WineBar: The Complete Story

by Alexis Angel

  “You know she’s an alcoholic.”

  Tad looks down at his shoes.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Look, I hope Miranda gets whatever help she needs, I don’t blame her for her problems…but she’s really fucking problematic right now. You know how toxic she can be. She shouldn’t be at this party, not with all the alcohol here, not with Emily here, and not with me here. You know that’s the only reason she’s here, right?”

  Tad’s still looking down. He can’t do shit about it now, of course. I pat him on the shoulder.

  “Just…never again, okay? I need you to realize how bad it can get. But, hey, good job with the gri—”

  Emily’s laugh, really loud and high, pierces through everything. I have to stop myself from jumping. What the fuck is going on now?

  I turn toward the sound. What I really hope to see is Emily having a good time with Miranda nowhere in sight. If Miranda has to be here, can’t she at least leave Emily alone?

  No such luck.

  Of-fucking-course, Miranda is still standing right next to Emily, clutching a cup full of straight whiskey.

  A half dozen of my friends are gathered around Emily. They’re all enraptured by her, just listening to her talk. Miranda’s not looking at her, though. She’s looking over at me.

  She’s staring, and probably not for the first time today. Something Emily says causes almost the entire group to fall over themselves with laughter.

  Miranda doesn’t laugh, though. She’s barely smiling. She just sips her drink, and she switches from looking at me to looking back at Emily.

  Em says something else and starts cracking up hysterically, her face turning beet red. It looks like she’s still making everyone else in the group laugh as well.

  I notice that Tad’s also checking out Emily’s comedy routine. He turns to me with a wide-eyed expression that says, “Hey, it’s not so bad after all.”

  I shake my head. I don’t know if he’s right or wrong yet.

  Anyone who spends a lot of time with Miranda ends up meeting a few different versions of her. The Miranda who’s at the barbecue right now—the version who always has a drink in her hand—brings out the cynic in me.

  I want Emily to enjoy herself no matter what, but Miranda hovering next to her does not bode well.

  I turn my attention back to the ribs and brisket. Emily’s laughter explodes through the air yet again.

  “Emily’s really popular tonight,” I hear Tad proclaim behind me. “She’s making a lot of new friends, at any rate.”

  “You know what they say, Tad,” I mutter down at the grill. “With friends like those…you know the rest.”

  Chapter 46

  Emily

  I can’t remember names now, and faces are becoming a problem.

  There’s that one dude with a sweater vest who looks like an evil college dean from some eighties comedy or some shit.

  Oh yeah, there he is! He’s laughing so fucking hard, and so is…Sheila? I think?

  They’re laughing, holding hands, and drinking champagne out of glass champagne flutes. They’re married or something.

  I shake my plastic cup in front of them.

  “Oh, you’re too good for one of these? Can’t drink out of plastic like commoners?”

  I wait for a laugh that doesn’t come.

  “We’re just feeling like champagne at the moment.”

  The dean looks at Sheila, and she looks back lovingly, saccharinely sweet. Please. Ugh.

  “That’s what you guys bond over? Ch-champagne?” I start swaying back and forth.

  I try to steady myself. Come on, I’m not that drunk. “That’s cool. I want to bond with someone over feeling like champagne in a glass someday.”

  I’m utterly serious, but the fuzzy splotch of people around me are chuckling. I’m getting laughs without even trying. Damn right I am. I rule this fucking barbecue.

  I can’t focus on any one of these laughing faces. Where’s Sheila and her perm? I’m trying to find Sheila or…Miranda, is it? Who the fuck knows?

  Who the hell invited me again? Oh, WineBar! Yeah, I could totally go for some wine.

  I take a sip from my cup…oh, right, that’s whiskey.

  I take a nice, satisfying gulp, and my cup is empty. Oh, there’s Miranda.

  “Looks like you could use a refill.” Miranda’s words blow right through me.

  Everything sounds like nonsense.

  I start dancing in place to the quiet music. I’m moving my shoulders a touch, swaying my hips a tiny bit. So subtle that no one notices.

