The Spinster's Club

Cece: Four

I cracked my eyes open and winced as bright sunlight seared them. The light pierced the back of my eyeballs and continued on into my brain. The sizzle of brain cells was too damn loud and I'd never felt such pain before. It was sheer heroism that kept my lids open.

My vision was so blurred I couldn't even recognize my own room. Even the mattress seemed harder and the sheets were black. I don't own black sheets, at least ... did I buy them and forget?

And I didn't have my nightgown on. I always wore a nightgown, always. I peeked under the black sheet. I was in my bra and the left underwire was sticking into me. I squirmed and pulled, but couldn't get any relief. Stupid bra. I also had on my bikini panties, and that was it.

Someone had removed my clothes, because I couldn't remember doing it. In fact, I remembered nothing after leaving Barrons.
Rapid blinking cleared my vision enough for me to realize I was in a strange bed, in a strange bedroom. I sat up and immediately clutched my head, which felt like it was going to fall off.

"Ah, you are awake. Good morning, Cecelia."

"There's nothing good about it. Who ... oh, Carlos. Is this your place?"

"It is."

"This is your place, your bed. Oh lord ... did we ...?"

"We did not." He looked angry. "You had very much to drink, Cecelia, to say it mildly, and I do not take the advantage of the drunk laydeez, or any laydeez, to speak the truth. I like my partners to know what they are doing."

"Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to insult you. Why didn't you take me home then?"

"And where is it you live? I try to get you to tell me but you have the blackout. You should not drink so much, Cecelia."

I sighed. "I know and I apologize for all the trouble I put you to. There ought to be a law against drinks that don't taste like alcohol. If you'll give me my clothes, I'll get dressed and out of your way. Would you call me a taxi?"

"No, I will not. I will take you myself and we will have the talk, because I think there is much more to say, but not until you are feeling more yourself. I will get your clothes." He turned and walked out of the room.

Boy, he got that right. I had a splitting headache, my mouth tasted like swamp water, my eyes felt swollen and what was left of my hair probably stood up in little clumps, a new kind of bedhead for me. I certainly didn't feel myself. Why Carlos wanted to spend any more time with me was a mystery. I certainly hadn't acted in a way to commend myself to him. Nothing sexy about a drunk, nothing. I buried my face in my hands and tried not to cry.

*****

Carlos drove a sporty, bright red Mercedes. I sat in the passenger seat and tried to become invisible. Unfortunately, Carlos wouldn't let me. Carlos liked to talk and since I was the only person in his vicinity, he talked to me. He sweet talked every detail of my life out of me, even some embarrassing things I'd vowed never to tell anyone. I even told him about the Spinster Challenge. Crazy, that's me. My matchhead had cooked my brains and the alcohol had pickled them.

"So, let me see if I understand," Carlos said. "You must have the adventure, you must change your appearance and your job, which is the writing, plus have the sex with a new man. I have this correct?"

I squirmed in my seat. "It sounds so awful, when you say it like that. It wasn't awful at the time. And I've already changed my appearance, I used to have a lot more hair. I must say it hasn't helped."

"You look like the pixie."

"Mighty tall pixie, if you ask me. You're being kind. The last guy said I looked like a matchstick."

Carlos made a prutting sound. "He has no imagination, he seeks only the ordinary and you, you are the extra ordinary. He is a fool not to see."

"Thank you – I think."

"So, this matchstick man is the one you have the good sex with. That is two of your challenges finished."

"No, I didn't have sex with him," I said, all indignant. "What kind of girl do you think I am?"

He stopped at a red light and flashed me a look.

"Never mind, I don't want to know. But I only went on half a date with him. I may be challenged, but I'm not easy."

"I am teasing you, as I do my sister."

"Oh yay," I said glumly.

"I have the thinking. About the job challenge. Have you ever been on a TV set?"

"No, never."

"So then, you don't write the scripts. I think you should come with me to the Corazones set and see what it is we do. And if you wish, I will have the talks with Tomas and Hector for you to write.

I squeezed my hands tightly together. "I ... I don't know if I could do it," I stammered. "I've only ever written romance. I don't know if I'd be any good, I wouldn't know what I was doing ..."

"But would you like to try? It would be the big challenge, si? Soap operas are also the romance, and the drama, the sadness, the joy. Do you have the backbone, or are you only good at the pink drinks?"

I tightened my jaw, feeling ridiculously hurt. I had no business being hurt. Carlos was nothing to me, except now he could give me the chance to spread my wings. He was right. Soap operas were romance with a lot of dialogue. I was sure I could do it – as soon as I figured out how to do a script. But that's why they invented Google.

"Why would you do this for me?" I asked him. "You don't know me, I don't see how you could even like me. I've inconvenienced you and been nothing but trouble."

"You are too hard on yourself."

"No, I'm not. I don't know why you're even bothering."

He pulled to a stop in front of my apartment building and turned to smile at me.

"I do like you, Cecelia. There is no accounting for these things. You will feel better and then we will talk. Hand me your phone."

He programmed my number into his cell and called my phone. "There, now you have my number too. If you need anything, you call. I will call you when I know something about the script."

He leaned over and kissed my cheek. "Adios, querida. Be joyful, you are my pixie, and pixies always have the joy."

As I walked into the apartment complex, the well-bred sound of the Mercedes fading in the distance, I tried to feel like a joyful pixie. It would have been so much easier if Carlos had been the type of man to take advantage of a drunk pixie, because I would have jumped that hurdle without even knowing I'd done it.

But he was a man of honor so I was still stuck. Damn. One thing for sure, no way was I ever drinking again.

No way.