RC.

Ch8 . A

As Jake pulls up in front of my building, my sobbing has calmed down but I'm still sniffing.

T:"Come and have a drink."

Jake:"Are you sure? You should rest ..."

T:"Your boss may treat you as his simple chauffeur, but not me. You're not my taxi."

In front of my determination, Jake nods and steps out of the car.

I take a deep breath. The evening air soothes my little-bruised heart.

T:"It's this way."

Jake glances at the Limousine and presses on the key to lock the doors. He follows me.

                      ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

As we get to the apartment, I casually put my things on the piece of furniture by the entrance.

T:"Make yourself at home."

He smiles at me before entering my little living-room. He looks around quietly.

T:"What will you drink? Whisky? Beer?"

Jake:"Whisky."

T:"Ok, I'll have the same."

I think I need a little more than a beer to drown my sorrow!

I grab two glasses and place them on the coffee table.

T:"Don't stay standing... Take a seat."

Jake sits down quietly on my sofa. He doesn't seem to be feeling very comfortable.

No doubt he's feeling guilty about being here, with regards to his boss.

I pretend not to notice, I need company, not another complicated conversation.

He clears his throat and pulls a little on his jacket to smooth it down. Then he holds his large hands together and place his elbows on his knees.

Ditchy starts to scratch the glass of his cage to catch our attention. Jake looks towards him.

T:"Sorry, you haven't met yet, let me introduce you to my roommate, Ditchy."

Jake:"Pleased to meet you, Ditchy."

He forces a smile out of me. I pour the amber liquid into the glasses silently.

T:"Thank you for bringing me back tonight ... You didn't have to."

Jake:"It's okay, it's normal."

T:"Oh really? Do you often have to deal with crying, broken-hearted women, in your job?"

 Jake:"I've had to deal with worse than that."

His lips stretched into a regretful smile.

(Yes, I've forgotten that he was a former soldier, he must have had other women weeping on his shoulder, and under far more serious circumstances.)

T:"You know Jake, the good thing is that with you I can laugh off my pathetic existence!"

T:"chin-chin!"

We drink and I drown the contents of my glass, which makes me grimace a little.

The bitter taste of whisky.

Or the burning sensation of alcohol, in general.

I pour another glass. I realise suddenly that I must look a mess. I quickly swallow the whisky I've just served myself before saying to Jake: