Seven

I sat by the phone, waiting for Greg's call. I wasn't planning on answering the phone or anything; I was just going to give the receiver my nastiest stare and hope that the bad karma transferred over to Greg's phone line. But an hour went by, and he didn't call. And then another hour, and another. I was almost positive that he would have called when he noticed my sudden absence from work. Yet there I was, waiting for a phantom phone call that obviously wasn't coming. How dumb could I be?

I had to get out of that small cereal box that I call a home. The walls were closing in on me, and the conversation with Hodges earlier only put more pressure on my already stressed brain. It seemed that even reruns of "I Love Lucy" weren't going to help me on this particular night. I tried to think of all the places in Las Vegas I could go, but they all reminded me of Greg - even the supermarket. Desperate for some help, I phoned my landlord, a middle-aged, blonde haired woman who apparently thought hip huggers and tube tops were work appropriate.

"This is your luscious land lady speaking. How can I help?" she answered my call in a half- town-drunk, half-town-skank kind of voice. I cringed at the very thought of her mascara and how many coats she must have put on that morning.

"Hey there, Debbie," I sounded like a Mouseketeer compared to her worn, smokey voice. "It's Matilda, in 2C."

"Uh-huh," she mumbled, waiting for me to make my point.

"I was wondering if you knew of any good bars around here?" Well that was a dumb question.

"You're in Las Vegas, sweetheart. There's a bar on every corner," she said, irritation in her voice. "The problem is finding a good bar."

"I just need somewhere that serves alcohol," I said, incredulous of my own words. I was never the kind of person to turn to booze when I had a problem. I was the kind of girl who would rather sit down, hold hands, and "talk" about our big scary problems. Well, sort of. The neon radiation and 24/7 party atmosphere of the big city must have finally gotten to me.

"Okay, okay," she laughed, hearing the urgency in my voice. "I'll call you a cab - send you somewhere good."

"Thank you so much," I gushed to her, but she had already hung up. Who had inhabited my body? Why was I so anxious to get together with Jack Daniels and his friends? I had no time to question my own motives - I would leave that for someone else to do. I frantically grabbed my purse, and headed downstairs, not having the slightest clue where my "wayward lady of the night" landlord was sending me.

Fifteen minutes and one smelly cab ride later, I was dropped off at a Cheers-esque bar. Unfortunately, I knew that nobody would know my name. The entire place was filled with a thick cloud of smoke, and there were burly looking men in the back, playing pool and clanking beer glasses together. I steered clear of them, not wanting to get scurvy. I found an empty stool at the bar, and tried to observe the people around me without being too obvious. An old couple; a man with a long, scruffy beard; a few frat brothers. This is where the misfits must come to drink. How appropriate.

"Can I help you?" the petite bartender asked. She was wearing a revealing black top and tight leather pants, but she had a sweet face and blonde hair that could outshine any of the Brady sisters, even Cindy.

"Just a beer, please," I said, and she walked off to find me said beer.

It's amazing how one bottle can turn into five, because before long, my speech was slurring and the walls were blurring I didn't remember ordering that many beers. I don't even like beer. But oh yeah....there were the four shots. Four or five? Who cares?! They're like the same number, anyway....they both start with "F". What a weird letter..."F"....why can't "F" be more like...."M"?

I had lost all of my better judgement, and was stumbling back and forth through the bar, chatting up the pirates in the back about Barbra Streisand, and flirting with the frat boys in the front. Being completely intoxicated, I thought that one of the college guys was totally into me; I think he even tried to grab my chest. It didn't take long for his goofy friends to disappear and for me and Mr. Lover Boy to be alone, snuggled into a corner in a far off booth.

"What did you say your name was?" he asked, slurring the end of every word. He yelled to the bartender to bring us more drinks.

"Matty..." I managed to say. Matilda was too many syllables for a drunk to even fathom. When the freshly opened bottles arrived, my new guy friend was anxious for me to drink more, practically shoving the bottle down my throat.

"Whoa...." I said. "I've had....a lot...."

"Me, too." he replied, slamming his own beer back down on the table. "Let's go." he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the booth. Standing up so suddenly made my head spin, and I fell into his back to catch myself from falling. I heard him laughing, so I started to do the same. I was a very giddy drunk.

Out on the street, the bright lights burned and merged into one giant ball of fire, burning out my retinas. I heard my date hail a cab, and then, for the first time in a long time, everything went completely quiet. I could hear this guy breathing down my neck as he waited for some form of transportation. I could hear the slot machines in nearby casinos being abused over and over again until they produced a winner. I could hear someone's footsteps approach behind us, and the sound of a familiar voice.

By this point, I had given up on trying to look composed and slumped down to the ground, resting my head on the brick exterior of the bar. It was only then that I noticed that my frat boy support unit had walked off to talk to this familiar voice. I couldn't make out either of their faces; I could barely hear what they were saying. Soon, though, they were shouting at each other, and there was frantic movement everywhere, like they were throwing punches at each other. I crunched my body in a tight ball, trying to protect myself from what I thought was the Apocalypse. The feeling of these two giant men around me made me feel weaker and weaker by the second, and I knew I was going to faint.

Finally, the tiny war on the sidewalk stopped and I felt someone grab my hands and pull me up. I fell against his body, and I felt his hand wrap tightly around my waist, trying to prevent me from falling. My eyelids became heavy, my legs gave out from under my weight, and I lost all consciousness.