Rating Warning: This chapter also contains one cuss word that would raise the rating by a notch. No one objected last time but I wanted to issue the warning again and offer a censored chapter—just e-mail me. Also, I have to give credit for that little verbal slip and the situation surrounding it to a friend of mine, Hope, who actually did say those exact words. You'll see. ;)
Chapter XIII: What Did You Just Say?
Cara Whitfield was climbing back out from under the ring when she saw the look of horror cross Orianne's face as she checked the callerID on her cellphone. The technician was afraid to move and slipped back under, barely peering out from under the bottom of the black curtain. The photographer anxiously answered the phone but then breathed a visible sigh of relief. Then almost instantly her face screwed up in anger and she clenched the hand that wasn't holding the phone. From what Cara could tell, Orianne only replied in terse words before clapping the phone shut and shoving it in her pocket. The technician carefully scrambled around to adjoining side of the ring where Orianne wouldn't see her climb out. She didn't know how to respond to such a phone call and thought it best to let it come out naturally.
Shortly into the show, even after the opening segment, it was obvious that Orianne was still in a livid state of mind. Cara casually asked Cedarius if he knew what was wrong but he had no answer. During one of the longer commercial breaks, the blonde quickly sidled up to the other woman. "Are you feeling well?"
"Yeah," Orianne replied with a smile but her crinkled forehead gave away the lie.
"You just don't look like you feel well."
"Oh, there's just some issues going on at home that are best left unaddressed. I guess I let them get to me. I'll try to be less of a sourpuss."
"No, no, no," Cara corrected. "I was just concerned about you."
Batista picked up on her ire immediately as well. This time she unleashed her fury. "He had the gall to call me to threaten me. 'I better not do that again'," she mocked, her voice rising in intensity. "Like I would get the chance to," she muttered.
The best response on Dave's part was to reach across the car and rub the back of her neck. "He's just being protective of you," he said but held up his hand at seeing the fury return to her face. "Maybe because he can't control any aspect of his life or yours while he's over there that he tries to control what he can, trying to protect you from across the ocean. I know that doesn't give him an excuse. I just want you to see where he's possibly coming from whether or not you agree with him. Stop gritting your teeth."
"I'm not—" She suddenly stopped. Yes, she was gritting her teeth and it would only give her a headache. Dave's explanation for how controlling Sloan had become seemed to make perfect sense. However, she was never one to be controlled. She was a free, independent individual, to which Sloan would reply that was why he was still serving in the Air Force.
"Do you still want to go tonight?" he asked, pulling into an open spot with the other vehicles lining the long gravel drive.
"We're already here," she said with a sigh.
"I'll take you back."
"After all you did to get me here?" she asked with a lascivious grin and slid out of the car. "It'll be good to hang out with other people for awhile."
"What? You don't like my company?" he asked, pinching her on the butt as they made their way up to the house.
Upon seeing Cara and Cedarius, she casually split from him after joining everyone else in the spacious backyard. Dave didn't complain because he knew it would be good for them to be seen apart in case they were seen together at other times. It would seem less like they were stuck to each other, which was practically the case. "Hey, girlie," Cara greeted her and hugged her with one arm. "Get yourself something to drink." The blonde nodded in the direction of a large table set up beside a wall of the house and held enough alcohol to intoxicate everyone on the premises twice over.
Orianne instinctively started to decline but then realized she really could do with anything that had liquor in it. If she could, she'd start downing shots. "Yeah, be back in a minute." The guy behind the table was whom she knew to "act" as the official timekeeper and ring the bell at ringside. "Margarita, a little heavy on the tequila, please."
"Uh, yeah," he replied and started picking through the bottles of liquor. Orianne turned away and surveyed everyone at the party. She noticed Randy Orton on the far side of the patio and her stomach squirmed. He caught her eye at the same time but simply turned away. "Here you go," the bartender interrupted and handed the mixed drink off to her.
