The room at Sláinte spun around me. The other bartender, the one Bridget called David, held me upright. He kept trying to force garlic bread and water into my mouth. I hadn't eaten since the donuts and coffee cake. Three drinks had completely done me in. The digital clock over the bar read four AM. David, Bridget, and I had been drinking and laughing for hours. I hadn't even felt the time pass.
David had a French manicure that I kept fixating on. He wore beautiful gold contacts, making him appear exotic. One of his dreads brushed my face. I swatted at it, convinced it was alive.
“Christ, Bridget, why didn't you cut her off?” he growled.
“I didn't think three would put her under the table. Geez, I even watered down that last one.”
Deep within me my stomach roiled. “I'm gonna be sick.”
David grabbed a waste bin and shoved it under my chin. When I was done being sick I looked up to see Bridget on the phone.
“Yeah she's safe. She's a bit under the weather at present, Angie.”
Another wave erupted out of me. David held my hair back. Near me I could smell an open bottle of some noxious fumes. “David, I'm staying here tonight to keep an eye on this one.” I heard Bridget pour something.
David mumbled something. “Pass me some of the pizza. I may as well stay too.”
Eleven
I woke up under a table at Sláinte. Bridget was passed out at a booth with one foot on the table. There was an empty bottle of rum next to her. Her co-owner, David, slumped over a table. My problems seemed miles away in light of my hangover. The terrible pain I endured was my biggest problem currently.
My phone vibrated. I flipped it open, “Hello?” My own voice tore through my brain.
“Where are you?” It was Patrice. “You're supposed to be at the office.”
“What time is it?”
“Nine forty.”
Uh oh. “The meeting.”
“Yes, the meeting. Get your ass over here.” Click.
I looked at my clothes. I vaguely recalled how vomit got on my pant leg. It coupled horribly with the smoothie stain. I wore only a black undershirt on top. My blouse was MIA. Oh yeah and I reeked of alcohol. “I am boned,” I said aloud.
Bridget rubbed her eyes. “What's up?”
“I'm a mess and about to be late for a meeting.”
“Come on,” Bridget eased herself out of the booth. “I keep a change of clothes in the office. I think I've got a skirt that might fit.” Her eyes were bloodshot. I could be sure mine were probably the same.
I looked at my phone. Ten missed calls and twenty texts. Fabulous.
“I need a cab.”
“David!” Bridget shouted. I grabbed my head. “Wake up!” She gave him a poke. “Can you drive Samantha to the BSB office?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Aside from looking extremely uncomfortable David was no worse for the wear. Methinks he hadn't gotten completely plastered last night.
I fell into step behind Bridget on our short walk to the bar's office. Inside there was a cheap pressboard desk and faux leather chair. Bridget had hung an Irish flag on the wall farthest from the door. A White Sox World Series poster hung opposite, right next to the door. Papers were scattered here and there. An empty wire cage was against the wall on the left hand side of me. It was set up on an old army trunk.
Bridget handed me a modest black skirt. She was few inches shorter than me. What would have fallen just below her knees hung just above mine.
“Have you seen my blouse anywhere?”
“Not since you came in. Let's see what I can do about that.” Bridget moved the wire cage and opened the army trunk. There were a few shirts inside mixed with some random odds and ends. She held up a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt. I would be swimming in it. Not exactly professional. I hoped my face radiated my uncertainty at her choice in attire.
She threw the shirt over her desk chair. This time when she came up from the trunk she held a tweed blazer, tan, complete with leather patches. I took it, buttoning it up over my tank top undershirt.
“Do I look as ridiculous as I feel?”
“Do you feel like a cross-dressing professor with a drinking problem?”
“Yes.”
“Then you look as ridiculous as you feel.” Bridget patted my back and left the office so I could change. I peeled away my jeans and shimmied into the skirt. I pulled my hair into a ponytail since there was little else that could be done with it.
When I emerged from the back David had keys in hand and was ready to fly. Bridget offered me a Dixie cup as I left. I was relieved to see it was filled with mouth wash. My entire mouth felt gritty and there was a terrible taste in it. I gargled and spit it out while David brought his car around to the street.