Ledge Walkers

by Rosalyn Wraight

  From behind the bar, our bartender lamented, “I thought you guys forgot about us!"

  "Never, lover!” Sam said and made his way to offer food and a kiss.

  "I thought you said you were a gay guy, Sam!” Holly exclaimed. “I'm telling."

  "And I thought you were a good girl, Holly,” the bartender countered.

  Holly stopped dead in her tracks to do a double take. She twisted her brow in confusion and then wailed,

  “Charles! Oh my God, Charles. You are so beautiful.” She turned to us, evidently assuming we were all intellectually challenged, and announced, “It's Charles! Oh my God, it's Charles!"

  "That's Charlize. Thank you.” He beamed.

  "Get out here and let me look at you!"

  He obliged and did a little glamour girl twirl for us. He was indeed beautiful, not at all trashy like some queens who demeaned women at the same time they sought to join them. He was a knockout in a very respectable way and just genuinely seemed to feel good in his own skin: with makeup, a dark tailored suit with sparkly pants, and long black hair. Classy, indeed, and one of the sweetest men I had ever met.

  They hugged like long lost friends, and Holly tried to take his earrings. We simply watched, not so much with interest, but more because they blocked our way.

  "Why didn't you tell me you weren't a good girl?” he asked her, his hand on his hip, pretending to be seriously concerned.

  "I am a good girl,” she professed, contorting her face again and tilting her head to the side. “What makes you think otherwise?"

  "Because I've been locked in the basement for the past two hours with Janice,” he answered and pointed to the couch on the far side of the dimly lit room.

  Holly looked but could not make the connection right away. Then her mouth dropped at the same time Laura said, “Oh Jesus."

  Kris corrected, as any good professor would, “Actually, Laura, I think it's ‘Oh God.’”

  They ran over to Janice and started oozing apologies until it was rather deep. I wished the lights were brighter so I could actually witness a McCallister blush, if there even was such a thing.

  I kissed Sam and Charlize and thanked them for their help.

  "I just want it stated for the record,” Charlize said. “Janice shot the champagne cork into the ceiling, not me."

  "And who screamed?” the astute Claudia challenged.

  "Um ... Can I get you girls drinks? That is what I'm here for. Who is the Margarita Queen anyway?"

  "That would be Ginny here,” I answered, reeling her in. “Sheloves a good Margarita."

  "Well, girl,” he said, “I made pitchers."

  Ginny glared at me. I could deal with her grumpiness now—now that I knew it neared its end. At least, I prayed it did.

  Most of us opted for Margaritas, and we spread out into the room with our salty swill.

  I saw Alison become very animated as she made her way to Janice. They were both good souls, and I crossed my fingers that something might blossom. Lotuses in the lotus position.

  Susan asked, “Are all your little helpers going to join us tonight? What about Phyllis and Molly?"

  "We don't really know Phyllis. Plus, I think we scared her,” Claudia remarked.

  "And Molly,” I said loud enough for Ginny to hear. “We asked her, but she had more important things to take care of, I guess."

  Claudia held her glass high. “There are five levels of intoxication. What is the first level, ladies?” she shouted.

  A few adjectives took laps around the room, but not one earned the victory lap.

  "It's Gifted,” she clarified. “You know. Your wit becomes sharp, and everything you say is incredibly funny.

  Your vision becomes more attuned, and suddenly every woman you see is absolutely gorgeous. Your insight deepens, and you suddenly have defensible opinions about everything under the sun."

  "To Gifted!” I shouted, and everyone with a drink raised it in a toast.

  Those without drinks scrambled to the bar, evidently worried about being giftless.

  I found myself thankful that we knew and trusted them all—and vice versa. This was not intended to be a drunken farce. We wanted simply to loosen the inhibitions a wee bit.

  Laura whizzed by at that point and asked Claudia, “Am I gorgeous yet?"

  "No,” she answered. “But you're awfully funny."

  "Keep drinking, then.” She clinked Claudia's glass with her own, slid her arm around Holly's waist, and pulled her further into the room.

  See, with this borderline crew, we were talking tablespoons, not shots, fifths, or the now infamous vat of vodka.

  Eventually, we all took places on the couches or on the floor in front of it. Charlize sailed through with the pitcher of Margaritas and topped off the glasses of the so inclined. He returned with other drinks for the nonconformists. The conversations swirled in all directions and encompassed all. There was a recap of the day's events; a brief overview of Sociology from Professor Kris; debate about 60s versus 70s music; a eulogy for what hair bands had slain; a few bad jokes; and a serious discussion about purple shirts. We were oblivious to the passage of time.

  In due course, Claudia stood and held her glass high. “What's the second level of intoxication, ladies?” she asked above the din.

  The lapping adjectives this time bordered on crude and bizarre, but again, no victor emerged.