"Thanks," she muttered and headed back towards the group with Cedarius and Cara. Orainne needed to be with people; she couldn't be a lonely soul. Yet, she didn't have to be the life of the party or even the one doing the talking. It was simply enjoying another's company. She smiled at Cedarius, who complimented her white embroidered cotton blouse, and sipped her drink. The woman barely turned away from him before she choked and spit the drink back out. "What is this?"
"I wouldn't know. You ordered it," Cara sarcastically commented.
"This is awful. What do y'all have?" she asked before realizing they had beer bottles but one other person who replied that hers was a Coke. "I'm not drinking this. I'll be back." As a former amateur bartender, she was offended by the concoction in her red Dixie cup. "Dude, what did you do to this?"
"It's bad, isn't it?" he whined.
"No, duh."
"James was supposed to be here already. He's supposed to be doing this and I don't know where he's at. I covered for him when everybody was griping about having to mix their own drinks but nobody's come back for one since—thank god!"
Orianne had no idea why she was about to do this but she replied, "Move. I'll get it."
"You will?"
"Yeah, move on." The man grabbed her by the shoulders and planted a quick, hard kiss on her lips and hurried off. "Uh, yeah," she muttered and wiped her mouth.
After finding an appropriate place to pour out her cup, the photographer proceeded to make herself another one—the first margarita she had mixed in over seven years. She surveyed the types of liquor, perused the beer selection, attended to the shakers, and then checked the amount of ice. It felt good to be standing behind a "bar" again. To hell with Sloan, she thought, and reached for one of the jello shots on the poker table adjacent to the folding table. Slurping it back, she found that the tequila accented lime jello went rather well with her freshly made drink.
When it got around that another person was bartending, the requests started coming in. The orders started to get a little more complicated when they found that she knew how to make more than just daiquiris, margaritas, and Bahama Mamas. At first, she was a little hesitant to assume she remembered all the ingredients and proportions and had to pour a little bit into her own cup to sample. Before long, she found herself swaying to music and reaching for a fresh set of jello shots delivered by their hostess. Having completely forgotten about James, the bartender who was supposed to be there, she slucked back the shot and then wondered what she could mix to complement the peppermint flavored and vodka soaked gelatin.
Suddenly feeling the need to visit the restroom, Orianne beckoned Cara over. The blonde had already come by earlier to find out why the photographer had never returned. She nicely but firmly told Orianne it wasn't her job and that she should enjoy herself. The problem was that black-haired woman had very much been enjoying herself, pouring drinks, interacting with people, and making them happy…or tipsy, which was all the same. "I'm running to the ladies' room. If anybody comes by, I'll be back in a moment." Cara nodded in response. "I'll make you anything you want," Orianne offered and made her way to the house.
The woman knew she had already had a little too much when she attempted to navigate the steps up the porch to the sliding glass doors. Anything that required certain steps would need some care. When she almost missed the toilet seat sitting down, having to grab the edge of the tub to right herself, she knew she had to back off on the drinks. Maybe she had lost some of her tolerance. As she was about to return, the hostess stopped her and asked her to carry out another tray of jello shots since the last one had disappeared much quicker than expected. The bartender couldn't say 'no', so she carefully made her way down the steps and to the table uneventfully where Cara was waiting.
Dave had seen the way Orianne cautiously took the steps one at a time on the way in and then noticed her return. Before he could get out of the group he was talking with, she had already made it off the patio with the jello shots. He knew her well enough to know that she had had a little too much. No, she probably wouldn't be dancing on the table with her top off. She had admitted that she became a talkative drunk who then withdrew into herself but finally becoming too sick at her stomach to keep drinking. She had only passed out that once and woken with a hangover only then. However, that had been over seven years ago. He didn't feel he needed to stop her from drinking anymore, especially since he was driving and the worst she was doing was swaying to music. Yet, he promised himself he'd watch her a little more closely just in case.
