Sunshine & Whiskey

by R. L. Griffin

  “Why?”

  “Because the way these dudes talk to women in books, I feel like younger women may believe this is normal.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, like when I’m getting hot and heavy with a guy and he tells me to shut up or he’s going to put his dick in my mouth to shut me up.”

  My eyes grow wide. “Excuse me?”

  “My response would be ‘do it and I’ll bite your tiny wiener off.’”

  “People read this?” I ask.

  “Yes, and that’s not the worst I’ve read. Some of this shit is wrong.”

  “I get women wanting a man to take charge in bed. Be assertive and all, you know? Like I make decisions all day, just take control in bed, but if a man told me to shut up or he was going to shut me up with his dick...well now wait, that’d be kind of hot. I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t speak. That I can deal with.”

  “I know, that’s the problem. What’s the line? Where does it stop being okay? Is a dude being a dick okay, but when does that go to verbally abusive?”

  “Well, I guess you’d have to look at every single situation,” I comment.

  “I mean there’s a book that’s hot now where the guy fucks whoever he wants and the girl is fine with it. Still loves the guy.” Laura turns her face to the passenger side window. “Hey girls, men cheat, it’s what they do. Deal with it. Oh also they are all dicks, good luck finding one that’s not. Stay with the cheating douche bag,” she mocks and then sighs. “Or is it just me who knows there is better? Men can be better.”

  I sigh. They can be better. I had one who was better.

  “I don’t know, maybe that’s what people want so it’s cyclical. One book had that bit of abuse and people bought a million books, so then everyone writes like that.”

  “Maybe,” she hesitantly agrees. “It just makes me wonder why we as women want to read about a weak woman or a woman who allows herself to be treated this way.’”

  “That I don’t know. I know I’m not interested in reading any book like that.”

  “That’s not true,” Laura rebuts. “I bet if Gillian Flynn or Stephen King wrote it you’d read it.”

  “Well, that’s true, but there wouldn’t be a happy ending where the fucked up people ended up together because that’s not how those authors roll.”

  She laughs. “True.”

  “Now start shaking your labia.” I can’t even get it out of my mouth without laughing hysterically.

  “My labia is not long, fuck you,” she huffs.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Things I Must Learn

  “I need to pee,” Laura says, not looking up from her book.

  “We just stopped for gas like an hour ago,” I respond.

  “So?”

  Okay, let’s just say there are a couple of different types of travelers. I happen to be an efficient traveler. That means I only stop when there are emergencies or there is a need for gas. When I stop for gas I will use the restroom and grab food. Laura, I’m learning, is not this sort of traveler. She wants to stop whenever. I actually tried to talk her into peeing when I stopped for gas. She didn’t “need” to go then. It’s not about need.

  “Well, I don’t really want to stop unless we have to.”

  “Well, we have to.”

  I don’t say we wouldn’t have to stop if she would have peed an hour ago.

  “Okay, well keep an eye out for a bathroom.”

  Laura doesn’t look up from her book immediately, so I keep driving. Finally, she looks up at the sparse highway stretching out in front of us.

  “I’m about to piss all over your brand new car, so figure something out.”

  “Do not piss on my car.”

  “You passed exits with bathrooms, so I won’t feel bad at relieving myself right on your seat.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I totally would.” She looks back down at her iPad and continues reading.

  I finally come to an exit where there are a few gas stations. When I pull into one I cringe. It is clearly not a place where advancements have been made. We walk into the station itself and Laura looks around. She walks in her shorts and designer ballet flats up to the clerk.

  “Where is the restroom?”

  “Oh, it’s around back. Here’s the key, you’ll need to bring it back.” The clerk hands her a wooden stick with a key at the end.

  “Wait.” I hear her say to the clerk while she’s taking the key.

  I snigger to myself. This is some country shit. I don’t think there is anywhere in Manhattan that would give you a key to use the restroom outside in the back. She doesn’t say anything as she exits the store, and I pick out cheese puffs. I know, they’re ridiculous for adults to eat. I also get Twizzlers and some cookies. Don’t act like you don’t eat junk food when you’re driving. I’m pretty sure this is going to be an issue.

  I pay for food made solely with chemicals and go sit in my car. I check my phone. There are like six hundred Facebook notifications. I ignore those and the multiple emails and texts from Chad. I cannot and will not deal with him.

  Laura opens her door and gets in. She doesn’t say anything as I crank Thor. She’s quiet until we get out on the highway.

  “I just want to say that it is ridiculous that rooms with nasty ass toilets are called bathrooms.”

  “You’d rather go on the side of the road? Because that can be arranged.”

  “Fuck off. I will pee in a bathroom when I need to pee. You have nowhere to actually be, and I’ll tell you where we’re going.”

  “You’re so bossy.”

  “You’re so Type A, you’re probably doing three things while this conversation is going on.”

  “Four,” I joke. “I’m doing Kegels too.”

  “Maybe you’ll learn to relax on this adventure.”

  “Doubtful.” It is dubious that I’ll learn to relax. I don’t relax, I work my ass off. I’m efficient. I’m a multi-tasker.

