"You must be shitting me!"
Donna's indignant exclamation perishes in the consistent noise of the rush hour traffic, the roads floated by worn out and unnerved individuals on their way home.
And all she wanted at this point was to be one of them.
To arrive at her apartment, kick off the high heels and unzip this gorgeous but uncomfortable black dress, get into her oldest pyjamas, open a bottle of Bordeaux and wallow in this shit which she created all by herself with the little hope it wouldn't seem so disastrous after the 4th glass.
But as it would appear God had other plans for her tonight.
In the meanwhile Donna's right arm threatens to fall off of exhaustion by waving for a taxi two blocks down the Pearson Specter Litt office and by now already the 9th taxi passed her by without even slowing down.
As another taxi approaches, her wild gesturing towards the driver being once again completely overlooked, she decides to perform a more bold maneuver by basically jumping in front of the car.
The brakes squeak, but the vehicle comes to a halt right in front of her, give or take 3 centimeters away from her legs.
Now it's the drivers turn to gesticulate rudely towards her, hitting the horn and curbing down the window just to scream "What the fuck you crazy bitch! I could have killed you!"
Donna ignores all of that, opens the door and smoothly slides into the cab, taking place in the back seat before informing the driver where to take her.
Traffic lights illuminate the dim inside as the driver queues into the seemingly never ending stream of vehicles, unveiling the flaws in the cushions and the overall battered condition of this specific one.
Donna tries to stare out of the window covered by the dust and dirt of several years of New York City, but all she can see is her own face staring back at her.
The desolate imprint on her features, colored by the kaleidoscope of red and yellow taillights, frankly scares her, but what else was she expecting to see right now?
A mischievous smile playing around the corners of her lips?
A playful spark in her maroon eyes?
Well, no, this was clearly not an option after what happened.
And by happened she meant all of it, starting 13 years ago up til now, although especially the past couple of weeks have been probably the most dreadful.
Ever since she found out about Harvey being in a serious relationship with his former psychiatrist.
Well, found out wasn't exactly the correct term though as she literally did not find it out.
So very untypical of her and her skillset, she was so absolutely out of the picture until she has been told by no other than Harvey himself about this new romance winding up in his life.
Maybe she was too occupied by her new job as COO, or the other work related big and small dramas around her, or she just neglected the bits and pieces of hints after hints.
Subconsciously or even on purpose.
For whatever reason, it hit her like a ten ton truck when she heard the words coming out of his mouth.
She wasn't prepared to say the very least.
And it completely threw her off her game.
But she wouldn't be Donna if she wouldn't have given this deceptive performance of already knowing all about it, actually being worth at least an oscar nomination, if not the oscar itself, judging by the immense discrepancy between her real feelings during it and the show she put off for Harvey.
But well, in the end, she confessed to him that it bothered her, the understatement
of the century.
Downplaying it for him.
But also for herself.
It bothered her to the point where she even considered to sleep with a married man just to get it out of her head.
In retrospect that was one of the various reasons that lead her to this moment where for a second she believed that it would be a good idea to march up to Harvey and kiss him.
These suppressed feelings finally took a toll on her, started to ruin her.
Almost made her do things she would never do otherwise.
Made her do things she would never do otherwise as well.
But enough was enough.
She had to admit at least to herself that she did not regret kissing him.
And maybe after the 5th glass of wine she would even admit to herself that he actually for a split second started to kiss her back.
The taxi comes to a sudden and abrupt stop, startling her and waking her up from the almost comatose state she was in, so knee deep sunken in her tumultuous thoughts she did not recognize her own apartment building manifesting right behind the car window.
After giving an extra generous tip for the little scare she gave the driver previously, she exits and heads towards home.
She can almost taste the mellow substance of the Bordeaux on the tip of her tongue and feel the cozy comfort of her pyjamas, as she lets the key slide into the locket, hastingly turning it around, longing for some short period of some sort of peace of mind, if not total amnesia.
Let's just put it like this.
The wine didn't necessarily help.
Like, at all.
Rather than soothing her sore heart, slowing down the pace of her running wild thoughts, serving as a tourniquet for this self inflicted wide open and immensely bleeding wound, it just has made her even more aware of the consequences that would eventually come her way.
The threadbare, washed out pink flannel of her pyjamas felt rough on her skin, the bottle of Bordeaux she instantly cracked open after setting foot in her flat left a harsh taste in her mouth.
The alcohol surely obstructed her vision but also sharpened her inner focus on what has happened and what was still vague.
After the 4th glass, which normally made her sleepy, she started to restlessly wander around in her apartment, which as for now felt more like a cage she trapped herself in than the familiar domicil she was used to, her last resort if things got out of hand, her safe haven.
Well, not anymore.
Images flash up in her mind, of Harvey sitting on the couch next to her, in the same exact spot she was sitting now, telling her things she craved to hear for a long time.
That with her it was different.
That she was special for him.
And then leaving after telling her he loved her when she was already on the verge of breaking her own rule and invite him to stay overnight.
Or, countless amount of nights for that matter.
But no, things played out very differently from that point on with the both of them.
Donna refills her glass, the last drops of the quite exquisite and normally very delicate ruby liquid remaining on the bottom of the bottle still.
Ok, so one more glass to figure this out.
To prepare herself for the ricochet of the kiss.
At least she can recall and be fully aware that she broke off this specific endeavor for a pretty selfless reason.
He was in a relationship with Paula,
But he also started to kiss her back.
She was on the brink of losing it when she felt his lips open almost imperceptibly, the tip of his tongue close upon merging hers.
