Yay, Short Story Time! first draft of the the first piece of a weird little project of mine inspired by spending way too much time reading text's from last night.
Life (or Something Like It)
[Viva Las Vegas]
It was eight AM when Mel opened her door to find Tavy on the other side looking like a car crash and grinning like the Cheshire cat. His lime-green shirt had a hole in the side that looked suspiciously like something had taken a bite out of it and his fedora was crumpled as if it had been run over by a van and only half-heartedly dusted off. The bright orange suspenders that were his latest crime against fashion were dangling loose and jingled every time he shifted his weight from the bells that had been somehow safety pinned on. He was also missing his left shoe. About the only part of his attire that was not mangled or altered was the black leather collar that he always wore buckled about his neck, the gold wire-work inlay of apples and pentagons glinting in the light from the landing. The smart thing to would have been to shut the door in his face and go back to bed, instead Mel just sighed, ushered him in, and limped into the kitchen put on a pot of coffee. Tavy followed her, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a hyper active four year old.
"Do I even want to know?" She asked. It wasn't really a rhetorical question; sometimes Tavy's explanations were worse than the nagging curiosity of not knowing.
"Probably not," Tavy said cheerfully, flicking some of his white-blonde hair out of his eyes. It was streaked a sort of magenta color that morning despite it having been solid blue yesterday. "Happy Birthday Melinda!"
Mel raised an eyebrow. "Whatever you are planning, just no," she said firmly.
Tavy's manic grin just grew wider. "Too late; Sunday already okayed it. It is your twenty-fourth birthday and you, darling, are going to have fun whether you like it or not."
Mel resisted the urge to groan and poured herself a cup of coffee, not even bothering with cream or sugar. If Tavy had swayed Sunday over to his evil plan then there would be very little chance of Mel getting out of it. She watched as Tavy dug through one of her lower kitchen cupboards and produced a pair of flip flops. He casually shook off his remaining tennis shoe and slipped his feet in, not bothering to remove his socks. The tiny voice of logic, that was slowly starving the longer she knew him, very desperately wanted to ask him why he had a pair of flip flops in her kitchen cupboard, but the wisdom of experience quickly quashed it.
"I have work tomorrow," she tried, a touch desperately. It was true, she did usually work the morning shift on Sunday, but since she technically owned the café she could make the schedule whatever she wanted.
Tavy just shook his head from where he was now perched on her counter eating one of the yellow apples he always seemed to have on his person. "Val already promised to cover for you," he replied. "Sorry doll, but you can't get out of it this year. You are going to get plastered, sing bad karaoke, make out with a few random strangers, and maybe win a million dollars."
Mel blanched. "You are not talking me to the casino."
"No, your cousin is taking you to the casino, she's the DD, I'm simply functioning as a tour guide for the Land of Fun. I'm aware you are not a frequent visitor there so it would be irresponsible to leave you on your own." Tavy replied with just a touch of smugness. Brick, her grumpy, anti-social Maine-coon jumped up on the counter and sat down next to him in a show of solidarity. Tavy patted him happily and gave her a winning smile.
Mel took a long sip of coffee and glared at them. "Quit subverting my cats."
"Just Brick, Mr. Spooky still seems go out of his way to avoid me." Tavy pouted
"You probably hurt his eyes," she muttered spitefully, only to look down to see the ruddy-colored Somali cat sitting on her foot and giving her a firm look.
Mel just sighed in resignation of the coming apocalypse. The very first week they had met, Mel had gone out drinking with Tavy. She lost five hours, woke up cuddling a construction cone and had thirty new friend requests on Facebook. She swore never to do it again. The second time she had apparently challenged a hobo to a sing-off, bought twelve kumquats and a fish. The fourth time she tried to get a restraining order against her neighbor's Chihuahua and no one was ever allowed to speak of the third time. Ever. The worst part was Tavy seemed incapable of getting drunk. You could poor enough alcohol into him to knock-out the entirety of Russia and he would still be completely functional. Which meant that all his crazy was just a personality trait. She wondered what it said about her own personality that she kept him around.
***
Mel entered the casino with a funeral expression. Her long brown hair had pulled up into a ponytail that was mostly about keeping it out of the way when the inevitable vomiting set in then any sense of fashion. She was dressed in dark slacks and a blue-grey shirt that Sunday had forced over her head, saying it complemented her eyes. Mel was uncompromising about keeping her sneakers, and Tavy was uncompromising about her bringing her cane. She hated advertising that she was a cripple but privately admitted she'd be in a lot of pain tomorrow if she tried to do without it for an entire evening. Still it was a pretty piece, made of carved mahogany wood with silver ball-style hand hold. It had been a Christmas gift from Tavy, who said that he took offense to the battered granny cane she'd been mostly avoiding using from the start. Mel was of the opinion that he should not be allowed to comment on other people's sartorial choices.
