Deranged Delusions

9. Justin and the Beast

“Trace, did you call the caterer?”

“Huh?” he asks absentmindedly as he looks up from the teetering tower of champagne flutes that mark the grand entrance of the club. I roll my eyes and grab him by the hem of his pants. He’s currently standing on a chair, trying to complete the pyramid of flutes and he yells in protest as the tower wobbles dangerously.

“Dammit, Walters! Be careful…it’s taken me all afternoon to get this pyramid set up and you almost ruined it!” Trace snarls at me as he steps off of the chair and looks up at his masterpiece. Over three hundred glasses make up the pyramid that Trace has been calling his ‘Masterpiece,’ and I have the huge urge to run into the base of his so called ‘Masterpiece’ and ruin the whole thing.

Yes, Justin told me that Trace was going to help me with planning his parties and the whole Personal Assistant thing but I never realized how much of a pain in the butt Trace is when I’m trying to plan a party for over three hundred people and he isn’t doing the work I require him to do.

Like the caterer business. He was supposed to have called them a few hours ago but I know for a fact he was busy working on the damn pyramid that I know Justin will hate the moment he walks into the club so he can inspect the place before the party begins.

To be completely honest, I liked it more when I was the one and only party planner.

“Did you call the caterer?” I repeat and he grabs his cell phone before dialing the number I gave him at eight o’ clock this morning when I pulled his lazy butt out of bed. Rolling my eyes I walk back towards the bar where Neal is cleaning some of the beer mugs. He smiles at me and I smile back before I sit down on one of the stools and lean over the bar.

“Hey,” he says and he leans over towards me, our lips meeting momentarily before he goes back to cleaning up the bar area. Unbeknownst to me, Justin called Neal the morning after he ruined our anniversary and explained everything to him. Surprisingly, Neal believed him and forgave me and our relationship is still escalating to heavenly proportions. I’ve never been happier and I know nothing can mess us up. Not even Trace and his horrible planning skills.

“He is driving me crazy. I know Justin is trying to be nice with the whole getting me help…”

“Well we all know that you need a lot of extra help,” Neal jokes and I playfully punch him in the shoulder as he laughs and puts away some more glasses. Glad to know that in my time of need, he can pull out his dry sense of humor.

“Lo-ho!” Trace yelps from the far end of the club. I roll my eyes at Neal and he chuckles at my misfortune before I turn around and look over at the demonic hobbit who still has his phone pressed against his ear.

“What?”

“Do you have the credit card you used to book these guys? They need the number again.”

“I thought you got it from Justin this morning!” I yell back at him as I make my way over towards Trace who has quickly realized that he made a grave mistake this morning. I already know he’s forgotten and the worst thing is, I don’t have the card either. Wonderful. Just the thing that I need at a time like this.

I don’t even know why Justin is having this party in the first place. It’s been a week since he and Melissa called it quits and I truly believed that he took my advice at not doing the routine Have-A-Party-And-Find-A-Rebound-Girl shtick, but once Trace got home, he started planning a big bash at Hyde Lounge. So much for listening to the so called friend who doesn’t bullshit people.

“I thought you got it,” he said to me and I fight the urge to scream in frustration. Trace is going to be the death of me, I already know. Either that or I’m going to kill him by the end of tonight. I’m leaning towards the latter.

“Problem?” a new voice says behind me and I turn around to see Justin standing by the pyramid of glasses, a look of disdain on his face. Ha! I knew the Pyramid of Glasses was a bad idea. Take that Trace!

“Lauren forgot to get your credit card this morning,” Trace says quickly before I have a chance to blame him. I shoot him a death glare while Justin calmly fishes out his wallet and hands Trace the card. He smiles his gratitude and turns around to deal with the caterer. Feeling overwhelmed, I sit down at one of the booths and rest my head in my hands.

“You okay?” Justin asks me and I can feel him slide into the seat across from me, “You look a bit frazzled.”

“If you don’t keep me away from him you’ll be out of a best friend by the end of the night,” I mutter into the table and Justin laughs before I put my head up to look at him. He’s smiling and watching Trace with that look people get when they’re watching someone they respect and love in that platonic sort of way.

“Maybe that can be the main source of entertainment for the evening,” Justin says and I raise my eyebrow at him. Is he nuts?

“Make sure you put your money on me because he wouldn’t stand a chance,” I explain and Justin’s grin grows wider before he beckons Trace over with a loud whistle and a rude gesture.

“What, man?” Trace asks as he snaps his cell phone shut.

“Lauren is taking the night off. This is all you tonight,” Justin announces and both Trace’s mouths and mine drop open in shock.

“What?” we both sputter out at the same time and Justin holds up his hands as if to block the onslaught of protests from Trace and the questioning of his sanity from me.