  “Megan, you may want to seek therapy or yoga.”

  “Those things are wastes of my time. I believe in therapy if you need it, not if you are just used to one thing and now things are different.”

  Laura shrugs and takes an entire string of my Twizzlers.

  “Dude, what the fuck? Leave my candy alone.”

  “You’ll also learn to share,” Laura says as she pops the entire string into her mouth.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hurricanes All Around

  My nerves are shot by the time we get to New Orleans.

  “I need a Hurricane, stat,” I say as the valet comes to the car and opens the door for me. During the drive, I told Laura I wanted to stay here a little longer than we were in Nashville. I want to do the tour of the Garden District and cemeteries. I want to really take time to experience the city.

  “Welcome to the Royal Sonesta, are you checking in with us today?” A man opens my door and I fold out slowly, stretching my cramped muscles as I go.

  “Yes, which way do we go?” Laura answers.

  “Just through those double doors and they will be able to check you in.”

  “Do you have a bar?” I ask.

  “Yes ma’am, and may I suggest you sit at the bar outside overlooking the pool. Tell them Haywood sent you.”

  “Thank you very much Haywood,” I reply and follow Laura who is quickly headed in the direction of the bathroom in the lobby. I stop short when I enter the entry way. The outside of the hotel is an icon denoting the French Quarter, but the inside is breathtaking in its own way. It’s done in golds and bronzes, it has a sophistication that’s palpable.

  “I’ll check in,” I call to her back. She waves without turning around. Making my way to the registration desk, I pull out my card. The woman is on the phone and I dig around in my purse for my driver’s license and when I look up the TV behind the desk has my picture on it. The volume is turned down, but the channel is on an all day news channel. I see my sister and Jackson in the park, a
nd then Justin at a press conference. Holy shit. My blood runs cold. I’ve never understood that expression before. Now I do. I dig around for my phone and realize it’s dead. I push my credit card and license over on the counter and turn around to see if Laura is nearby. She’s not.

  “Ms. Walker, you wanted a double room, correct?” The woman’s voice makes me snap my head back toward her and I nod. I wonder how long my picture has been on the news. It’s one thing to think people in Atlanta are excited about me winning the lottery, I live or lived there, but to actually see my face on the national news is totally different.

  I feel Laura standing next to me and I lean into her. She leans away from me, not knowing what I’m doing. “I have to tell you something,” I whisper through gritted teeth.

  “What?” She leans her head toward mine.

  “My face was just on TV, my name and everything.”

  Taking a step back Laura looks at the TV, but of course the news has moved on. “Really?”

  I nod.

  “Cool?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, yeah. I guess everyone knowing you won the lottery is not cool. Sorry these are issues I’m not used to having to deal with.”

  “Me either, but I don’t feel safe. You know what I mean?”

  She nods slowly and starts looking around in an exaggerated manner as if she’s trying to determine if there is anything suspicious going on.

  “You’re such an idiot.” I laugh even though I’m extremely nervous.

  She grins.

  “Ms. Walker, here’s your key and card. You’re going to go to this bank of elevators and up to the third floor. Your room faces Bourbon Street. We have a concierge here at the hotel if you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” I say, slipping my card and ID in my bag and walk with Laura to the first bank of elevators. “Do you think it matters?”

  “What?”

  “That my face was on the news. My sister and Jackson were shown at a park too.”

  An eerie feeling passes through my heart and settles in my gut.

  “Two hundred million dollars is a lot of money.”

  “Yeah it is,” I agree.

  The reality of winning the lottery is starting to sink in.

  “It’s all fun and games until…”

  “Right?” I turn to face her. “I mean I think we need to talk to Justin, but my phone’s dead.”

  “Well, we’ll charge it when we get to the room and then figure out what all this means.”

  “Let’s go get a drink while we wait for the bags,” I suggest.

  The elevator doors open, then close. We ride it back down to the first floor and stop at the first bar we see. I order two Hurricanes for each of us and we head back up.

  The room is pretty standard, but the balcony opens up to Bourbon Street and we stand there while we sip our drinks.

  “Do I need to worry about the safety of my family?” I wonder out loud.

  “I hope not,” Laura answers. “Did you charge your phone?”

  “My charger is in my bag of course.”

  Her phone rings. “Oh, it’s Ben.”

  “Ben?”

  “Hey,” she answers. “How’s it going?”

  I stare out at the road below me that’s already starting to get crazy. A group of guys congregate under our balcony. “Show us your tits!” one of them yells. Then they all start yelling. Laura walks inside. I shoot them the bird and take a sip of my drink. Then I realize that was the last of it. I turn to grab the other drink and see I spilled it. Damn it.

  I walk inside and motion to Laura I’m going back to the bar to grab another drink while we wait. She nods and turns the TV on.

  I walk down the stairs this time and order a few more drinks. I see the bartender looking at me in a funny way or I may be imagining it. I want to call my sister. I need to make sure they’re okay. This is all getting a little too close for comfort.

  The bellman is leaving the room when I reach our door, and he holds it open for me.

