shuddered.
“Mmm,” Courtney moaned. “I never knew it could be this good so early in the morning.” Esther laughed.
“Are we still talking about wine?” she asked, drawing a look from Courtney.
“Well Miss, I can tell where your mind is right now. I think it's already going to your head.”
“Well keep it coming,” she said. “Maybe I should have a glass of wine with breakfast every morning.”
“I'm sure that would impress your boss, coming in to work looking like Anna Nicole Smith.”
Esther sipped her wine. “At this point, I don't think it would matter how I show up to work.” Courtney sighed and took Esther's hand again. Esther squeezed once and let it go, wrapping her free arm around her knees. She pressed them close to her body and wished John Gillis could read her mind.
Chapter Seven
J ohn awoke in a cold sweat, his hands moving their way to his nightstand where they found the lamp and flicked the switch on. He squinted until his vision adjusted and then checked the clock. Five-thirty in the morning.
“Fuckin-a,” he mumbled, rubbing crust from his eyes. He sat up and pulled his feet over the bed, clenching his toes into little fists. He tried to remember the dream he was having right before he woke up, but couldn't place it. He faintly recalled uninvited hands groping him, the sweet smell of perfume that nearly choked him to death. The wine in his mouth. John tasted sour bile in his throat.
“John?” came the whispered call from the other bedroom. He heard three knocks on the wall. He must have somehow woken Paul up. “Dude, you ok?”
He yawned and sat up. “Yeah, I'm fine.”
He got up and threw on a t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts over his boxers and went into the living room. He plopped down on the green loveseat and rested his feet on the coffee table, stretching his arms above his head in a massive yawn. Paul poked his head out sideways from the doorframe like an image from a Three Stooges cartoon.
“I heard you banging against the wall.” Paul took a seat on the couch. “What happened? You look like hell took a bath.”
“Bad dream,” John said. He ran a hand through his matted hair and yawned again. “Strange. I only got home an hour ago.”
“Must have been a busy night. You're usually back by 3:30.”
“Yeah, you missed a good one. Lisa put on an awesome show, ended up with almost two hundred in tips. I felt kinda guilty taking my share.”
“If think if you danced every night Slappy's would get shut down for health code violations. Something about hazardous white ass. I'm sure it's in the book if you look it up.” They sat in silence, two old friends in the dead of night having a conversation like they were having a quiet lunch. Paul picked his nose. John searched between his fingers for imaginary pieces of lint. Finally John broke the silence.
“Paul?”
“Yeah buddy?”
“You remember last semester of our senior year, when I had that Econ term paper, the one I didn't start until the week before it was due, and I kept you up for like four straight nights writing it while I was high on Jolt cola?”
“Yeah, you still owe me sleep for that.”
“Anyway, you remember the second night, how you came back from the football party at the Gamma house at four in the morning with that tennis chick? I think her name was Patty or Penelope or something.” Paul smiled wistfully.
“Polly. The one who kept asking if we were John and Paul from The Beatles, then fell on the floor laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world.” John absently rubbed the arches of his feet. It felt good, kneading his tired skin after a night of running back and forth trying not to slip on melted ice.
“That's the one,” John said. “You remember how she wanted to jump you right then and there? She said it didn't matter that I was in the room typing away like a madman.”
“Yeah, I remember.” He paused as though conjuring up the night in his mind. “What made you
“Mmm,” Courtney moaned. “I never knew it could be this good so early in the morning.” Esther laughed.
“Are we still talking about wine?” she asked, drawing a look from Courtney.
“Well Miss, I can tell where your mind is right now. I think it's already going to your head.”
“Well keep it coming,” she said. “Maybe I should have a glass of wine with breakfast every morning.”
“I'm sure that would impress your boss, coming in to work looking like Anna Nicole Smith.”
Esther sipped her wine. “At this point, I don't think it would matter how I show up to work.” Courtney sighed and took Esther's hand again. Esther squeezed once and let it go, wrapping her free arm around her knees. She pressed them close to her body and wished John Gillis could read her mind.
Chapter Seven
J ohn awoke in a cold sweat, his hands moving their way to his nightstand where they found the lamp and flicked the switch on. He squinted until his vision adjusted and then checked the clock. Five-thirty in the morning.
“Fuckin-a,” he mumbled, rubbing crust from his eyes. He sat up and pulled his feet over the bed, clenching his toes into little fists. He tried to remember the dream he was having right before he woke up, but couldn't place it. He faintly recalled uninvited hands groping him, the sweet smell of perfume that nearly choked him to death. The wine in his mouth. John tasted sour bile in his throat.
“John?” came the whispered call from the other bedroom. He heard three knocks on the wall. He must have somehow woken Paul up. “Dude, you ok?”
He yawned and sat up. “Yeah, I'm fine.”
He got up and threw on a t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts over his boxers and went into the living room. He plopped down on the green loveseat and rested his feet on the coffee table, stretching his arms above his head in a massive yawn. Paul poked his head out sideways from the doorframe like an image from a Three Stooges cartoon.
“I heard you banging against the wall.” Paul took a seat on the couch. “What happened? You look like hell took a bath.”
“Bad dream,” John said. He ran a hand through his matted hair and yawned again. “Strange. I only got home an hour ago.”
“Must have been a busy night. You're usually back by 3:30.”
“Yeah, you missed a good one. Lisa put on an awesome show, ended up with almost two hundred in tips. I felt kinda guilty taking my share.”
“If think if you danced every night Slappy's would get shut down for health code violations. Something about hazardous white ass. I'm sure it's in the book if you look it up.” They sat in silence, two old friends in the dead of night having a conversation like they were having a quiet lunch. Paul picked his nose. John searched between his fingers for imaginary pieces of lint. Finally John broke the silence.
“Paul?”
“Yeah buddy?”
“You remember last semester of our senior year, when I had that Econ term paper, the one I didn't start until the week before it was due, and I kept you up for like four straight nights writing it while I was high on Jolt cola?”
“Yeah, you still owe me sleep for that.”
“Anyway, you remember the second night, how you came back from the football party at the Gamma house at four in the morning with that tennis chick? I think her name was Patty or Penelope or something.” Paul smiled wistfully.
“Polly. The one who kept asking if we were John and Paul from The Beatles, then fell on the floor laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world.” John absently rubbed the arches of his feet. It felt good, kneading his tired skin after a night of running back and forth trying not to slip on melted ice.
“That's the one,” John said. “You remember how she wanted to jump you right then and there? She said it didn't matter that I was in the room typing away like a madman.”
“Yeah, I remember.” He paused as though conjuring up the night in his mind. “What made you
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