We walked back the way we had come, mostly in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable silence. We alternated between holding hands or walking with my arm hooked in his and just enjoyed the presence of the other, letting the tension from the run-in with the Dragon Cunt Whore Ballerina dissolve with each step we took away from the theater.
We arrived back on 3rd South and both gravitated towards the Squatter's Brew Pup, both for its excellent selection of craft brews and for its immediate proximity to our current location.
We sat at the bar, he ordered a High West Campfire Blend neat, and I ordered a Stumbling Missionary #2 and after we had each taken a generous sip we both turned to each other and started talking simultaneously.
"I'm so sorry about the way she treated you..." he said.
"We totally don't have to talk about her at all..." I said.
We laughed, took another sip, and relaxed a bit.
"Agreed, let's not talk about her at all. In fact, let's just pretend that we went to Valter's had an excellent meal and then came here." He took another sip of his whiskey, looking at me for confirmation of the excellence of this plan.
"Can I just ask, when did you realize it was her?"
"Midway through the first act." He said, looking down at his drink, "even through all of the hair and makeup and costumes, she has a distinctive... face."
"How about we pretend that we went to Valter's, went to the ballet and stayed up until about two minutes before you realized it was her and then magically, somehow, we got transported here for drinks. I just want to give you props for taking me to the ballet, which was really very sweet of you."
He laughed, almost to himself, "next time I'll make sure who the principal dancer is before buying tickets."
"I'll cheers to that" I said, clinking glasses with him.
"Slainte," he said.
"Since we're unanimously decided that we won't talk about her, can I ask you a personal question?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, specifically, a question about Michael. Have you talked to him since he's gone back?"
"He texted to let me know that he got in ok, but we don't really talk on the phone regularly. Why, what's up?"
"Nothing. I just thought I'd do some reconnaissance for Zack. He's pretty broken up about where they left things off and I wondered if you'd heard anything from Michael."
"Not a peep. The whole disappearing from the radar for a few days or weeks is definitely something he learned from our Dad."
"You don't really talk about your Dad much. Is that why?"
"I guess so, I don't really know him, I mean, not really. They divorced so young and he was over in Scotland, and we didn't visit much, what with the cost of travel and being in school. He'd call for the holidays and birthdays, and he came to visit a few times, but I really didn't get to know him at all until I grew up."
"You were visiting him just before I met you the first time, weren't you?"
He looked at me quizzically, and then remembering the circumstances of our first meeting, smiled knowingly and took another sip of his whiskey.
"In fact, I was. He got remarried and I was coming back from the wedding. Met Michael and Jessica out there, which is really the only reason why I went. I don't get to see them much anymore and it's nice for us all to be in the same place at the same time."
"What did you think of his new wife?" I asked, not trying to pry, but wanting to know his feelings on the matter.
"I thought she was a suitable partner for him."
"Tell me more" I said, using my best opened ended question.
"Well, she's English and seemed simultaneously to enjoy his prosperity and to disdain his Scots heritage. It was rather amusing, actually, to see these two emotions play out as she met his family and relations."
"I didn't realize you came from money" I said, jokingly, winking my eye to make sure he know I was, in fact, joking.
"I don't, my Dad is nouveau riche. When he left the military, he dabbled in business and could barely make ends meet for years, decades, even. He then got into Irish real estate right before the recession of '08 and made an absolute killing. By some miracle he managed to exit the real estate market right before the crash, and had appropriately diversified enough so that he had a nice cushion and left Europe to travel the world. That's how he met Annabel, actually, they were on the same cruise. She was with someone else at the time, but they managed to stay in touch and eventually got married."
"Is she evil step-mother material?"
He chuckled, "Nah, she's mostly harmless. To us kids at least, but she's got her claws in him pretty deep though. Let's just say it's not the kind of marriage I'm looking for."
"Yeah? How so?"
He thought about this for a minute, taking another long, slow sip of his whiskey. "I guess I'd like to think that marriage is a partnership among equals: intellectually, emotionally, financially, sexually, and spiritually. When any one aspect is off balance that throws the whole arrangement into disorder and chaos and leads to disrespect and contempt. Obviously not every union is equally balanced, but those that survive long term seem to be proportional when, and where, it counts."
I took another sip of my drink, contemplating what he said and how it compared to my own ideas about marriage.
