Sad_Girl
Blue Crack Supplier
Disclaimer: Though the author spends much time pondering the subject, she has absolutely no insight to U2's true feelings and reactions. This is all a work of her imagination, reflections of her perceptions. None of it is real, true or ever will be. Not real. Fiction. Fantasy. The further along the series gets, the further it gets from reality. Should not be considered in any way a true representation of any of the people mentioned within
Part 5: The morning after
Sunrise was like a nuclear explosion in her brain. Cat covered her face with a pillow, but the pain did not subside. In fact, buried under the cloth, she was forced to smell her own breath. It didn’t take long for her to toss the pillow aside and swing her feet over the side of the bed. She was still in the same clothes she’d been wearing the night before, minus her shoes which were neatly lined up next to the foot of the bed. They stuck out because they were the only neat thing about her room, she had a tendency to toss her dirty clothes every which way and it often took her a great deal of time to find two shoes which matched.
“Ooooohhhhh!” She moaned, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose as the room shimmied and swayed around her, as if she were on a ship in heavy seas. “What the hell did I do?” She asked herself, her recollection of the prior evening being patchy at best. She glanced over at the clock. 7:37 A.M. She couldn’t have slept more than four hours at most. Probably less. Still, she couldn’t climb back under the covers, she had too much to do. Besides, she wouldn’t sleep with her head and belly aching as they did.
She shuffled out of her bedroom into the even more brightly lit kitchen/living area and winced as it shot through her brain like a hot knife. Peering out of eyes open as narrowly as possible, she glanced around her living room at the usual post-party mess. Empty cans and bottles, paper plates stained with barbecue sauce, and ashtrays full to overflowing. Then her eyes fell on the man sleeping on the couch, and she let out a startled ‘eep!’, taking a jumpy step back.
The man's torso, arms and face were covered by an old quilt, leaving his long legs sticking out the opposite end. She frowned and tried to figure out who he was by the shape of his legs and the jeans he wore but her mind searched and searched with no possibilities coming to mind. She had ruled out Krash, Gunnar and Alex already, and there really weren’t any other male friends in her life whom she could imagine crashing on her couch.
Apparently, the startled noise she made was loud enough to wake him. As he stirred beneath the blanket, all Cat could do was stare dumbly. Even after she saw his face it took her mind a moment to recognize him. Seeing him like that, rousing from sleep, in the flesh rather than photo, was not something her mind had ever expected.
“You’re alive.” He said dryly. It wasn’t like he was asking her if she was ok, and it wasn’t as if he were relieved by the fact. It was simply a statement. His baby blues were bloodshot, but didn’t lose any of their usual intensity.
“Yeah, I guess.” She said, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the next. What the hell was Larry Mullen Jr. doing sleeping on her couch? Bits and pieces of the events of last nights wild events began invading her aching brain, and suddenly she wished she was an ostrich so she could bury her head and hide.
Oh, no! Had Bono actually seen her throwing up? Larry must’ve read her thoughts pretty accurately, because as he stood and stretched his broad shoulders, he told her,
“Don’t worry too much. Most people who were here last night got just as drunk and stupid, I doubt many of them’ll have much to say to you about it.”
“About ‘it’.” She repeated. “And, um, what exactly is… ‘it’?” the corner of Larry’s mouth twitched slightly, and Cat’s heart, already cold with the apprehension of the answer, froze with fear.
“I can’t say, I guess. You were off on your most of the night. I was talking about you puking on Bono.” He informed her casually as he made his way across the kitchen/living room to the coffee pot.
“I puked ON Bono?” she asked, really wishing she could just go back to bed and hide under the covers for the rest of her life. Or at least until U2 had left Memphis and she knew that she would never have to see them again. Well, with their CD’s and videos she’d still see them everywhere, but they wouldn’t see her at least.
“Ruined his shoes. No one could really believe just how much you puked, either. It just kept coming. How the hell much did you drink?” He asked, and she turned to scowl at his back. Was he teasing, or serious? She couldn’t tell.
“Why are you still here?” She asked sharply, and she saw his shoulders shake with silent laughter. He filled the coffee maker with water and generic coffee grounds, the familiar gurgle as it began to brew the only sound in the house.
