Elain was long gone but I still stood alone on the porch. Hell, the whole street. Even old Mr Hannigan — who I was shocked to see because I presumed he had gotten lucky and shuffled off his mortal coil — had gone inside, leaving only his empty chair and the wind chimes tinkling in the wind.
I noticed the breeze was a tad faster than when I stepped out but at the moment I didn’t care.
I need a drink.
Elain had succeeded in reminding me of how bad things in my life were and now I needed to forget.
I looked to the driveway where the Beetle was parked and found that someone had finally found the courage to shut the trunk.
Now that Elain was gone I didn’t need to keep up the ruse that I was driving out so there was no need to even get in the stupid car.
But I really needed alcohol and the only place I knew to get it would take me hours to reach on foot.
Giving out a long sigh, I let out a string of curses before unlocking the door.
The driver’s seat was even more uncomfortable than the passenger seat if that was even possible, and it took me several tries adjusting the seat until I was sure I wouldn’t end up paralyzed from the waist down after this little drive.
Starting the engine I made my way through town using the routes less frequented by anyone even remotely capable of recognizing me. Of course, everyone knew my mom’s odd car but it would take them a second to figure out who the strangely familiar woman she had lent it to was and that was all I needed to zoom by.
It was like watching eight years in five minutes as I drove by.
Most of the buildings I’d left were either abandoned or stripped down to make room for increasingly taller buildings.
I was happy that Ernest was opening up but there was a twinge of sadness in my gut at the change.
My destination was one of the few places that hadn’t changed a bit.
Morty’s was located in a part of town that we had affectionately dubbed the After Dark District. Or The ADD.
The ADD contained all the 18+ establishments such as the casinos, strip clubs and bars. In other words, all the fun vices. The underaged were strictly forbidden and it was a consensus that whatever happened in The ADD, stayed in The ADD. Think Vegas but with fewer bright lights and the ability to get away with a fake ID.
It was bright out but the purple neon lights at Morty’s still blazed and crackled with electricity as I pushed the door open.
It looked a lot bigger on the inside than the last time I’d been here. A stage ran along the entire east side of the interior and in front of it were arranged tables and chairs. The bar occupied the other side with a walkway separating the two sides.
The walls were adorned with rock posters, dartboards and spotted a fresh coat of the signature purple that Morty’s was known for.
I stepped up to the bar all the while digging into the pocket of my jeans.
“I’ll take whatever this,” I slammed a couple of bills onto the counter, “can get me.”
The bartender regarded me for a second then shook his head. “I don’t know how I feel about serving you alcohol, Denise.”
“Why is everyone instantly recognizing me? It’s been eight years, Bob.”
“True, but there’s only one person who can make that unruly mop of curls work,” he winked.
I rolled my eyes and took a stool.
Bob Morty was the Morty in Morty’s. He’d been working here for so long that people forgot he owned the place and the only way I knew this was because he was a close friend of my father.
“You flatter me, Bob.”
“So,” Bob rubbed his orange beard. “Virgin Milkbeer and a friendly pat on the back.”
“Ew. How did they make a virgin brand of that stuff? That’s essentially beer flavoured juice.”
He shrugged. His sleeveless leather jacket with the purple name tag followed the movement.
“I’ll do you one better. A round of tequila and the saddest story you’ll ever hear. How ’bout that?”
Bob looked like he was considering, his hand moving over the tattoo of the cross in his arm that stood out among his other tattoos.
“Your father’s going kill me,” he muttered under his breath as he turned to fetch it.
With nothing to do, I looked around.
Seeing as it was still early I was the only customer here. I knew that once the sun went down that this place would be filled.
“Here you go,” he placed two shot glasses filled with a clear liquid in front of me. “Now, tell old Morty all about it.”
“You’re hardly old,” I told him as I downed both shots.
With some alcohol in me, it was easier to tell the sob story that was my life.
“And that was it,” I ended. “With that one text, heck, paragraph, it was over. Talk about shit timing,” I gave a laugh that echoed through the bar as I twirled the empty glass that had held my third shot.
Bob had been silent throughout. Even now that I was done he still stood, both arms spread on the counter with an impassive expression.
“Wow, that bad huh?” I took my fourth shot.
“No, actually I was just wondering why you think it’s that bad?”
I dropped the glass after swallowing. “Did you hear a different story?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “So he left you at the altar which was a dick move, by the way, and now you’re back to square one, you could continue moping about what you lost or you could see it as an opportunity to learn from your mistakes and grow.”
I frowned as I considered for a moment that Antonio’s heartless stunt was a good thing. An opportunity to grow, as Bob said.
In the end, I had to give up because there was no universe in which my forgiveness came before the obituary announcement of one Antonio Vasolini and my public trial for first-degree murder.
“Damn, that’s wise, Bobby.”
He shrugged and gathered up the shot glasses except for the one I was toying with. “Bartender. Apparently, we’re cheaper than a shrink and way more interesting.”
I chuckled and placed my head on the wood. The shot glass distorted my image. “You know I’m not supposed to drink alcohol,” I told Bob. “Yeah, apparently with my meds it’s strongly advised against.”
“And yet, here you are,” Bob had picked up a rag and was now polishing a cocktail mixer.
“Here I am. I like to think of Amanda Garrison at times like these. She was in the news a couple of years ago,” Bob raised an eyebrow to show he was listening. “So she was a straight-A student. Graduated from Penn State. Perfect health, she was even an athlete at some point. Never got into trouble, never drank, in short, compared to us she was a stellar human being.”
I hiccuped. “One night she’s finally cajoled out of her modest apartment into going out with friends. Now, Amanda — her friends called her Mandy — who had never drank before that night decided to try a few shots. Long story short, in her intoxicated state, she somehow got a hold of a Glock and unloaded the entire clip into a gentleman called Joe.”
“So?”
“I’m not a heavy drinker. She probably consumed all the alcohol I’ll ever take in my life in one night. My conclusion is that if she can get that inebriated and survive, me in pseudo-health should be fine,” I concluded with a flourish of my hands.
“Denise,” Bob stopped what he was doing and came to face me. His expression had morphed into one of serious concern. “I hate to be the one to break it to you but your thinking is massively flawed,” I tried to speak but he cut me off. “Like on all possible levels flawed. Some psychopathic chick isn’t a good enough excuse to keep drinking.”
“It is for me.” Standing up I slapped my hand on the counter. “Well, that was an interesting talk, I should head out. See ya!”
I exited the bar and walked over to my mom’s car.
The ADD was still desolate as I got into the car.
I was heading back to my house when I heard a very ominous sputtering coming from the hood of the car.
“No, no, no. Don’t do this to me you worthless piece of junk.”
If the car heard me it decided to do the exact opposite and came to an abrupt stop.
“Arg!” I screamed. “Could this day get any worse!”
I was presently running on four shots of tequila, two biscuits and my meds. I didn't think that counted as a good way to start the day.
I shook my head and grabbed two fistfuls of my hair, pulling till it stung.
It was just as I released my hair that the rain started.