  Hey, there’s Miranda again. Why is she trying to take my cup away? Is it my dancing?

  Fine, I’ll talk to someone else. I pivot around in a graceful semicircle. It feels like I’m sashaying across the ground like a figure skater across a pristine ice surface.

  Who do I recognize here? I see a pale woman in a leather top, her long red hair streaked with blond highlights and done up in kind of sloppy side bangs that still look great…wait, holy shit.

  “Trixie Firecracker!” I’m almost shrieking, pointing.

  “Excuse me?” She’s a dead ringer.

  “From Say You’ll Be There! From the Spice Girls? You know, Geri. Ginger. Trixie Firecracker! That’s you!”

  Trixie looks down at her outfit.

  “Oh, I remember that video. This is not really the same. Well, that’s funny. Thanks.”

  Wait, what happened to my drink?I spin around. Hey, there’s Miranda again!

  I now somehow have a drink in each hand—another big shot of bourbon and a full cup of beer. Just like magic. Awesome.

  “Excuse me a moment,” I tell Trixie, turning back and interrupting our important conversation.

  I close my eyes and down the shot, letting the plastic cup fall to the ground. I look up at the lanterns as I start on the beer. The entire cup is gone before I know it, and now I’m over by a keg, and I’m filling people’s cups for some reason.

  I finish filling a cup from the tap, and a hot stockbroker-looking guy smiles like he’s expecting me to hand it to him. Who the fuck does he think he is? I gulp it down myself instead.

  “Hey, Emily!”

  Hey, there’s Miranda! Now I’m standing by a table with a bunch of bottles on it, and this looks familiar. I’m still holding a half-full cup of beer. Miranda’s grinning as she hands me another shot.

  “Okay, last one.”

  In an instant, the shot and the beer are gone, and I drop both cups and…wait, why is there another person here now? She’s brunette, wearing a white top with black leggings, sipping a mixed drink.

  “What is that?” I point at the person’s cup.

  “Rum with cola,” the person responds.

  “What’s your name, rummy?”

  The person shrugs and takes another sip.

  “Don’t worry about her name, Emily.” Shit, I forgot Miranda’s still here.

  “But now she knows mine. You just told her.”

  I’m still looking at the rum-swilling person, and she’s looking at me. Miranda holds a bourbon bottle in front of me.

  “If you took a big swig of this, do you think you could kiss her? Then she might tell you her name.”

  I push the bottle away.

  “I don’t need that for that. I do need to know your name now.”

  The person leans in, and I lean up a bit to reach her. We share a respectable kiss. It lasts a couple seconds.

  “Can you tell me your fucking name now?”

  The person just takes another sip.

  Fine, I start moving back to the keg. I’m no longer just gliding, or floating. Now I’m straight-up flying.

  Okay, now I’m upside down on top of the keg. Sheila and Trixie Firecracker are holding me up, with Trixie helping to keep the tap accessible so I can continue enjoying my delicious beverage.

  There must be dozens of people watching, and they’re all cheering, screaming. Hell yeah. I’m a fucking rock star.

 
“Nice thong!” I think that’s the stockbroker guy yelling. It’s hard to tell since I’m upside down and there seems to be two of everything.

  I let out a healthy belch as Trixie and Sheila turn me right side up and set me on the ground.

  “Thanks, Sheila. I love your perm.”

  “My name’s Macy, and I never had a perm. But thanks.”

  My stomach makes a massive gurgling sound, and without warning, the smell of barbecue ribs is everywhere. I almost collapse, catching myself before landing splat on the ground.

  “Are you okay?” Macy helps me stand back up.

  “Oh yeah…I’m just starving. I need food.”

  “Okay, but you also broke a heel.”

  I look down and close one eye to focus. There’s a green spike on the ground, orphaned from my left shoe.

  I start laughing. That has to be the funniest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life. I look up, but Macy isn’t sharing my amusement.

  I slip off both shoes and make it a few steps before nearly tumbling to the ground. Two hands catch me, and I drop softly into a toned, muscular chest. I fix my open eye straight up toward the heavens, and it is indeed a heavenly vision gazing back.

