Monica stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, despairing of ever looking good again. Even with the darker color, there was something about rain storms that made her look like Morgan Fairchild on crack. She struggled to pull a brush through her mess of hair, wishing for once that she could just cut it off.
Alan would kill her if she ever did. Not that she cared what Alan thought at this moment. She sighed, shaking her head at her own reflection. She looked good enough for a woman her age, she justified. Face a bit too thin, hair not what it was, skin not what it was. But her body was still tight and she looked good in her stylish royal blue shirt and black slacks.
Well, she'd looked good before she'd trudged through a rain storm without a cell phone or an oil change or a current membership in AAA.
Alan was lucky he wasn't home, she thought as she put her brush back in her purse and headed out to find Tracy. Probably drinking herself blind at the bar, she thought unkindly.
It wasn't bad enough that Alan was not home to rescue her from his lunatic sister, Monica thought as she made her way towards the bar where Tracy had ensconced herself. No, Alan wasn't just "not home." Alan was in the Bahamas at a medical administrator's convention, relaxing in the tropical heat, surrounded by scantily-clad women playing volleyball on the beach, no doubt fascinated by the still-handsome New York doctor who was just too happy to regale them with stories of his daring, life-saving exploits….
Hell, it was just too much to ask that anybody would have been home. Since the storm was wreaking havoc with cell signals all over town, she'd been forced to stick to grounded lines. Not even Alice or Cook were there to pick up the phone.
She'd tried the house, the hospital, hell, she'd even gotten desperate and tried Jason, only to get his voice mail (featuring none other than Sam trying to be pleasant.) Emily was god knows where; she'd even tried Tracy's kids. Ned was off on business to Toronto (poor kid should have traded with Alan; he could have at least safely enjoyed the Nymphette Hospital Administrator Babes Gone Wild), Dillon was obviously out and not answering his phone, even Lulu had been unavailable. She'd finally called Kelly's and asked Mike to keep an eye out for Dillon and Georgie, or any other Quartermaine who happened to seek shelter from the storm.
Tracy was racking up martini glasses by the time she cut through the crowd, which was getting thicker and rowdier by the moment. She looked up expectantly when Monica arrived, then frowned when she saw her sister-in-law's expression. "Don't tell me…."
Monica collapsed onto the bar stool, pointing to the empty martini glass and motioning to the bartender that she wanted the same. "The storm has knocked out lines all over the Eastern seaboard. AAA's system is down, and they're having to manually dispatch roadside assistance."
"So have them manually dispatch some assistance…." Tracy said in that "hey, how stupid are you?" voice she used on a regular basis.
Monica counted to ten before answering. "They would love to dispatch roadside assistance, but your brother let my membership lapse, and they need to reinstate my coverage before they can send out a truck." She watched hungrily as the bartender stirred her martini. She was two seconds from climbing over the bar and drinking it out of the canister. "Which they can't do, because their systems are down!" She took the drink right out of the girl's hand and swallowed half of it in one sip.
"That's ridiculous! Just have them send out a truck, and we'll pay out of pocket!" Tracy was already motioning for her next martini.
"They can't do that, Tracy, because their call volume is up and they have to prioritize towards current members." She downed the last of her martini in two gulps, relaxing into the familiar buzz as the alcohol hit her system.
The bartender, a cute thing with red hair and freckles, looked at the growing number of martini glasses gathering in front of them and said, "You know, we serve a full appetizer menu at the bar, if you'd like—"
"And the worst part is, not one member of our family is available to help us out." Monica shook her hand at the bartender, indicating she wanted another martini. "I mean, between us we practically have a marching band, and not one of them can bother to answer a phone?"
"Did you call Dillon?"
"And Ned," she added, stretching her neck tiredly as she looked around. "Hey, it's kind of nice in here. Like the old days, huh?"
"Your old days, maybe," Tracy muttered. "Did you try Emily? She's always so very helpful."