"It sounds like you've thought about this before. And I'm not being glib. Seriously, I think you've thought about this more than I have. I think I always just assumed that I would get married and then get divorced, because that's what my parents did. I had a few boyfriends early on where I fantasized about marrying them, but I've never really been very big on the whole wedding thing. I wasn't the type of girl who daydreamed about white dresses and big fancy rings."
"Yeah? Diamonds aren't a girl's best friend?"
He was joking, I could tell, but I answered him honestly, "actually, no, I would hate a big diamond ring. For one, it's impractical at work, I wear gloves all the time and a huge solitaire cut would only get in the way, and secondly, and don't laugh at me here, but after seeing the movie Blood Diamond, you know, the one with Leonardo DiCaprio? I've never been able to stomach the idea of owning a diamond. Even conflict-free diamonds seem to be fraught with controversy. Not to mention expense. A plain band would be fine, or even an antique, a ring that someone else has worn for many years and that has brought them happiness, that's more my speed."
He licked his upper lip and took another sip of whiskey.
"Sorry," I said, "I don't know how we got on the subject of weddings and rings. Tell me what's going on at work."
He leaned back, turning slightly, opening himself up to me and we started talking; we talked about his work, and mine, about Zack and Michael about marriage equality and the decline of pop culture. We talked effortlessly about everything and nothing, and slowly the Dragon Cunt Whore Ballerina Who Shall Not Be Named was completely forgotten and it was just me and Andy and about seven cocktails between us, not counting the wine with dinner and the champagne we had at the ballet. By the time we left the bar we were both pretty tipsy and definitely ready to go home.
By mutual decree we decided not to drive, so we stopped by the meter to make sure that we'd paid enough to keep the car in the lot overnight. Andy stopped by the truck and grabbed two bags, one that he had brought and the other that he had taken from Zack at my place. I looked at him quizzically, but he said nothing.
We walked back to the street and I pulled my phone out to call a cab, but he suggested instead that we take a walk. For a minute, I thought we were going to walk to his place, but to my surprise he turned south instead of north on Main street.
The night had turned crisp and I pulled my arms around myself, wishing that I'd thought to bring a jacket. Without saying anything, though, he stopped, laying the bags at his feet, and took his suit jacket off and wrapped it around me. As he did so he kissed me softly, pulling me in towards him. He was warm and smelled of cologne and tasted deliciously of whiskey. I leaned closer in to him, pushing my breasts to his chest and my pelvis into his.
I wanted him to know that I was ready, that wherever it was that we were going, I was ready for him to have me. Recognizing this, he slipped his hands around my waist, underneath his jacket and squeezed my bum, pulling him closer to him. I shifted my leg suddenly and felt the full thickness of his arousal which made me moan quietly. Upon hearing this he kissed me harder, cupping one of my breasts.
"Andy, let's call a cab and go somewhere. Anywhere."
"There's no need," he said pulling back slightly, "we're already here."
I looked up at him surprised, then looked where we'd stopped. We were standing about 40 feet away from the entrance to the Grand America, the premier hotel in Salt Lake. Built for the 2002 Winter Olympics, it was by far the nicest hotel in the city. Unlike the lodges on the mountains it had no direct ski access, so it wasn't as plush as some of the resorts in the canyons, but if you needed a nice place to stay in the city proper, it was definitely the best.
"Seriously? We're staying here?" I smiled hugely and grabbed his arm to go. He stalled me for a minute to make an adjustment in his trousers and to pick up the bags he'd dropped on the ground when he kissed me.
We walked up to the front desk and he checked in, leaving me to wander around the ornate entry way. As we walked past the main hallway, I put my arm in his and he leaned down to kiss me.
And then I heard a sound that sent lightning bolts of cyanide-laced icicles down my back.
"Andrew?!? What are you doing here? Again!"
"You've got to be fucking kidding me" Andy said under his breath. We both turned and Cruella de Fucking Ville herself was holding court in the tea room surrounded by a menagerie of sycophantic men and one or two unfortunate looking females. Evidently the Dragon Cunt Whore Ballerina Who Shall Not Be Named didn't like competition. At least not if they were pretty. She walked over to Andrew, not even bothering to acknowledge my existence, and hugged him intimately, noting immediately his heightened state of arousal.
"Why Andrew, I had no idea you were so happy to see me. You must join me for a drink."
"Actually, Victoria, it's quite late and we were going upstairs to our room." He motioned to pull away from her, but she held on to his elbow like a vice.
