FicWad

Just one more.
The same thing I’d been telling myself for the past hour.
Just one more, then I’d wait til tonight after my gig.
I threw back my head, and the straight vodka burned throat, leaving a fiery trail down to my stomach.
Maybe just one more.
I sighed, pouring the liquor sloppily over the glass so that it sloshed a little over the coffee table. Who was I kidding? At the rate I was going, I was going to drink the whole damn bottle.
I downed the shot. I didn’t care. I had time to kill.
It wasn’t exactly drowning my sorrows, I thought, pouring yet another jigger. But it wasn’t exactly drinking just to drink. I shook my head sharply, the sharp taste searing my mouth. I was about a third of the way through my first bottle of vodka, and thanks to Duff, I knew where to get plenty more. I closed my eyes as yet another swallow went down. Nice fucking way to spend the afternoon.
A sharp knock sounded at the door, and I slowly got to my feet, swaying a little. I ambled to the front door of the messy apartment, stumbling over assorted boxes and amps. I squinted into the sunlight as I threw open the door: the shades had been closed. As soon as my vision focused, I was met with the sight of a huge, curly mass of dark hair.
“Slash, whattya doing here?” I tried my best to keep the slur out of my voice, standing in the doorway so that he couldn’t see the dark interior.
“Jen? You been drinking?”
Of course he could tell. He was in a rock band, for fuck’s sake. I slumped against the doorway, tossing him the shot glass I had had behind my back. He amusedly caught it, the glass making a slight smacking sound against his palm.
“C’mon in then, Hudson.” I navigated my way back to the living room, flopping down on the couch.
“What’s gotten into YOU?” he asked teasingly, pulling back the curtains.
“The sunlight . . . it burns. . .” I threw my hand over my eyes dramatically. He laughed, but continued opening the windows until the room was flooded with daylight.
“Good God, what time is it?” I asked, forgoing shots in favor of the entire bottle.
“Just past three.” He offered me my glass, and I shook my head. “You don’t usually day drink, Jenny.”
“Thank you, Mother,” I grumbled, hugging my vodka. “And you’re one to talk.”
Slash shrugged. “Hey, I don’t have to avoid falling off of a pole every night and live in fear cracking my head open.”
“Sure, all you have to do is hit the right notes and play incredible guitar solos. No sweat.”
He smiled, gesturing towards the back of the apartment. “Hey, is Izzy back there? I wanna talk to him.”
I shook my head slowly. “No. . . He’s still at the studio. At least, I thought he was.”
Slash shook his head. “Nah, he can’t be. We all left around one. I figured he must have been home by now.”
I snorted, taking another gulp of alcohol. “Well, he’s not.”
Slash crossed his arms, leaning against the couch arm and looking at me. “ Something happen that I should know, Jenny?”
“No.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, offering him the handle. He took it, eyeing me strangely.
“Look, this don’t make any sense. I just had a talk with you about him the other day, then I’m havin’ a talk with him about you this morning, and now I’m back here and you’re drinking alone. What’s goin’ on, anyways?”
I sat up straight. “Sorry, you lost me at ‘had a talk with him about you.’ Care to fill me in, Slasher?”
He shook his head. “Not particularly.”
I slumped back down, moodily gesturing for the return of my bottle. “Any idea where he is now, then?”
“None.”
“Great.” I glanced at him bitterly. He hopped of the arm of the couch, running his hand through his hair.
“Listen Jen, just ‘cause he’s deciding to be a dick and run out on you today doesn’t mean that you’ve gotta sit at home and drink yourself into a stupor.”
“Who said anything about drinking into a stupor? I just wanted a pick-me-up, that’s all.” I capped the bottle, pushing it behind the sofa cushions.
“Sure.” He stuck out his hand, pulling me up. “C’mon, let’s go somewhere.”
I eyed him dubiously. “What do you mean, somewhere? You just said yourself it’s three in the afternoon. What d’you expect to do in a city like this?”
“You’d be surprised,” he winked. “There are plenty of good places open during the day. I know a pretty good bar. Trust me, you’d rather drink with me than drink alone, sweetheart.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m touched.”
He grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets and smirking at my baggy, over-sized t-shirt. “You should be. And I hope you’re not planning to wear that.”
I rolled my eyes again. “Yeah, this is real sexy. Have a little faith, Slash, I mean, God.”
