The Ginger In The Alley And Desi Winters

Open Secrets

I rubbed my jaw as I stood up. My knees were sore from the pebbles strewn across the asphalt, but that wasn't any of my concern. My companion wiped his thumb across my lip and I caught sight of the white liquid remaining on it as he wiped it on his handkerchief. 

He didn't say a word as he left me alone. Only dropped the five-dollar bill he owed me onto the ground as he straightened his tie and looked up and down the street before walking out of the alley. 

I didn't bend over when I picked up the bill. It was safer to just squat down to pick it up. Plus, if I bent over, I was probably going to collapse. Half a bottle of whiskey chased down with a handful of shots does that to a mind. Mine was only coherent enough to know how to keep myself alive. 

I leaned against the brick wall across from the door as I slipped the bill into my inside pocket and inhaled deeply to try and clear my foggy brain. It wouldn't clear. Not until I got some water, coffee or sleep. Preferably a combination of all three. I could go back into the bar and buy some; I had the money for it now, but Linda had picked up coffee on her grocery run earlier. She mentioned it over dinner, I think. She does have a tendency to go through her purchases so I could get an idea for the next week's meals. If I was honest with myself and her, I didn't listen. 

That's not to say I didn't try to pay attention. Linda tried hard to make my life easier and I appreciated her for it. Just not always in the fashions she wanted of me. I wasn't particularly affectionate, nor was I the world's greatest husband. But I still kissed her goodbye before I left the house every morning, I attended all of Charlie's little league games and never missed a single father-daughter camping trip with Marilyn's scout troupe. I provided for the family and I gave them a home in a safe neighbourhood to grow up in. I pretended it was enough, but the look Linda gave me when I left the house told me just how much she thought it was.

The steel door that had led to the alley refused to yield to my shove when I tugged on the handle. A one-way lock. If I wanted back in, I was going to have to walk back to the front door and convince security I wasn't too drunk to continue my nightly ritual. There wasn't a chance I could sober up that fast. Not when it took me five minutes to figure out where the handle on the door was. The only other option was to start heading back home. 

I lifted my glasses ever so slightly to rub the exhaustion out of them with the heel of my hand before following my companion out of the alley. He was long gone by the time I reached the street. Probably halfway home to his Beverly Hills mansion to greet his mostly-plastic trophy wife. She'd never hear about what he had paid me to do, and mine wouldn't either. I'm sure Linda suspected something, but if she did, she didn't say anything about it. Just as I suspected her 'book club' that met twice a month wasn't exactly what she said. But as long as I didn't say anything about that, she wouldn't say anything about this. An unspoken mutual understanding situation. 

Unlike my companion, however, I wasn't waiting for a limo to pick me up and drive me home. Six blocks up and eight over would land me on the driveway, lined by a manicured lawn and a white picket fence. 

The thought disgusted me. 

Of course, growing up, it was what my family had. Myself, two parents and two sisters. They both had houses just like mine, if anything slightly bigger; Juliet in Texas with her husband, Russ, and Violet in New York with her husband, Charles. All three of us had ended up fairly well-off and well-adjusted. 

Which would lead one to question why I was stumbling home, stupid drunk, counting the blocks to try and remember my way home, a crisp five-dollar bill in my jacket pocket. The answer existed somewhere, but I'll be damned if I try to figure out what it is. 

The sixth crosswalk light flashed, alerting me out of my stupor to now turn and head twelve blocks west. I'd made the trek home before whilst this drunk, and even drunker, but my head was pounding especially hard as I made this one. If I was lucky, the hangover would kill me before someone who didn't see me wandering into traffic. If I was especially lucky, neither would. But that one could probably be debated.