“Frankly, we were a bit afraid if we left you alone we’d end up in the middle of an investigation when someone came by and discovered you dead or in a bloody coma from alcohol poisoning.” He told her, his brutal honesty doing nothing to lessen the embarrassment she was suffering. “Edge and I tossed a coin to see who stayed. I lost.”
Adam’s name was on the tip of her tongue, wondering why it had been between Edge and Larry. Obviously, Bono would have needed a change of clothes, but why had Adam automatically been left out. She remembered sitting with him on the swing. She remembered how much she had been enjoying talking to him. Her hand flew up to her mouth to cover the gasp she made when she remembered the way she’d tried to kiss him. Larry misinterpreted her actions and grabbed a trash can in one hand and was across the room in two giant steps.
“No, I’m ok.” She told him, waving a hand at the bucket he held out to her. He eyed her warily, not convinced she wasn’t about to explode again. He wasn’t about to clean up after her if she did, he knew that much. So he sat the trash bucket down beside her and returned to the cupboard in search of clean mugs. Cat hurried into the bathroom, where she leaned against the wall and proceeded to bang her forehead against it.
“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” She repeated.
“Uhhhh…. You all right?” She heard Larry ask from the other side of the door.
*No!* she wanted to scream. *No, I’m not. I’m going to die of either embarrassment or sheer fucking stupidity!*
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She told him quietly. She turned on the shower and tossed her clothes in the general direction of the hamper, though most wound up on the floor instead. Her bra actually caught on the empty towel rack and dangled there. She made quick work of showering, shampooing and brushing her teeth before slipping into a terrycloth robe which was probably as dirty as the clothes she’d discarded. She wasn’t used to having other people around her house and having to allow for modesty.
“I’ll be ready to go in a few minutes.” She informed Larry on her way through the room. He was leaning in the open doorway, drinking out of a ‘heartbreak hotel’ coffee mug. A fresh, cool breeze drifted in around him and in the distance Cat could hear the songs of the morning birds. If she wasn’t so mortified with her own bad behavior, she would’ve loved the beauty of such a morning.
She dressed quickly, donning the polo uniform shirt with the Rock & Soul museum logo on the left and her name tag on the right. Not many rocker’s had to get up and go to a regular job the morning after a show, she thought bitterly. She tied her hair up in a messy pony tail and called it good enough.
“Ready?” She asked as she breezed out the bedroom door, in a hurry to say goodbye and forget most of this encounter. She glanced around, but the tall Irishman was nowhere to be seen. “Larry?” She asked, feeling odd using his first name. She didn’t really know the man at all, and it certainly didn’t seem much like he liked her. Her eyes fell on the bathroom door as it swung open and he emerged, having wet his hair down and brushed it back and whatever other basic grooming he’d felt necessary. Her eyes immediately found the lacy bra dangling from the towel rack as if it were on display; a work of art put there for people’s viewing pleasure. Her head pounded. *Just when I thought I could not be more embarrassed…* she thought bitterly.
“Here you go.” She told him as they walked out the door, offering him the key to the motorcycle. She’d never known a man who would be particularly comfortable riding behind while she drove. Besides, he’d been pretty interested in the bike the night before, maybe letting him drive would offer some sign of gratitude for the fact that he’d stayed to make sure she was ok.
She grabbed the second helmet off the front deck and handed it to him as well, before climbing onto the second seat behind him. He started the engine and pulled out of the drive with a lurch and Cat nearly lost her balance, grabbing hold of him around the waist and holding tight.
“The throttles a bit touchy.” She warned him, and although he didn’t reply, he adjusted to the bike and soon was driving it as easily as if it were a part of him. As they pulled off the freeway, he turned back to call over his shoulder at her.
“Where do you need to go?” He asked. She had expected him to go directly to the hotel, but apparently he was either having enough fun on the bike or was still concerned for her well being.
“The hospital, first.” She told him, directing him there.
“It won’t take long.” She told him as they made their way through the harshly colored hallways that smelled sour from industrial strength disinfectants and cleaners. She knew her way around the hospital far better than she would have liked. She stepped into Charlene’s room, always taken aback by the sight of her friend being swallowed by the hospital bed. In her mind, Charlene would always be vibrant and full of life. She had always been a dramatic person, even in appearance.
