Razor Sharp. Fern Michaels
we should clean up before we start to…uh…party.”
“I’m thinking maybe we shouldn’t. I hate cleaning up. You don’t like it either, Annie. It’s a messy job and a few hours later you have to do it all over again. I think we should requisition those hard plastic plates and throwaway utensils. Why aren’t you sampling this fine liquor, Annie?” Myra asked as she took a long gulp from her glass.
Annie pretended not to see the tears rolling down Myra’s cheeks.
“This is quite smooth,” Annie gasped as she took a robust drink. “Do we have any cigarettes?”
“We don’t smoke, Annie. Charles smokes once in a while, so there might be some in one of these drawers. I suppose we could smoke one if we didn’t inhale. Smoking is not good for you. The surgeon general says so. Ah, here are some,” Myra said as she triumphantly held up a crumpled package of cigarettes from one of the kitchen drawers. “Since we don’t smoke, we won’t know if they’re stale or not. Fire up, Annie.”
Annie marched into the dining room and returned with a lighter that was used to fire up the kindling in the fireplace. She clicked it on and almost set Myra’s nose on fire.
“Whoa! The cigarette, Annie, not my nose.”
Annie puffed furiously on the cigarette in her mouth. She wiggled it from side to side. “Did ya see that, Myra? I saw Clark Gable do that in a movie once. See if you can do it.”
“First, fill ’er up,” Myra said as she struggled to talk around the cigarette in her mouth. The cigarette fell on the floor. Myra bent down to pick it up. She looked at the glowing tip and stuck the other end back in her mouth. “I don’t want to learn that trick. You know what else, Annie, I don’t want to look at that messy dining room table.” Gingerly, she lowered herself to the floor and stretched out her legs. “Now we don’t have to look at the mess. And if we pass out from all this fine liquor, we won’t have far to fall.”
“That really makes a lot of sense, Myra. Sometimes you hit it just right. I wish you weren’t so sad. Charles will come back at some point. You know that,” Annie said as she waved the whiskey bottle back and forth.
“I don’t care to discuss Charles. Now or ever. Are we clear on that, Annie?”
“Crystal, my dear friend, absolutely crystal.”
Myra burst into tears.
Annie’s solution was to refill her glass. “Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do,” she muttered to herself. A good drunk never hurt anyone as long as it didn’t become a habit.
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