Fake Book

“Christ, what if it was? I really needed to get in touch with you.”

“What’s up, Rebecca?”

“Thursday night is the library charity dinner that you said you’d come to. As in, this Thursday,” she said. “As in, a few days from now.”

Crap. Not this week. Can’t even deal with some ridiculous ladies’ bullshit event.

“Lydia Marie, you promised you’d come. It is my charity, and my event, so my own daughter should at least be there. This one is important and I don’t ask you to come to these events very often. Your aunt will be there as well, and it will be very nice, so you need to be there.”

Fuck sake. I never want to go to anything called an ‘event.’


“Yeah, ok. I know, I know. I’ll be there. What’s the deal again?”

“Commander’s. 7 pm. Please wear something nice. And some makeup. And take that thing out of your nose. Please.”

“Christ, mom, anything else?” I’m reaching for the tomato juice to make a Bloody Mary, digging for whatever pills I might have stashed at the back of the cabinet. I feel a prescription bottle hidden in a ceramic coffee cup. Thank God.

“Be on time.”

“Got it. Ok, I gotta go. I’ll see you there.”

“Thursday. Thank you, darling. 7 pm.”

I hang up.

The rest of the day passes in a hazy Trazadone blur, and by the time the afternoon comes, I’m feeling that in a few days, the goddamn dinner might be manageable, after all. I mean, it’ll only be a couple of hours. No problem. I’ve wrangled my friend, Rae, to come over to drive me there. She’s going to hang out with our friends who live nearby and will give me a lift home. Makes it a bit easier. Plus I can drink and not worry about anything. And I’ll need to drink, that’s for damn sure.

I crawl into bed and call Clay, “Hey, come see me. Bring supplies, k?”

Hours later and naked and sweaty, I climb over Clay’s warm body to get a cigarette.

“You only brought one pack? Why, Clay, why?” I ask, melodramatic, as I crumble up the empty pack.

He pulls me on top of him. “I’ll go get anything you want, babe. You just gotta say the word.”

I take a drag, hold the cigarette out like a specimen. “These, please. I was off of them for two days, and it seems like two decades. So can’t you do a run for me? And more vodka, I think we’re out,” I say and kiss him. “But not just yet, I need more of you.”

He laughs and bites my arm. “What’s this one?” he asks, pointing to the green leaves tattooed on my shoulder.

“Leaves.” I smile.

“I know that. But, why?”

“Not everything has to have a reason, Clay.” I’m twisting around on top of him like a snake and he moans. Throws me down next to him and bites my stomach.

“And these?” He licks a point on my ribcage, around my side, and flips me on my stomach. Continues to trace my tattoo with his tongue to where it ends beyond my hip.