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All the men at the counter had swiveled to watch them enter. Several continued to check the group out. The air practically glittered around the women as the sexual energy in the room rose. Esmé felt increasingly uncomfortable.
“Shoot. Too far from the bartender,” Amy said, opening her purse and taking out a mirror. She fluffed her hair and returned it to the bag. “I’m in a hurry. Craig’s picking me up later.”
Multicolored halogen pendants lit them festively, and the bartender came over right away, bantering with all of them equally, although Esmé saw immediately that he focused the gleam in his eye on Eleanor.
“Jack, this is Esmé,” she said.
“Welcome, darlin’.” Jack, as well-seasoned as his bar, put an arm around Eleanor’s waist.
The other women all had special drinks.
“Esmé?” Eleanor asked.
“Coke,” she said.
“Coke?” Eleanor leaned over and patted her on the knee. “Don’t tell me you came with us tonight thinking you’d get away with that. I never saw a woman who needed something stronger. You leave it to me. I’ll pick something’ll knock your socks off.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Why not? Not healthy?” asked the youngest one.
“I have to drive home. It’s just a bad idea.”
A few of the women looked offended. “One drink is not illegal,” said one. “Nobody has to come out of here any drunker than they want.”
“You live over on Close Street, right? That’s not too far from me on Ceres,” Amy said. “Craig’ll give you a lift home and I can pick you up for the early shift in the morning if you’re worried about driving.”
No driving. That meant she could drink whatever she liked. Anything. Why not? She had come out tonight because she wanted a drink, so there. Esmé said, “Okay. Wine?”
Spirits restored, they laughed at her. “This is no place to drink wine.” A debate ensued over which lethal mixture Jack might serve. “Oh, I know,” said Amy, the slowest clerk with the fastest smile. She kept the customers and the boss happy on sheer charm. “Give her the stoplight tease.”
“What’s that?” one of them asked.
“Show her, Jack.”
“That’s strong stuff for a lady don’t like to drink much,” Jack said.
“Too true,” Eleanor said. “Maybe a beer’s about the right speed.”
“Who said I don’t like to drink?” Esmé said, rallying to the mood. “Now I’ve got a ride home. Okay, barkeep, I’ll have a stoplight tease. Please.”
Jack left them. They watched him flip bottles around sparkling glasses, dashing a little of this and that, pouring some of the other, but quickly turned to each other to catch up on gossip.
The moms complained about their kids’ crowded schedules, ex-husbands late with child support, nasty landlords. The unmarried discussed various dates, almost all bad but some humorous. Eleanor, the senior checker at Granada ’s and the most-married so far, ruled the conversation, kidding around, taking the worst situations and wrestling some fun out of them.
One of the grizzled guys with hat hair on the other side of the bar came over and Eleanor drifted away with him. Esmé sat on her stool, smiling at the right times. Her mind wandered as she looked into the mirror behind the bar and watched the headlights of the cars on the boulevard, the red, white, green colors blurring like watercolors as the evening darkened. The noise level rose as more people came in, and she was vaguely aware of a sleeve brushing against her, someone leaning briefly into her back, bursts of laughter.
Esmé blew out a long breath. Where was her damn drink? Let it come. The bottles glittered. There she was in the mirror, dark-haired, neat, almost sixty years old. Not like thirty-six years before. She wondered what her friends would say if they knew this would be her first drink in all that time.
She sped up the road toward Avonbury Street, her foot pressed all the way down, singing as loud as she could, radio blasting, windows open. You couldn’t think back and remember an event like that, you recalled it in flashes, and that’s how she recalled it. A curb rising up to meet her, the sudden realization that she was on the wrong side of the road and that her tires were up on the curb of a central divider.
“Shit!”
She swung the wheel hard, slammed on her brakes, and backed up the empty road. Thank God, nobody there to witness this ridiculous thing. Back on the right side of the road again, she drove slowly, methodically, and when the car drifted across the center line she corrected carefully. She didn’t have far to go, only a couple of blocks to get home and make di
How did she get so drunk? Oh, yeah. Mad at him. Stopped at the bar, saying to herself, to hell with being a responsible person! To hell with my screwed-up life!
In those days, she drank manhattans. To this day, she could not tell you what went into them. She had liked the name. Also, the drink had an attractive color, and came in a triangle-shaped glass she thought sophisticated.
Four. Five. She drank so much so fast she passed out for a second or two on the bar. When she awoke she ordered another one and was politely invited to leave. Someone wanted to call her a cab. She told him she would walk home, no problem.
She climbed into her car, the cheapest used automobile on the lot that day she and Henry went to buy one together.
They had fought, but Henry prevailed, as he always did. Logical, solid, respectable, smart, he could outtalk her, outsmart her, and leave her laughing while he did it. So things had been in the begi
She hated this dinged-up car almost as much as she hated being married to a man named Henry, whom she called Hank because it sounded more manly. Everyone, right down to the flakiest housewife on the block, drove cars like this because of their fuel efficiency and budget pricing.
In those days, she didn’t care about money or budgets. She expected life to have some flair, drama. She never expected to get stuck in a mundane house in a suburb. What happened to that girl who pla
Giving in on a more glamorous car was giving up on her idea of herself. She smacked the wheel. But Henry, handsome Henry, talked her into everything, a fast wedding in Las Vegas when she had always pictured herself in a white satin gown, maybe getting married at a chic hotel overlooking the beach. Having a child. She had never thought of having a child, but along came Ray. And God, she loved little Ray.
Hurry home. She had taken longer at the bar than she’d expected. Now, weaving, she panicked a little. Where was their street? Squinting into the late afternoon sun, she tried to read the street signs, but she was seeing double.
A car honked behind her and she realized she was crawling along. At the next big intersection, eureka! She realized that she had gone too far by a few blocks. She pulled into the far left lane, careful to leave some space between herself and the divider, congratulating herself on finding her way back. Easy to miss the turn, an honest mistake anyone could make on a hot evening like this, when you’re upset, when the sun rakes through the windshield and directly into your eyes when you’re trying to drive straight, do an easy thing, get on home.
She waited for the green arrow. Arrows took so long. Turned up the radio again and sang a little, then sang a little louder. Why not have a good time? She was fine, fine, on her way home after a long day. Happy for her husband for once. He used to say he loved her smile. Even now, he didn’t want her to complain. He wanted happy. So, tonight she’d give him happy!
One hand on the radio tuner dial, one on the wheel, she pulled into the intersection. The U-turn cut too wide and again she found herself heading for a curb. She put her foot down.