“Do you have such little faith in me?”
“Francis, we’re both grown ups. You know as well as I do sex changes things between people. We let this thing go where it’s heading and it’ll ruin what we got. Don’t ask me how I know, I just know. It’ll never work ‘cause you’re you and I’m me. It’ll have to end eventually and when it does it’ll end how these things usually end; with us being bitter enemies instead of friends. And I can’t stand that thought, Francis. I just can’t stand that thought.”
Vicky could no longer see Frank from the blur of tears in her eyes. She felt suddenly dizzy and weak and her eyes attempted to focus on two Franks instead of one. “Shit, I’m crocked,” she said leaning against the wall.
“Vicky,” he said approaching her.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of ladies who’ve had too much to drink. Good grief, I’ve never seen booze hit somebody so fast before,” he said putting his arm around her and walking her to the couch. “Will you even remember this conversation tomorrow morning?”
“Hell yes.”
“Sleep it off. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” The whiskey was causing her head to spin and she was feeling suddenly too drunk to argue with him. He sat her on the couch, propped up all the throw pillows, and helped her lay down.
“Oh, you’re already barefoot,” he said examining her feet to see if there were any shoes to remove. He pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and spread it over her. “I’ll be right back,” he said hurrying out of the room. He returned a little while later with a tall glass of water and the small trash can from Vicky’s bathroom.
“I don’t need that trash can, Francis. I ain’t gonna puke.”
“Purely precautionary,” he said sitting the small can down next to her.
“I ain’t gonna puke. What’s the matter, don’t you think I can hold my liquor?”
“That’s the problem, Vicky. You hold it a little too well. If I drank as much as you did tonight I’d be in the hospital getting my stomach pumped. Here, drink this,” he said helping her sit up and handing her the glass of water.
“I didn’t drink anymore than you did.”
“Oh, yeah, then what is that bottle of Jack Daniels and glass with melted ice doing sitting on the kitchen counter? I saw it when I went back to get your water.”
“Shit!”
“How much did you drink between the time I walked Sally to her car and came back here?”
“None of your beeswax.”
“Drink your water. It won’t make you sober but it will help your hangover.” Vicky took several large swallows from the water glass.
“Easy there! Not so much at once.” Frank gently took the water glass away from her
“I’ve taken care of a lot of people when they was drunk, but nobody’s taken care of me. Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Why do you think?”
“You must have something up your sleeve.”
“Why do you always believe the worst of me?” Frank walked to the kitchen and returned shortly with a damp dishrag. He squatted before the couch where Vicky lay and blotted her face. The cool dampness felt good against her skin.
“You really do care don’t you?”
“Yes!” he said somewhat crossly, as if he was irritated that she had to ask.
“I won’t doubt you again. You know I’m crazy about you, Francis. You sure you don’t want to take advantage of me in my drunken condition. You could, you know.”
“There you go, expecting the worst of me again. Besides, nobody would dare try to take advantage of you, Vicky. You’d deck ‘em.”
“Damn straight I would.” Vicky wanted to say more, but she couldn’t get her tongue to work properly.
“Just remember, Vicky, whatever happens between us…” He paused.
“Remember what?”
“Nothing. Hey, I want you to know I heard everything you said back there before you collapsed to the floor.”
“I didn’t collapse to the floor.”
“That’s because I caught you first.”
“My fucking hero. How many quarters is that?”
“I lost track,” he said dabbing the washcloth on her forehead and cheek. “Like I was saying, I heard you. Every word you said. As far as I’m concerned you’re the boss lady. You call the shots. You want us to just be friends, we’ll just be friends.”
“We are still friends? Aren’t we?”
“I think so. He looked at her for a moment as if there was something else he wanted to say. “Goodnight Vicky. Please take better care of yourself.”
Vicky woke up the next morning with the most terrible sense of dread. She rolled over and tried to go back to sleep again, hoping somehow it would go away. She had the sense she had done something wrong and whatever it was she didn’t want to face it. She closed her eyes, pulled the afghan over her head but sleep would not return. She’d done something wrong all right, she knew the feeling. She just couldn’t remember what. The last thing she remembered was the kiss. Oh, what a kiss it was! How could she ever forget? Then somehow things went wrong. There was something about Sally. After that everything was fuzzy.
She didn’t think she and Frank made love because she was on the couch by herself and fully clothed. It was something she said or did–something to drive Frank away. The sudden smell of vomit filled her nostrils and made her gag. It was in her hair, on her clothes, and some on the carpet. Thankfully, she only found a small remnant of it on the couch. Most of it had made it into the trashcan which had miraculously made its way from the bathroom to the side of the couch, as if some guardian angel had placed it there.
“Shit, did Francis see me puke? Worse yet, did I puke on him?” The thought catapulted her into a sitting position, but not for long, as the room swung around making her dizzy and causing her to fall back onto the throw pillows. She would have to go to work later that day. She would have to clean up and pull herself together. Her head throbbed, her mouth was dry, and her hands shook. “Gotta get up, gotta help myself, gotta get aspirin, water, a little hair of the dog. Gotta call Francis, gotta apologize to him, though I have no idea what for. Just know I gotta. But first I gotta check the truck.”
