AN: Wow, the response to this so far has been amazing!
I'm sorry about some of the typos in the earlier part of the first chapter. I saw them well after loading it. That's what I get for trying to type something on a mobile device and getting the handy help from autocorrect.
Anyway, here's another little chapter.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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The pounding in her head might have drowned out completely the pounding on the door…it might have at least drowned it out for a while, but slowly Carol started to come into consciousness.
She was thirsty…she was as thirsty as if she'd crawled across the Sahara desert on her hands and knees…and her head was pounding with more velocity than her heart had in some time.
When her bedroom door squeaked open, she lifted her head just a bit…just to get a good look at the person who was likely to kill her…because she was far too overcome with everything her body was offering her in the way of aches and pains to have defended herself.
And it was fine…she was ready to go.
But it was Andrea who stepped through the bedroom door…Andrea who brought with her the wafting smell of shampoo and a floral perfume that so sharply contrasted with the smells invading Carol's nostrils at the moment.
Carol groaned.
"You're still in bed? What the hell? It's past nine…I've been beating on your door so long your neighbors are going to think you owe me money," Andrea declared.
Carol groaned again.
Normally it wouldn't be too early for Andrea…normally she was used to hearing Andrea's voice at very nearly every hour of the day…but today it felt like every word that she said was ripping through Carol's brain like hot nails.
"You look like shit…" Andrea said. "What the hell happened?"
Carol tried to focus her eyes…they were far blurrier than they needed to be, and Andrea looked around the room.
And slowly realization began to flood into Carol's mind. It came along with the overwhelming presence of flashes and bits of memory…along with the feelings of her body and the ache between her legs. It came with the tidal wave of guilt and disbelief at what she was pretty sure she had done, but couldn't even piece together correctly.
She groaned again.
"Oh no…" she declared, bringing her hand up to swipe at her face.
"What?" Andrea asked. "Your bedspread is nasty...for crying out loud…what the hell happened to you?"
"I did the thing…" Carol groaned out.
Andrea raised an eyebrow at her.
"What thing?" She asked.
"The thing…I did the thing…Oh God…" Carol responded.
Andrea came over, personal space and respect for privacy something she'd lost so long ago that Carol wasn't even sure her friend had ever really possessed it, and sat down on the bed, close to where Carol's body lie under the cover.
"Did you fuck Alice again?" Andrea asked. "Because if you did…it's not a big deal…but I think if the thing happens three times it's not really something you can call an accident anymore…"
Carol groaned and struggled to sit up, supporting herself with one of her arms while the other rubbed her face and raked through her short hair.
Twice…twice in how many years?
She and Alice had gotten drunk together more than a handful of times…but only twice had things gone from happy drinking and listening to outdated songs to lamenting failed relationships, past failures and travesties, and the passing of time that was marching across their backs and across their faces. And twice the two of them had ended up having to have the awkward conversation of "sorry that we did the thing" that made things awkward for at least a few days before they realized that really there wasn't any harm done…no real damage.
When you drink, as Alice never failed to remind them when anyone was lamenting what they'd done while over their legal limit, shit happens.
"No…I did the thing where I listen to you," Carol declared.
Andrea snorted.
"You should always listen to me…I'm good to listen to…what did you do, though?" Andrea asked.
"I went to the bar…and I met…a guy…" Carol said.
"Did you sleep with him?" Andrea asked, looking far too amused for Carol's tastes at the moment.
"From the way I feel right now? Yeah…and I'm sorry for it…" Carol said.
Andrea chuckled.
"Oooh…long time outta the saddle…now you gotta baby her or she'll bitch at you all day," Andrea declared. "Get up…take a shower…I'll make something for breakfast and get you some water and Tylenol…"
Carol shook her head lightly.
"Get up…we're going to Snydersville today," Andrea said. "Remember? There's a sale and we're stalking that bistro…get in the shower and be nice to your flower…she had a rough night."
Carol rolled her eyes at Andrea, but it was obvious that her friend found this whole thing hilarious. Of course…Andrea was a little more on the promiscuous side than Carol was and always had been. Her "flower," as she referred to everyone's vagina for the entertainment value, hadn't been out of commission in years…at least not for extended stints.
