Four
Dennis still had every intention of sleeping on the living room couch when he took the whiskey bottle back down from inside one of the cabinets. He grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge and mixed them in a glass cup. While Fiona took a shower he enjoyed his drink, leaning against the island style counter and thinking of a number of things. For one, he considered his ability to help people now that he had some good money to his name. Ensuring that Fiona had food and a place to sleep tonight felt more like an obligation than just a slick move to get into her pants. Still, she was in her early twenties, tall and attractive. Trying to keep himself from noticing these things seemed impossible. He left a robe laid out on Fiona's bed in case she wanted to get into something besides the clothes that she'd been carrying in the duffel bag for God knows how long. When she stepped out into the kitchen she had the robe on, and for the first time since Dennis had picked her up along the interstate she had her braided hair out. It was a bit longer than he would've expected—girls with longer hair tended to have it out in his experience—down just below her shoulders. He had a pleasant buzz going at this point.
"Mind if I join you," she said.
Dennis nodded. “Yeah, sure. You want a drink?”
“I'd love a drink.”
"Coming right up." He grabbed a glass from a cupboard near the sink, put it down on the island counter and made her drink right in front of her.
"How old do I look to you," she said, her eyes on the glass.
"Twenty one, twenty two."
"Which is my point exactly. You can give me more than that."
Dennis chuckled, picked the glass bottle of whiskey back up and added more liquor to her Coke.
"Here," he said, handing it to her.
She took a sip with barely a grimace. Then her eyes fixed on the sliding glass door past the dining room that led onto the balcony.
"This really is a beautiful suite," she said.
"Yeah. Before I ever managed to sell a book I would go to rooms a lot cheaper than this just because I seemed to work better in the motel environment. I don't live with anyone, but there's something about being at home and writing a first draft that makes it hard to focus. For me, at least."
"Lack of inspiration?"
"Well, the motel rooms I was staying in at the time weren't very inspiring either. They were small, only gave a view of the parking lot or the highway and you could always hear some couple fighting or having next door. Still, it worked for me."
Fiona strolled over to the side of the counter Dennis leaned against and stood next to him.
"When was the last time someone made your heart flutter?"
Dennis chortled a bit louder than he intended. "My heart flutter? You mean—"
"When was the last time you've been in love?"
"Hmmm." He took a drink of whiskey as he considered this, his grimace more pronounced then Fiona's when he drank. "Probably five years ago, if you want me to be honest."
"Does it make you uncomfortable talking about it? If it does we can talk about something else." She smiled. "We can talk about when someone last made my heart flutter."
Dennis shook his head. "How old are you exactly?"
"Twenty two."
"Then you haven't really had time for anyone to make your heart flutter."
"You can experience a lot of things by the age of twenty-two and love is not the least of those possibilities."
"You sound a lot smarter than your typical girl of twenty-two I'll give you that?"
"So do you want to trade stories," Fiona asked. "Or do you just want me to tell you mine?"
"I don't mind trading. Since I've had more time to learn how to cope with love and loss I choose myself to go first then you can tell yours after."
"Okay."
"She...was black."
Fiona raised her eyebrows, put her hand over her mouth in a mock gesture of surprise.
"No shit. Black."
"I say she was black, because she had skin like you. That kind of black. Gorgeous. Playful, fun. Smart."
"Who was older? You or her?"
He thought of the last time he'd made love to his wife and how devoid of passion it'd been. He thought of the first time and how wild and loud it was.
"Okay…" Fiona said.
"Oh, yeah," Dennis said and took a drink of his Coke and whiskey. "Just got kind of lost in thought there. I apologize."
"It's okay. No rush."
"Yeah, she was older and she was amazing in the beginning, turned into a person I didn't know toward the end."
"What? Like distant...emotional."
"Evil...cruel."
"Really? How so?"
Dennis gave a sad smile. "In a lot of ways. Some of the ways are hard to articulate. It's the kind of mean that'll give you nightmares, I'll tell you that."
"Did she...hit you?"
He said nothing, simply took another drink of his Coke and whiskey.
"I'm sorry," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to say anything else. I just get carried away when I hear these kinds of stories. Love is the cruelest teacher."
"What was that?"
"That love is the cruelest teacher?"
“Yeah."
“And sometimes it can seem like a big waste of time."
Dennis nodded. Took another slow sip of his drink. Fiona gulped the rest of hers down, held her cup up to Dennis.
“Mind if I have another one?"
“Yeah,” he said. “Certainly.” Dennis began to make her another drink.
“I’ve only had one relationship that ever mattered,” Fiona said. “I’ve been broken up with the guy for three years. Being homeless, this didn’t come until after it ended with him. He’s one of the reasons I’m homeless now, but I’m not placing blame, of course. As I’ve told you I’ve made a choice to live like this.”