"Why do you say 'helpful' like you mean to say 'doormat?'" She waved the bartender away, who was offering her an appetizer menu. "I mean, it's not like she's ever done anything to you."
"Besides stranding me in a rainstorm with you." Tracy shook her head slightly to the side. "Oh, wait, no. That was you! Sorry. My bad." She grabbed the menu off the bar, scanned it momentarily, and told the bartender, "Potatoes skins."
"I have the hospital paging Emily, and Mike is keeping an eye out for Dillon and Georgie." She hesitated before adding, "I don't suppose we should try Skye and Lorenzo, should we?"
Tracy smiled without even the slightest hint of warmth. "Only after we call Sonny Corinthos and ask him to send a limo for us." She rolled her eyes at Monica's sheepish look. "I thought so. What about calling a tow truck directly?"
"Same problem I had with AAA. There are only two companies in the immediate area and they're backed up because---ooh, I love that song!" She tilted her head as Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" started up on the dance floor.
"Well, bully for you, Karaoke Kid," Tracy grumbled. "But that doesn't get us any closer to home."
"You could always call Luke…"
"And you could always bite me…"
"One order of potato skins," the bartender said.
"Jeeze, Rochelle, what did you do? Beam them in from the mother ship?" Tracy took a napkin and eased one of the thick, cheesy skins onto her plate. "Hot…"
"Our kitchen is way efficient," the bartender, who Monica now assumed was called 'Rochelle,' said. "Um, you know, if you ladies are interested, I know of one of our regulars who dates a mechanic. She usually comes in after 11, if you want to see if she can get you hooked up."
"Oh, we would be so grateful if you could introduce us," Monica said, taking one of the potato skins as well. She had to admit, Tracy had ordered wisely. If they were going to keep putting down the martinis as quickly as they had been, the carbs and grease would help them avoid getting too drunk. She took a small nibble on the edge, blowing on the skin before biting into the melted cheese and sour cream. "Oh, these are marvelous."
But Rochelle was no longer paying attention to either Tracy or Monica; she was staring at a small group of twenty-something women who had just come in from the foyer and were huddled, giggling, at the edge of the dance floor. "Aw, hell…." the bartender muttered.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing," she sighed, wiping the counter slightly as Tracy and Monica continued to eat their appetizers. "Just some stupid straight girls who like to come in and gawk." She rolled her eyes. "Brats."
Monica said nothing, but looked at Tracy, who grinned knowingly at her over her martini glass. A quick glance around the dance floor confirmed what had been niggling at the back of her scattered mind since they'd arrived—the fact that there were absolutely no men in the place. All the women were dancing with each other, either in groups or in pairs. She hadn't even noticed in her obsession with getting somebody to send out a tow truck.
"Oh, I hate when straight people slum at gay bars," Tracy said in a long, conspiratorial drawl. "Don't you, Monica?"
"Oh, um, yeah…." She hid behind her potato skin, suddenly grateful that it gave her an opportunity to avoid having to think of something to say.
"Two of the little monsters caused a fight last week, and we had to call the freaking cops," Rochelle continued, glaring at the girls, who were strutting and dancing on the floor in their little giggling flock of glitter and satin disco dresses. "I mean, come on. They rule the world; why can't they just leave us alone?"
"It's down right rude, if you ask me," Tracy agreed.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I don't mean to bum you ladies out."
A couple came up to the bar, two of the most stereotypically lesbian-looking individuals Monica had ever seen. She was absolutely sure she'd not seen them earlier, although the Village People leather gear and studded dog-collar accessories would have tipped her off immediately.
The darker-haired and shorter of the two tossed a twenty on the bar. "Roach, you gotta give me change."
"Lisa, I keep telling you, I don't give out change. You want quarters for the pool table, you have to buy something."
Lisa's companion, equally stocky with lighter hair and a little more height, whined in what had to be an attempt at humorous cajoling, "Aww, Rochie, you know we're buying. Just not now."
