by Pat Tucker
“Damn, Peta, can you stop for a second and hear me out? I really need to talk to you,” he said.
My next appointment called.
“Kyle, I need to go. If you can’t do next week, I can’t help you!”
Before he could say another word, I clicked over and took the next call.
9
IVEE
I stood, raised my glass, and cleared my throat.
“Okay, y’all know what time it is!” I spoke loud enough so everyone at our table could hear my voice over the noise.
We were a regular fixture among the mixed crowd of sexy, sleek, urban professionals at Eddie V’s. There, you could see almost anyone—bankers, couples on dates, or groups, like us, meeting after work.
If I had to guess, I’d say the crowd’s ages ranged from late twenties to early forties, but it wasn’t the type of crowd that made you feel left out if you were younger or older. The doors opened at four in the afternoon, and usually by the time we arrived, the bustling sounds of chatter and laughter already filled the air.
Felicia picked up her glass, and extended it forward. Her signature drink was the Lemon Drop martini, with colored sugar at the base and around the rim. Belvedere was her vice.
Darby liked sipping on the Porn Star. I never saw her actually eat the blue cheese stuffed olives, but that was her drink. If I wasn’t mistaken, she preferred Grey Goose.
“Oh, hell naw. I know good and well you all ain’t starting without me!” Peta screamed as she squeezed through a group of men to rush up to our table.
She flung her designer hobo onto the back of the chair, and grabbed the only glass that still sat on the table. She preferred the Cosmopolitan, and she’d take any kind of vodka—Skyy, Tito’s, Cîroc, to the bottom-of-the-barrel house brand.
Regardless of what everyone ended up drinking as the night wore on, we all started with our infamous double shot of Patrón. And the only rule was, no sipping allowed.
The V Lounge was a cozy and elegant space on the opposite side of the restaurant’s elegant dining room. Its tables and booths, only steps away from the bar, were perfect. The horseshoe-shaped bar was ideal for people watching, but we had outgrown that space, and made our weekly home at Table Number Three.
We held court at our table, located at the left end of the bar where the soft and seductive lighting created a perfect setting for our favorite time of day, happy hour. That was where we handled the business—dishing the dirt, getting the latest scoop, and of course, catching up on the drama that was each other’s lives, every week.
“Peta, you know the drill,” I said. “It goes doooownn every Thursday at six-thirty, right here. Rain or shine, with or without you!”
“Well, I ain’t missed a gathering yet, and I don’t plan to either. So where were we, and what did I miss?” Peta asked.
“We were just getting started, so you’re right on time,” Felicia said.
With our shot glasses hoisted in the air, I began our mantra.
In unison, we all shouted:
“Up to it! Down to it! We do it because we’re used to it! Fuck those that don’t do it! Now let’s get fucked up!”
As if on cue, everyone took their drinks to the head at the same time, and slammed the glasses down when they finished. The liquid burned as it blazed a fiery trail down my throat. I winced, swallowed hard, and blinked my watering eyes.
“Whew! That was niiiice,” I said.
We all started cracking up, and the laughter didn’t stop until the waitress walked over and interrupted us. She skillfully balanced everyone’s drink of choice on her tray.
“Hey, ladies, how’s everyone doing at Table Number Three this evening?”
“It’s all good over here,” Peta said.
“I’ll drink to that!” Darby said.
We were cracking up again.
The waitress laughed, too, as she placed each glass in front of its rightful drinker, and then smiled. “Can I get anything else for you, ladies?”
“We’ll take two jumbo lump crab cakes,” I said.
“Oh, and two orders of your pot stickers and the shrimp cocktail,” Darby added.
Nothing went better with happy hour than great food and even better conversation.
“Okay, coming right up. I’ll be back soon.” The waitress turned and walked away.
“Let’s drink to bastards who try to make our jobs that much harder for no damn good reason at all,” I said.
We touched glasses, and each took a sip.