Vicky wrapped the afghan over her head and shoulders so as to hide the remnants of dried vomit. She ran out into the parking lot. Her truck was in the same spot. That was a good sign. She walked around the vehicle carefully, checking it for dents, scratches, and blood. She checked the inside. Everything seemed to be right where it was the last time she recalled driving it, which was when she came home from the grocery store the previous day. “Well, that’s a relief, anyways.” She said. She ran quickly back into building 3300, her grandma’s old afghan trailing behind her, knocking out the chill from the cool spring morning.
Chapter 22
“All right Francis, tell me what happened last night?” Vicky inquired of Frank over the phone.
“What, no cordial greeting, no exchange of pleasantries, just ‘tell me what happened last night, Francis?’”
“I called to apologize,” Vicky replied, “but maybe you need to apologize to me first.”
“What for?” Frank asked.
“Did we?”
“Did we what?”
“What do you think?” Vicky’s voice was shaky.
“Don’t you remember?”
“Francis, did I hurt you?” Vicky asked as she held her breath and waited for his reply.
“I’ll say! I got scratch marks all over my back. You little hellcat, you!”
“You’re kidding me? Right?”
“I’m having way too much fun at your expense. Yeah, I’m kidding you. Nothing happened. Just a kiss.”
“Yes, I remember that,” Vicky said nonchalantly as she cleared her throat which felt like she was gargling sand. “Okay then, now to get to the reason for this call. Like I said, I called to apologize.”
“For what?”
“I
have no idea. I thought maybe you could tell me. I just know I did something wrong.”
“Vicky!”
“I probably don’t want to know, do I? Send me the cleaning bill if I puked on you. Well, anyhow, I’m sorry for whatever it was. And I want you to know I’m on the wagon.” Just as soon as I cure this hangover, she thought as she placed two white tablets under her tongue and washed them down with some bourbon, then quickly popping a small yellow capsule in her mouth she gulped down the last little bit of brown liquid from the highball glass. The alcohol was to quell the anxiety and numb the discomfort. The aspirin were for the headache. The amphetamine was to counteract the effects of the alcohol and give her a boost of energy so she’d be able to work later that day.
“Do you remember our conversation?” Frank asked
“No, but I do remember being mad at you–not entirely sure why. I didn’t try and slug you, did I?” Vicky said pouring a half a glass of bourbon. She figured with the speed she could afford to have another glass.
“No, Vick,” he said sounding amused.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. You were pretty hacked off though. I think if you’d had your wits about you, you would have tried to slug me.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay, it didn’t last long. Actually, you were fairly reasonable, for a drunk that is.”
“How’s that?”
“You really don’t remember, do you?”
“No.”
“You gave me a very logical argument as to why we should remain just friends.”
“What did I say?”
“That it would never work out because our backgrounds are so different.”
“And what did you say?”
“That I respect your wishes and I don’t want to do anything to hurt you or our friendship.”
“And that was it?”
“Well, then you collapsed to the floor and I, with great effort mind you, managed to get you up and get you over to the couch.”
“‘With great effort?’ What do you mean by that? I wasn’t belligerent was I?”
“No, you were heavy.”
“Excuse me.”
“Not fat, heavy. Dead weight, heavy. I had to practically carry you.”
“Oh. All right then,” Vicky said clearing her throat in closure. “That’s all I wanted to know. Catch you later.” She abruptly hung up the phone and got ready to go to work.
Vicky turned a new leaf after that day, like she always did, like she’d done so many times before. Each time she started off hopeful. This time it was no alcohol for an indefinite period of time and all around cleaner living. Allison had started her on the cleaner living kick. She’d taken to arising every morning at five thirty and jogging with Allison at six. She took mid-morning naps on days she had to work. She went to bed early on days she didn’t work. And she started taking vitamins at the urging of Allison who was now selling vitamin and supplemental nutritional products on the side.
“The soil’s not what it used to be,” Allison would tell her as they jogged together on those cool spring mornings in early May. “And I should know. I grew up on a farm. The produce just isn’t the same as what it used to be. It’s been depleted of its nutritional value by all the insecticides and herbicides. We have to have vitamins to supplement what we’re not getting in our food.” Allison would say between audible yet unstrained and even breaths.
“You sure that’s not all a ruse by the vitamin manufacturers.” Vicky would say between labored and sometimes painful gasps for air.
“I’ve got research from some very credible sources if you’d like to take a look at some of it.”
“No, thanks, I’ll take your word for it. I’m trying to get through Melville for my Lit class without falling asleep. Throw some research papers on top of that and I may just slip into a coma. How some guy could get so whacked out over a whale, I’ll never know.”
“How many times have I told you not to make me laugh while I’m jogging? It hurts.”
“Oh, yeah, you don’t seem to be in any pain at all.”
“Well, neither do you.”
“You mean you can’t hear my lungs rattle from here?”