Rochelle sighed and took the twenty. "Only because we're slow tonight."
"Thanks, babe," Lisa said, leaning her back against the bar. "Didya see The Skirts are back?"
"Right on schedule. Buy something, will you?" Rochelle said as she counted her change. "You know I don't get as much in and out on this drawer as they do in the main bar." She turned to the light-haired girl. "Marcy, talk to your girlfriend. Make her buy you a drink."
Marcy was watching The Skirts, shaking her head. "Designated driver," she said without taking her eyes off the girls, who were now flirting openly with the bar's clientele. "You think they'd have something better to do with their time than come in here and cause trouble."
"Maybe we could call Lucas," Monica murmured to Tracy as she watched The Skirts along with Lisa and Marcy.
"Gee, wonder what tripped that random synapse?" Tracy snorted into her drink.
"Oh, Bobbie! I could call Bobbie!"
"You are not calling that woman to come rescue us!"
"Rescue you from what?" Lisa asked as Rochelle started counting out the change in Marcy's hand.
"Our car broke down, and we're having trouble getting a tow." Monica supplied, still watching the drama unfold on the dance floor, where The Skirts had already started a shouting match when one of them insinuated herself between an obviously-established couple. "Oh, did you see that little tramp come on to that blonde?"
"Trouble," Lisa agreed. "Rich, bored, stupid straight chicks."
"Hey, did you tell them about Al?"
"Yeah, but she's not here yet," Rochelle said. "She and Tina don't usually make it in until after her second shift, but I'm sure she could help them."
"You ladies are all so nice," Monica said. "Would you like some potato skins?"
"Hey!" Tracy said, but didn't actually stop the girls from helping themselves. She seemed perfectly nonchalant about the whole lesbian-bar thing, Monica noticed.
"So, how long have you two been together," Marcy asked through a mouthful of potato and cheese.
Tracy and Monica exchanged glances, before Monica hedged. "Um, we met in…what was it, Tracy? Nineteen-seventy…."
"Eight. 1978 was when I came back from Europe," Tracy said, motioning for another martini. "You were dating that insipid brunette back then, weren't you?" She smiled sweetly for the benefit of the two young women, who seemed fascinated by an apparent 25-plus year relationship.
"And you'd just been dumped by that…Lady Ashton?" Monica countered without missing a beat.
"Actually, I let her down easily…" Tracy popped an olive between her teeth and smiled her sexiest smile. "Once I met you, Princess."
Monica rolled her eyes, but had to grin as well. "That's Doctor Princess to you, wench," she remarked as she downed the last of her martini.
"Oh, man, what is she doing here?" Marcy had turned to indicate a dark-haired woman who was coming into the bar.
"Hold on to your wives, ladies," Lisa said under her breath.
"Hey, you're still here," the girl said, easing right up to Tracy. "I was hoping you'd be here."
"Hey!" Monica started as the woman, who'd obviously been partaking of massive amounts of alcohol, leaned over and gazed into Tracy's eyes.
"Hey, Leticia, she's taken, or maybe you haven't noticed the wedding rings?" Rochelle said.
Monica lifted her left hand, and reached out to grab Tracy's as well. "Since 1978, kid, so just move along."
Leticia assessed the situation, which was four very annoyed-looking women between her and her conquest for the evening, then smirked and left.
Tracy just stared at Monica, who could have crawled under the bar. "Why, Princess, you still care!" She took Monica's hand as she stood, and led her out to the dance floor. "Dance with me, you mad, jealous fool."
As they stumbled towards the floor, Monica grumbled something about Tracy getting all the girls, to which Tracy responded, "Guess the kd lang look goes a lot further here than the Morgan Fairchild look." At Monica's insulted look, she added, "But you'll always be beautiful to me, Princess," before swinging her into a dance to "More, More, More."
Monica shrugged, giving in to the madness (and the multiple martinis). It was just going to be that kind of night.
Coming in Chapter Four: Dancing Through Life