She smiled coquettishly to Andy, but flashed me her dragon eyes, which looked even fiercer in the dim lighting after two glasses of wine, one glass of champagne and three cocktails. "Ah, I see you've brought the lovely Dr. Parks. You can come too, if you like." She practically spit out this last bit and continued pulling Andy over to her table.
"Really, Victoria, I'm afraid we can't now, some other time." He wrenched his elbow from her grasp and made to walk away when the Cunt Whore spoke again, only this time to me.
"Jen is it? Won't you and Andrew please join us for a drink? I'm quite sure I won't be coming back here, you see, and it would be so lovely to catch up with Andrew and to make your acquaintance as well, of course. Just one drink, my treat. You'll absolutely love me, I promise."
Andy looked down at me but his face was completely impassive, I couldn't tell at all what he wanted me to do. I was about to say no when the waiter stopped by the table and she ordered three glasses of whiskey, neat. "That's still your poison, isn't it Andrew?"
"Jennifer doesn't drink whiskey," Andy said coolly.
"And she's a girlfriend of yours? I'm not sure that will last very long" she tutted, and her parasitic entourage all giggled at her cleverness.
"Whiskey is fine," I said calmly, "and a glass of water, please."
The Cunt Whore turned back to her table and with the quick motion of her wrist started moving her minions around to make way for us.
Andy turned to me and said under his breath, "we don't have to do this, we can leave right now."
"It's one drink, I'll be fine." And I slipped out of his jacket handing it back to him. He picked up our bags and we walked over to the table.
She motioned to Andy to sit in the chair next to her, and for me to take the remaining available chair across the circle from her. However, I was too fast and sat down right next to her saying, "I'd love to sit here, thank you Victoria. Now please do tell me how you know Andy."
The twittering audience hushed at my audacious maneuver, Andy chuckled slightly and sat in the chair opposite, looking as though he could use a bucket of popcorn.
The Cunt Whore's eyes shined brightly and narrowed Smaug-like, as they had done before. "Didn't Andrew tell you?"
The waiter had arrived with our drinks, handing them out to each of us. I took a dash of water and poured it into the whiskey, swirling it around slightly. I brought the glass to my mouth to take a sip just as she said, "We were engaged to be married."
Had the Gods been smiling on me, I would have done a spit take and drenched the vile Dragon Cunt Whore Ballerina in 12 year barrel aged whiskey. As it happened, I swallowed half of it down my trachea and coughed violently for the next three minutes. The paroxysm of coughing was so violent that Andy made to stand up to see if I was alright but I glared at him sufficiently violently that he stayed in his seat.
The waiter came by to see if I was ok, and I asked for another glass of water. When I had regained a modicum of composure, I turned back to the Dragon who was staring provocatively at Andy. She held her whiskey glass in her right hand, but switched it to her left.
"Unfortunately, it didn't work out, but we had fun while it lasted, didn't we darling?" She lifted the glass to her mouth, clearly to highlight the enormous diamond ring on her left hand. It looked like it was the size of a marble. I was surprised she had the strength to lift her hand at all.
Andy, who hadn't touched his drink, looked her square in the eye and said, "As I recall you said you weren't the marrying type. That appears to have changed."
"Oh, you mean, this?" She wiggled her left hand flirtatiously. "Isn't it simply divine? What can I say? I guess it's all about timing, darling. When you and I were together I wasn't ready for marriage, but I was older when I met Henry, more emotionally mature, and I knew that he was the man for me, especially when he showed me this." She wiggled her fingers again, and everyone but Andy and I laughed. I cautiously took another sip of whiskey, being careful to swallow it down the proper tube this time.
I was beginning to really dislike this Dragon Cunt Whore Ballerina Psycho Bitch.
"So Andrew, are you still dreaming of designing houses out of recycled milk jugs?" Again, a twitter from her circle of bootlickers. This bitch was holding court and she was playing Andrew for the fool.
"If by that you mean, am I an architect, than yes." His tone had become perceptibly icier and you could feel the tension slowly increasing in the air between them.
"I ran into Michael in New York not too long ago, he's done very well for himself, you must be very proud of him." She took another sip of whiskey but didn't take her eyes off of Andy.
"I would be proud of Michael if he were successful or not."
"Of course, of course, I only meant that it's just so much easier to live in New York if you have means. And he most definitely has means. Maybe he could find you a job building houses out there. I'm sure it pays a lot better to make plastic milk jug houses in New York than it does out here."
