Page 58 of Whiskey Throttle
We never returned to normal after I mentioned Dominic, the house, and his woman. All surprises to her. It only made things worse. I didn’t know what else to do or say. She did enjoy the dinner I prepared. There wasn’t much of a menu, but I told the chef to prepare a variety of dishes when he asked me about food allergies and dietary restrictions.
We didn’t have sex again, but we ended up cuddling in my bed before falling asleep. I woke up an hour later, stared at her, then at the ceiling, and finally sent a message to our house manager, requesting that the staff be scarce today since we were at home and not at my studio.
Finally, needing to pee, I slip out from under her, she mutters something, but rolls to her side and falls back asleep. After going to the bathroom, I snag my phone and walk down the hall to the theater room and collapse in a chair. Usually, I’d want to call Dom, but since this is about his mom, I can’t. Diego’s out too since he’s more aligned with Dom than me. That leaves me with the twins.
Sighing, I dial the number and put it on speaker.
“Fuck Holli Balls, why you calling so damn early?”
I look at the clock and see it’s just after seven. Late if they’ve been up all night partying. Early, if they crashed in the couple of hours.
“Hey Em.”
“Where the fuck were you last night? WHERE? HOLLI BALLS!”
I flinch as the volume spikes. My finger hovers over the volume-down button, but I don’t press it. I’m too curious about what kind of craziness they got into.
“MASSIMO! IT’S HOLLI BALLS!”
This time, I turn the volume down.
“Hey, I got to tell you something. But shhhhhh, don’t tell Massi,” he slurs, covering the receiver to somehow become even louder. “You remember when we drank the mezcal from that weird bottle that smelled like old salsa? The night I almost died? Wait . . . wait . . . did I die? Holli, did I die and you’re calling me in Heaven. Holy shit, is Jesus here?”
Jesus?
How shitfaced did he get last night?
“You’re not dead, Em.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I doubt you’re even going to Heaven to see Jesus when you do. You’re wasted off your ass.”
“I knew it,” he slurs again, as if it’s a big conspiracy against him. “Massimo said that mezcal was just artisanal, but I saw the worm move, bro. It had, like, a vendetta against me. I showed it. I ate the worm. It’s in me. Do you see it swimming around? It’s right there or here. Do you see it?”
I sigh, not having the patience for him when I need to talk to his brother before Babs wakes up.
“Is your brother there?”
“MASSSSSIMO! Holli’s on the phone! He can’t see the worm. But it’s moving inside my tummy, I can feel it. It’s ‘cuz I’m dead. I’m dead, brother, me and Jesus. Wait, why are you in Heaven with us? Are you dead too? Did we both die?”
Holy Mother, he’s super shitfaced.
“Give me the damn phone!”
There’s a loud grunt. Scuffling and something, or someone, thumps into a wall. Followed by muffled cursing.
“Hey,” Massimo breathes, slightly winded. “Sorry. He found an open bar tab and then a bachelorette party. It’s been a wild fucking night.”
I don’t doubt it from the sound of things. The guy has his hands full.
“Sounds like it.”
I drag a hand through my hair, relieved to hear Massimo’s voice and mildly concerned that Em might have alcohol poisoning. Em screams something in the background about digging the worm out.
“Emilio! Chill the fuck out!”
I wait while he yells at his brother, then returns to the phone.
“Okay, sorry. You good, man? You never call this early.”
I hesitate, suddenly aware of how quiet the theater room is compared to the madness on the other end. Feeling a bit guilty for bailing on them this weekend. Massi could have used my help with him, but I wanted this weekend for us. To see if there was something. The twins are down every weekend anyway.