A glance to her left took in his current attire. He was dressed in plaid pants, a white button-up shirt, and a patchwork waistcoat in every loud color of the rainbow. He had retained the jingle-bell suspenders from this morning but his magenta streaked hair was now mostly it's natural white-blonde with just the tips dyed orange. Thankfully he had traded the socks and flip-flop combo for a pair of battered combat boots. The black leather collar was ever-present. He gave her his usual boyish smile, but Mel could see the chaos piling up behind his eyes.
"Stop looking so grim, Melly, it's your birthday," A melodic, feminine voice said from her right, pulling her eyes away from Tavy.
Mel glared at her cousin. "Don't call me that."
Sunday was two years Mel's senior with long blond hair, wide dark eyes and ruby lips. Mel had spent most of her adolescence feeling nothing but envious hatred for her almost preternaturally beautiful cousin. While Mel had been fighting back pimples and seemingly incapable of not looking like she'd applied her make-up with a trowel, Sunday had every boy within thirty feet worked up into a hormonal frenzy without even trying. That had changed after the accident, though Mel's girlish pride still felt a twinge of envy every time she looked at the gorgeous woman next to her.
Tonight, her companions' extreme looks would probably prove more beneficial than anything. No one was likely to pay much attention to the grumpy cripple with those two around. She allowed herself the small fantasy of just having a few quiet drinks at the bar, chatting with her friends and heading home. Whatever hope that she had went up in flames like a ant found by a six-year-old when she saw who was waiting at the bar. Tiny and petite Kira was holding up the much taller and enthusiastically waving Cricket who was already on what Mel would guess to be her fourth shot of the night. Of course Tavy was going to invite her best friends; she should have known better.
"Happy Birthday Mel," Kira greeted her calmly as Cricket launched herself at the scowling brunette.
With the ease of long practice, Mel managed to catch her friend and keep them both upright as she gave Kira a friendly nod of acknowledgement. The three of them had been friends since early childhood and there was very little they wouldn't do for each other. Mel just wished aiding and abetting Tavy was on the list of don'ts.
"Alright!" Cricket announced, bouncing back to her barstool and half-dragging a protesting Mel with her. "Time to do shots."
"And by that she means not counting the five she had while we were waiting," Kira added as an aside to Mel.
She turned one last pleading glance at her four companions, who all gave her matching, unsympathetic grins. "Guys?" she entreated.
Tavy grabbed her shoulders and placed a kiss on her forehead. "You'll be just fine, Mel."
"Lies," said the voice of experience.
***
DrunkMel and SoberMel were two very different people, Mel thought fuzzily as she, Cricket, and Tavy bellowed the lyrics of Bohemian Rhapsody into the lone microphone. She could see Sunday cheering them on in her elegant, graceful way, while Kira was having a delightful time getting the bartender all hot and flustered. She turned back to the teleprompter and was disappointed to see that there were no more lyrics. Oh well, she would just have to be creative. It took only and handful of seconds for the microphone to be forcefully removed from her control. Mel glared mutinously at Sunday and the guy who controlled the karaoke machine.
"Mel, honey, you were howling into the microphone," Sunday said gently, and with some amusement.
"You're just mad I got to grow up to be a car-alarm," Mel retorted shrewdly.
Sunday choked back a laugh.
"More like an air-raid siren," Kira replied, her attention diverted from her on-going conquest of the bartender.
Tavy came up to her right, wrapping and arm around her shoulders and grinning like a lunitic. He'd acquired a cowboy hat somewhere and Mel decided she wanted it. She swiped it off his head and placed it on her own. It took her a moment to situate it over her ponytail but she managed and gave Tavy a smug look.
"You should sleep with him," Mel announced once they had gotten her safely back on her barstool with Tavy's arm around her shoulders to keep her upright.
Her four companions gave her confused looks.
"The bartender," she clarified. "Bartenders are great in bed."
This was a fact. How did she know this fact again? Oh. "I should call Murphy," Mel said with the air of a great epiphany.
Four sets of hand went after her cell phone amidst cries of negation. Mel grinned triumphantly as they all got foiled up in each other. Didn't they know she was the master of the cell phone quick-draw? She slipped out of Tavy's grip and onto the floor but not before she managed to hit the correct speed-dial. She heard one ring before Kira managed to wrest the phone away from her.
She glared up at the others from her position on the floor. It was her birthday, damnit, and she wanted to talk to Murphy. She hadn't talked to Murphy in forever.
"It's my Birthday," she informed them sternly. They were going to give her the phone back.
"Sorry, but friends don't let friend drunk dial," Kira informed her.
"'M not drunk dialing," Mel protested. "I'm calling Murphy. He's being invisible."
Sunday and Kira exchanged worried looks while Tavy and Cricket just looked quietly sympathetic.