In hindsight, this is where the evening took a turn for the worst. Had I been slightly less tipsy, I might have recognized that this was the time to leave. But instead, I took another big sip of whiskey and asked in the most confident voice I possessed, "what's wrong with living out here?"
She cackled at my question. "You're not serious, right?" She continued laughing to the amusement of her fawning courtiers. "It's just so... unsophisticated. Did you see the way everyone was dressed tonight? It was like half of them were going to a square dance and the other half were dining out at Denny's." Her coterie of adoring brownnosers guffawed at her cleverness.
"Perhaps I've said too much. I'm sure it's a lovely town if you don't mind the complete absence of culture and decent food. And of course I don't mean to offend, I just call it like I see it. Enough about that, though, Jen is it? We're meant to be becoming the best of friends, so you must tell me where you two met and how long you've been together? Was it love at first sight?"
I looked over at Andy and detected the barest hint of a shake of his head. He did not want her knowing anything about how we'd actually met. "We met on a hike in Millcreek Canyon," I said, "and who wouldn't fall in love with Andy at first sight? I know I did." I took a large gulp of whiskey this time, realizing only belatedly that I'd just announced to Andy, and to this coterie of parasites, that I loved him.
Our eyes met, and suddenly I realized how ridiculous this situation was. Why were we down here, subjecting ourselves to the vile ramblings of this anal-retentive, pretentious, histrionic tufthunter when we could be upstairs right now bringing sexy back?
It was at this point that I made my crucial mistake. I slammed the rest of my whiskey, put the glass back down on the table and stood up, swaying only slightly. "In fact, if you don't mind, I'm going to go and make love to him right now. Before I go, let me just say Victoria that you are a beautiful dancer, which is a good thing because you're probably the most vile human I have ever met and believe me when I tell you that you are unlikable at the molecular level."
All conversation ceased and every pair of eyes was focused on me like I was a building full of explosives set to implode at any minute. Andy started laughing and reached out for my hand to help me walk through the circle of her awe-stricken devotees. He picked up the bags and we headed towards the elevator, and I yelled over my shoulder, "Enjoy the rest of your trip."
∞∞∞
We made it to the elevator without further incident and I started immediately and profusely apologizing to Andy for behaving so rudely.
"Oh my God, Andy, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. She was just being so awful to you and I hated her so much, I wanted to scratch her eyes out, but I didn't think you'd want me to do that and I just couldn't let her keep talking." The room started spinning slightly and I suddenly felt very unwell. "Oh Fuck," I said, "I think I'm going to be sick."
The elevator dinged on the 20th floor and the doors opened. Andy stepped out, and helped me out of the elevator, walking slowly behind me with one hand wrapped around my waist and leading me down the hallway with another.
"I definitely shouldn't have had the whiskey. That was a really bad idea. I can't believe I just said that to her. I'm so sorry Andy."
"I thought you were marvelous" he said quietly, "I particularly liked the part about how you fell in love with me at first sight."
I clapped my hand to my mouth, only now realizing the implications of what I'd said. Oddly enough, I knew in my heart that they were true, I had fallen in love with Andy that first night in the ER. I was just mortified that I'd blurted it out in front of the Dragon Cunt Whore Psycho Bitch and her band of groveling idiots.
"I didn't mean it. I mean, that's not what I mean. Fuck, I am so drunk right now Andy. What I mean is, I did mean it but I didn't want you to find out like that, in front of all those people and in front of the Dragon Cunt Whore Ballerina Psycho Bitch and... oh shit, I seriously think I'm going to be sick."
We had been walking down the hallway as I mumbled, but at the mention of sickness he stopped and let me breathe deeply a few times. The wave of nausea passed and we started ambulating again, arriving soon at the door to our room. He unlocked the door and I walked in. There was a giant pile of strawberries on the table and a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice.
Another wave of nausea struck me at sight of the strawberries and the implications of just how much we were missing out on hit me like a ton of bricks and I barely made it to the toilet in time before everything came up.
He was right behind me and leaned over me to hold back my hair while I vomited up the entire contents of my stomach. I wretched four or five times more before nothing but saliva came up. He went to the sink and got me a glass of water. I swirled the contents around in my mouth several times and spat them out. I then drank the entire glass of water, handing the empty glass back to him.
I sat on the floor of the bathroom, tears running down my face, vomit on my chin, hair a mess, dress askew, feeling like a complete and utter idiot. A drunk idiot. Fuck, I was drunk.