  "It's Guru,” she said, refusing to add the “duh!” that lurched on her lips. “At this level you begin to recognize thatyou are the most gorgeous one in the room and those of lesser gorgeousness all want you. Your opinions have now become facts, and it finally dawns on you that no one knows as much as you—it's up to you to educate them. You pity every fool around you, and you help them drown their sorrow by supplying rounds of drinks for them all."

  "To Guru!” I yelled, and the ritual upraising followed.

  "Well, at leastnow I know I'm gorgeous,” Laura quickly remarked.

  "Thank God” Ginny added. “I've been waiting fifty some years to turn gorgeous. I thought I was always going to stay pumpkin."

  Holly swung into Ginny from two seats over on the couch. “You are gorgeous, Ginny!"

  "I always thought so,” Kris said. “Ginny, are you insinuating I've had bad taste all these years?"

  "I'm notinsinuating anything!” Ginny snarled.

  Claudia interrupted, “Uh, uh, uh! You are not allowed to be argumentative at level two!"

  "How long have you too been together anyway?” Susan asked.Tread lightly, Susan!

  There was no hesitation. Ginny declared, “Twenty-five years this Thursday."

  Kris looked at her and smiled. “Twenty-five good years. I wouldn't trade them for anything."

  I saw tears well in Ginny eyes, but I knew that it wasn't because Kris had touched her heart. It was because we were cruel.

  "You know what I hate the most about drinking?” I asked, as obnoxiously as could and unwilling to await an answer. “Nicotine fits. I need a smoke. Laura, that's your cue."

  She was taken aback but played along with me.

  "Ginny, you, too,” I ordered.

  "I don't smoke."

  "Well, there's something blowing out your ears. Move it!” I went to her, grabbed her hand, and helped her off the couch.

  Kris stared at me with wide, questioning eyes, and I just shook my head at her. “Too far,” I mouthed.

  The three of us made our way to the porch. The evening had cooled down considerably, bringing a chill that felt good. Laura and I each lit a cigarette, and then I asked Ginny if she had seen Claudia's irises in the backyard.

  She was interested, as I knew she would be, and we left the porch to go have a look.

  A large patch on the back of our lot boasted about two hundred purple and white irises. Claudia had planted them when we first moved in, and she hoped to successfully transplant them into the yard at her grandmother's house.

  "She only planted a few initially,” I explained. “Every year t
hey come back, stronger in stature and number."

  "You're going to defecate pearls of wisdom, aren't you?” she asked, but at least she was laughing. I laughed, too, at what an English professor could create with a few synonyms.

  "Do I need to? Because I will—until you're standing up to your eyeballs in them."

  "I'm just pouting, Kate,” she admitted. “Like a two-year-old. Very unbecoming a woman my age, but my feelings are hurt."

  "She loves you, Ginny. You know that. And you know she would never intentionally do anything to hurt you.

  You know that!” I emphasized, just short of screaming. “So either you're looking at this all wrong or she's holding out on you."

  She lost herself in thought for a moment, and then she turned abruptly to me. “Is she? Is she holding out on me?”

  She looked desperate for something to hang onto before she slipped into despair.

  I frustrated myself so badly sometimes. I put on the bravado of one so gung-ho to take people out in these silly games we played. When push came to shove, though, I invariably flinched.

  "Let me say this and only this,” I began. I put my hands on her shoulders and looked her squarely in the eyes.

  “She trying very hard make you happy. I know it doesn't seem like it, but just trust her a little while longer. If you can't, then trust me."

  "You're holding out on me, too."

  Damn!I heard my name being scratched onto her shit list.

  "You're both playing me,” she said, and with nearly an audiblepoof, her brain cooked on all four again.

  "Then trust her. Play right back at her! Don't take your frickin’ marbles and go home to pout."

  "You're right,” she said.Yes! “She doesn't have that many marbles to begin with. This should be easy.” She quickly turned to head back into the house. Stopping briefly, she kissed me on the forehead and said, “Thanks, dear."

  I headed back to Laura on the porch, shook my head, and took the last gulp of my Margarita. After we put our smokes out, we headed to the basement.

  Charlize refilled our drinks, and I found Claudia and sat next to her. Ginny had returned to her spot next to Kris, who kept looking at me as though I should be able to telepathically communicate the entirety of the conversation I had just had. I smiled, I nodded—I did whatever I could inconspicuously do to reassure her.

  Nothing seemed to work. When Ginny leaned to the coffee table to retrieve her drink, I gave a hearty thumbs-up to Kris. She seemed to breathe again.

  The noise level in the room increased, laughter reached new heights, and voices now competed with each other.

  Level two: achieved! I kissed Claudia on the neck and whispered, “Go for it."

  She stood, not quite as gracefully as she had prior, and raised her glass yet again. “What is the third level of intoxication, ladies?"

  This time, however, her words garnered no response. The activity continued unabated.

  I grabbed her and pulled her onto my lap, and in the process, a shower of Margarita burst forth.

  "Do you want me to whistle?"

  "Don't you dare!"