  “Ms. Walker,” he says as I pass him. I whip my head around and examine him. Why does he know my name? The door closes and I stare at it. I’m getting a little panicky, paranoid.

  “The room is under your name, ass. He has a sheet of paper that you signed.”

  “But you signed it,” I say.

  Her eyes widen. “Yeah, I did.”

  “So why would he know that I’m Ms. Walker.”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Okay, so Ben said this week is crazy, but that he wants to take us out Friday. He and a couple of professors will take us out for dinner and drinks.”

  “Professors...you hot for teacher?” I chuckle. I don’t remember Ben, but he’s a friend of hers from New York. “What’s he doing here anyway?”

  “He’s teaching advanced economics at Tulane.”

  I roll my eyes.

  She flips me off. The dullness of numbers to me mirrors the dullness of the law to her. I set both of my drinks on the table next to what I stake out as my bed then fling myself onto it. My legs and arms reach urgently to opposite ends.

  “What, you on drink three already?”

  “I spilled my other one,” I answer and then push myself so that my head is on the headboard. “I’m a little weirded out right now. I thought Hurricanes may help.”

  “Well, get your charger out and call your sister,” she urges.

  “Oh yeah.” I scoot to the edge of the bed and quickly move to my bags to dig out my charger.

  “I searched your name on the Internet and only a few news stories came up. Mostly from Atlanta, then some morning shows.”

  “Well, that’s not as bad as I was thinking.”

  “Okay, so will you at least share your drink with me?”

  “I guess,” I huff.

  My phone lights up and I power it on while it’s charging. “Cari,” I yell into it.

  “Where have you been all day? I’ve been calling and calling and texting…”

  “Are you guys okay?”

  “Yeah, are you okay?”

  “We just got to New Orleans. My phone died en route and I’d packed my charger. When we got to the hotel I saw a picture of you and Jackson.”

  “I know, your shit exploded today.”

  “But you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine, but you should hear Mom. No, it’s probably better you don’t hear Mom.” I hear a smile in her voice.

  I can only imagine. “So what’s happening?”

  “There have been people calling the house all day. That one photographer followed us to the park. It freaked me out and scared Jackson.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. However, it is very convenient that you’re out of town for weeks after you win the lottery.”

  “Listen, please be careful. If they know you’re my sister...I fear what people will do for that sort of money.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean like be careful.”

  “You should see all the posts on your Facebook page. You should probably turn that shit off or never look at it again. It’s true what they say about people coming out of the woodwork.”

  “I’m feeling very isolated from it all right now. I guess I did the right thing.”

  “Yeah, I hate it, but probably so. I’m coming to Napa once you get out there, right? You’re thinking in July still?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I’ll let you know. I’ll cover your flight and everything.”

  “Um, I don’t need you to pay for my flight.” Her tone is offended.

  “I know you don’t.”

  “Then shut up about shit like that. I don’t want your money, Magpie.” Magpie was only my nickname when I was younger when she was mad at me. When she started dating Jack in college, he called me that all the time.

  I laugh. “Okay. I’ll get you the dates when it gets closer.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”
>
  “I want you guys to be careful. The picture scared me today.”

  “You be careful, I’m pretty sure there is going to be a nationwide search for you. They’ve showed pictures of your house. Justin gave a press conference and said you no longer worked at your firm and they are flashing pictures from your Facebook page, including the ones from the other night.”

  “Oh shit. That’s awesome!” I say this because those pictures are probably the best of me I’ve ever seen, but I’m not thinking about what this means. I don’t contemplate my Facebook page being under scrutiny by all sorts of people and also, those details that people will pick apart to be able to attempt to manipulate me.

  “I mean the pictures are hot. They’re calling you Lottery Lolita.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Laura’s eyes snap to mine at the change in my tone.

  “Yes, it’s pretty hilarious.”

  “It’s not.”

  Silence.

  “I’m not sexually promiscuous. Nor am I a little girl.”

  “I’m aware.” Her voice is low.

  “I am a professional, a lawyer. I’m not some young dumb girl to get swept up in sex and lust.”

  “Okay.” She sounds almost amused.

  I disconnect the phone and throw it on the bed where it clatters to the floor still hanging by the charger.

  Laura stares at me.

  “I’m being called Lottery Lolita?!!!” Look at all those exclamation points because my voice is loud.

  “I already saw that once when I was online,” Laura answers sheepishly.

  “Lottery Lolita?” I sink into the bed. “This day sucks. I thought once you win the lottery you don’t have shit days?”

  “If you think money makes your life smooth sailing you haven’t seen those shows ‘I won the Lottery.’”

  “How do I handle this?”

  “You don’t, you hire people to do it, like Justin. So let him do it.”

  I cover my eyes with my forearm and try to relax. She’s right, there’s nothing I can do.

  “Okay, let’s stick close to the room tonight. I’ll make reservations at the Oyster Bar downstairs, and then we’ll come back here and sort out some things.” Laura looks back at her computer screen. “Call Justin and find out what’s really going on.”