"Murphy's probably really busy," Sunday said gently. "You don't approve of bothering busy people remember?"
Mel frowned. That was true enough, but there was something wrong with that statement. "I guess," she said slowly.
"Well in lieu of bothering hardworking folk, how about we hit the slots?" Tavy asked brightly, clapping his hands together.
***
The slots made all sorts of fun jingling noises. "They have to be related to your suspenders, Tavy," Mel informed him urgently.
Kira was gone, but the bartender was on break, so that wasn't surprising. She'd turn up later. Cricket had elected to stay behind at the bar and Sunday had decided to join her. That left her and Tavy alone with the slots. She wasn't sure if they had won anything or not, but watching the little whirling pictures was fun enough that she didn't really mind paying for the privilege.
"I'm going to go to the bathroom. Can you stay right here?" he asked.
Mel nodded firmly. She could do that. Didn't mean she would.
Tavy's grin seemed to suggest he knew that. He patted her fondly on the head. "Try not to get into too much trouble," he said.
Mel snorted inelegantly. "'Course not."
Mel waited until he was out of sight before letting the evil grin spread across her face. Did they really think that taking her phone away would stop her? She was Melinda Doyle, the Pit Bull, as she was known to her varsity soccer team. Nothing could stop her. She turned to the elderly gentleman who was seated next to her and put on an expression of artful innocence.
"Excuse me, sir, but do you happened to have phone I could borrow? I forgot mine and I need to call my doctor to make sure it's okay to take my meds with alcohol." She indicated her cane in gambit for sympathy.
He looked startled for a moment, and then his eyes softened. "Of course young lady, it's nice to see a responsible young person."
He handed over his cell phone so Mel resisted the impulse to point out that a casino was the last place to find responsible people. She carefully moved out of earshot and dialed Murphy's phone number.
"Hello?" Murphy's voice was groggy with sleep.
"Murphy! I knew you weren't busy, Sunday is such a liar," Mel said brightly. "It's my birthday!"
"Mel?" He sounded a bit more awake. "Why are you calling me 12:30 at night?"
"It's my birthday," she repeated patiently; he was always a little behind when he first woke up so she could forgive him. "I haven't seen you in forever, why is that?"
"Mel…" the voice was alert now, but strangely hesitant. "You're drunk," he stated.
"It's my birthday," she said again. That was what you did on birthdays. "Where have you been lately? Dublin's been around to see me but you haven't been with him."
"Mel, it’s late, go to bed." Murphy said firmly.
"In the casino?" She asked, shocked.
"The casino? Who's bright idea was it to let you loose in…never mind, that sounds like Tavy's doing. Look, Mel, I have to get up early tomorrow, why don't you call me in the morning if you still want, when you are sober."
Mel frowned. "You don't want to talk to me?" That was distinctly upsetting. Murphy had always made time to talk to her.
"Not when you are drunk. You and me and alcohol don't mix, remember?" Murphy said after a long moment of silence.
Oh. Right. The third time she went drinking with Tavy; Getting smashed and sleeping with your brother's best friend never ended well. She closed the phone with a snap and limped back over to the elderly gentleman. She handed him his phone just as Tavy returned.
"Shit," he swore quietly. "Mel, sweetheart, come here."
"Murphy hates me," she said quietly.
Tavy gathered her up in his arms just as she started crying.
***
Mel sat on the floor of her kitchen dressed in her faded Yosemite Sam pajamas, hands curled around a cup of tea. She had a cat sprawled on each side of her and had her phone open on the floor in front of her. Murphy's number was highlighted. She continued to stare accusingly at it, as if her current misery was all its fault. She couldn't call him.
"I'm going to die a crazy old cat lady," she muttered to herself.
She was focused so intently on her inability to actually call him and talk things out like adults that she jumped violently when it rang, spilling tea on Brick who scuttled away after giving her a very offended look. She had a half-second hope that Murphy had decided to call her but that was dashed when the ID read Dublin. With a sigh she answered her brother's call.
"Hey little sister, sorry I didn't call last night but I was…uh, never mind. How was your birthday?" Dublin asked brightly.
Mel remembered why she hated morning people. "I got stupidly drunk and made really poor life choices; it was everything a birthday was supposed to be," she said dryly.
"That's the spirit," Dublin replied cheerfully. "Hey, I’ll stop by the Café later and drop off your present. Try to smile a bit for me, eh? Gotta go, I think my date is waking up."
Mel allowed a small exasperated smile for her oblivious, playboy brother. "Bye, Dublin."
"Bye Melly, glad you had a good birthday," and with that the line went dead.
Mel stared at the phone in her hand then raised her eyes to the upturned cowboy hat full of cash on her counter. She shrugged.
"Could have been worse," she informed Mr. Spooky.
The cat ignored her.
