I Need a Drink
By
James Doyle
Emma Tutweiler held her hood in place over against the fierce winds from the northern edge of the storm that kept the S.S. Tipton docked. London Tipton had disappeared without a trace, leaving Emma, Moseby, Kirby, and Haggis to brave the storm and comb the streets for the rebellious heiress.
Emma had been searching for almost two hours, leaving her soaked to the bone, and not entirely sure of where she was. She decided she needed to get out of the rain in order to get her bearings, and also to dry out a bit. She happened upon a place called "Hank's Honky-Tonk Haven." She determined the western-themed saloon to be a not altogether unpleasant place to regroup.
Fortune smiled upon Emma as she approached the bar, where she found the absent-minded Asian, sitting with a bunch of guys twice her age. For reasons she didn't understand, Emma took solace in the fact that London still had her clothes on, and only had two empty glasses in front of her.
"So the American says 'Remember the Alamo!' and pushes the Mexican out," narrated London, eliciting raucous laughter from the crowd she'd gathered.
"London!" interjected Emma. "Thank goodness you're okay."
"Oh, hey Miss T.," greeted London. "Come on over. Have a seat."
"I'll do no such thing!" protested Emma. "You're coming with me this minute."
"I don't think so," refused London. "The night's still young."
"Oh yes you are," insisted Emma, taking London by the arm, only to have the bartender take her by the arm.
"Ma'am, I do believe the lady said 'no'," admonished the barkeep. "Now you can sit down and have a drink, or you can stop harassing my customers and leave."
"Fine," conceded Emma, taking a seat at the bar.
"Ah, don't be such a sourpuss!" chided London. "Barkeep, whatever she wants, on my tab."
"That's really not necessary," said Emma.
"Come on," prodded London. "It's my birthday. Celebrate with me!"
Emma realized at that point that London could probably buy the entire bar for what she spent on a single outfit, and figured if the affluent young woman was forcing her hospitality upon her, she may as well order something from the top shelf.
"Barkeep," yelled Emma. "Johnnie Walker Blue Label, straight up."
"Are you sure about that, ma'am?" asked the barkeep.
"You heard her," interceded London.
"Coming right up, ma'am," obliged the barkeep.
"You know," commented Emma as the barkeep brought her drink. "I think I've been called ma'am more in the past two hours than I have my entire life."
"I think that's just the way people talk around here," theorized London.
"You're probably right," agreed Emma. "It is Texas, after all."
"Galveston," said London. "I'm supposed to be in Cancun for my twenty-first birthday. Then along comes a storm, the one thing I can't bribe, cajole or threaten out of my way. So here I am in...Galveston." London raised her glass and turned her attention to her new friends. "To Galveston."
"To Galveston," they echoed, sharing in her toast.
"They seem awfully festive," observed Emma.
"They'd better be," explained London. "They're all drinking on my tab."
Emma sighed. "London, what are you doing here?"
"It's my twenty-first birthday," explained London. "And dammit, I'm gonna have a drink!"
"I mean, why this place?" clarified Emma.
"Honesty," admitted London, "It was the first place I found that wasn't either super-noise or a total piss-hole."
"You could've just had a drink on the ship," argued Emma.
"Yeah, and have no one to celebrate with except a bunch of snooty rich old people," countered London. "At least these cowboy-types are fun to talk to."
Emma pondered what London was saying for awhile before lightening struck her brain.
"You're upset that you can't celebrate with your friends," surmised Emma.
London nodded. "Daddy would have you and Moseby keel-hauled if he heard there was underage drinking going on aboard his boat. I rented out a club in Cancun. Zack even helped me come up with a plan to get everybody ashore and then back aboard without arousing suspicion."
"And just this once, I would've looked the other way," added Emma.
"Thanks," said London. "That means a lot."
London ordered up another whiskey and seven, and Emma finished her Scotch and ordered a less expensive blend for her second round. There was no live entertainment that evening, so they had to settle for the jukebox, which began to play a certain song that took Emma down memory lane.
He wore that cowboy hat to cover up his horns
Sweet-talking forked tongue had a tempting charm
Before I turned around that girl was gone
All I can say is, "Bartender pour me something strong!"
Here's to the past
They can kiss my glass
I hope she's happy with him
Here's to the girl
Who wrecked my world
That angel who did me in
I think the Devil drives a Coupe de Ville
I watched him drive away over the hill
Not against her will
I've got time to kill
Down in Brokenheartsville
"Ah, that song sure brings back memories," said Emma with a sarcastic wistfulness in her voice.
"Some dude in a cowboy hat stole your girlfriend?" puzzled Emma.
"No, of course not," retorted Emma. "It was my boyfriend, it was Mustang convertible rather than a Cadillac, and it was a ridiculously-stacked chick in a tank-top two sizes too small rather than a guy in a cowboy hat."
"Wow," reacted London. "Sucks to be you!"
"Your compassion overwhelms me," snarked Emma.
"Well, what do you expect?" defended London. "You're always making us listen to sob stories about your past relationships, and it's obvious to anyone with half a brain that the guys you date aren't worth a crap."
"And just what would you know about that?" asked Emma.
