I’m not sure if it was then that we started to drift and have less in common. Maybe on some subconscious level, our relationship changed with his name. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my big brother or him for me, but we’re different people now. I can’t help feeling that if he actually stood back and took the time to smell the roses, he’d realize that chasing perfection is pointless. It’s an ideal, not a reality.
THE MARGARITAS I’M carrying back to our table are spilling as I walk carefully, balancing the glasses and keeping a firm grip on the hunk of change I need to give back to Lucy. We made a deal, she’d pay for the drinks if I went to the bar each time. It was fine a few drinks ago, but now my coordination is starting to wane and my normally steady hands are anything but. I lurch forward as the soles of my sneakers stick to the tacky floor of the bar, but manage to keep from falling. I grin triumphantly as I tip my head forward in an attempt to inspect my feet. I’m more than a little impressed with myself that I managed to stay vertical, but the victory is short-lived as I see I’ve lost half the contents of our drinks. The frozen alcohol-infused slush is slowly seeping through the once white canvas of my shoes, numbing my toes.
“Argh, careful Robz!” Lucy shrieks, sliding from around the table and grabbing the glasses from me.
I smile. “Whoopsie daisy.”
“What?” she asks giggling.
Confused, I shrug. “What?” I’m trying not to sway but doing a terrible job.
“Oh my God, you’re trashed!”
“No, I’m not,” I answer. As if on cue, I hiccup and practically fall into my seat.
She smirks as if she knows better and takes a sip of her half-empty margarita. I feel kind of awkward not paying for my drinks, but Lu insisted we come here and wouldn’t let me pay. It’s probably a good thing, too, as I can’t afford my rent; dropping money on overpriced cocktails would be beyond stupid in my current predicament.
“What time is it, Lucy?” I ask, only my voice sounds funny, and her name comes out Looshey.
“Holy shit, babe. I think you should switch to water. You’ve only had like five, wait six, or maybe seven? Yeah, seven drinks. Actually that’s quite a lot. We should both switch to water.”
I frown. I have no clue what she’s talking about, and I’m definitely not drunk. I wish she’d sit still, though; she’s making me dizzy. The mention of water rattles around in my head and my mind summons up the image of the poor guy I burned in the coffee shop this morning. He poured water over himself, and me.
It was hot.
Not the water, but the gesture. At least I’m remembering it being hot; at the time it was completely humiliating. He was really good looking…I think. Damn, my head’s spinning.
“I have to call about the stripping. You know, the person, your friend. I need to do the stripping. What time is it?”
“Okay, sweetheart, do not call Annie’s boss while you’re this wasted. I’ll text her and tell her that you’ll call tomorrow. You’re in no state now.”
I toss the remainder of my drink back and shake my head as the alcohol burns the back of my throat.
“You think I’m a state?” I pout. “I’m pretty enough to be a stripper.”
Oh, God, am I?
Lucy’s eyes crinkle as she shakes her head. What a bitch, she doesn’t think I’d be a hot stripper. “You think they won’t wanna put money in my panties? Do they actually do that? What if I’m wearing a thong? It wouldn’t hold much money…I should wear my Bridget Jones panties. I could get a grand in those bad boys,” I say, tapping my nose as I let her in on my master plan to earn more cash. She’s all out laughing at me now. “Lu, quit being mean, I’m pretty enough to make a grand!” I whine, slumping back into my seat.
“First off, Robyn, you’re one of the prettiest girls I know.” That warms me and makes me smile. “But if you think wearing Bridget Jones panties will rake in the big bucks, you’re obviously more drunk than you look. Plus, it’s burlesque, there won’t be guys pushing bills into your underwear.”
I narrow my gaze and point at her, poised to say something profound and important, I’m sure of it…but I can’t think what.
“Babe, are you okay?”
It’s too hot, and I suddenly feel as though I’m riding the tilt-o-whirl at the fair. I take a deep breath. Am I okay? No, no I’m not. Oh, fuck!
“I’m gonna—” I clamp my hand over my mouth and look frantically around me in panic. I grab my bag, the closest thing within reach and empty my stomach, dispelling the drinks I’ve been knocking back, along with the toast I ate this morning. Which, coincidently, is the only thing I’ve eaten all day.
“Oh, you’re doing it,” Lucy squirms. “You’re really doing it—right into your bag. Shit!”
I can’t lift my head. There’s vomit coming out of my nose, and my eyes are stinging. Lucy hands me the paper napkins our drinks were resting on, and I try clean my face up before raising my head while she rubs my back and hushes me soothingly. A deep cough interrupts her and I crack an eye open. A large—no, scrub that—a huge monstrosity of a man in a crisp black suit is eyeing me with obvious disdain. If disgust had a face, it would be his.
“I’m sorry, ladies, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he says. His nose is wrinkled; I think he’s holding his breath.
I slump further back into my seat; I couldn’t be more mortified. Why is my life turning to pure shit? I hear Lucy apologize to the guy and then she’s helping me onto my feet and picking my bag up, holding it as far from her as humanly possible while maneuvering me out to the sidewalk. We burst through the doors and a welcomed blast of cold air cools my overheated skin. I revel in it for a whole two seconds before everything angles and begins to spin. I want to grab onto something to stop me from falling off the earth, so I clamp my arms around a post, but it falls and shouts fuck! Then everything goes black.
“Robyn…Robyn, wake up babe. ROBYN!”
I startle and snap my eyes open. Lucy’s face is hovering above me, along with a guy I don’t recognize. My mind is scrambling to make sense of things, but I’m drawing a blank.
“I think she banged her head,” the stranger says to Lu while keeping his eyes on me, scanning my whole face like he’s looking for something. He has an accent. It’s nice.
“Can you sit up, Robz?” she asks, and then everything suddenly clicks into place. I’m sprawled out on the sidewalk because I got sick in the bar, and we were asked to leave. A groan escapes me and embarrassment lights a fire under my skin, no doubt illuminating my face like a shining beacon of shame. I sit up gingerly, and the guy looks relieved. I still don’t know who he is, and my confusion must be evident as he begins to explain my unasked question.
“You tackled me as I was walking past you just now. One minute I’m walking, the next, you grab a hold of my legs and I’m eating dirt.”
He’s wearing an expression I can’t read. The roughness of his voice doesn’t match the look on his face, and I want more than anything for the ground to open up and swallow me. I don’t think I’ve ever been this embarrassed—it’s literally sobering. Seriously, fuck my life.