“You’ve got to quit smoking, Vicky. What an incredible athlete you’d be if you’d just give up those cancer sticks.”
“I gave up booze and I’ve cut back to a pack a day. What more do you want?”
“Look at you Vicky, you outrun me every time.”
“It’s ‘cause my legs are longer than yours. I’m naturally fast. Always have been. But you, Allison, you’re the long distance runner. You’re the one with endurance. I start out fast and furious then burn out. But you just keep going, like one of them little battery operated bunnies with the drums.”
“A sprint runner and a long distance runner. The tortoise and the hare. What a great team we are. Speaking of teams, what’s new with you and Frank.”
“Ah, it’s getting harder to talk,” Vicky said between gasps for air. “I was hoping you could do the talking and I could do the listening.”
“Sorry, you don’t get off that easy.”
“There’s not much to tell. We’re good friends; that’s all.”
“Just how good of friends are you?”
“Hey, don’t believe everything Sally tells you.”
“I was just kidding.”
“Hey man, can we walk now? I’m hurtin’ for certain.”
“Sure,” Allison said effortlessly easing back to a walking pace. Vicky stopped abruptly, stooped over with her hands on her knees, coughed, hacked and spat as she tried to catch her breath.
“Sorry, this isn’t very ladylike.”
“Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do. Are you okay?” Allison patted her on the back.
“Never felt better,” Vicky said pulling a handkerchief out of her shorts pocket and coughing hard into it. “Much better. Nothing more satisfying than bringing up a good loogie.”
“You know, I never would have pegged you as the handkerchief type.”
“What would you peg me as? The sleeve and shirt tale type?”
“Gross! Funny but gross. Say, that sure is a fancy looking handkerchief you got there!” Allison said teasingly, her eyes moving in on the corner of the linen material in Vicky’s hand.
“Well, I ain’t gonna hand it to you. I got some sense of decorum, you know,” Vicky said, pleased she got to use her new word of the week.
“Good, I don’t particularly care to handle it. But it is a very nice handkerchief. And whose initials are those on that monogram? Did I see an “F” and a big fancy “H” in the middle?”
“All right, so it’s Francis’.”
“You know I love giving you a hard time, but you also know you can talk to me. I’m not going to go around spreading rumors like Sally. That’s not me. I don’t break confidences.”
“I trust you, girl. It’s just that honestly there’s nothing to tell. We’re friends. That’s all there is to it. That’s all there can ever be to it.”
“You look sad when you say that.”
“I’ll be honest with you. I’m crazy about him. Its nuts, isn’t it? Who’d have ever thought?”
“It is pretty crazy, considering how the two of you started off. So why can’t it ever be?”
They walked past the church and Vicky wondered how Father Mudd was doing. A sweet morning breeze touched her cheek. She looked at the field across the street with its tiny green sprouts just breaking through the soil. By mid summer Camelot would be a different place, much quieter, as the corn stalks would grow tall enough to muffle the sound of traffic from River Road. Next to the church another strip mall was being built and soon the noise from the construction crew would break through the quiet of this early morning serenity.
“I’m not sure he’d ever love me as much as I love him,” Vicky replied, finally coming up with an answer to Allison’s question. “He kissed me once but we’d both had a little too much to dr
ink and you know how that goes. Oh, I think he gets a kick out of me and all, and there’s no question he’s a little attracted to me but I think that’s only ‘cause we’re so different. You know that old saying about how opposites attract. Besides men have always reacted to me like that. I must give off some kind of scent or something.”
“Vicky! Well, you are gorgeous, you know. I just wish you’d let me talk you into cutting your hair,” Allison said lifting a tangled mess of auburn curls from her shoulder. “You have such a pretty face but no one can see it with all that hair hanging in front of it. I know you’re self-conscious about the scar, but…anyhow, go ahead about Frank, you were saying…”
“Where were we?”
“Something about giving off a scent.”
“Oh, yeah. Men just naturally flirt with me. I’m not bragging or anything it’s just always been that way. I don’t take it seriously. Flirting is one thing, love is another. So Francis flirts with me. So what? But the thing is we’re friends,” Vicky said, hanging on to that word “friends” desperately as if it was a precious, rare, and highly coveted treasure. She clutched the unseen thing that was Francis friendship to her chest. “I don’t want to lose that.”
“What makes you think you would?”
“If we get, you know… involved, it’d change everything. One thing I’ve learned in my twenty-seven years, you best be mighty careful before you make that leap from friends to lovers. You can go there but you can’t ever go back again. No way back from lovers to friends, no matter what anybody tells you. The way I see it there’s no sense in us becoming lovers because there’s no future in it. It’s doomed. It’d end eventually, once he found him a suitable bride, then I’d become nothing more than an embarrassing little memory. His wild fling with the white trash girl. And I couldn’t stand it, Allison, ‘cause I love him too much.”
“What makes you so sure he’s not in love with you too? What makes you think he wouldn’t consider you a suitable bride?”
“C’mon!”
“So your backgrounds are different. His own parents came from very different backgrounds. So why couldn’t it work?”
ODD NUMBERS Page 39