"Back in Boston, I dated this guy named Lance," recalled London. "He was the lifeguard at the hotel. All he could ever think or talk about was water. He'd have made a great oceanographer if he wasn't such a retard."
"Really?" reacted Emma.
"Yeah, I know, right," continued London. "Me, of all people, calling someone stupid. Anyway, I didn't realize until he fell for someone else that the only thing I really liked about him were his good looks."
"So you're saying my standards are lopsided in the wrong direction?" summarized Emma.
"The way I see it, yeah," confirmed London. "Then again, what do I know?"
London and Emma shared a few more dating horror stories, ordering up a couple more rounds as they did so.
"And here I always thought it was because I wasn't pretty enough," said Emma.
"Don't be ridiculous," replied London, starting to become a little slow-of-speech. "You're gorgeous. If you'd wear a little less makeup, and do something about that hair, you'd be fighting them off with a stick!"
Emma smiled. "I don't think I'll ever be as beautiful as you."
"Thanks," said London. "I just wish I could be beautiful like Bailey."
"What are you talking about?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. I'll never be able to make an off-the-rack outfit work like she does, and I'll never have those hips, or those boobs."
"Boobs?" echoed Emma, amazed that she was talking about a student in these terms. "They're not that big."
"You haven't seen her in her bra and panties," argued London. "My gosh, they're perfect! You can't buy boobs like those. Believe me, I've looked into it."
"Yes, I'm sure you have," replied Emma, feeling more than a little out of her depth.
"And she's so smart," continued London, "And she always knows what to do. Is it any wonder she won Cody over?"
"Cody?" puzzled Emma. "When did this become about Cody?"
"It's always been about Cody," revealed London. "The hair, the eyes, the face. Mmm."
"I see," responded Emma. "How long has this been going on?"
"Since he started doing my web show," answered London. "Of course, he had a girlfriend, and I couldn't be seen with someone three years younger than me. Still, I thought we had something, and I thought something might actually happen between us now that we're out at sea, away from all the paparazzi and my snooty friends and associates, and that know-it-all skank Barbara."
"But then he fell for Bailey," supplied Emma.
"Yeah," sighed London. "And now I'll never know if we ever had a chance."
"London," counseled Emma, taking her by the hand. "You can't dwell on things like this. You need to open up to new possibilities, or you'll just become more bitter and callous."
"What kind of guy would want me?" lamented London, the alcohol having washed away her false pride. "Take away my money and my good looks, and you have a twenty-one-year-old who's still in high school."
"You're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for," argued Emma. "You're always coming up with new ways to store all of your outfits. Maybe if you applied that creative thinking to something more productive, you'd be unstoppable."
"I guess you're right," granted London.
"And as for guys liking you for who you are," added Emma, "I happen to know of at least one."
"Marcus?" asked London. "No offense, but he's not really my type."
"I wasn't suggesting you go out with him," clarified Emma. "Just using him as an example."
London pondered it for a moment. For some reason, things seemed clearer in her current state.
"I guess you're right," conceded London.
"Of course I am," Emma gloated playfully.
Just then, Emma received a text message.
"Oh, crap," grumbled Emma.
"Who is it?" asked London.
"Moseby," answered Emma. "He's about to send the police out looking for both of us."
"We should head back," suggested London. "I don't want to get you in trouble."
The next morning, London awoke, only to be blinded by the sunlight pouring in through her porthole. She fumbled around blindly, looking for her sunglasses. Her roommate Bailey Pickett yawned as she too awoke.
"Morning, London," she croaked softly.
"Dammit Bailey!" exclaimed London. "Do you have to yell?"
"Come on," urged Bailey as she got out of bed. "We have to get ready for class."
"I don't think I'm feeling up to it today," protested London.
"You'd better show up," warned Bailey, "Or else you and Miss Tutweiler will have to explain to Moseby where you were last night."
"How did you know?" asked London.
"My dad makes the best moonshine in the plains," informed Bailey. "I know a hangover when I see one."
"Alright," conceded London. "But only because I don't want to get Miss Tutweiler in trouble."
As they made their way to class, Bailey couldn't help but notice a different demeanor about London, which couldn't be entirely attributed to the after-effects of a night of hard drinking.
"What, no snide remarks about my outfit?" invited Bailey.
"Nah, it's fine," assured London. "Though maybe you should try showing a little more cleavage."
"Um, okay," reacted Bailey, not quite sure what to think. "I'll keep that in mind."
When they arrived at class, they found Miss Tutweiler in her usual place at the front of the room, not looking any worse for the wear. London correctly attributed this to the older woman being much better able to hold her liquor.
"Hey, London," greeted Zack as the two girls took their seats. "It's too bad you didn't get your party in Cancun."
"Pay no attention to my brother," dismissed Cody. "He's just pissed that he's missing out on an evening of drinking and debauchery."
"Well, in the case," said London. "He'll be green with envy to know that I managed to have a good time, anyway."
Bailey smiled. "Happy birthday, London."
The End
Song Credit:
"Brokenheartsville"
Written by D. Kees, B. Mevis, R. Boudreaux & C. Daniels
Performed by Joe Nichols
From the album Man with a Memory (2002)