  “You know that’s my cousin you kissed, right?”

  WineBar says this quietly, and I have no clue what he’s talking about. I ignore it.

  “WineBar! How are ya! You’re just in time!”

  I open both eyes to see both WineBars. Two of them? Oh fuck yes.

  The ground spins slowly as he—they?—holds me.

  “I’m glad you’re having fun, Em, but you might want to switch to water soon. Like, now. You can thank me tomorrow.”

  Whatever he’s saying sounds like gibberish. I just want some food. Some…meat.

  WineBar’s trying to help me stand up straight, but his chest feels so good. I lean into him and grab his ass tightly with both hands.

  “Oh no, I’m having such trouble staying upright. I guess you’ll need to hold on really tight, and maybe also fuck me silly with your big cock. Yeah, that would also be most helpful.”

  I keep my left hand firmly gripping WineBar’s ass while I start slowly moving my right hand around to open his fly. I’m getting ready to plant some soft kisses on his neck—and then maybe his cock—when WineBar extracts himself and walks backward until he’s arm’s length from me. He’s still holding me up.

  “You must not be feeling well, Emily. I think you should go inside and lie down in the guest bedroom.”

  WineBar lets go, and I slump a little. I smell those ribs again. Wait, why is WineBar looking at me like that?

  I keep forgetting what’s happening. I must be pretty buzzed.

  WineBar’s still glaring at me. Well, if he wants to see them…I pull my dress down really fast to give him a nice eyeful of my big, beautiful tits…

  Oh! I see the ribs now, and there’s still some left.

  And now I’m sitting on the grass somewhere and devouring a rack of ribs with my bare hands. Is this the side of the building?

  However I got here, I’m glad I have napkins with me…and now blackness. Huh. Did I fall asleep?

  I hear someone throwing up…oh shit, that’s me. I’m kneeling on a metal surface and puking my guts out.

  Now I feel much better.

  Why am I outside? Where was I puking? Is that a doghouse? Oh. Sorry, dog.

  Hey, I’m back at the barbecue! “Stop” by the Spice Girls is playing. Isn’t one of them here? Emma, maybe? I’m dancing my ass off, but everyone’s ignoring me. Lame.

  Oh, there’s WineBar, carrying stuff inside. That feels nice to watch. I stop dancing.

  And now blackness…and now I’m looking at my handiwork: my panties are elegantly laid out on top of the grill. Some guy in a sweater vest walks up next to me.

  “Hey, you look like the evil college dean from an eighties comedy.”

  “Why did you put your underwear on the grill?”

  “They were a bit wet. You know how it gets. They can dry on the grill.”

  I feel the material of the dean’s sweater vest.

  “What is this, mostly polyester?”

  The dean looks down at my hand.

  “Not polyester at all.”

  “That’s good. Hey, how many inches are ya packin’? Is it twelve? That’s always what I like to hear.”

  And now more blackness, and now I’m standing about an inch in front of a handsome, salt-and-pepper haired older dude. WineBar is standing right next to him.

  “Okay, I don’t need to ask WineBar over there this question. We’re way past that point, but inquiring minds want to know, sir. How many inches are you packing? Now, before you answer, I need to tell you that the only acceptable answer is twelve.”

  And then more blackness, and then the calming hum of a car engine.

  Chapter 47

  Kirk

  It’s a peaceful, quiet night on Van Ness. Apart from our taxi, almost no other cars are heading south.

  Emily is out cold in the middle seat, squeezed between my sister and me. I don’t know why they couldn’t send us an SUV, or at least a bigger sedan.

  “It’s warm out tonight.”

  Clarissa’s pretending that she doesn’t notice Emily’s head resting serenely on her shoulder. On my side, Em’s arm is draped limply across my chest and stomach. Emily stirs and mumbles something, but her head stays where it is.

  “I know.”

  “Sorry, I’m just trying to talk about something, anything. I don’t know.”

  “No, I mean I know it’s been a complete fucking fiasco. You don’t have to pretend that everything’s normal.”

