The World Is Not Enough
A warm orange glow danced across the faces of young couples leaning over the table to kiss and proclaim their love for one another as the candles used by dining lovers dimly lit the hotel restaurant. It was as though everyone got the same memo, except for her, because everyone was trying their hardest to be disgustingly in love while she sat alone at her table. Her table did not have that obnoxious flame in the center or the scent of red wine. No, her table was lit by the end of her cigarette and the blue-gray smoke that was rising from her ash tray, and the scent that came with every exhale was clearly something stronger than wine. The waiters held the count at four glasses of vodka.
A man with a notepad and a familiar black and white uniform walked past her table. The woman quickly threw an aging, tan hand in the air, waving him in her direction. "Waiter, come over here please." By the sound of her voice, anyone within ten feet of her table could realize that she was feeling the effects of her drinks. Even the short, simple request came with slurred words. The man turned his head and hesitantly looked away toward the table he had been on his way over to, but in less than a second he was making his way over to the woman with a tired smile. "Another drink, Miss Psaltis?" He did not need to ask by looking at the way she gripped her empty glass.
"A Shirley Temple for the lady and a gin and tonic for myself." The man came out of nowhere, it seemed. One minute it was just the two at the table, and the next split second there he was, with a sly grin and a hand on the woman's shoulder. An odd look and one nod later, the waiter was off to fill the order, and the man stood in that stance until it was just the two of them. "Psaltis? I never figured you were Greek. Nevertheless, you know, I can see it now. It's the skin." Although she could not see his face until he let go of her shoulder and walked around to the other side of the table, she knew he was familiar. "How the mighty have fallen." He noted spitefully as he counted the glasses left on the table. "You used to have a shred of grace. You lost your dignity a while ago, but take that for what it's worth."
Her altered vision and untrustworthy ears were trying their hardest to detect the memories that came with that voice and those coal-like eyes. He knew her well enough, but what about him? Then it hit her. "Eric?" The shock and disgust in her voice had gathered quickly, but it came with the same venom that was normally associated with his name and reputation. "Dawn Marie?" He asked, mockingly, in reply. While she looked like she had just witness the rising of the living dead, Eric was leaning back in his chair, unamused by whatever flashbacks were going through her head. "Now that we're reacquainted, we don't have to waste any more time. Agreed? Good. Look, Dawn Marie, I'm not here to be subtle. You look awful and alcoholism might be an understatement for you." Dawn Marie opened her mouth to voice protest but was silenced by Eric simply raising his finger to his lips. "What the hell happened to you? You had a reason to be cocky, and now, now you're more of a joke than you used to be."
With his eyebrows arched, and the tray of drinks in his hand, the waiter stared amusedly at the situation. A lover's quarrel? Eric and Dawn Marie both noticed the intrusion and turned sharply toward the man, who quickly set the drinks down and was on his way. "Anyway," Eric began, shaking his head as he switched the drinks to be with their rightful owners, "long story short, I need you and you obviously need me. I have an unusual proposition for you, but you'll be interested if you take the time to listen." Dawn Marie brought her glass up to her lips, plucking out the cherry before taking a sip. Her nose scrunched up as she took it away to examine it. "It's sweet. There's no alcohol in this." Eric rolled his eyes as he snatched the drink out of her hand. "It's a kiddy cocktail. Maybe if you're good you'll get a grown-up drink. Not like you need any more. I'm surprised you're not on fire." At the discovery of her virgin drink, Dawn Marie's eyes had wandered to the other side of the table to his own glass. That, she knew, was not a kiddy drink. She just had to test it for herself, she did. Only a sip, she told herself, but right in front of Eric's eyes a sip turned into a desperate gulp.
"Cute. Very cute. You might as well keep it. I learned a long time ago now to drink after anything that's been in the gutter." Dawn Marie felt that one. "Are you here to insult me or are you getting on with what your proposition was?" Her face was stone cold, colder than it had been moments before. Eric, on the other hand, seemed at home with her distaste for him. "Oh right, the proposition." He took a deep breath, taking his time to tug at her impatience. "Marry me." As nonchalant as Eric's voice was, Dawn had a completely different opinion. "Never," her voice screeched. Irritating but effective, he noted silently. Some things did not change. "I don't know why you would even entertain a thought like that. You come here to take cheap shots at me and then you want me to marry you. Me? You've been a stranger for far too long if you think that I would say yes."
"Don't flatter yourself. You could at least have the drunken decency to let me talk." Though she huffed one last time, Dawn Marie silenced herself with the gin and tonic in the glass, giving him his time to explain whatever it was that he felt was worth bothering her with. "I need a desperate, ruthless bitch. You need a facelift, money, and class. If you marry me and help me get what I want, I'll make sure you're swimming in cash for the rest of your life." Money changes everything. That is what people always say, and that is how people naturally feel. Saying the word was enough to give Dawn Marie chills. "We're bitter and alone. We deserve what is supposed to be ours, and if we have each other to depend on, we will get it. If you marry me and follow my directions for a year, just a year, I will put you on the top of the mountain. You will get every magazine cover, every interview, and you will get the belt that you deserve. Then once it happens, the plan is complete, we'll get a divorce. I'll make sure you look good and you will be satisfied with your reward. You'll only have the best when I'm gone."
"Only a year? You'll make sure that I have all the money I need? Designer wardrobe? Huge mansion?" Dawn Marie stared him directly in the eyes. If he was lying, she was sure she would find some hint, some clue. All she could find was truth. Digging in his pockets, Eric fished out his wallet and slapped down the first four bills that came up. It seemed as though the two had come up with an agreement. Eric stood up from his seat and held his hand out to Dawn Marie. "Just one more thing," she said as she took hold of his hand. "Call me Dawn. Dawn Psaltis-Bischoff. I think it sounds nice…sophisticated." Monogrammed towels were probably far from the future, but for the moment, matching smirks would do as the two walked out of the restaurant and into the elevator. Everything was going to be theirs.