The whiskey had definitely been a bad idea.
Andy went to the sink, grabbed a wash cloth, getting it wet with cool water, and then sat down on the floor next to me.
I started crying in earnest now, mumbling apologies. And then I started hiccupping. Christ, I was the poster child for profligate drunkenness.
He used the washcloth to wipe my face, and he pulled my hair back. I had an elastic in my purse, which I managed to convey to him through my drunken, crying, mumbling sobs, and I put my hair up.
He helped me to my feet, which caused me to stagger dramatically, but he was right there, holding me up and holding me close. I washed my face off at the sink and then hazarded a look in the mirror. I was a mess, but it wasn't quite a Courtney Love-after-a-bender mess. My dress had flecks of vomit on it and I wanted nothing more than to be out of it.
I pawed uselessly at the zipper but lacked the strength or coordination to get a grip on it. Andy obliged and unzipped the dress. I pulled it off completely unselfconscious of the fact that I was wearing my sexy little get up underneath.
Andy stood next to me at the sink without talking for a full minute. I was so drunk I wasn't sure if he was angry or horny, frustrated or mad. I looked down at my body, black lace push-up bra, waist-cinching black garter and black lace panties. And then it suddenly dawned on me and I remembered why I was wearing this ridiculous get up.
"Oh God Andy. I just realized what we're meant to be doing right now. I'm so sorry, we can still do it, I feel so much better now."
The truth was, I did feel better, I was still crazy drunk, but I thought I knew what I was doing.
Andy laughed and shook his head. "I wish that it wasn't a complete violation of your privacy to take a video of you saying that right now so that I could play it for you tomorrow and you can hear how adorably drunk you are."
"You wanna take some videos?" I said, "OK! I can do a little dance for your videos" I shook my butt in a twerking motion and saw his knuckles go white as his grip on the sink tightened like a vice.
"Oh dear God" he mumbled under his breath, but he didn't move to touch me. He didn't stop me either.
I stopped dancing. "You don't want me to dance?" I was totally confused. I leaned into him, putting my hands on his chest, feeling his nipples through his shirt. I didn't kiss him because I vaguely remembered having recently vomited and thought that would be gross, but I did start kissing his neck and behind his ear.
God he was warm, and he smelled so good. I couldn't remember the name of the cologne he was wearing but I knew that it was uncommon and it was my absolute favorite. I started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a tight, black t-shirt underneath. I untucked them both from his pants and put my hands on the skin of his washboard abs, flexed either in tension or for my benefit.
I moved my right hand farther south to check to see if his choler had subsided and something else had taken its place. Dear God, it was like a giant Phoenix risen from the ashes.
If phoenixes are made from hard steel and shaped like giant torpedoes.
I'm not sure I even know what happened, but a switch in my brain flipped and I was suddenly Horny with a capital H. It was like a different, ancient, almost reptilian part of my brain had taken over and there was no reasoning with it, no talking her down. She wanted his one-eyed trouser snake and she wanted it NOW. Something must have flashed in my eyes, because Andy almost looked scared, like I was going to devour him.
I reached for his belt buckle and started to undo it, when he grabbed my hands, stopping me. "No, we shouldn't, not now."
My reptilian brain did not understand this and so directed my hands to keep going. His hands tightened on mine, holding my fingers still.
"Babe, we can't, you're too drunk. Let's just wait until tomorrow."
I let go of his belt, and his grip on my fingers lessened. I wrestled free of his hands and quickly grabbed his cock in one hand and his balls in the other. He gasped at the suddenness of his capture. My grip tightened slightly.
"Are you telling me that you don't want this? That you don't want me? Now?"
"No!" he gasped again, "but we can't, not when you're this drunk... I won't... do it."
"Your cock says otherwise. I think he's ready to go right now. We could just whip him out and I could hop on and we could do what we've both been fantasizing about for the past eight weeks." At least, that's what I thought I said. Andy looked at me like I wasn't speaking English. I felt sort of light headed and the room started spinning again. I loosened my grip on his genitals and he grabbed my hands, pulling them behind me.
Before I knew it he had picked me up, damsel-in-distress style and was carrying me out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He laid me on the bed and took off his shirt and I vaguely remember being happy that we were finally going to do the dirty. The last thing I remember was him pulling off his t-shirt before I slipped off into oblivion.