“Oh, I got one, I got one,” Darby interrupted. “Let’s drink to the judgmental mothers at play dates who act like they don’t understand when mommies need their own time out,” she continued.
“Hell, I’ll drink to that,” I added.
“Oh, and this round is on me,” a deep, sexy voice declared. It sounded like he was in my ear. When I turned and saw the twinkle in his hazel, bedroom eyes, all I could do was pray for strength.
I knew right off the bat, a willing, sexy man, and too much good liquor on a Thursday night, could only lead to trouble.
AFTER
HAPPY
HOURS
10
DARBY
I swear, I’m good. I texted into the phone.
U sure? No way I’d let you be out there like that.
Seriously! Jus’ pulled in my subdivision. I’m good. Promise. But sweet that ur worried.
I texted him back quickly, and dropped the phone. I was out of order on so many levels—tipsy, texting, and buzz driving. I had already sent him a few bare-breasted selfie messages from the bathroom before I left happy hour.
“Oh, Lord, please help me!” I said aloud.
U see your house yet?
Yup, told you, I’m good. Now let me go. chat 2morrow.
I erased the text messages, made sure the phone was tucked into my purse, and got out of the car. I stumbled into the house quietly and fumbled with, but finally locked, the door behind me. I kicked off my sky-high heeled shoes, and allowed my bare feet to bask in the feel of the soft carpet.
The cool texture felt good against the soles of my feet. I smelled like an alcohol distillery.
The girls and I had a blast, and somehow I managed to make it home earlier than ever. Usually, I was down for whatever on Thursday nights, especially since, unlike the other ladies, I didn’t have to punch anyone’s time clock the next day. Once I got Kevin and the boys out the door, I could crawl back in bed and sleep it off.
“Damn!” I stumbled over a toy that was in the middle of the floor. Lord forbid my husband might clean up behind the kids, and himself, on my one night of freedom each week. His mama didn’t teach him a damn thing except how to not spend money! I reached down for the toy, and nearly passed out when my husband bolted upright from the couch like a jack-in-the-box.
“You in early. What happened?” he asked. He rubbed at his eyes like Kevin Jr. did when he was sleepy.
“You scared the crap out of me!” I screamed.
“Sorry, babe, but you know I can’t sleep good when you’re out painting the town with the Rat Pack,” he said groggily.
Kevin worked quite a bit, but on Thursday nights, regardless of when I came in, he was ready to play. At first, he used to whine and complain about me hanging out with my girls, but after a while, he seemed to get the hang of it. He must’ve realized that most times I came home tipsy and horny. Every once in a while, he’d act up. I figured it was to let me know he wasn’t completely on board with the idea, but for the most part, he went with the flow. I felt like if I had to put up with him, his ketchup refills, and jelly jars, he could indulge my one vice.
“I’ll wait for you upstairs,” he said, and yawned.
I held the toy in my hand, and watched as he yawned again, grabbed his pillow, and stalked up the stairs. I wanted to ask him where he had been, and why his mother needed to watch the kids earlier, but I wanted another sip more than his answer. So I let him go up.
“Okay, I’ll be up in a
few minutes.”
The minute he was gone, I rushed around picking up the toys and clothes that were scattered all over the family room. When everything was in its place, I grabbed my purse, and pulled out the little rhinestone-encrusted flask that I carried at all times.
I unscrewed the top, and took a couple of swigs. It didn’t matter that the liquid burned as it slid down my throat. I had a two-drink limit while out with the ladies when we only did happy hour, and not a club or a lounge afterward. So I always had a nightcap when I came home.
I usually took my time with the nightcap. Kevin would wake the moment I crawled into bed, so I never felt rushed. He was lucky we called it an early night. Usually I didn’t come in until close to two or three o’clock in the morning. He knew not to complain since, as a stay-at-home mom, my life resembled more of a maid’s than a wife’s.
It was a far cry from the image most people had of the extravagant home with a lakeside pool, nestled inside a prestigious hillside golf course.