He just chuckled, following me to my room. I shuffled up to my closet, yanking out a pair of light jeans and wriggling into them. He wrinkled his nose.
“I thought strippers had a more interesting wardrobe, Jenny.”
I giggled, feeling a bit lightheaded from the vodka. “How’re you missing the row of trashy costumes?” I buttoned the pants, the waistband just surpassing my bellybutton. Slash wolf whistled, pulling out a racy leopard print leotard.
“How come I’ve never seen THIS on a show?”
“You have. I wore it for the fourth show I danced with Guns. You were tripping over yourself drunk, though, so you probably don’t remember.”
“Huh. Well, you should definitely wear it tonight,” he told me, tossing it onto the bed.
“Are you coming?” I asked in surprise, pulling off my t-shirt over my head. I didn’t worry about him seeing my bra: he had seen it thousands of times in concert, and I knew he would never touch his friend’s girl.
“Well, Izzy’s apparently out of commission, so there’s gotta be somebody to beat all the guys off with a stick,” he told me, rifling through my drawers.
“Thanks, Slash,” I said gratefully, pulling a red button-up off the rack. I could tell he felt bad for me.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” He asked incredulously, holding up a leather bustier he had found in my dresser. “I was gonna hold out for this.”
I grinned, buttoning up my shirt. “Maybe another time.”
“At least tie it up at the bottom.”
“Thanks again, Mother.”
But I did as he suggested anyways.

“Damn, more people than usual,” Slash commented as he pulled into the back of the joint. “You must not be the only drowning some sorrows.”
“Ha, ha,” I said sarcastically, sizing up the bar. “This looks pretty seedy, man.”
“And what isn’t, if it’s open this early?”
“Good point.”
He circled the car and mockingly opened the door for me. “Shall we go get fucking wasted, m’lady?”
I took his hand and stepped out of the car. “Let’s.”
He grinned at my feet. “How do girls walk in those things? It looks like torture.”
He had bullied me into wearing the red stripper platforms.
“Four years kinda gets you used to it,” I told him, slamming the car door and starting across the parking lot.
“Guess so. Hey, I’d let me go first.”
“Alright then. I’m guessing you know the bartender?”
“Vaguely.” Slash shrugged. “I think her first name’s Annie, but I can’t really remember.”
I just shook my head, following him up the back steps and through the graffiti-covered door. Right away, the grey sunlight of the L.A. day turned into the dark, smoky atmosphere of a bar. There were rowdy voices and the sound of music drifting through the hallway that Slash led me through, which must have been the back entrance. We came to the end and I found myself behind the bar, a countertop that was lined with several black-clad men and scantily-dressed women.
“Slash!” The curly-haired barmaid instantly set down her mixer, smiling at him coyly. “I haven’t seen you in quite a while.”
“Oh, yeah, good to see you too, honey-”
I could have burst out laughing as she began preening over him, stroking his bicep and smiling. It was quite sad, really. Women were wild about my best friend, but he never seemed to take any of them seriously. I had never understood the attraction, anyways: He was no doubt handsome, but I found enigmas more interesting and more of a challenge. Of course, a certain dark-haired face appeared in my mind. At times, maybe too much of a challenge. I cleared my throat loudly, interrupting my thought and the two of them.
“Who’s this, then?” the girl’s eyes widened, gazing over his shoulder at me.
“Oh, this is Jen,” Slash told her. “She’s along for the ride.”
I nodded and edged out from behind the counter, seating myself at the bar beside a large, fair-haired guy in a brown leather jacket, who took a good at my heels and whistled into his Stoli. I ignored it and ordered a whiskey, which Annie quickly set before me. I contented myself with the prospect of a nice, alcohol-soaked afternoon before I had to go to work tonight. Slash, however, had heard the whistle and quickly peeled Annie off of him, coming around to my side and throwing his arm over me. The guy raised his eyebrows and took another gulp of vodka, which Slash returned with a cool look. I knew he was just looking after me, but I really was not in the mood for a bar fight or even a verbal run-in. So I shoved my drink into Slash’s hand, which he appreciatively swigged. He set it back on the tabletop and leaned down to nuzzle at my neck, his curls tickling my collarbone and his lips brushing my ear.
“Sorry, but they’ll leave you alone if they think you’re mine.”