When they were ten or twelve, Charlene had dyed her hair black and chopped most of it off, leaving just the bangs long and hanging in her face. In the years which followed, she had worn her hair in a myriad of ways from long and dyed red to a green tinted blonde mohawk. She had pierced her nose, her left eyebrow and her lower lip, as well as the several holes she’d put through both ears. She had always been the sort of person every one else stopped and stared at.
Now, here she was, her piercings all allowed to heal over, her natural mousy brown hair cut to less than an inch in length for the sake of ease. Since she was confined to bed, washing and styling her hair was difficult and frivolous. The dramatically full, fat lips which Cat had been jealous of were now dry and wrinkled from dehydration. This girl, in this bed, in this room, was not Charlene. She was a ghost. An echo of someone who had been so full of life that she didn’t know how to die.
“Hey, ‘leenie.” Cat greeted her, putting on her best smile. Charlene opened her eyes and smiled gently at Cat, her eyes moving to settle on the man behind her.
“Wow. It didn’t even hurt.” She said, her voice raspy with sleep
“What didn’t hurt, sweetie?” Cat asked, her face squeezing into a frown.
“Dying.”
“You aren’t dead, why would you say that?” Cat asked, emotion catching in her throat.
“If I’m not dead and in Heaven, what’s HE doing here?” She asked with a weak but playful smile. Cat let out a relieved laugh, and Larry even smiled slightly. He stood there, his feet planted firmly apart, his hand folded in front of him, and Cat thought if he were the Angel of Death maybe dying would have a better reputation.
“Didn’t Gunnar bring you in the tape of last night?” Cat asked, and Charlene nodded.
“Yeah, he did, sugar. I’m just teasing the man. I can’t resist flirting with the strong silent type.” She replied, her eyes drifting shut again. She covered her mouth and coughed violently, her tiny skin and bones body trembling. She had pneumonia. It was what killed so many people with AIDS and Advanced HIV, and she knew it. Sometimes, she had told Cat more than once, knowing too much about a thing is just torturing yourself. If she hadn’t known the likelihood that she would die from this pneumonia, she said, maybe she would be blissfully ignorant and not know she was supposed to die.
“An’ I sure didn’t expect that you would still be in his company this morning.” She said after catching her breath. “I mean when I told you that you were gonna do big things, HE wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“Charlene!” Cat gasped, her eyes widening in shock before she turned to look at Larry who was still standing there, his head down, eyes searching the floor. “I can’t believe you said…” she hissed, stopping herself and smiling. Some things would never change, and Charlene’s playful spirit was one of those things. “I didn’t DO… I mean… it wasn’t like…” Cat stammered, but nothing came out quite right.
“Oh yeah, that whole vow of celibacy thing. How’s that working out for you?” Charlene’s eyes held a little of the old sparkle which Cat had so dearly missed.
“It’s working out just fine.” Cat told her softly. She had taken a vow three years ago that she wasn’t going to have sex again unless she got married. Between Charlene’s diagnosis and a history of heart breaking relationships with men, it had seemed the safest possible decision.
“You’re the only person I know who could have partied with a group of Rock stars and not even made a pass at any of them.” Charlene teased. She really admired her friends decision, but she liked to make her blush as well. It was one of the few real joys she had left in life. She noticed a shadow cross her friends face and wondered how true her statement was. She obviously didn’t want to discuss it in front of the silent Irishman standing in the doorway, so Charlene let it drop. For the moment, anyway.
“I just wanted to make sure you saw the tape. I have to go to work.” Cat informed her friend.
“I can’t believe you guys didn’t even take part of the money for the show last night.” Charlene informed her friend. “Maybe you wouldn’t have to all work second jobs if you started to realize it was ok to take money for making music.”
“Well, that wouldn’t have been much of a charity benefit if we had taken a profit.” Cat argued, kissing her friend on the forehead. “I’ll be back after work.”
“Mmm’kay. You gonna bring me any more surprise visitors?” She called after her friend as she stepped into the hallway. “Cuz I’ve always wanted to meet Brad Pitt!” She could hear Cat’s laughter drifting down the hall behind her as she left. Larry couldn’t help but smile to himself, as well, waving at the woman silently before following Cat.
“If you want to drop me off at work and take the bike, I’ll walk over to the hotel later and get it.” Cat informed him as they climbed back on the motorcycle.
