Girl Walks Out of a Bar by Lisa F. Smith Page B

morning killed any desire to be social. But it escalated my desire to drink, and drink immediately, even though I had a blazing headache and shaky limbs from the night before.
    Still in my t-shirt and panties, I groaned my way out of bed. I had no recollection of getting out of the clothes that were scattered across the floor. Without stopping to slide my cold feet into warm slippers, I padded straight for the little wooden wine rack I had bought at a vineyard in Santa Barbara. I crouched down and examined my choices. Quickly settling on a cheap cabernet, I poured a glass with a generous hand. Just seeing the wine exit the bottle and get one step closer to my mouth gave me immediate relief.
    The clock read noon, so what was wrong with a drink? I pictured waitresses all around the city delivering trays of bubbly mimosas and Bloody Marys with giant celery sticks to thousands of hungover people. I was no different from them—I was just cutting out the middleman. While standing alone in a kitchen in my panties.
    The deep, almost wooden smell of the wine sent a wave of sick dizziness through me, and I instinctively turned my face away from the glass. My breath was heavy and dank, and my teeth felt as if they were wrapped in burlap, which made the smell of the wine even more disgusting, but adversarial senses had to be ignored. The point was simply to get the alcohol down my throat and into my blood. If battery acid worked better to get me buzzed, I would have sucked it down. With one gulp of the warm ruby liquid, I felt my fists unclench and my neck relax. I could even track the movement of the fluid down my throat as the warm fingers of the alcohol massaged my brain.
    I wandered into the bathroom and started running a bubble bath. Then I leaned against the sink and looked up. Dear God, who is that Alice Cooper ghoul in my mirror ? I smelled like last night’s cigarettes and my hair hung in knotty clumps. I said to my reflection, “You look like you crawled out of a lagoon.” I knew I’d be unemployed by Labor Day.
    I decided to have my Sunday check-in with my parents before the wine kicked in. Chugging a glass of cold water helped smooth the abuse another pack of cigarettes had wreaked on my vocal chords.
    â€œLisa!” my father said when he picked up. “How are we doing? Ready for the big move tomorrow?” I could see him sitting in his recliner with the remote control to his right and the Sunday Times splayed across the TV tray table to his left.
    â€œYeah, I guess,” I said with the enthusiasm of someone on crutches looking up a flight of subway stairs.
    â€œWell, we make the best of it,” he said. “A lot of those kids out there don’t have jobs. It’s a great firm you’re with. Just hang tough and keep showing up. You can do it.” If only I were still five years old and could believe him.
    â€œYou’re right. I’ll be fine,” I said.
    Dad wasn’t much for phone chat. “Your mother is out power walking. Want me to have her call you back?”
    â€œNo need. I’m going out for brunch with friends and then maybe a movie,” I lied. “I’ll just talk to her tomorrow.” I held the wine glass to my lips and tipped my head back, letting every drop slide into my mouth.
    â€œOK, but don’t stay out too late. Big day tomorrow! Let us know how it goes,” he said.
    By the time I sank into the bath, I had poured my second glass of wine. By the time I ordered sushi for dinner, I had opened my second bottle. I passed out watching 60 Minutes with an empty glass in my hand.

    Despite all my magical thinking, Monday morning showed up right on schedule. Puffy, bitter, and exquisitely hungover, I managed to make it to my new office just before nine o’clock.
    â€œHey, Lisa, welcome to Corporate Finance! Good to meet you!” Alberto, my bright-eyed officemate said, getting up from behind his desk to shake my hand.
    Alberto