A N G E L (Roger Daltrey)

Twenty Seven

Roger's POV

"And that's why the shape of John's arse is better than any woman's I ever saw!" Keith finished.

Everyone burst into laughter, Heather burying her face in my shoulder from her place in my lap.

"Keith, I wish I could say that's the gayest thing you've ever said, but it somehow isn't." I chuckled.

Once I had caught my breath, I downed the rest of my drink. It wasn't too often that I let myself get utterly sloshed like this, but it was fun and I deserved it.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Heather giggled drunkenly. "I made a cheese platter!"

She got up off my lap and staggered into the kitchen. Everyone cheered as she reappeared with the giant silver platter in hand, piled high with cheese and deli meats and other delicious things.

Then she tripped over the rug.

The uproar that ensued was deafening, with the boys laughing and the metal tray crashing against everything within a 5 mile radius and Heather screaming both in embarrassment and disappointment that her creation was ruined. Olives rolled under the furniture and cheese cubes bounced across the coffee table. A bunch of grapes had been smashed into the carpet under Heather's body.

I rushed to her aid as quickly as an inebriated man can, crouching down beside her.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

She peeled herself up to a sitting position. I couldn't tell if she was crying because she was laughing or laughing because she was crying.

"My shirt!" She finally bellowed. "My nice shirt!"

"Darling, it's alright! It's alright, we'll get another one. Go upstairs and change!" I helped her up off the floor, seeing then that her knees were carpet burned. I almost mentioned it, but decided if she hadn't noticed I was best off not pointing it out. She was liable to start crying harder if I did.

I watched as she climbed up the stairs slowly and unsteadily, hauling up the banister hand over hand like she was scaling a mountain. Bless her, I shouldn't have let her have so much to drink.

Once she had safely reached the top and disappeared from view, I turned back to the boys. Pete was nowhere to be seen. John was nodding off on the couch, likely high. Keith was eating the cheese off of the coffee table.

I grabbed a pillow and put it under John's head. "Has anyone seen Pete?" I asked.

"Yeh, he went to go have a piss!" Keith exclaimed around a mouthful of cheddar.

"What about having a piss?" Pete asked, drying his hands on his pants. I hoped it was because he washed them and not because he had lost his sense of aim.

"That's what you were doing!" Keith yelled.

John jumped upright in his seat. "Keep it down, Moonie, I need my beauty rest." His head then drooped back down.

"Is Heather alright?" Pete asked, picking some food up off the floor and throwing it into the little bin in the lounge room.

"Yeh, fucked up her shirt and skinned her knees but she's alright. Embarrassed, but alright. She's gone to change." I looked at the squished grapes. "That's a problem for later."

After his tiny contribution to any cleanup efforts, Pete flopped backwards onto the floor, bits of crushed cracker undoubtedly sticking to him. Before I could say anything about it, he joined John in sleep-land.

"Wow, what a couple of killjoys!" Keith said. "Fetch me some more whiskey, would you? I'll humor you with some stories."

I raised my eyebrows at his put-on posh accent and grabbed him (and myself) some more to drink.