“Thanks, but that’s ok. I’m convinced you’re sober enough to drive, now.” He told her seriously. She sighed and accepted the fact that he’d been watching her, checking to see if she was still affected enough by the booze. As if she weren’t already embarrassed enough. She dropped him off at the Peabody hotel and made her way to work, just less than an hour late.
Part 5: The morning after
Sunrise was like a nuclear explosion in her brain. Cat covered her face with a pillow, but the pain did not subside. In fact, buried under the cloth, she was forced to smell her own breath. It didn’t take long for her to toss the pillow aside and swing her feet over the side of the bed. She was still in the same clothes she’d been wearing the night before, minus her shoes which were neatly lined up next to the foot of the bed. They stuck out because they were the only neat thing about her room, she had a tendency to toss her dirty clothes every which way and it often took her a great deal of time to find two shoes which matched.
“Ooooohhhhh!” She moaned, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose as the room shimmied and swayed around her, as if she were on a ship in heavy seas. “What the hell did I do?” She asked herself, her recollection of the prior evening being patchy at best. She glanced over at the clock. 7:37 A.M. She couldn’t have slept more than four hours at most. Probably less. Still, she couldn’t climb back under the covers, she had too much to do. Besides, she wouldn’t sleep with her head and belly aching as they did.
She shuffled out of her bedroom into the even more brightly lit kitchen/living area and winced as it shot through her brain like a hot knife. Peering out of eyes open as narrowly as possible, she glanced around her living room at the usual post-party mess. Empty cans and bottles, paper plates stained with barbecue sauce, and ashtrays full to overflowing. Then her eyes fell on the man sleeping on the couch, and she let out a startled ‘eep!’, taking a jumpy step back.
The man's torso, arms and face were covered by an old quilt, leaving his long legs sticking out the opposite end. She frowned and tried to figure out who he was by the shape of his legs and the jeans he wore but her mind searched and searched with no possibilities coming to mind. She had ruled out Krash, Gunnar and Alex already, and there really weren’t any other male friends in her life whom she could imagine crashing on her couch.
Apparently, the startled noise she made was loud enough to wake him. As he stirred beneath the blanket, all Cat could do was stare dumbly. Even after she saw his face it took her mind a moment to recognize him. Seeing him like that, rousing from sleep, in the flesh rather than photo, was not something her mind had ever expected.
“You’re alive.” He said dryly. It wasn’t like he was asking her if she was ok, and it wasn’t as if he were relieved by the fact. It was simply a statement. His baby blues were bloodshot, but didn’t lose any of their usual intensity.
“Yeah, I guess.” She said, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the next. What the hell was Larry Mullen Jr. doing sleeping on her couch? Bits and pieces of the events of last nights wild events began invading her aching brain, and suddenly she wished she was an ostrich so she could bury her head and hide.
Oh, no! Had Bono actually seen her throwing up? Larry must’ve read her thoughts pretty accurately, because as he stood and stretched his broad shoulders, he told her,
“Don’t worry too much. Most people who were here last night got just as drunk and stupid, I doubt many of them’ll have much to say to you about it.”
“About ‘it’.” She repeated. “And, um, what exactly is… ‘it’?” the corner of Larry’s mouth twitched slightly, and Cat’s heart, already cold with the apprehension of the answer, froze with fear.
“I can’t say, I guess. You were off on your most of the night. I was talking about you puking on Bono.” He informed her casually as he made his way across the kitchen/living room to the coffee pot.
“I puked ON Bono?” she asked, really wishing she could just go back to bed and hide under the covers for the rest of her life. Or at least until U2 had left Memphis and she knew that she would never have to see them again. Well, with their CD’s and videos she’d still see them everywhere, but they wouldn’t see her at least.
“Ruined his shoes. No one could really believe just how much you puked, either. It just kept coming. How the hell much did you drink?” He asked, and she turned to scowl at his back. Was he teasing, or serious? She couldn’t tell.
“Why are you still here?” She asked sharply, and she saw his shoulders shake with silent laughter. He filled the coffee maker with water and generic coffee grounds, the familiar gurgle as it began to brew the only sound in the house.
“Frankly, we were a bit afraid if we left you alone we’d end up in the middle of an investigation when someone came by and discovered you dead or in a bloody coma from alcohol poisoning.” He told her, his brutal honesty doing nothing to lessen the embarrassment she was suffering. “Edge and I tossed a coin to see who stayed. I lost.”
