Page 150 of If Ever

36

It's after 4 a.m. when Chelsea and her friends stumble in. They're loud and rowdy after a night of drinking. I roll over and punch my pillow. It's been a sleepless night thanks to Chelsea's constant texts. I knew she wouldn't be happy seeing Tanya in the show, but I didn't expect her to practically ignore me after the show and then go out and find ways to make her point.

The girls clunk around for a few minutes. It finally quiets down until the bedroom door springs open and the light flips on.

"Hey babe!" Chelsea slurs and half launches half falls onto me. I grunt, glad she missed the family jewels.

"We had fun!" She's a hot mess with smeared eye makeup and reeks of booze.

"Yes, I saw that," I say.

"No, I mean really had fun! Wanna get frisky?" she whispers in my face with a blast of ashtray breath.

I gently push her away. "Have you been smoking?"

"I had a cigar!" She boasts, stumbling away. "It's so warm in here."

She fans herself and then stretches behind her back to reach her zipper. She turns in a circle like a cat trying to catch its tail. She sways and bumps into the wall but then is able to get the zipper part way down.

"How about you just climb into bed and go to sleep." I reach to help her.

She slaps my hand away. "I don't want to go to sleep. I want to have sex!" She locks eyes with me in an intoxicated lure and slips out of her dress, her arm catches on the strap and then the dress stops at her hips as she didn't lower the zipper enough.

It would be laughable if I weren't so exhausted and losing my patience. I roll my eyes.

"Don't you like my strip tease?" she pouts.

"Chelsea, you're drunk. I have a matinee tomorrow and need to sleep."

But she ignores me.

"You can sleep when you're dead." She stands barefoot in her black lace pushup bra and bunched up dress, staring at me. "I bet lots of guys at the bar would sleep with me."

I get that she was ticked off about Tanya, and I don't think she'd ever cheat on me, but this is a side to her I don't like. I sit up on the side of the bed and rub my face. "I really don't want to talk about this tonight. Trust me. We'll have loads to talk about tomorrow. Now please just come to bed before you fall and knock yourself out."

"You don't want to have sex because you got it all out of your system with Tanya!" She stomps to her side of the bed and falls onto it with her dress still hanging around her waist.

Clenching my jaw, I don't respond. There's no getting through to her right now. I lie back down and hope she'll pass out soon so I can get some rest.

Finally she stops talking and lays quietly. Thank God. But just when I think she might be asleep, she says, "Tom?"

I tense up and try to make my voice sound patient. "Yeah?"

"I don't feel so good."

Suddenly she claws her way off the bed and lunges toward the door, banging into the dresser on her way. One step into the bathroom and she retches.

Groaning, I climb out of bed, pull on some pajama pants, and check out the damage. My nose wrinkles in disgust at the pink vomit across the white tile and Chelsea gripping the porcelain bowl, her hair draped around it like a curtain.

I throw a towel over the mess, go to her, and lift her hair out of the way as another wave of her wild night hurls its way into the toilet.

She spits and spews, refusing to release her death grip. After a couple more rounds, as she's catching her breath and leaning back against the tub, I wring out a cool washcloth and wipe her face and mouth, but then she retches again.

"I was afraid this would happen," Anna says from the doorway. She flicks on the bathroom fan.

"Dare I ask what she drank?"

Anna rinses out a fresh washcloth, and hands it to me. "Flavored martinis and a couple of shots. She never drinks this much. I'm sorry."

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