  "How about I clean you up then?” I suggested, kissing the lime and tequila from her fingers and face.

  At first she let me. Then she pushed my head back, shoved her now empty glass into my hand, and stood determinedly.

  "Yoooooo!” she bellowed until attention was had from one and all. Then she yelled her question again, “What is the third level of intoxication?"

  The adjectives were a bit cruder and just as bizarre, and Claudia shook her head wildly, as they all sputtered and stalled.

  "See, that's why you need someone to teach you. That's why we have these stupid classes for you,” she said, and I got the feeling that she wobbled awfully close to level three. “The third level of intoxication is where strong, healthy women do not go! Gifted, Guru, Gladiator, Gacker, and Goner. Strong, healthy women do not need to go beyond Guru.” The subsequent burp went a long way to reinforce her teachings.

  I jumped in before she could reinforce anything else. “You cannot go past this point. You are more than welcome to stay at this point, if you choose, but you cannot go beyond. Charlize and Sam have sodas, juices, coffee, snacks—whatever. Donot go beyond this point. Promise?"

  To that, all glasses were raised and “Promise!” momentarily drowned out the music. It seemed an oxymoron, but trust had prevailed all day.

  Chapter 8

  I gently pulled Claudia with me onto the couch. “Are you okay? You want me to call Earl for a little sobering advice?"

  "I'm okay,” she assured. “Earl would be a party pooper. Besides, I actually feel pretty good.” She patted her face, as if verifying that it was still there. “I can't remember the last time I drank this much."

  "You sure you're still level two?"

  "Level one, baby,” she growled. “You're still the most gorgeous one in the room.” She straddled me and then laid a kiss on me so long and wild that it sucked the breath out of me, and I knew in a gasping instant the religion of “Oh God."

  Choices. Choices. Damn choices! The booze had weakened her inhibitions, and through the fractures, her passion escaped—the passion she historically reserved for our private times—of which this was most definitely not one. I could take what she tendered or I could respect who I knew her to be. It was a big ... choice ... a monumental ... decision ... that required ... a lot ... of ... thought ... and ...Oh God!

  "Honey!” I finally said through flattened and tingling lips. “I'm getting Earl before we do something you'll regret."

  Her kissing slowed until her passion merely simmered. “Shit! Okay, you better do that. I've got to hit the bathroom anyway.” She moved to sit next to me and patted her face again.

  "I say hold off on taking a pee until it's absolutely necessary; otherwise, you'll break the seal."

  "What the hell does that mean? Break what seal?"

  "Break the seal,” I repeated. “If you pee once, you'll have to pee a thousand times."

  She still didn't understand, but I knew that eventually she would.

  I made my way upstairs to brew a cup of tea for her. The house was dark as evening submissively gave in to the night. I turned on lights, set the kettle to boil, and stole a smoke while I waited.

  When I returned to the basement, I found her stretched out on the couch where I had left her. In front of her, Maggie, Susan, and Holly sat pretzel-legged. The four of them talked madly all at the same time. I figured that when the fits of laughter came, each laughed at herself because she couldn't possibly have understood what anyone else had said.

  As I approached, she sat up to make room for me. I carefully handed her the mug of Earl, and I could tell that she was grateful. I gave her a few minutes to sip, and then I reminded her that we needed to stay on schedule.

  Since I knew that Earl rain was much harsher than Margarita, I took the mug from her as she stood.

  "Everybody!” she yelled. “We need to keep moving. The school day is not over. Now we head to Psychology."

  She received undivided attention rather quickly this time, and I noted everyone's reaction, especially Kris'. She crossed her arms over her chest and made what I could only call an “I dare ya” face.

  Claudia looked at me with glassy, imploring eyes, and I knew that the mic had been prematurely handed to me.

  I began, “In Psychology, they taught us about the psyche, the ego and the id, disorders, and a whole bunch of hoo-ha. But they forgot an important lesson. When you're in school, you can't even pick your own clothes; it's dictated by the label. You can't even choose your own hairstyle; it's dictated by magazines. And you certainly can't pick your own friends; you must qualify. So what did we need to learn in order to grow up to be strong, healthy women?"

  They stared blankly at me. I was neither a manager nor a squad captain. I failed to ignite. I failed to incite. I failed to be Claudia, and I found that to be extremely ironic at that moment. My own imploring eyes made the
return trip to Claudia, the imaginary mic lobbed in her direction.

  "They should have taught us how to be someone we're not!” she shouted, and the lot of them yelled “Yeah!”

  “Strong, healthy women need to know how to pull that off and still retain who they are."

  "Yeah!” came again. They were incited, and I knew that it was safe to take the mic back. “So what we want you to do is to stop being yourself. Until the end of class, you will be your partner. Mannerism, speech, beliefs—the whole she-bang.” I searched out Alison in the crowd and found her on the far side of the room, sitting with Janice. “Alison, you can either hook up with Janice and give it a try or just enjoy the ride."