Adam’s name was on the tip of her tongue, wondering why it had been between Edge and Larry. Obviously, Bono would have needed a change of clothes, but why had Adam automatically been left out. She remembered sitting with him on the swing. She remembered how much she had been enjoying talking to him. Her hand flew up to her mouth to cover the gasp she made when she remembered the way she’d tried to kiss him. Larry misinterpreted her actions and grabbed a trash can in one hand and was across the room in two giant steps.
“No, I’m ok.” She told him, waving a hand at the bucket he held out to her. He eyed her warily, not convinced she wasn’t about to explode again. He wasn’t about to clean up after her if she did, he knew that much. So he sat the trash bucket down beside her and returned to the cupboard in search of clean mugs. Cat hurried into the bathroom, where she leaned against the wall and proceeded to bang her forehead against it.
“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” She repeated.
“Uhhhh…. You all right?” She heard Larry ask from the other side of the door.
*No!* she wanted to scream. *No, I’m not. I’m going to die of either embarrassment or sheer fucking stupidity!*
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She told him quietly. She turned on the shower and tossed her clothes in the general direction of the hamper, though most wound up on the floor instead. Her bra actually caught on the empty towel rack and dangled there. She made quick work of showering, shampooing and brushing her teeth before slipping into a terrycloth robe which was probably as dirty as the clothes she’d discarded. She wasn’t used to having other people around her house and having to allow for modesty.
“I’ll be ready to go in a few minutes.” She informed Larry on her way through the room. He was leaning in the open doorway, drinking out of a ‘heartbreak hotel’ coffee mug. A fresh, cool breeze drifted in around him and in the distance Cat could hear the songs of the morning birds. If she wasn’t so mortified with her own bad behavior, she would’ve loved the beauty of such a morning.
She dressed quickly, donning the polo uniform shirt with the Rock & Soul museum logo on the left and her name tag on the right. Not many rocker’s had to get up and go to a regular job the morning after a show, she thought bitterly. She tied her hair up in a messy pony tail and called it good enough.
“Ready?” She asked as she breezed out the bedroom door, in a hurry to say goodbye and forget most of this encounter. She glanced around, but the tall Irishman was nowhere to be seen. “Larry?” She asked, feeling odd using his first name. She didn’t really know the man at all, and it certainly didn’t seem much like he liked her. Her eyes fell on the bathroom door as it swung open and he emerged, having wet his hair down and brushed it back and whatever other basic grooming he’d felt necessary. Her eyes immediately found the lacy bra dangling from the towel rack as if it were on display; a work of art put there for people’s viewing pleasure. Her head pounded. *Just when I thought I could not be more embarrassed…* she thought bitterly.
“Here you go.” She told him as they walked out the door, offering him the key to the motorcycle. She’d never known a man who would be particularly comfortable riding behind while she drove. Besides, he’d been pretty interested in the bike the night before, maybe letting him drive would offer some sign of gratitude for the fact that he’d stayed to make sure she was ok.
She grabbed the second helmet off the front deck and handed it to him as well, before climbing onto the second seat behind him. He started the engine and pulled out of the drive with a lurch and Cat nearly lost her balance, grabbing hold of him around the waist and holding tight.
“The throttles a bit touchy.” She warned him, and although he didn’t reply, he adjusted to the bike and soon was driving it as easily as if it were a part of him. As they pulled off the freeway, he turned back to call over his shoulder at her.
“Where do you need to go?” He asked. She had expected him to go directly to the hotel, but apparently he was either having enough fun on the bike or was still concerned for her well being.
“The hospital, first.” She told him, directing him there.
“It won’t take long.” She told him as they made their way through the harshly colored hallways that smelled sour from industrial strength disinfectants and cleaners. She knew her way around the hospital far better than she would have liked. She stepped into Charlene’s room, always taken aback by the sight of her friend being swallowed by the hospital bed. In her mind, Charlene would always be vibrant and full of life. She had always been a dramatic person, even in appearance.
When they were ten or twelve, Charlene had dyed her hair black and chopped most of it off, leaving just the bangs long and hanging in her face. In the years which followed, she had worn her hair in a myriad of ways from long and dyed red to a green tinted blonde mohawk. She had pierced her nose, her left eyebrow and her lower lip, as well as the several holes she’d put through both ears. She had always been the sort of person every one else stopped and stared at.
