Page 89 of Rainstorm

“You think I spend all my fucking time conjuring up baking treats just for you?” she says, making a theatrical gesture with her hands. “No, I spend fucking ages searching out different recipes, and then I spend fucking ages perfecting them, because I want to be the best fucking baker in the entire state. But no matter how fucking hard I try, it’s still not enough, because I need premises and supplies to set up my business, which requires money. Which means I need that fucking stupid Ken doll at the bank to give me more than just the stink eye. But oh no, that man is harder to crack than steel and I’m not talking about the rod he’s got tucked away in His Royal Highness pants.”

“The man at the bank?” This drunken conversation has me even more confused as I have no idea what Ariel is talking about.

“The stuck-up suit I meet up with every time I go to the bank. Do you know he always wears a fucking stupid suit? Who in the living hell wears a suit in California?”

“No one, I suppose,” I agree, trying to go with the flow.

“He’s just plain stubborn and unreasonable and every time I see him, I just want to slap his face,” she rants.

“Probably wouldn’t be the best idea, Ariel,” I gently point out. Getting charged for assault is the last thing she needs. But what she does need right now is a glass of water and some Advil.

“No, guess you’re right. But you know what? I’d love to see that stuck up suit actually letting his hair down for once, for him to actually see me as a woman. And then you know what? I’d let him fuck me over his desk. Shit, the things I could do to him. He’s handsome, you know. Bet he has great stamina with a body like that. Bet he’s fucking dynamite in the sack.”

“Ariel!” She looks at me innocently, as if we’re just discussing the weather, even though she has me blushing to the tips of my ears.

“Nah, what am I thinking? That stuck-up suit would only be interested in doing it missionary style, anything else would be far too rad for him. Do you know what he told me today?”

“What did he tell you?” I’ve given up trying to make sense of her ramblings, so might as well see what other nonsense she comes up with now.

“He said that with a name like mine, he didn’t know if I was a man, a woman, a detergent brand or a little mermaid. He was so condescending and patronizing.” She frowns.

I can’t help it, if the situation wasn’t so serious, I’d burst out laughing. I really don’t know what’s funnier, what the suit at the bank said, or the outraged expression on my friend’s face. “Like he can talk about names. His name is Lancelot, for Christ’s sake. Who in this fucking century is called Lancelot? Who does he think he is? A medieval knight?”

She has a good point there, but even if she can poke fun at his name, she can’t ignore the fact that this guy Lancelot has the power to make or break her business.

“Ariel, I’m going to find you some Advil and a bottle of water, for which you’ll thank me tomorrow.”

I head to the kitchen to get her the pills.

“If only you could find a magic wand to solve all my problems” she sighs dramatically. “But it’s okay, I know that’s never going to happen. After living on the streets, I promised myself that I would always manage on my own, I’d never depend on anyone else, never ask my friends to solve my problems, Rosie. I’m a goal digger, not a beggar, and the last thing I would ever want is to become some kind of a charity project.”

She says the last part with so much feeling that I feel the need to hug her tight. She’s my friend, a real friend. Despite our circumstances being different, we do have something in common, we’re both broken in our own ways.

She stands and stumbles as she looks for something.

“Look, Rosie, I have everything written down here.” She produces a small notebook from her skirt pocket. “These are all my plans, my dreams, but everything is out of my reach because of that stupid fucking Lancelot guy at the bank being so unreasonable. I should ask him what he thinks would happen to the other eleven knights of the round table if he treated them the way he’s treating me?”

I don’t know what the hell she’s babbling on about, but I put it down to her being drunk.

“Let’s just get some sleep, hmm? You have to work tomorrow and I have a meeting with Oliver at the agency, so let’s head to bed.”

“But I don’t want to sleep,” Ariel protests. “The night is still young, and so are we. A beer, I want a beer!”

“Okay, okay, party girl,” I say, trying to cheer her up. “Just rest up for a while, then you’ll have more energy to enjoy that beer you want.”

I manage to maneuver her to her room, then I struggle to get her into her PJs and to get her to take the Advil. Ariel is stubborn enough when sober, even worse drunk, but eventually she collapses on her bed and falls into a drunken slumber.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, I also collapse back onto the couch, but I can’t sleep. I already have so much going on in my head, and now my thoughts are on Ariel’s problems too. I pick up her colorful notebook from the table where she left it, smiling as it has ‘The Sweet Tooth’ on the front cover.

Then I start reading to discover what her future plans are.

???

I’ve been sitting for several hours at the kitchen table, barely even blinking as I read through Ariel’s notes, and it’s obvious to me she’s not realized that she’s actually got everything she needs for a business plan right here in her little notebook. All it will take is a bit of polishing and formatting, then it can be professionally presented in the more conventional way the guy at the bank expects and then he will take it more seriously. But no question, her notes make it clear this is a woman who knows what she wants, that she has clear goals, and has worked out the market she wants to target. She knows who she wants in charge of production, she’s worked out all her costs, plus she has estimated the profits. I have to admit, from what she’d said, even I’d assumed Ariel was pretty clueless about her business plan, but turns out that’s not the case at all. I think this Lancelot asshole at the bank didn’t give her a fair hearing, rejecting her out of hand because he couldn’t be bothered to actually listen to what she had to say or to read through her unconventional little notebook.

But I’m impressed and think it shows great potential and I definitely want to be part of it. Once Ariel wakes up, which I don’t think will be happening any time soon, we’re going to be having a long conversation.

“Never again in my life will I ever drink a single drop of alcohol.”

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