Page 50 of Intoxicated
Chapter 16
CHER
My cramps felled me for two days. Two days of lying on my couch and watching reruns while the sun blazed outside. People jogged by, walked by, and drove by with the tops of their convertibles down. Another prime night for going out and finding a real boyfriend blew by. I tortured myself with my financials, looking at both how much money I have in the bank and how my investments are doing. I’m far from my goal of being a multimillionaire by thirty. My plans include at least three more rich bastards fawning over me before that can become a reality.
I’m almost a millionaire, though. Granted, I don’t get to touch most of that money if I don’t want to prematurely lose out on better gains in ten years. (Assuming the American economy hasn’t completely collapsed by 2030. You honestly never know.) If I cashed in some of the smaller investments, I could buy a nice little place somewhere around here. I’ll have to go closer to Slabtown, though. I can’t say I’m a big fan of Slabtown.
Call me greedy, but I want one of the old Victorians. A Victorian like my ex owns only a ten minute walk away from here.
I don’t seem around that much, honestly. We have different haunts. He hates the stuck-up, high-society lounges that I frequent, but there’s always that chance that we’ll be in the same place at the same time.
Like the first day I come out of my apartment, feeling better now that the worst of my period is over. I put on a flowy sundress and don a straw hat on my head. I deserve some wine after everything I’ve been through lately, yes?
Of course I torture myself by going back to the wine bar where I had my first “date” with Drew. Not the first guy I’ve taken there, but he’s become the most memorable. Damn him.
“We currently don’t have any tables available,” the server tells me at the door. “It will be about a fifteen minute wait, but you can sign in here.”
I survey the room. It’s impossible to tell who might be leaving in this wine bar, but I see a lot of empty dishes and people looking antsy. I probably wouldn’t have to wait more than five minutes. If that couple in the corner is really speedy, I could have my favorite spot…
I take a closer look. Two blondes. One in nice shirt and slacks, and the other wearing a fashionable dress like mine.
Don’t blame me for not recognizing my ex and his new woman right away. Preston Bradley looks like so many basic guys from the back of the head, and his girlfriend is painfully… Portland. Not in the ear gauges, dyed hair, and anarchy-themed shirts kind of way. I mean thehippiekind of Portland. Long, flowing skirts, wavy blond hair, and entire wardrobes purchased from thrift stores. Yet she looks like a million dollars, because Preston wouldn’t be with someone who looks any less.
“That’s okay.” I turn around before either of them see me. “Thanks for letting me know.”
In the end, I’m saved by a full wine bar. Otherwise, I might be seated next to Preston and What’s-Her-Name. (Whatisher name, again? Penny? Penelope? Feeble-Minded? Wait. I had a way to remember so I wouldn’t come off as a total bitch should our paths cross. Something aboutFriends.Who was I watching on TV at the clinic, again?
Phoebe. That’s it.
Preston and Phoebe. What a pair.
I step out onto the warm street and decide to go to a nearby Mediterranean brunch spot that has good wine. It has to be better than nursing my anxiety as it flairs up in the middle of a crowd. It’s not usually the kind of place I go to by myself. I’ve taken a hundred dates there, of course, but when you go alone, you tend to get a fewlooks.Never mind the woman reading the paper while her dog sleeps at her feet. Or the young lady on her Kindle, guzzling every word she sees like it’s the wine in her hand. The only men you see here flying solo are over the age of seventy and have nowhere else to go at this time of day.
Dutifully, I fill those ranks. As soon as I’m seated in a small booth, I order the wine of my desires and a cheese plate to go with it. My fingers drum on the table. Usually, I’d crack open a paperback I carry in my bag, or at least browse my phone, but…
Something’s in the air.
No, I swear it has nothing to do with Preston and his woman yucking it up like it’s their first date. I’m so over him that it’s amazing I remember hisname.Although I can’t say I’m proud of how things ended with him. So what if I had been using him for his money? So what if he was technically my first “mark,” one I picked when I saw how good my coworker got it when she started dating Preston’s business partner? My backup plan had always been to breakup with him and sue him for sexual harassment should it come to it. Sure, the whole world paints me as a terrible bitch for it, but the man was sogulliblethat I had no doubts he harassed half the women on our staff. Once I gave him an opening, he took it. No dawdling. No moral hem-hawing. I barely cocked my hip and licked my lip in his direction. I can only imagine what happens when hemisreadsa woman’s intentions.
Does it matter? I was younger then. Far dumber. I’ve apologized to him and moved on with my life. He’s certainly moved on with his. The money he paid me as settlement lasted me more than a few months. Long enough for me to find my next so-called boyfriend and establish my mid-twenties career of being a serial sugar-baby to Portland and Seattle’s wealthy men. To think, some of themhaveasked me to marry them.
Suppose those facts go to a woman’s head. When you’re always getting guys, getting attention, and getting money, you know you don’t have to work hard at a mediocre date. I go on Tinder and have five men asking me out by the end of the hour. Actually, one of them accuses me of “not being as hot in real life as I am in my photos,” but I take it as a compliment. Because, you know, I actually am that hot.
So, maybe my weird feelings right now have more to do with self-reflection cringe than anything else. Nobody likes to be reminded of how they acted before their brains fully developed. Just because I was good at using my body to lure in whoever I wanted into my beddoesn’tmean I had the finesse I now do. Then again, who knows? Maybe I’ll be looking back on this moment ten years from now and cringing so hard people think I’m having a seizure.
I’m content to chalk up my strange feelings to such things. Then, I hear the conversation going on in the booth behind mine.