But there was nothing to be done. What's done was done. So Carol pushed back the covers, aware of her own nudity but not caring at this point and Andrea moved to let her get free from the bed.
Carol walked toward her bathroom, wishing her head didn't feel so incredibly horrible, and ignored Andrea's whistling behind her.
"You want me to bring you the Tylenol or whatever first?" Andrea called out. "Or wait'll you eat?"
"Now…" Carol called back.
"Aye aye…" Andrea responded.
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By the time that Carol got out of the shower, having gratefully swallowed down the aspirin thrust at her by the arm that came through the shower door shortly after she stepped in, she felt better and was almost done beating herself up for her transgression.
Though she still couldn't believe what she had done and figured the waves of random guilt and mortification might continue to crash over her for some time.
The man from the night before had been no dream, though, and she noticed when she stepped back into her bedroom to get dressed that Andrea, without being asked, had stripped her bed for her…and Carol didn't even want to know what kind of evidence of her night was left there. Her body was sore enough to confirm that she was out of practice and that she hadn't done a few good warm up laps around the track.
She slipped into one of the loose fitting dresses that hung down to her knees…loving the way the fabric felt against her skin when she felt, otherwise, so uncomfortable at the moment, and she wrestled her way into a pair of matching leggings and slipped into her ballet flats.
Getting ready was a simple process of running some of the styling product through her hair, the volume of the chopped off curls enough to handle most of the style that she'd adapted through the years, and putting on just enough eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss to say that she'd put on make-up, preferring the simplicity to the more complicated process that some of her friends employed to try and hide the truth that they weren't…none of them…twenty anymore.
Carol's group of friends were, perhaps, the greatest blessing that she had in her life at this point.
They called themselves the "Glory Gals"…a name born out of a wine fed bitch session where they had all declared that thirty was the new twenty…and twenty the new thirty…and when they'd begun to hit their forties they'd just begun to find the most glorious years of their lives…they'd just begun to really live.
And in some ways it was more than true.
Gone were so many of the self-doubts that they'd had in their youth. Gone was the need to scrutinize each and every dimple…each and every little imperfection…because the imperfections kept on multiplying and finally you realized that there was no sense in repeating for yourself that "next year" you would fix this or "next year" you would fix that. Next year there would be things to fix, perhaps, that made the problems of this year look like prizes to be won.
Gone were the days of scrounging around…borrowing a dollar here and twenty there…and I'll pay you back…and I've got it this time. Those days were gone with the dime and penny jobs that they'd struggled through…the jobs they'd felt like they were selling their souls for. Because now, even if some of them were struggling, from time to time, to make ends meet, it wasn't what it once had been.
And gone were the days of spending as much time as they once had worrying over what other people might think of them…what someone might say about their hair, their makeup, their choice in clothes…their escapades…and their mistakes.
Because if they were brutally honest with each other, and they more than often were, there weren't too many mistakes that, between them, they hadn't all committed at one point or another.
And all of them had pasts…rich pasts, perhaps…all a little different. But somehow they made them work and somehow those differences had just served to bring them all a little closer together in life. Their current lives were different too…but still they made time, at least once a month, to spend time together. They gathered, typically, at the café that Carol owned and ran with Jacqui to sit and talk under the pretense that they were talking about some book or another…but typically the conversations got out of hand quickly given the fact that the first confession made by any member of the group was that they hadn't read the book, or hadn't finished it.
But now, especially since Carol was staring fifty straight in the face…middle age, they said…and was the oldest of the group by at least the three years that split her from Andrea, she was realizing more and more how important the Glory Gals were to her…how important her friends were.
Because no matter what she'd been through, no matter what they'd all been through…no matter the falling out of touch and back in again that took place so many times in their lives…they'd always been there for each other, supporting each other, in one way or another.
When Carol came into her own kitchen, she was greeted with the smell of coffee and of bacon cooking. She inhaled it deeply and walked to the coffee pot, smirking slightly when Andrea purposely got close to her and bumped her with her hip.