The world was beginning to lose its edges, the fine details in the corners and crevices of the room starting to blur.
“It’s a hell of an adventure,” Dennis said, and handed her the drink. “It’d make a hell of a book. Young black girl, idolizes famous entrepreneur, learning about life on the rough and tumble streets of America.”
Fiona imitated George W. Bush’s voice, and repeated,
“America.”
Dennis chuckled.
“You’re good people,” Fiona said, leaning back against the counter with her cup. She gulped half of it and let out a small burp.
“So I see you’re a seasoned drinker?”
“Yeah, the saddest story. I’ve been drinking hard stuff like this since I was about sixteen. Yeah, I would put something like this in a water bottle walking down the street. My facial expression would have you thinking I’ve been drinking nothing but a very delicious soda.”
“Tell me more about your first love.”
“Well, he had actually been kind of heavy into the drinking. I mean, not like with what I have here. Like, if he were here right now he’d have your glass full to the brim with straight whiskey. ‘Fuck mixing it! It hits harder when it’s not mixed!’ That’s what he would say, anyway. He had a bad temper; set him off and he would say the worst kind of things to you.”
“Sounds like an asshole.”
Fiona chuckled. “He was. He once got so pissed because his chicken alfredo wasn’t ready on time that he punched the corner of the wall. Broke three fingers, I swear I heard them snap. I tried to comfort him, but you know what he did?”
“What? Did he hit you?”
“And still be living.” She shook her head. “No, he didn’t hit me. But he blamed me for it. ‘You let me punch the wall, bitch! You let me!’ ”
Dennis snickered. “Yeah. Asshole 101 right there.”
“He had his bright spots. There were times when he could be so sweet.”
“White or black?”
“Does it matter?”
He shook his head.
“He was Hispanic. Had an accent too. But, yeah…when I loved him I really loved him. But he had a mean streak too, like you were talking about with your ex. Was she your wife…your ex?”
He nodded. “We were married four years. Man, that’s something I’ll never do again.”
Fiona looked in the direction of the hall. “Come on. Let’s talk about this in the room. There’s a TV in there, we could watch something.”
Dennis looked at her. Her eyes were dark, quite striking. Something about the liquor seemed to accentuate them. Why hadn’t he noticed their roundness, their depth? He liked how they looked right now, liked the unsteady, half-lidded look. Despite being a practiced drinker the liquor was hitting her hard.
“That’s not right,” Dennis said.
“Yeah,” she said, slipping her hand into his. It was soft, small. “Tell me why.”
“Because we both know what’s going to happen if we go in there. And you’re just…a baby.”
Fiona grinned, baring a top and bottom set of perfectly white teeth. Then her expression suddenly turned stern. She deepened her voice as she spoke.
“So, what big bad thing is it you think’s going to happen if we go into that room?”
“Really,” Dennis said. “You want me to say the word?”
Fiona’s voice went back to normal. “We’ll just watch movies and shows and talk.”
“You think you could stay,” he said, and stopped to consider what he had just said.
“What, past tonight?” she asked, and finished off her drink. She turned toward the counter with her cup, grabbed the whiskey, took the cap off, poured it, added Coke, and turned back and leaned against the counter.
“Well,” Dennis said, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. Maybe, you could. At least for a few days. I don’t want you to just get up and go tomorrow, like that. We’ve had time to get to know each other.” He hesitated, but the liquor carried him the rest of the way. “I’d like to take care of you.”
She chuckled. “You want to take care of me, huh?” She brought her cup to her lips, chuckled again as her lips touched the edge, then drank. “What is it about me that makes you think I’m worth taking care of? At girl being pretty doesn’t always mean she’s an angel.”
“So, what are you trying to say, you’re not a good girl?”
“I’m just saying that you don’t really want to take care of me. You’re just inebriated and think it’s what you want. Once you sober up a little you’ll realize you could have girls a lot better than a girl who’s homeless.”
“Man. I don’t care about that.”
She looked up at him, furrowed her brow. “You know, I find it interesting that you’d be so determined to take care of me but you won’t even come into your bedroom to watch movies.”
Dennis said nothing, and finally finished off the last of his drink.
“You’re thirty years old Dennis,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with sleeping with a girl eight years younger. It doesn’t make you evil…manipulative.”
“That’s not what I think.”
Fact was, he didn’t want to sleep with a girl that was going to be on the street tomorrow. It seemed tacky and somehow, wrong.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Well,” Fiona said and finished her drink. “I’m not asking anymore.” She put down her cup and grabbed his hand. She pulled him toward the room and he wasn’t surprised to find that he gave little resistance.
“We’re just watching movies,” Dennis said.
“Yep. That’s it.”