website. Then I realize I left my tickets in the kitchen. When I think about walking back down the hall, I lay my head on the bed and promptly fall asleep.
Chapter Six
Make Sure You Approve
the Tags
A phone ringing wakes me up, but it sounds like the ringing is underwater. When I crack my eyes open the room is so bright I close them. I don’t remember even getting home last night. I moan as my phone rings again and then it starts chirping to indicate a new text message. There’s no clock in my room on purpose. We use our phones for alarm clocks and other than that I don’t give a shit what time it is.
Another shrill ring cuts through the silence.
“FUCK!”
I get out of bed without opening my eyes and turn out the light as I pass through the door to the hall. My phone buzzes with notifications.
Message one from Chad.
You look like you had fun last night. I need to come get my stuff and my key doesn’t work. Thanks for that.
It’s way too early to deal with shit like that.
Message two is from Laura.
I got a flight for today. I’m coming in at 4:00. That okay?
I respond that it’s fine and for her to just send me the details. I look closer and realize she sent the message at 6:00 in the morning. My phone shows me it’s eight in the morning, I’ve had about four hours of sleep. Turning the sound off, I realize I have thirty five Facebook notifications and twenty more texts since four in the morning. I vaguely realize it’s odd. However, I ignore them, which is very difficult for me, and drink the rest of the water sitting on the counter next to the contents of my bag. Several drops escape my mouth and roll down my chin. I pour more water and continue to chug as I walk back to bed. Any drunk who’s worth anything knows you must hydrate.
Once I finish the water and put it on the bedside table, I crawl into the very middle of the bed, pull up the softest sheets I’ve ever felt, and dive back into sleep.
When I wake up again it’s after two o’clock in the afternoon. “Damn,” I groan as I get out of bed and walk into my custom built shower. The bathroom in this house was something I couldn’t live with when I moved in. It was disgusting and very old. When I saved enough money it was the first thing I remodeled, and the shower is a sanctuary. The glass door opens into a larger shower room. There are twelve different jets and shower heads that fill the space. I sit on the bench and hope the cobwebs of too much alcohol will clear out quickly.
When I feel up to it, I do all the necessary tasks in the shower. As I get out, I grab all of Chad’s toiletries and throw them in the trash. Wrapping myself in a towel, I head out to the kitchen and make coffee. Then head back to my room to get ready while it’s brewing.
I need to move quickly in order to pick Laura up from the airport and I’m starving. I grab my phone and then stare at myself in the mirror. Instead of getting ready so I’m presentable, I put my hair into a bun and rub moisturizer and eye cream on my face and then go through messages.
I now have over 200 Facebook notifications and sixty three texts. “Oh good God,” I mutter and start scrolling through shit.
After reviewing the first couple of messages from Justin and a few of his friends, I get the feeling someone posted pictures from last night. So I tap on the Facebook icon and scroll through until I see I was tagged in about fourteen pictures. Pure dread comes over me because I was too drunk to untag myself last night. I tap on the link to see what all the noise is about.
Oh.
My.
God.
These pictures are epic. They are hilarious and I…
My phone rings. “Hey Cari,” I answer.
“Just how drunk were you last night?”
“Like so drunk pictures of really hot dudes grabbing my breasts are on the Internet,” I quip.
“I mean…”
“I mean, what am I supposed to do? I didn’t know there were pictures being taken.”
“You were just letting guys grab you everywhere?”
“They’re gay men and we were just having fun.” It is clear we had the best time last night.
“You do look really hot. Where’d you get that dress?”
“Bloomingdale’s.”
“Oh, I love it there.” She sighs into the phone.
“You haven’t been shopping because you’re waiting to be a size two again?”
“Shut up.” She sighs again. “What filter did they use on those pictures, I must know. You can’t even tell you are covered in freckles.”
“Hanging up now,” I respond.
“You look amazing.”
I look at the phone in shock.
“Really,” she says. “I’m happy to see you look so happy. You’re going to be fine.”
“Thanks Cari. I’m sure you will get to the size two or zero that you want.”