Once he left the next morning, I’d meet with my neighbor Carla, who lived three houses down. I’d be able to dish about Kelly and the other playground moms. I’d also have to discuss her business. Carla had been on me to team up with her, and I was reluctant to at first, but I needed to rethink that.
The way Kevin was tight with money made me feel like a kid who had an allowance that was never enough. Of course, I kept a secret stash, but even that was limited, mainly due to my weekly happy hours. I liked to buy a few rounds, hating to feel like a charity case where the other girls had to get me all the damn time.
I shook the flask, and decided I’d had about three good swigs left before bed. Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind. I eased up from the sofa, and crept upstairs.
My mother-in-law was fast asleep in the guest bedroom. I checked in on the boys who were both knocked out, and then I tiptoed down the hall toward the master bedroom.
I eased up to the door, which was open, and stood for a second. Once I heard the rhythm of Kevin’s snores, I turned around, and headed back downstairs.
Even though everyone was fast asleep, I still didn’t trust using the computer in the family room. I pulled out my iPhone. Roger had called thirteen times, and left several messages. I was not in the mood, so I sent the customary text message to make sure the coast was clear. I turned the ringer off on my phone and waited.
The flask was fuller than I thought. After a few swigs, it dawned on me that my wait was quite long. In the meantime, my mind danced with thoughts of the money I could make with Carla if we played our cards right. For me, that money would mean a kind of freedom I’d never know under Kevin’s penny-pinching behind.
Just when I was about to give up the wait and go upstairs to bed, my phone lit up as it vibrated. I was overjoyed by the simple message.
‘Sup?
Just got in. what u about to get into?
Nada.
C’mon! Ur gonna do something/some1 LOL.
U got jokes.
Sometimes. Life a’int always serious.
Maybe not 4U.
U in a mood?
Nah nothin’ like that. Jus’ sayin’.
Ok well didn’t want nothing. Just letting u know I made it in safe.
Cool but kinda late for nothing.
Like that sometimes.
Bet that.
GN.
K. don’t hurt nobody.
Can’t make any promises on that.
Bet that.
When I saw the smiley face, I felt better about the exchange. Our exchanges were always quick and brief, but still they brought me joy, and I couldn’t explain it. I drained my flask, got up from the sofa, and stretched.
I hoped Kevin wasn’t too out of it. I needed a serious, toe-curling orgasm, and I didn’t want the kind that my battery-operated friends produced.
11
PETA
I had done some dumb things, but driving while I was tipsy was one of the dumbest. I wasn’t drunk-drunk, but I felt real nice. I was probably less than one drink away from a bad situation if I had been pulled over by the cops. As I drove, all of the lights seemed blurry. I could read the street signs as long as I was right up on them. That was not cool, and I knew it.
When I finally turned the corner to enter my subdivision, I let out a huge sigh of relief. Usually, after happy hour, we’d go to another spot like Sugarhill or Club 21. That second spot gave us time to work off the alcohol, but that didn’t happen tonight.
I was right on the edge. I felt good, more than a little tipsy. One more drink would’ve done the trick. That’s why I’d have another taste once I made it to the privacy of my own house, but first, I had to make it there in one piece.
Once I got in the car, I had rolled down all of the windows so that the alcohol fumes from my breath wouldn’t make me feel sick. The breeze also helped me to sober up as I drove. I even sang along with the songs on the radio.
“I’ve got to ease up a bit on Thursdays, especially when the party ends at happy hour,” I muttered to myself as I turned onto my cul-de-sac. Relief washed over me. I was home, safely.
I hiccupped hard and loud as I turned the car onto my street. I brought it to a sudden, but careful, stop right before I swung into my driveway to find Kyle’s car parked there.
“What in the hell?”
Visions of the last knockdown, drag-out verbal brawl with Kyle came to mind. He was pissed merely because I chose to go to happy hour, instead of having what he considered an important discussion. As I eyed his car, it pissed me off even more. I had told him time and time again not to pull into my driveway when I wasn’t home.
