Extra Proof
by
Owlcroft
It was Lydia's get-together night with Bertha and Prudence, which had become a regular routine. Every couple of months, they'd meet at Bertha's apartment and catch up with one another over drinks and snacks. This evening, Prudence, of all people, had brought a liter bottle of Ancient Mariner vodka, one of the strongest vodkas in the world, for them to sample with various juices provided by Bertha – orange, tomato, pink grapefruit, and pineapple.
Lydia smiled. "Seems to me that instead of the chips and cheese, I should have brought the juice, given my married name. But Pru, why extra proof vodka?"
Prudence adjusted her over-sized glasses and poured a large amount of grapefruit juice into her small tot of vodka. "One of the people at college said she thought I was timid and mousy. So, I decided tonight I won't be. And now I'll have a comeback for her next time she says anything. I'll be able to brag about drinking Ancient Mariner vodka." She raised her glass in triumph.
They all sampled the vodka, in small tastes, exclaiming over how powerful it was, and then started reminiscing and exchanging news. Over the next three hours, the level in the vodka bottle somehow went down substantially. A lot of juice was consumed with it and there were serious inroads made on the snacks as well.
When a knock sounded on the door, it was barely noticed over all the laughter, but Bertha managed to stand up and get to the door to open it.
"BJ!" said Bertha leaning heavily against the door frame. "C'mon in! We're havin' vodka!"
"Um, hi, how ya doin'?" Beetlejuice looked at her side-eyed and then peered around for his wife and found her giggling in a corner over a photo of the dean that Prudence had taken for the college newspaper. He gave Lydia a small wave, then spotted the bottle. "Is this what you've all been drinking?"
Assorted cheers confirmed it and he examined the bottle more closely. "C'mon, this stuff can't be that strong." Beetlejuice poured out an eight-ounce glass and downed it in four gulps as the three women watched in awe. He stood motionless for a few seconds, then gasped, "Ha-ah!" as smoke came out of both ears. "Whoo! That'll put hair on your chest!"
Prudence pulled out her blouse and peeked down in dismay. "I don' wan' hair on my chest," she whimpered. Slowly realization dawned and she started laughing and didn't stop.
"Whoopsie!" Lydia saw her husband rock back and forth a bit and stood, a bit rocky herself, to take his arm. "I think it's time we went home. Bertha, thank you for having us over. It was sho much fun! We need to do this every month!"
Prudence agreed by nodding her head vigorously, still laughing.
"You two aren't driving, right?" Bertha staggered to the door to open it. "I can call a cab if you want. Here cab, cab, cab! Here, cabbie boy!"
Lydia dragged her husband out the door to uproarious laughter, some of it her own. "Beej," she asked him, "are you okay?"
Breathing heavily, he blinked at her. "Me? I'm fine. Why shouldn't I fee' fine? Jush fine," he grinned at her and juiced them both home.
Lydia was fee'ing fine as well. Once home, she took Beetlejuice's hands and said, "Let's dance, Beesh! I wanna danshe, don't you?"
He did. So they did. He snapped his fingers and their tiny living room became a spacious ballroom; he waved his hand and the music started. First came the samba, then they segued into a rumba. They danced and laughed for an hour, sometimes humming along with the music. They did the foxtrot, a jitterbug, the cha-cha; the laughter became manic when they made their way through the frug, the Watusi and a hilarious funky chicken. Finally the polka they'd started turned somehow into a waltz. When that ended, they stood together, barely moving their feet as languorous music played softly in the background, Lydia's arms around Beetlejuice's neck and his arms around her waist. They murmured occasional endearments and swayed slowly together until the music ended. Beetlejuice rested his face on Lydia's shoulder and it was only then that she realized he was quietly crying.
"Beesh? You okay?" she said haltingly. "I didn' know you . . . were a weepy drunk."
"'m not weepy. 'm jus' . . . s-s-sho happy." When he noticed that her shoulder was damp, he tried to blot the dampness with his bare hand and, realizing what he'd done, he cried harder.
Lydia tried ineffectually to comfort him, hugging him and murmuring nonsense words for a few moments until he suddenly pushed her away from him.
"You're not wee-eepy! You're not ha-ap-apy!" he wailed. "I'm no' makin' you . . . hap-py! I'm a f-failure." He fell to his knees, pressed his face against the backs of her hands and sobbed inconsolably.
At this point, Lydia was extremely wobbly herself and unsure of what to do, but she dropped to her knees also. "Beesh," she cleared her throat and tried again, "Beej, listen. I don' cry, I laugh when I'm happy an' you always make me laugh, an' . . . an' make me happy. Oh, I can't talk right, I had waaay too mush to drink! My darling, I really am happy, as happy ash I can be. Oh, dar-darn! Beesh, you hafta b'lieve me! Oh, darling, let'sh go to bed, please?"
Beetlejuice hiccuped, wiped his face on her hands, then kissed the tears off, and nodded. "Heart of my heart. Want sho mush to make you happy." He gave a stertorous sniff, sighed tragically, then managed to juice them both into their pajamas and bed where they slept immediately.
ooooo
Many hours later, Beetlejuice woke. He was not happy about it, either. As soon as he was fully awake and oriented, he got up and took four asp-irin with a pitcher of water, then made his own recipe for a hangover cure and gulped it down. Just as he finished it and belched volcanically, he heard a noise from the bedroom. Peeking in, he saw his wife struggling to sit up and went in to help.
"Here, babes," he said, handing her three of her aspirin. He next presented a tall glass of water and watched her down the tablets and the water. "Now this," and he handed her a short glass full of a murky red-brown liquid.
Lydia, holding her head carefully, asked, "What's in there or am I better off not knowing?"
"It's kind of my own variation of a prairie oyster. It's not that bad and it'll really help." He nodded at her encouragingly.
"I can't feel any worse, so . . ." She drink the mixture quickly and coughed when she finished. "What . . . was . . . There's something spicy in there!"
Beetlejuice put a pillow behind her back and sat down next to her. "That's a chopped jalapẽno instead of Tabasco. There's an egg and Worcestershire and a couple of extra things I came up with. Works really fast. You'll see."
She leaned against him, still breathing quickly from the spice heat. "Beej, I'm not sure how much of last night you remember – in fact, I'm not sure how much I remember. But I need to make sure you know that you do make me happy. That I couldn't be any happier." Lydia put her head on his shoulder and sighed. She was already starting to feel better.
"I think I knew that all along. Things got kind of fuzzy there for a while, but I remember being worried about it 'cause you weren't crying. That doesn't even make any sense. It must've been the vodka. Right? It was just the vodka?" He looked at her with anxiety apparent in his expression.
"My darling," Lydia turned toward him and reached an arm around his chest, "You make me so happy that I can't describe it. And I love you so much that I can't even begin to tell you how much."
He put a tender hand against her face. "You could multiply that by a thousand and it's not even close to what I feel. I don't have any way to tell you what you are to me. My precious, my sweeting, my heart's joy. I need for you to be happy; I swear that I will make you happy. Almost as happy as I am."
Lydia was feeling much better now. She lowered her eyelids and pursed her lips. She put her fingers on the top button of his pajama top. "Oh, yeah? I think I need proof."
ooooo
Beetlejuice went through the rest of the day smiling contentedly and humming from that old classic, "I want to be happy, but I can't be happy, till I make you happy, too."