I hang up. I know that was an asshole thing to say. She was trying to be nice, but I’m hung over and nowhere near a size two and I’m starving and there are a ton of sort of inappropriate pictures of me all over the Internet. I’m a professional. I can’t have all the attorneys in Atlanta seeing men groping me. I guess it’s a little too late for that because Justin is tagged too.
Chapter Seven
Sunshine and Fucking Rainbows
Laura is standing with her rolling carry-on and her hip poked out while she chats into her phone. Her big black glasses hide her humongous brown eyes and her brown hair is long, the tips a lighter caramel color and it’s styled to look carelessly wavy, but I know it took her forever to make it look like that. She’s wearing designer jeans with rips in them, Coach ballet flats, and a vintage white tank top that says “Sunshine and Fucking Rainbows.”
I want that shirt. I need that shirt. I will take her shirt.
The smile that appears on her face is genuine and makes my heart ache for New York. I haven’t seen her in over year. My life has been so hectic here, but we talk every day either on the phone or by texts.
I pull to the curb, throw my car in park, and run to embrace her.
“Megan,” she says into my ear.
“Lo,” I call her. That’s her nickname.
“Missed you,” she says as she grabs her baggage and we throw it in the trunk. “You look like shit.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Does this have anything to do with pictures of you last night?”
“Not with the pictures, but the amount of alcohol that was consumed in the making of those pictures,” I say laughing.
“Well, you looked amazing. The white dress…” She buckles her seatbelt and looks over at me. “Very sophisticated.”
“My feet feel broken. How do people dance in heels all night and walk the next day?”
“I only have a few shoes I can wear like that,” Laura says while tapping on her phone.
“You seeing anyone?”
She looks at her phone for a few seconds. “Not really.”
“Not really?” I pull out on 85 north. “Either you are or you aren’t.”
“Well, I am having sex. How about that?”
“Sex, but not seeing each other?”
“I don’t like him enough to date him,” Laura says with no trace of humor in her voice.
I turn to look at her face and know she’s being honest.
“You don’t like him?” I ask slowly.
“Not at all, he’s really dumb.” She tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. “He’s super hot. I mean like I would listen to his dumbness for at least an hour if necessary just to see him take his boxers off. Sometimes he doesn’t even wear underwear.”
“Really?” I’ve never dated a guy who went commando.
“Oh yeah, there’s something about reaching in his pants and not having to worry about boxers.”
“Um, do boxers really get in the way? I mean I’ve reached into many a pair of pants without problem,” I rebut. “To me it just seems like he may not want to do laundry.”
“Wow. That is the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.” I try to focus on the road in front of me. Dick’s aren’t pretty by the way. I mean, let’s be honest. “Yeah, I could put up with a little dumb for that.”
“He’s the kind of dumb who doesn’t know who the Vice President is.”
“Wow, that’s…”
“Yeah, Eric’s really stupid, but super pretty with a huge dick.”
“Sign me up,” I say.
“What?” Her head whips to look at me. “Where is Chad?”
“I waited to tell you because I wanted to tell you in person.”
“What happened?”
“I walked in on him banging his secretary in my bed.”
“OH SHIT!” Her eyebrows raise so high I can see them above the rim of her sunglasses.
“So I changed the locks at my house and went out and let really hot gay men grope me.”
“The pictures are hot, but you can tell you’re drunk as shit. What filter did they use?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t even know who took those pictures.” What is with the filter question?
“Well, I’m sure it was one of the gay men, I mean the lighting and the filter was perfect. You sort of looked like a model. Your cheeks were red because you were drunk and your smile was so huge and genuine. It was really nice to see, especially since I now know you were dealing with a break up. So how are you?” She puts her hand on my shoulder. I glance at it as I’m driving through downtown, and she moves it quickly.
“I’m fine. It’s just hard having to deal with him at work, I guess. I mean I feel like a dumb whore who expected some dude who cheated on his wife to not cheat on me. I mean, that’s brilliant.”
“I don’t think you thought Chad through at all,” Laura counters.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I think you were doing what you should’ve been doing, then things got a little complicated and you rolled with it.”
“I rolled with it?” My voice mocks her statement, but she pretty accurately summed up the situation on how I ended up living with Chad.