And she broke it off before it went to areas which would destroy him and his integrity, stir up his issues with infidelity completely and provoke an allergic reaction towards her, clouding his probably even existing feelings for her to a point he would defy to even examine them for the sole purpose of righteousness.
Although, it would have felt so right to just continue.
And maybe it didn't necessarily mean that he had feelings for her too.
Maybe it was just an instinctive response on his behalf.
In the end, it was Harvey for god's sake.
But ok, she made her move.
Putting it out in the open and basically lay out her heart in front of his feet.
Giving him the opportunity to whether step right on it or to pick it up instead.
The anticipation lurking under the surface, her eyes drift off to her cell phone hidden under several wraps of Twinkies she forced into her stomach to have some basis for the upcoming alcohol consumption.
On her first glass, she disabled the sound alert for incoming calls or messages, yearning for absolute isolation, being far from ready to deal with the aftermath.
But what if Harvey has called her?
She wanted to give him some time to retrospect and make up his mind about her proposal, which this kiss sure as hell was, but if the response was in any way negative, she definitely didn't have the strength to cope with that.
But, eventually it would come down to this.
And if it would, it was certainly better to hear it when her body was filled with almost an entire bottle of wine.
Donna retrieves the cell phone, quickly noticing that she had no incoming calls in the past hours.
Ok then.
Drowning the last drops of wine, her thumb automatically performs some moves and then hovers over Harvey's number.
Stephen, or what his friends and basically everybody else called him, Steve, once again had the misfortune to get signed up for the late night shift of the 'Carbone'.
Not that the place was usually filled with guests at this late hour on this day of the week, but today it was just 3 tables that needed his waitering skills, and he couldn't expect more than the minimum amount of tips from neither of them.
Far away from having the potential of being a very productive night for him, the bill he just received from his realtor due next week burning a hole in his pocket, he roams the almost empty premises of his working place, checking if everyone's water glass was still filled, every plate not yet empty, every customer satisfied and not in need of his immediate attention.
The first table on his routine was occupied by an elderly couple, clearly celebrating some kind of anniversary, ordering just a glass of the cheapest wine on their menu each, nipping on it through the entire special offer of the week 3 course menu, also being pretty moderate in the price range.
The lack of conversation between them also gave Steve a hint they weren't really enjoying the company of themselves or this festivity.
So whatever Steve would do at this point or not, he knew that the tips here surely would match exactly 10 percent.
The next table was taken by a young couple, more likely in their early twenties, hardly old enough to order the two bottles of Champagne which by now they emptied, but Steve was positive that Dan, the owner, checked their I.D.'s himself before serving it to them.
They were already here when he arrived to start his shift, and he estimated that they would stay to the very end of it as well.
Ordering mostly from the starters, along with some oysters and then jumping right to creme brulee, Steve was hoping that the not so handsome young man did not yet totally blew his budget for tonight in the attempt of trying to seduce this pretty brunette, obviously being out of his league, with extravagant food.
If he would get lucky, then so would Steve.
And even if he wouldn't be so lucky but would just find it out later, at least here Steve knew that he could cash in big time.
For the sole purpose of pretending to be the man, this desperate individual would leave a huge tip to impress the lady by his side if not with his looks, but at least with the depths of his wallet.
Good for Steve.
Not so good for this guy.
By experience he could already tell that even with all the oysters and creme brulees of the entire France, this young lad wasn't bearing a chance to score with this very attractive, but also very uninterested looking female specimen.
And then there was the last table.
The blonde was sitting there, sipping on her Chardonnay, entirely alone although the reservation said 'For two', for almost an hour by now.
Not that Steve hasn't seen his fair share of this pitiful scene before in his 10 year career as a waiter, but most definitely never with a woman of her caliber.
She also seemed quite familiar.
She probably wasn't here the first time around.
Wasn't it just couple of days ago?
With this Specter character?
Man, this one seriously wasn't saving his money, neither on the high priced dishes, nor the wines, nor the tips.
He was famous among the waiters, almost a legend, or for some, a myth.
It was told that if you had the luck to share your shift with his dining procedure, you would go home an almost wealthy man.
Only once Steve was lucky enough to cater to his table, and he went home with 200$ of tips.
Last time though, when Mr. Specter was dining here with this blonde, Steve wasn't so lucky.
Andrew had their table covered.
But Andrew wasn't here today.
Steve grabs a water carafe and a bread basket filled with freshly baked baguette along with some sea salt butter and approaches the blonde's table.
"Good evening Madam, how can I be of your service? Would you like to hear the specialties our chef has to offer tonight? Or maybe I could fetch you another glass of this exquisite Chardonnay?"
Her british accent sweeps him of his feet as she answers.
"Yes thank you, another Chardonnay would be quite welcome."
"Of course Madam. Right away."
He places the bread basket and butter on the table, refills her water glass, and runs off to fulfill her order.
She really was gorgeous.
That accent.
That face.
Mr. Specter was a complete idiot.
He finds himself in a sudden hurry, feeling the urge to please her, pouring more than the usual amount of oz into her glass as Jeremy, their bartender, wasn't around, most likely taking a cigarette break as he did every 20 minutes.
When he reaches her table, balancing the quite full glass more or less elegantly, he observes her playing with her cell phone.
"Your Chardonnay, Madam. Would you like to order something?"
"No thank you, I'd rather wait a little. I'm still expecting someone."
"Of course Madam. I'm sure he's on his way."
Steve almost bit his tongue off, but it was already too late.
The words slipped through his mouth, and there was nothing he could do now.
The blonde's eyes widen in astonishment, but then an amused smile plays around her lips.
"Well, there's only one way to find that out, isn't there?"
She nips on the cool Chardonnay before once again picking up her cell phone.