  Clarissa shrugs politely. This causes Emily to reflexively move her head over to my shoulder. It still feels nice, even with tonight’s insanity. I’m also relieved for Clarissa.

  “She’s, um, I guess, she got a little drunk.” My sister’s reaching for a way to be tactful.

  “A little?”

  “Maybe more than a little. Is this, I don’t know, normal for her? Is she okay?”

  No, this isn’t normal for Emily.But, is it?

  I don’t want to jump to conclusions. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve seen Emily drink. I have to give her the benefit of the doubt.

  “She’s just nervous, I think. She overdid it.”

  I can tell Clarissa’s thinking about our poor dad being front and center for some of the worst of tonight’s drama. There’s a trace of nervous laughter on her lips.

  This isn’t the typical shit our family deals with.

  “Dad…” Clarissa can’t finish her thought.

  Thinking about the situation, she finally surrenders to laughter. I let myself laugh too. I mean, I fucking have to after that shit show.

  I doubt my father’s laughing right now. The scene of him pulling me into the hallway, giving me his unsmiling lecture about Emily, about his severe disapproval of her, about potentially cutting me out of the family business if I continue things with her—I keep replaying it in my head.

  There is one part I’m proud of: telling my father that this was my decision and he has no say in my personal life.

  “It’s Miranda.” There, that’s enough of an explanation.

  Clarissa’s still smiling as we turn onto Emily’s block. I can see she’s exhausted.

  “What does Miranda have to do with anything?”

  “It’s a combination of things, but if it weren’t for Miranda, we wouldn’t be dealing with all this shit right now. We wouldn’t be getting ready to carry a passed-out Emily into her apartment. It’s Miranda’s influence, and I don’t even think she’s in control of it.”

  Clarissa thinks about it and nods. My sister knows Miranda well enough for this to make sense.

  The driver pulls the little compact taxi to the curb in front of Emily’s building. I immediately hand him enough cash to cover the fare, along with a nearly hundred-percent tip.

  I almost never do shit like this, but right now, it se
ems like I could use some good karma.

  I rub Em’s upper arm and tap her on her shoulder.

  “Em, wake up. You’re home. You just need to get upstairs.”

  Em stirs again and mumbles something in her sleep. I better let her rest this one off.

  “Go,” I instruct Clarissa, motioning for her to get out the other side. She doesn’t question it, and I quickly get Em out of the taxi, carrying her toward the building.

  Clarissa walks in front of us to keep the path clear, open doors, and operate the elevator. I carry Emily like she’s my bride, allowing myself one more little laugh when I carry her over the threshold of her apartment.

  This night’s just one crazy scenario after another.

  I lay Emily down carefully on her couch, making damn sure that she’s on her side and not her back. I go to take off Emily’s shoes, but I remember that they’re still in my backyard.

  “She’ll just sleep on the couch, I guess?” Clarissa doesn’t know what to say. She wants to be helpful, but she also wants for this night to be over so she can go home.

  “Probably. I’ve got it taken care of. If you want to take an Uber or Lyft or whatever home, you can use my credit card.”

  “Oh, no, that’s too expensive. I’ll just wait for you.”

  I brush a few stray hairs off Emily’s forehead. She’s stirring again, but she seems more comfortable now.

  “Okay. I just need to get Em a glass of water for when she wakes up, and some sodium bicarb and aspirin tablets if she has them…and maybe something for her to throw up into, then we can go.”

  “I’ll go check the medicine cabinet.” Even though she’s never been to this apartment, Clarissa quickly deduces where the bathroom is and wastes no time getting there.

  I give Emily one more look. She has a rough day in front of her tomorrow, but she already appears to be recovering.

  Looking at Em’s sleeping face, all I feel is warmth and tenderness.

  I’m still a little frazzled, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’tdisappointed about the way tonight ended up, but it’s something we can work through, something which could ultimately bring us closer together.

  I turn around when I hear Clarissa enter the living room. She’s carrying a glass of water and two small pill bottles.