Prairie City Social Club

Frank's Turn

When it came to Frank's turn, for the first few years anyway, he stuck to home and to establishments which Liv was mostly likely to refer to as, "Dive Bars." There wasn't much of a social component to Frank at that stage of this dangerous but thrilling game. After a few of those, Liv had teased him enough about being a "Hermit" or a "Sad Bastard '' that he agreed to attend the corporate holiday party. Prior to this year, Frank had attended exactly zero parties at the office. If he was going to abandon this run, he wouldn't be doing it sober. Liv worked in a different division of the same company, so it was an easy task for her to keep tabs on Frank. That first office party went so well that Frank was promoted the following week. Rumors of his connection to Liv spread like wildfire and did little to damage his previously absent reputation with women within the company. Frank enjoyed this, from afar mostly, but rarely acted upon it. The following year, Frank & Liv agreed that it'd be fun and even beneficial for "Fun Frank" to attend again.

The day of the party, Frank simply stayed at the office to be met, and saved, by Liv later that evening. Frank had a brief recess, of about an hour, between finishing his work day and the party starting. The office was now empty, its lights dimmed and the deafening chatter of commercial copy machines and their operators reduced to glorious peace and fucking quiet.

Frank moved with great ceremony as he freed the weighty glass from his bottom desk drawer and poured himself two fingers of bourbon. A gentle, inward breath revealed notes of baking spice, vanilla and pancake syrup. "I missed you," he whispered to his glass. Frank didn't wait for its response prior to beginning. He followed the whiskey down, from throat to stomach, where its alcoholic heat was diluted to that of a warm hug. He'd have another, or two, before joining the others for the party.

"Fraaank!" hollered a rosie-faced man from across the office. Against his better judgment, Frank moved closer to reply.

"Hey, Boss. Sorry, I'm late."

"No sweat. Hey, is your 'friend' Olivia coming?"

The wink, his knowing grin, Frank found both expressions gross. "Yeah, I think she's around here somewhere."

"Are you two...um...like last year?" Boss pleaded as his head tilted with all the subtlety of a labrador at a magic show. "Eh? Eh?" he elbowed at straws.

"I know nothing," Frank stated without so much as a hint provided.

"What are we drinking then?" Boss asked with a measure of disappointment but had clearly set his curiosity aside for more important business.

The last of the bourbon passed through their glasses. Each of those drinks had the same notes as before, only played more quickly.

"Who here likes jazz?" Frank jested to the crowd while holding a guitar that definitely wasn't in the office at 5 p.m. "Just jokin'. Jazz chords are craaazy."

"Freebird!" shouted a man who could only be described as, "that guy."

"NO." Frank replied into the microphone. "Whooooaaaa, we're halfway there!" he sang with the conviction of 10 drunk men.

"Last one," Liv whispered warmly into Frank's ear.

"Already, Livvy?" Frank replied as part man, part puppy dog.

"You know the deal," Liv reminded.

Frank sulked a quiet, "fine," sabred a chilled bottle of champagne, shouted, "Opaaaaaa!" and expertly shot a pour into a vintage crystal coupe. Vibrant bubbles took his breath away. Once the liveliest of them had burst, biscuit, pear, and almond appeared. It was stellar, if not a bit less "present" than his earlier drinks. Frank nursed it for what seemed an hour, but was actually 3 minutes, wishing to make his last drink a long one.

Liv returned, willed Frank to stand, and paraded him out the front door by his tie.

Frank heard the faroff sounds of a taxi as it slushed down the street toward home. Liv nudged him awake as they settled next to the curb. She presented a bag of Mexican takeout, three cigarettes, and a large bottle of Pedialyte. Liv followed him in for just long enough to leave a handwritten note on Frank's dining table.

"Thanks, Liv!" drunkenly.

"You'd do the same for me." she replied and knew it to be true.

Frank woke the next morning to check his note. "Life of the Party! Meeting with Boss Monday, 9 a.m. Dress Well. -Liv-" For the following week, Frank would be God.

"Here's your coffee, Rock Star," Liv half-shouted as she approached Frank from behind.

"Thanks for that," replied a very slow, dry version of Frank.

"How was it for you? I mean, from my seat, the entire company was eating out of your hands. You would have been President by now, like, of the country, if you were still drinking. Geez..."

"Yeah yeah, Frank's better drunk⸺"

"That's not what I was saying! It must have been hard for you to quit when you're that successful at it. I'm sorry. You're great now too. Honest," Liv replied carefully.

There was silence for a few moments. Frank moved through many thoughts and even more feelings. He'd heard this line before. People liked Frank drunk more than when he wasn't. Liv saying something similar hurt because he carried so much respect for her. Frank had always felt like he had given up drinking for everyone else. Like, he gave up a fun, short and dangerous life for a long, joyless one. This is what the booze-addled portion of his brain told him on a daily basis. It was, of course, a monstrous lie. In Frank's hay day, he was miserable. His life was terrible and he had actually quit for himself.

"It's okay, Liv. I know myself and I know my challenges. The party was good. I love bourbon and like promotions. The guitar, that was you?" Frank asked and truly hadn't known.

"Maybe," Liv said with a guilty smirk on her face.

"We're getting a little carried away now, aren't we?" Frank asked.

Liv answered with another question, "We aren't exactly known for half measures, are we?"

"I liked it," Frank answered.