“It’s fine,” I whispered, taking another swallow of Jack. “I’ve got too much alcohol in me to care anyways.” I knew there were hundreds of women who would have killed to be in my place, but I didn’t feel any kind of tingling or desire from his contact. Anyone else’s touch just reminded me of the feel of Izzy’s hands on me, Izzy’s strong fingers, Izzy’s black hair brushing my skin, and Izzy’s grey eyes. I squeezed my eyes shut, clutching my glass. I was far gone.
When Slash straightened back up, Brown Jacket had averted his eyes, as had most of the men at the bar. I just hooked my heels into the bars of the stool, leaning my elbows on the glass surface and polishing off my drink. Happily, it wasn’t necessary to tell Annie to hit me again, as I found my glass being refilled by a glowering blond visage. I didn’t really care. I was dimly aware of her trying to sweet-talk Slash again, who didn’t appear to object. I just gazed into the tumbler, feeling my brain beginning to slow down. It was hard to think. The one clear thing in my mind was a face. I didn’t want to think, didn’t want to see that face. Did I? I felt confused and slow. Still, I accepted third, fourth, and fifth drinks, and by the fifth one, I was having a hard time standing straight when I got to my feet. I tapped Slash on the shoulder, who was again behind the bar. God only knew what he’d been saying to that poor girl.
“I hope you’ve been banking on me crashing at your place,” I told him, swaying slightly and holding onto the edge of the bar counter. “I need a place to sleep this off before tonight.”
“Sure, honey-” He turned back, obviously distracted. I sighed woozily and made my way hazardously through the bar. It was a miracle I hadn’t fallen yet, I thought dimly, watching the front door come into view. I needed a smoke.
Once outside, I glanced up and down the sidewalk. The sun was just setting: it had to be around five or six. What was more, I was obviously completely drunk and that was a sure way to get mugged. My shirt was unbuttoned to almost the top of my bra and had hitched up around my waist, showing a ring of skin. I wasn’t sure how that had happened, but I was also pretty sure it wasn’t exactly safe in an L.A. street. There weren’t too many warning signs, though: just a couple girls like me, dressed in miniskirts, lots of jewelry, and too much makeup. A few guys, but no one who looked too dangerous. There was only one figure that I made a serious note of, a man in black leather trench coat and a dark hat pushed far down over his eyes, obscuring his face. Thank God he was at the end of the street. I would have bet money that he was a dealer. I leaned against the brick wall behind me, fumbling unsteadily in my back pocket for my cigarettes. Managing to extract one, I lit up and allowed my head to loll against the stone; the coolness was soothing on my already aching head. Despite my best efforts, I was still thinking. I wanted to know where he’d gone. I closed my eyes. Never in a million years would I have predicted this for myself four years ago. Drunk on a street in Los Angeles, a gig as a stripper later tonight, and wondering where the hell my rockstar boyfriend had gone.
Was he my boyfriend? I took another long inhale. Fuck, I guess he was. I’d always hated that word, and even back in Scottsdale I’d never liked to use it. It was just so fucking cliché and pathetic. I hated to be dependent on anyone, owe anything to anyone, or need anyone at all. But here I was.
My dizzy thoughts were interrupted by the realization that the man in black leather was slowly making his way down the street, hands shoved in his pockets. I straightened up off of the brick, taking another drag off of my smoke and bullying my brain into semi-alertness. I could just go inside now, but I hated to waste a good cigarette. I decided to wait for him to pass by, reasoning with myself. There were plenty of other girls on the sidewalk, and he hadn’t talked to any of them. I was no different.
But ever since the bad experience with the speed dealer seven months previously, I had been especially edgy about them. I found myself wishing for my familiar trench coat as he drew closer, strolling with his head down. Hell, I was wishing for Izzy. I’d never forgotten how he’d chased the guy off and offered me a job. Offered me help. What a hell of a way to meet. I squeezed my eyes shut. I wished he was with me, I wanted Izzy here. I hit the Marlboro again, opening my eyes to see my fingers shaking slightly. What the hell was wrong with me?
The dealer couldn’t have been more than ten feet from me, and still showed no sign of looking up. I relaxed. The guy couldn’t care less about me. I knew my fears were stupid, but they came with the territory.
He didn’t stop as he walked past, but I started violently when I heard his voice from under the hat brim.
“Nice shoes, Jen.”
He looked up fleetingly, and I caught a glimpse of a familiar grin for only a second before he hurried by.
I dropped my cigarette onto the pavement, staring after him.
The dealer in black was Izzy.