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Snack Bag
At four a.m., she found herself underneath the Broadway Bridge. Her head pounded, her eyes blurred, her nose ran and hope was a no-show. Maureen was a mess and so was her life.
The evening hadn't begun that way. She was breathtakingly beautiful in her navy suit-dress. The neck plunged low enough to give someone an idea of how nice her large breasts were, but not so low as to compromise professionalism. Blonde curls framed a carefully made-up face. Maureen was ready to shine as she joined the other conventioneers in the downtown hotel's party room. She nibbled hors d'oeuvres from the banquet table and scanned the crowd. The place buzzed with business people ready to blow off steam after a long week of lectures, meetings, and networking presentations. Stockbrokers, investment bankers and banking lawyers had come from all over the West Coast to fill up this hotel if for no other reason than there was no legal holiday this month and they were ready to get out of their boardrooms and enjoy some new scenery. Speaking of something to look at, she thought, there he was. Across the room, near the bar, was the tanned, fit, golden boy Maureen had noticed earlier that week. He looked as if he belonged on the deck of a sailboat sporting whites, in sharp casual wear on the golf course, or naked and gazing at her in the opposite end of a tub filled with bubbles in a room filled with candlelight.
He caught her staring. He glanced away from the older gentleman he was talking with and then looked again, for a little longer this time. She was busted. All Maureen could do then was flash a brilliant smile and hope that she didn't embarrass herself. It worked. He must have been bored with his conversation partner, because he was lifting his drink and nodding to her, motioning for her to come over. He wouldn't have to ask twice. Maureen glided over and he began the introductions.
"Roger," he said, "I'd like you to meet - I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten your name." Wow! This guy was smooth!
"Maureen," she said, and the next few seconds were punctuated with her heart beating wildly and her chest rising - nicely, she hoped, praying he'd noticed. The older gentleman shook her hand and called Golden Boy by name. Everett. Everett! What a lovely sound that made. Everett!
"Yes," he purred. Oops! She didn't realize she had said it out loud.
"Don't we need to discuss that investment proposal; you know the one, before we leave?"
"Oh, certainly!" he said, agreeing with her as if this fictitious excuse to be alone was of his own invention. "Roger, you will excuse us, won't you?" After a few minutes shuffling business cards and shaking hands, they were alone.
They spent the next wonderful moments with the exchange of pleasantries, such as names of investment firms they were with, had been with, and wouldn't touch with somebody else's money and names of towns and pets and cars they drove. His voice was smooth as the Scotch in his leaded crystal bucket glass, which was almost empty, so when he motioned for the bartender to get him another and whatever the lady was drinking, she decided she did not want this evening to end and she was going to need help to make it last a little longer. She needed a line.
A moment later in the ladies room, her sister's warnings and finger-wagging scolding echoed in her head as she spooned a healthy portion of the white crystalline powder from a zip-loc that held a rock the size of a baseball. She did not have a problem. She was not a junkie. Hell, she didn't even do it every day. Her sister seemed to think there was a problem, but hell, she lived all the way in Tacoma and knew nothing of her life, her job, what was good for her or not. If her sister knew so much, why was she, Maureen, was the one with a glamorous job and a glamorous car and a glamorous apartment in Southern California? And if she knew so much, how come she was stuck in
a boring town with a husband that pumped gas and two brats hanging on her all the time? Screw her! Maureen checked herself in the mirror, returned to Everett's side, downed her drink and hissed, "Let's get out of here."
"I thought you'd never ask."
* * *
The cab ride to the after-hours club was as smooth as it could be with Maureen on her knees in the back seat and Everett staring straight ahead, smiling smugly toward the rear-view mirror as if to silently tell the cab driver who was having a better evening. They had spent the last few hours getting sweaty in Maureen's hotel room and she was still not ready to call it a night. They entered the night club with the music pounding and the colored lights spinning and Maureen took it all in with a big rush. As the grin spread across her face, she instructed Everett to get them some soft drinks, baby, and off to the restroom she went.
Her hair was pasted to one side of her face and her eyes looked black and sunken, but no amount of rubbing could take it off. She noticed her face was flushed and her pores looked enormous, so she cursed the dim lighting and locked herself in a stall.
". . . and I also heard that funds had been embezzled and there's a big investigation."
"No!"
"Uh-huh!" Two queens had entered the room and were having some juicy gossip time.
Maureen helped herself to a pile-driver as big as she could fit onto the tiny toilet paper holder. Why did they make these things so small?
"How do you know all this, girl?"
"Silly! I do hair for Miz Shanahan from the firm's legal department."
What? That was her firm! They were talking about her! She had borrowed some money from the investments to pay for the white to bring on this trip. She had to-she didn't know anybody to score from up here. She flushed the toilet to hide the sound of her snort and went out to the club. She found Everett talking to a couple of women . . . no, they were guys . . . cooing over him and calling him Mr. Shanahan WHAT THE HELL! She pushed her way to an exit and didn't stop running for several blocks.
Maureen's leg twisted underneath her weight when a broken heel split her shoe. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she leaned against the cold concrete of the bridge and sat, her knees to her chest. She thought of the choices she had in front of her. She could go home, own up and face the consequences, or head north and beg her sister to hide her and she would get treatment. Anything, anything to get out from under this. God, just give me a sign! she prayed. Anything!
* * *
Meanwhile, Brock awoke easily and swore he hadn't slept a bit. He had lain in bed last night thinking of nothing but the day he would spend with his dad. As he munched on an apple from the snack bag, his mind was on the special spot they had on the Wilson River and the big fish they would catch there. He grinned as the Chevy pick-up made its way west onto the Broadway Bridge and chucked the core out the window as far as he could throw. He would never know he had single-handedly gotten the bitch out of town.
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