Now, here she was, her piercings all allowed to heal over, her natural mousy brown hair cut to less than an inch in length for the sake of ease. Since she was confined to bed, washing and styling her hair was difficult and frivolous. The dramatically full, fat lips which Cat had been jealous of were now dry and wrinkled from dehydration. This girl, in this bed, in this room, was not Charlene. She was a ghost. An echo of someone who had been so full of life that she didn’t know how to die.
“Hey, ‘leenie.” Cat greeted her, putting on her best smile. Charlene opened her eyes and smiled gently at Cat, her eyes moving to settle on the man behind her.
“Wow. It didn’t even hurt.” She said, her voice raspy with sleep
“What didn’t hurt, sweetie?” Cat asked, her face squeezing into a frown.
“Dying.”
“You aren’t dead, why would you say that?” Cat asked, emotion catching in her throat.
“If I’m not dead and in Heaven, what’s HE doing here?” She asked with a weak but playful smile. Cat let out a relieved laugh, and Larry even smiled slightly. He stood there, his feet planted firmly apart, his hand folded in front of him, and Cat thought if he were the Angel of Death maybe dying would have a better reputation.
“Didn’t Gunnar bring you in the tape of last night?” Cat asked, and Charlene nodded.
“Yeah, he did, sugar. I’m just teasing the man. I can’t resist flirting with the strong silent type.” She replied, her eyes drifting shut again. She covered her mouth and coughed violently, her tiny skin and bones body trembling. She had pneumonia. It was what killed so many people with AIDS and Advanced HIV, and she knew it. Sometimes, she had told Cat more than once, knowing too much about a thing is just torturing yourself. If she hadn’t known the likelihood that she would die from this pneumonia, she said, maybe she would be blissfully ignorant and not know she was supposed to die.
“An’ I sure didn’t expect that you would still be in his company this morning.” She said after catching her breath. “I mean when I told you that you were gonna do big things, HE wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“Charlene!” Cat gasped, her eyes widening in shock before she turned to look at Larry who was still standing there, his head down, eyes searching the floor. “I can’t believe you said…” she hissed, stopping herself and smiling. Some things would never change, and Charlene’s playful spirit was one of those things. “I didn’t DO… I mean… it wasn’t like…” Cat stammered, but nothing came out quite right.
“Oh yeah, that whole vow of celibacy thing. How’s that working out for you?” Charlene’s eyes held a little of the old sparkle which Cat had so dearly missed.
“It’s working out just fine.” Cat told her softly. She had taken a vow three years ago that she wasn’t going to have sex again unless she got married. Between Charlene’s diagnosis and a history of heart breaking relationships with men, it had seemed the safest possible decision.
“You’re the only person I know who could have partied with a group of Rock stars and not even made a pass at any of them.” Charlene teased. She really admired her friends decision, but she liked to make her blush as well. It was one of the few real joys she had left in life. She noticed a shadow cross her friends face and wondered how true her statement was. She obviously didn’t want to discuss it in front of the silent Irishman standing in the doorway, so Charlene let it drop. For the moment, anyway.
“I just wanted to make sure you saw the tape. I have to go to work.” Cat informed her friend.
“I can’t believe you guys didn’t even take part of the money for the show last night.” Charlene informed her friend. “Maybe you wouldn’t have to all work second jobs if you started to realize it was ok to take money for making music.”
“Well, that wouldn’t have been much of a charity benefit if we had taken a profit.” Cat argued, kissing her friend on the forehead. “I’ll be back after work.”
“Mmm’kay. You gonna bring me any more surprise visitors?” She called after her friend as she stepped into the hallway. “Cuz I’ve always wanted to meet Brad Pitt!” She could hear Cat’s laughter drifting down the hall behind her as she left. Larry couldn’t help but smile to himself, as well, waving at the woman silently before following Cat.
“If you want to drop me off at work and take the bike, I’ll walk over to the hotel later and get it.” Cat informed him as they climbed back on the motorcycle.
“Thanks, but that’s ok. I’m convinced you’re sober enough to drive, now.” He told her seriously. She sighed and accepted the fact that he’d been watching her, checking to see if she was still affected enough by the booze. As if she weren’t already embarrassed enough. She dropped him off at the Peabody hotel and made her way to work, just less than an hour late.
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Now hurry up with the next part! 