The party had only been in full swing for a couple of hours—another reason for Orianne's concern over how much alcohol she had already consumed. It would last for several more and, therefore, the request for drinks had yet to slow down. Yet, every time she pointed out which tub of ice held which beer, she passed by the unique creation of jello shots—coke and rum this time—something she had never had. Finally, she gave in, picked one up, silently toasted Sloan, and tossed it back. "Wow," she mumbled and made a mental note, one she would forget anyhow, to ask how these had been made. What was worse was when the Jack and coke shots appeared. Those were new to her as well. College kids had only been able to pull off the most basic of jello shots and she absolutely couldn't resist. Now, after having lost count of the drinks and shots, she had borrowed a patio chair and kicked back to keep her eyes from swimming.
"Orianne?"
"Yeah," she answered and swiveled her head to see Mike Chioda standing on the other side of the table.
"Do you know how to make a Singapore Sling?"
Orianne's mouth began to immediately water. Yes, she did but it was something that she rarely made because it required seven different liquors, one being the high elusive cherry brandy. In college anytime she could get her hands on cherry brandy, which was rare, she made herself a Sling. "Yeah, but I don't know if we have what we need." She scooted the chair forward, jerking it along in the grass, to where another box of alcohol was under the table. She hadn't gone through it, assuming it was only more of what was out on the table, which had gotten her through the night so far. Counting off the ingredients in her head that were already out, she cried for joy as she found the cherry brandy. "Look at that," she exclaimed, holding up the bottle and carefully standing.
Orianne had never figured out how she could still mix drinks when drunk. She still had her wits about her; it was usually her physical faculties and her reticence that went first. So, here she was pouring the complicated drink for Mike. "You sure you want this? Won't you get in trouble with your fiancée?"
Mike's wedding was in three weeks and it seemed the leash had been reeled in a little tighter. He was pussywhipped but he readily admitted it because he actually enjoyed it. "She's not as bad as you think. It's just bars and clubs she doesn't want me going to."
"No problem," the photographer replied and tipped just a little bit of the drink into her own cup to taste. "God, that is so good," she muttered, letting the heat of the drink slid down her throat and into her already full stomach.
"Thanks," Mike said and took the red plastic cup from her.
Orianne pulled her chair away from the table of liquors and sat back down. She thought about how she didn't need the temptation of being that close as she licked her lips and still tasted the drink. While it was probably only her imagination, the taste of the Singapore Sling wouldn't go away. It could be a very long time before she found cherry brandy again. Yes, she could go buy it but she definitely would never bow to that temptation. "What the hell," she muttered. If she was going to drink, she might as well go all the way. To justify it, the woman promised she would never drink again after this, so she really did have to make the Sling.
Singing along with the Nickelback song on the speakers, Orianne tapped her good foot and greedily mixed the drink. "Perfect," she said out loud, taking the first sip.
"What's perfect?"
"Hi, Dave," she cheerily replied and took a wary step, not wanting him to know that she was over the line and about to go even farther.
"That drink for you?"
"Oh, yes, sir, it is," she replied and took one long swig. It was beyond delicious.
"Had enough yet?"
"In all reality, no because I haven't forgotten about Sloan. The fact that I don't get drunk that way, then maybe, yes, I have," she answered and tipped the cup back again.
"Here," Batista said and offered her the white patio chair.
"Thanks," she replied with a grin and carefully sat down.
Dave leaned against the wall of the house and lifted his own cup to his lips, only his second of the night. "Having fun?"
"Absolutely," she answered, raising her cup to him in a type of salute. He chuckled in response. "How about you?"
"Yeah, I actually am."
"'Bout time you got your ass out with friends."
"I see enough of them during the shows. I'd rather be with you."
"Aren't you sweet?" she replied and propped her feet up on the table where there were no ice bins or open bottles.
The two of them stayed that way for a few minutes, saying nothing and only watching the scene around them. Orianne was thinking about how she would like nothing more than to go back to the hotel and curl up with him for a nap, which then actually meant simply sleeping together for the night.