"Feeling better?" Andrea asked.
"Mmmm hmmm…" Carol hummed, fixing her mug.
"So…this guy? Was he hot?" Andrea asked.
Carol groaned again, a quick gush of the guilt she thought she washed off in the shower rushing over her, and leaned back against the counter to watch her friend making misshapen pancakes in one pan while trying to keep the bacon from burning in the other.
"I don't remember…" Carol admitted with a chuckle.
Andrea glanced at her and raised an eyebrow.
"You must have been trashed…" Andrea declared.
Carol nodded her head.
"Unfortunately…I was," Carol said. "Again…shows me what the hell I get for listening to you."
Andrea sighed.
"I told you to go out and have a few drinks," Andrea said. "I told you to find a nice guy…someone you wanted to…use to get things…in…working order. I did not tell you to get so blitzed that you didn't even know if he was hot."
Now it was Carol's turn to sigh.
"I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?" She asked. She chuckled again. "I don't even know what his name was…probably better that way…"
Andrea looked at her for a quick second and then flipped the pancakes she was making out of the pan and onto the small stack she had resting on a plate by the stove. She took the bacon off the heat too and then came over, leaning beside Carol against the counter, and dug in her pocket.
"Wouldn't matter…doesn't matter…but he left a note," Andrea said, a devilish grin curling across her mouth with the last of the words.
Carol watched as Andrea unfolded a piece of paper she'd had tucked in her pocket and held it out for both of them to look at.
It wasn't much of a note…in fact, Carol wasn't sure it constituted as a note at all. In a scrawl there was, written on what she now recognized as a torn piece of paper she'd left on the counter to throw away when she went through the mail and never got around to throwing out, a phone number…and just below it was nothing more than the letter D.
"What was his name?" Andrea asked, studying the piece of paper. "Don? Dan?"
Carol shook her head. It was useless. The name wasn't in her head…she wasn't entirely sure that she'd ever known it to begin with.
"I don't know…honestly…I don't remember…" Carol said.
Andrea's eyes got wide.
"Dick…here have some Dick…come ride my Dick…did you enjoy my Dick…thanks for letting my Dick come to play…" Andrea said.
Carol snorted and sharply elbowed Andrea in the ribs and Andrea slinked away to the other corner of the kitchen, rubbing her side and laughing, holding the piece of paper with a death grip.
"Well…he left this on the fridge, so he wanted you to see it," Andrea said. "You're going to call him, right?"
Carol looked at the piece of paper in Andrea's hand and thought about it. She wasn't sure that she wanted to open herself up for that embarrassment. She wasn't sure that she wanted to face the man and be reminded that she had basically gotten trashed, thrown caution to the wind, and invited him to her home to fuck her…where she'd apparently passed out and he'd left.
She could only vaguely remember what he even looked like, and that had been, perhaps, improved upon by her drunken stupor. He might not even be anything that would interest her…there was really no telling what she might find out, and how horrible it might make her feel, if she dared to dial that number.
And if she remembered correctly, he was drunk too…so she might not be exactly what he remembered her to be either.
She shook her head.
"No…I'm not going to call," Carol said.
Andrea looked at her like she'd lost her mind.
"You have got to call him," Andrea declared. "You must have liked something about him…"
Carol chuckled and shook her head lightly.
"Yeah…I liked that he was willing to go home with me when I was looking for a man to go home with…that's not exactly a foundation to build your future on, now is it?" Carol responded.
Andrea clucked at her and sashayed dramatically across the kitchen, returning the piece of paper to the fridge and securing it in place with one of the fruit shaped magnets.
"We'll leave that there…you might change your mind," Andrea said. "Gotta keep the weeds out of the garden somehow…"
Carol rolled her eyes at Andrea and moved to fix herself breakfast to hopefully get control over the remaining residue of her hangover.
Andrea could leave the number on the fridge if she wanted…but Carol wasn't going to open up that can of potential embarrassment and sheepishly call some guy, whose name she'd have to ask for, and talk to him after she'd done her best to fuck him senseless. She was too old for that kind of thing.