>Weathered: Something Wet
>This is a continuation of this post from yesterday…
The luxurious comfort of her father’s Lincoln did little to soothe her despondent state. Despite the familiarity of the driver, a long-time employee of her father’s, she found no respite in his attempts to cheer her up. Ignoring him, she took advantage of the mini-bar her father kept stocked in the back.
“Where would you like to go, Miss Blair?” Thomas waited patiently for her to finish the liquid within the tiny bottle she held in her hand.
“Manhattan. I need…something. Something wet.”
Thomas merely nodded and drove off smoothly, heading for the city. Blair sat back and closed her eyes, her memories still haunting her. Her heart sat in her throat, a basketball she couldn’t swallow no matter how many of those little glass bottles she consumed. Louis’s eyes planted themselves inside her eyelids, and she resignedly opened hers, letting the tears fall freely.
Thomas knew better than to get involved, but he couldn’t accept Blair’s tears. She was like a daughter to him.
“Please don’t cry. I know your father is sick, but he is tough. He will survive. It’s going to take more than a cough and an irregular heartbeat to take him down. I promise.”
Her lips curled up despite her gloom. “Thank you, Thomas. I appreciate that.”
Noting they were nearing the city, she opened the little pink compact she kept in her purse and distracted herself with the task of fixing her smeared makeup between sips. There was nothing she could do about the raccoon branded eyes she had from crying, the red tributaries on the white were a neon sign to her grief. As she applied coral to her lips, the Towncar pulled up in front of a bar. Within moments, Thomas had her door open, his hand outstretched in assistance. His eyes widened in surprise at the number of empty bottles decorating the plush carpet under her feet.
He flinched slightly at the loud snap of her cosmetic case. Blair emerged from the car, and absorbed her surroundings. She recognized where she was, though she had never been here before. Thanking Thomas under her breath, she disappeared into the revolving glass, obliterated by the sparkling gold paint surrounding her. Inside was dark, elegantly lit by candles ensconced in the miniature chandeliers above each table. The seats were plush leather, black, with cool quartz topped tables between them. The stout, well stocked bar spread across the back wall tended by bartenders dressed in white button downs and burgundy ties. She was pleased to find that it wasn’t overly crowded, or overly empty, either. It was the perfect place for her to drown her sorrows without her business being spread faster than a yawn in a room full of insomniacs.
“Vodka and tonic, please,” her voice flowed in rhythm with the band playing on the opposite corner from the bar. “Make it a triple.” The glass was set before her, emptied, replaced. Drink. Refill. Drink, each glass as strong as the last. She glanced around the room, wondered why it was so foggy, and downed another one. A flash of black beside her caught her eye. A familiar voice was heard.
“I think she’s had enough, John.”
“No, no. I haven’t had nearly enough,” her arms betray her words. A coquettish giggle ruptures from her throat. “You should buy me…hic…another round…hic.” Her arm missed his shoulder, and she teetered from the chair. “Oof.”
“Ah, Blair. Let’s get you home.” With her arms snaked around his neck, he carried her easily to the car waiting outside for her.
Concrit is always wanted and appreciated. Tell me what worked and didn’t work for you and help me grow.