Dave was considering whether or not he really wanted to be here anymore. It was good to be out with friends but he wanted his hands in Orianne's silky hair or all over her body. He justified being with her the way they were because he knew he could never have her. His heart wouldn't be broken in the process because he couldn't set himself up for the fall. Knowing full well in the beginning that they would never be together completely or forever was much different than what he had with Gabrielle. When Orianne left him, he would be anticipating it and would therefore walk away. Of course he would miss her but he would stonewall his emotions of expectation now and just enjoy being with her.
Orianne drained the last dregs of the cup and tossed the cup towards the garbage can that was beside the beer table, missing by a foot. "I'm going to the ladies' room. Hold the fort down?"
"No problem," Dave replied and gestured toward the deck that led into the house. He had to chuckle at how slow Orianne was moving but deep down he worried that she was going to trip and fall flat on her face. It would serve her right, though, for drinking so much if she did. After some time, he noticed her emerge through the sliding glass doors and firmly grasp the handrail leading down to the yard. She missed the second to last step and bounced down the rest, still amazingly on her feet. He laughed out loud when she jerked her head up, looked around to see if anyone was watching, and then blew out a sigh of relief.
When the photographer arrived at the table, she smiled at Batista and settled in the patio chair. She brushed at a spot on her white blouse and noticed that she had scraped her arm and managed to spill something dark on the edge of the shirt. "Fu—" she started but then clamped her mouth firmly shut. She looked up at Dave with a broad grin and said, "I almost S-A-I-D 'fuck'."
"Okay, that's it. We're leaving," he replied, trying to keep a straight face. He thought that was quite the funniest thing that ever came out of her mouth. If he started laughing at her, he may never get her out of there. "Go tell Cara 'bye' and I'll let Carlito and Edge know we're leaving, okay?" Orianne nodded, not quite sure of what was going on. Oh, well, if Dave was ready to leave, she would go on whether or not James had arrived, which apparently was not going to happen.
By the time they were to the car, Orianne began to become sick at her stomach. She moaned slightly as they climbed into the car and Dave asked about her. "Just a little sick," she replied.
"If you're going to be sick, let me know so I can pull over. The cleaning fees on these rentals are a bitch," he replied but then added a grin.
"I won't puke, I promise," Orianne replied, taking him seriously, and hunkered lower in the seat. When Dave pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, she announced with a moan, "I drank way too much. I think I mixed some stuff I shouldn't have."
"Really, you think so?" he joked.
"Don't kid with me. I'm really sick," she replied and slowly climbed out of the car. "Help me to my room."
Dave wrapped an arm around her waist and half carried her to the elevator before picking her up and toting her to her room.
"Oh my god," she moaned, curling up into a ball when he laid her down on the bed. She fumbled for the button on her jeans but couldn't move to get them off. "I can't even sit up. What the hell was I thinking?"
Dave stared down at her and scratched his head in thought. Well, there was nothing else he could do for her and stated, "Here, let me." She raised her hips up just enough for him to get the jeans down to her knees and then curled back into a fetal position. "C'mon," he coaxed after untying the ribbon at the neck of her blouse and helped her lean up just enough to pull the blouse up and over her head. She immediately balled up again with a moan. He pawed through her suitcase and found an oversized t-shirt that he barely got pulled over her head before she protested that it hurt too much. Now he was beginning to worry about her. Simply pulling the trash can close did nothing to allay his fears that she might be violently sick. He cursed Sloan for pissing her off enough to drive her to drink like this and he shucked his clothes down to his boxers and climbed into the bed beside Orianne. She was now still and he hoped she was asleep. He propped himself up on the pillows and reached for the remote control until he was sleepy enough to curl up beside her.
Surprisingly, as long as she didn't move a lot, Orianne was only a little nauseated in the morning, with the exception of the thought of food, which she wholly declined until the early afternoon. By then, she was also walking straight and her mouth no longer felt like cotton. The woman was pleasantly astonished to find Dave in her bed in the morning but he was quickly up and gone when he figured out that she was going to be fine. That was all right because she was highly embarrassed over how much she had lost control. However, she couldn't help but think about how wonderful it was to wake up to a warm body in her bed, especially Dave Batista at that.
TBC…