It was half past noon, and I was already a fifth of whiskey deep. Wearing my white nightdress, I stood in the living room staring out into the street. It was still and empty; most people had left for work hours ago. Swaying, I lifted the bottle to my lips, tossing my head back to get the last few drops from the bottom.
A blur of movement caught my eye. I tried to focus as a man stopped in front of our house to peek in the window before hustling along. I recognized him as the old, lanky man from the park. The bottle slipped from my hand, fell to the floor, and shattered. I ran to the door and flung it open.
“Hey,” I shouted as the man hobbled down the street.
He kept walking, eyes forward.
“You. Stop.” I careened down the sidewalk barefoot after him. “Why’re you following me?”
I ran full speed toward him. The lanky man rounded a corner, and just as I rounded it after him, I collided with another man. He caught me by the arms as I tried to regain my footing.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, clutching me firmly. My eyes refused to focus; he was foggy and lineless. I squinted him into view, making out a pair of black-rimmed glasses.
“Grace?”
“James?” I straightened up, trying to speak without slurring my words. I hadn’t seen him since I’d left home.
“Are you okay?” His eyes widened with concern as they moved to my bare feet. He was still holding me and I wanted to collapse into his arms.
“Yeah. Fine.” I smiled, exposing my teeth, feeling the tenseness of a headache coming on. “Cat got out. I was…chasing her.”
James’s face softened. “Do you want me to help you find her?”
“No.” I glanced up and down the road. “She’ll come back.” I dipped forward, giggled, and began singing. “Cat came back the very next day. The cat came back, we thought she was a goner.”
He was staring at my face. I wasn’t wearing any lipstick; my lips felt dry and dehydrated. My hair was unbrushed, curly and untamed.
“My grandmother used to sing that.” James nodded, seemingly amused. “How the hell are you? I haven’t seen you in years.”
“Yeah, been a while.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Good. Okay. Been better.” I smoothed my nightgown. “Obviously.”
He laughed. It sounded childlike and nostalgic, but it had deepened with age.
“Give me a hug.” I stretched out my arms.
James enveloped me. His arms were hard and ridged with muscles, and he smelled of Burberry cologne. I inhaled him deeply, feeling myself lighten.
“Coffee?” I stepped backward, letting my arms drop. “I live…” I pointed up the street, then turned, pointing in the other direction. “…there.” I stumbled, and he reached out and caught me again.
“Uh, you sure you’re okay, Grace?”
“Fine.” I brushed him off. “Didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Okay. Coffee sounds good.” James let me go and we began shuffling along.
A car passed, honking as they sped by. I jumped, giving them the finger. I turned to James. “So, living in the city?”
“I am,” he chuckled. “Been here almost a year now. People are so friendly.”
“Just like home.” I smiled as we reached the front door. In my haste, I had neglected to close it, and as we stepped inside and saw the mess of bloody footprints, I immediately remembered the broken glass on the floor. Bracing myself against the doorway, I balanced on one foot, and grabbing for the other, pulled my leg into a V to see the bottom. It was cut pretty badly. “Oh shit.”
James stuck his head in. “Jesus, Grace, what happened?”
“Dropped a glass chasing the cat.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Must have stepped on a piece.”
“It looks like a fucking murder scene in here.” His eyes moved to the gash on my foot. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Motioning for James to follow, we made our way down the hall and squeezed into my tiny bathroom. I had the spins and desperately needed a bump to straighten me out. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I tried to deep breathe as I ran the water, placing my hand beneath the faucet periodically to check the temperature.
James kneeled in front of me, and when the water was hot enough, he began to wash the blood from my foot.
“Bet you didn’t think you’d be washing—” I was going sideways. I grabbed for the edge of the tub.
James’s hands shot for my waist, pulling me back up. His hands lingered as he searched my eyes. “Good?”
“Mhm.” I cupped my hand under the faucet and rubbed it on my face, then ran my fingers through my hair to smooth it out.
“Do you have any tweezers?” James was looking at my foot again. “I need to get the glass out.”
“On the dresser.”
James walked from the ensuite into my bedroom and I scrambled for my baggie of coke. I dumped a pile onto the back of my hand, raised it to my nose, and inhaled before stuffing it back into my bra. He returned as the drugs started to drip down the back of my throat.
“Okay, let’s see.” He closed the lid of the toilet and sat, reaching for my foot and placing it in his lap. “This isn’t going to be pleasant.”
“I can take it.”
James began poking at the cut, digging the tweezers into the gash. He opened and closed them, trying to catch the glass. I wasn’t feeling much pain, but was beginning to get turned on by James’s composure as he dug in my open wound. I sniffled and wiped my nose with the back of my wrist, watching him intently. He clasped down and pulled, and I felt the glass sliding out.
“Got it.” He extended the tweezers toward me, the piece of glass marbled with blood. “I need a Band-Aid.”
I pointed to the medicine cabinet. “Right there.”
He rifled through the cupboard. Grabbing the box and holding them toward me, he cocked his eyebrow. “Really Grace? Barbie Band-Aids?”
“Don’t make fun.” I grinned. “Barbie makes me feel better.”
“Well, let’s hope she does the trick again today.” He crouched, grabbed my foot, and propped it onto his knee. He dried my foot with a towel, blew on it gently, and stuck the hot-pink and yellow bandage over the wound. “All done.”
Our faces were close, too close. I was afraid he could smell the whiskey on my breath, so I kept my mouth shut tightly. I took a closer look at the Band-Aid. Barbie was jumping for joy as rainbows shot from her outstretched arms.
The front door slammed and I jerked away.
“Grace?” Jack called. “What the fuck happened in here?”
“Oh no,” I muttered.
“Who’s that?” James asked.
“My boyfriend.”
I hopped up from the tub and limped down the hall. James followed behind. “Hey,” I called, moving toward Jack. “Sorry, dropped a glass. Cut myself. I’ll clean it up.”
“Jesus, Grace, are you okay?” Jack was staring at me as I hobbled to the kitchen to get the broom. He was quickly beside me and grabbed it from my hand. “Let me do that.”
For a moment, I forgot James was there. Then I realized he was standing behind me.
“Hey, I’m James.” He extended his hand to Jack before I had a chance to introduce them.
“Sorry. Jack, this is James. James, Jack. I ran into James outside.” Don’t mention the cat, I willed. For the love of God, don’t mention the cat.
“How’s it going, man?” Jack spoke in a voice that was deeper than usual.
“James is an old friend.” I patted him on the shoulder, the effects of the coke starting to kick in. My speech was speeding up. “We grew up together. I haven’t seen him in years. Since I left home, I guess. Right?”
Jack was standing very straight, with his shoulders pulled back. It was the same way he stood when someone critiqued his art. Or after someone decided not to buy one of his pieces.
“I invited him in for coffee.” I tried to ease the tension. “Speaking of, I’ll put the kettle on.”
“You know what, I should actually get going.” James was already making his way to the door. “I have to head back to work.”
“Of course.” I followed him to the door. “Thanks for, you know, cleaning me up.” I lifted my foot, staggering.
James extended his hand again in an attempt to catch me, but I caught myself first. “No problem.” He eyed Jack, who was hovering around the corner. “It was really nice seeing you. Maybe we can get together and catch up soon?”
“I’d like that. Bye, James.” I watched as he walked down the steps, shutting the door slowly behind him.
I turned to face Jack.
“Real fucking nice, Grace. Drunk at noon. And some random fucking guy, too. You’re certainly getting better at causing a scene.”
I stared at the ground, swaying in an attempt to keep my balance.
Jack threw the broom at me. “Clean up your own fucking mess.”