Page 20 of What Happened Last Night

Idowned my drink and asked the bartender for another scotch, neat. He raised an eyebrow, but he turned away to fetch my drink without comment. Good. I didn’t need to be judged by some fucking bartender. I mean if it wasn’t for people like me day drinking, then he wouldn’t even have this damned job. He turned back to me and put my drink in front of me. I pushed the money toward him, holding back from giving him a tip for his attitude, and then I picked up my glass and stood up from my barstool. My legs were a little wobbly, but I stayed on my feet easily enough.

I looked around the bar. Two young women were sitting together in a booth, eating breakfast. They looked to be deep in conversation, but I figured I could wangle my way into it. I made my way toward the booth. I smiled down at the women as they peered up at me. I was swaying slightly, but not so much that anyone would notice. Or so I hoped.

One of the women was blonde, her hair curly. The other one was a brunette, her short bob stick-straight. Their hair couldn’t be much more opposite to each other, but their faces wore identical expressions. They both peered up at me in disgust. Stuck up bitches. They’d soon see I was worth their time, though.

“Good morning, ladies,” I said.

I could hear myself slurring my words, and I took a deep breath and tried again.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Morning,” one of them grunted back.

They turned back away from me, looking at each other and rolling their eyes, and I felt myself getting annoyed. It seemed that college girls weren’t quite such a bunch of good time girls as they would have people believe. These were the third group of girls I’d approached that morning, and the other two groups had turned out to be rude and extremely unsocial. It seemed like maybe these girls were going to be the same, but I wasn’t about to be put off that easily.

“How about a drink?” I slurred with what I hoped was a charming grin.

The one who grunted a reply to me glanced back up at me. She rolled her eyes.

“It’s barely lunch time,” she said.

“Hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere in the world, right?” I joked.

“Yeah. But not here,” she said.

She looked back at her friend and rolled her eyes again. Rude. I decided to give the girls one last chance to be friendly. I sat down on the edge of the seat beside the blonde girl, putting my drink on the table. She shuffled along and I started to follow, thinking she was making room for me. As I shuffled, my hand caught my glass and the scotch spilled across the table.

“Ugh,” shouted the brunette, jumping up.

Scotch splattered her legs.

“God, do you have to?” she shouted.

“Umm, I’m sorry,” I said.

I got back to my feet and grabbed a napkin from the table and began trying to dry the girl’s legs. She pushed me away roughly and I stumbled slightly.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she shouted.

“All right, all right,” I said, holding my hands up in mock surrender. “There’s no need to yell. I’m only trying to help.”

“You wouldn’t have had to help if you hadn’t interrupted us in the first place,” she snapped. She turned to her friend. “Come on, Casey. Let’s get out of here.”

The blonde girl got to her feet. She glanced at me as the girls passed me. She shook her head.

“I can’t believe he was hitting on us. I mean, seriously, how desperate do we look? He’s old enough to be our father, and the fumes of whisky coming off him were just gross.”

I felt a surge of anger in my chest. How dare she laugh at me? How dare she say those things about me? The more I thought about it, though, the more I couldn’t help but think maybe she was right. I was old enough to be her father, and the day drinking was making me look kind of pathetic.

The notion didn’t stop me from wanting another drink, though, and I headed back to the bar. The bartender didn’t even bother with the raised eyebrow this time. He just handed me my drink. I tipped him this time.

I sat back down on my barstool. Had I lost my touch? Was Carlotta right about me? That the interns only wanted me because of what I represented to them? Most likely, but it’s not like I cared about that. I got what I wanted out of them. But Candy had wanted more than a fling, more than the leg up the ladder sleeping with me could get her. And now she was dead. Carlotta had said it was my fault. Was it?

No, I told myself. Candy was dead because she had snuck into our bedroom in the middle of the night and Carlotta had killed her. It wasn’t my fault Candy was deranged enough to stalk me. It wasn’t my fault Carlotta had let her jealousy get in the way of her rational side. Or had Candy attacked her, and she’d retaliated?

I didn’t know and thinking about it was hurting my head. I nodded to the bartender for another drink and he dutifully poured my shot.

“Make it a large one,” I said.

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