He knew damn well that he had no parking privileges, but he simply didn’t want to listen. If he thought discussing his important issue tonight was a good idea, I had news for him. I cursed as I threw the car into reverse, and backed up. I had to settle for a spot on the street. Now, I was really pissed. My high-heeled shoes were never made for actual walking, especially while drunk.
After I parked, I rolled up the windows, and turned off the car. I sat for a moment, trying to get my mind right. My heart raced as anger burned deep inside me. I was in no mood for the fight I realized awaited me.
I didn’t understand how Kyle could spend so much time at our house without his woman having a fit. If he had focused on home like this while we were married, maybe we’d still be together. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and shook me to my core.
I grabbed my purse, and fumbled my way out of the car. When I hiccupped again, I nearly lost my balance. I dropped back against the car, and swallowed the bile that threatened to come up. The cool, fresh air felt good, but it reminded me of how much I had overdone it. After a few minutes, I found my balance and attempted to make my way up the shrub-lined walkway that led to my front door.
On Thursdays, Kendal knew to leave the porch light on. I generally came home tipsy, and would struggle to find the right key in the dark. I was disgusted when I staggered to the door, and realized it was pitch dark.
“Shit!”
I stumbled a bit as I pulled my bag open, and rummaged through all of the junk inside. It was hard since I couldn’t see a damn thing!
“Shoot, dammit! Hate big purses! Where are the doggone keys?”
There was no question. I was pissy-assed drunk, and mad as hell. I couldn’t find the damn keys!
I felt like crying until my front door suddenly creaked open.
“This shit has got to stop!” Kyle whispered angrily, through gritted teeth. The low, sensual sound made my insides tingle. Instead of allowing me inside, he squeezed through the opening, stepped outside, and pulled the door closed behind him. “Do you realize how drunk you are?”
I wanted to say, “Yeah, mofo, what do you think I was doing at the door? Playing with myself? Of course I was drunk, but your bitchin’ is about to mess up my high.” Instead, I held my tongue, and thought before I spoke.
“Ain’t nobody drunk!” I said.
Unfo
rtunately for me, my denial sounded more intoxicated than I actually felt. I quickly pulled my hand up to my lips, but that did nothing to stop another hiccup. Kyle grasped my arm, and pulled me close.
“What kind of example you setting for our daughter? You leave her every week to go get drunk and rowdy with your trampy girls! I’m tryna tell yo’ ass that ain’t a good look.”
Even though he hadn’t raised his voice, the heat of his breath assaulted my face, and his sharp words cut deep. I wanted to reach out, and slap the shit out of him, but I’d probably lose my balance and wind up on the ground.
“You don’t own me; you can’t tell me what the f-f-fuck to do anymore!” It was a weak comeback, but it was the best I could do.
“I don’t want to own you! My daughter is looking at you to teach her how to become a woman, and the shit you showing her right now is foul!”
His face was so close to mine that I smelled the mint from his breath. I shuddered at the thought of what mine must’ve smelled like.
“You drinking and driving and shit! What if you were pulled over?”
I stared at him, and cocked an eyebrow.
“I ain’t drunk!” I tried to jerk away from him, but lost my balance, slipped, and nearly fell. Kyle grabbed me. And maybe it was the way he clutched me even closer, but something in me stirred again.
He had to have felt it, too. The next thing I knew, his mouth cupped mine, and our tongues began a vigorous wrestling match. My heart raced. I couldn’t get enough of his taste, so I sucked and sapped like his mouth held the key to all of my problems.
We kissed and sucked. He reached behind his back, and opened the front door. We stumbled into the house, and picked up right where we’d left off.
This time, I didn’t want to pull back from the kiss. I didn’t want him to see the lust that burned in my eyes. That was the thing about Thursday nights. When I got drunk, and sometimes even just tipsy, I’d get horny as hell. Sure, I had done some questionable things, and all of it could be blamed on the alcohol. It made everything feel that much better.