“Trace get rid of that heinous pyramid. This isn’t a wedding for Chrissake. Lauren, just take it easy tonight. Go spend some time with Neal, have a few drinks, watch Trace crash and burn,” he laughs, muttering the last part to me seeing as Trace is too busy yelling and swearing at Justin to hear.

Is he serious right now? He’s actually leaving this party in Trace’s hands? Justin is right, I’m going to enjoy watching Trace crash and burn and run himself ragged while making sure this party goes according to plan.

Revenge sure is sweet.

***

This party is pretty much the best one I’ve ever had.

I’ve got to hand it to Trace and Lauren; they really outdid themselves this time. Trace especially. Once he got rid of that damn pyramid, the party really started to pick up. For one, I don’t have to entertain just one person in particular. Everyone is at my beck and call and I love that feeling. I don’t have to stand there and attend to just one person like I was prone to do when I had a girlfriend.

Nope, it’s all about having a good time and dancing with as many women as I can. The Boob Count is up to about nine, which is an all time new record, and I really need to give Neal a raise seeing as he’s keeping everyone buzzed and happy. Thank God for dependable bartenders and their liquor.

As of right now, I’m dancing with some girl named Rebecca who’s a killer dancer but she can’t hold a conversation worth a damn. It’s kind of sad really because she’s really pretty and on the borderline of drunk and totally plastered. I haven’t seen her tits yet but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before the guest count rises by two.

Trace has yet to sit down and take a load off. I think he’s so intent on showing Lauren up as Party Planner that his little mind has gone into overtime. The poor dude has been running himself into the ground and I almost fear for his health.

Almost.

Speaking of Party Planner, I haven’t seen Lauren all night and I wonder if she decided to call it a night and head in early. I have no clue seeing as she’s been AWOL the entire evening and I haven’t exactly gone out of my way to see if she’s alright and having a good time. She’s probably holed up in some little corner, laughing her ass off at Trace as he runs around like a chicken with his head cut off. I smile at the thought and continue to dance with Rebecca and…

There goes the guest count. But it’s only going up one and a half this time around. And there is no way those are real. Not by a long shot. My compliments to the plastic surgeon…

“You’re a skanky ass whore! And yeah…you smell too!” a voice screeches over the music causing Rebecca to stop dancing and notice that one of her girls has decided to come out to party. She looks over at me to make sure I didn’t catch a glimpse at one of her naughty pillows but I’m too busy watching the scene playing out by the restrooms.

A willowy brunette is stumbling around near the bathrooms, a drink slopping hap hazardously in her hands while she’s slurring angry insults at a couple of scantily clad females who are all checking their makeup in portable mirrors and smoking what’s probably their fifth cigarette of the night.

She finishes the last of her drink and lets the glass fall to the ground with a crash. Thankfully the music is loud enough to mask the noise and the woman’s yells from the rest of the party. I wonder why Trace hasn’t had her removed yet…

“Turn down that racket…” she yelps towards the DJ who is totally oblivious to the fact that one of his listeners is having a problem with his song choice. Everyone else is ignoring her, clearly embarrassed for her and knowing that she won’t remember any of this when she wakes up the next morning. I wonder if I ever acted like that at any party that I can remember and I pray to God that I didn’t. Where the hell is Trace?

“She’s having a rough night,” Rebecca whispers silkily to me and I nod my head absentmindedly while the woman continues to stumble around by the bathrooms. She trips and clings onto one of the daughters of a JIVE executive for balance. The woman says something inaudible and attempts to make a swing at the girl who can’t be older than twenty. Her timing is off and she completely misses the girl causing her to fall to the floor in a heap, swearing and throwing menacing glares at anyone who looks at her.

I take that as my cue to go make sure this woman doesn’t hurt herself or anybody else for that matter. I leave a huffy Rebecca and make my way over to the woman before I realize that she’s slightly familiar. Granted the huge black circles of mascara and eyeliner outlining her eyes mask her face. Her brown hair is in disarray, sticking up in every direction and insanely tangled. It isn’t until I notice her state of dress, a pencil skirt and white blouse that I realize she isn’t here for the party…

“Lauren?” she clumsily hoists herself to her feet and looks up at me with an ominous defiance before she pushes me in the chest, hard.

“What the fuck do you want you little prick?” she snarls before she tries to brush a hand through her hair. Her hand misses her head and she starts to paw the air next to her head, as if stroking an invisible head. This situation would be hilarious if she wasn’t such an aggressive drunk. 

“I want to make sure you’re okay,” I yell over the blaring music.

“Of course I’m o-fucking-kay,” she exalts before she tries to spin in time to the music. She almost goes down again and I catch her before she has a chance to land on her ass. “I’m having the time of my fucking life!”

“Good to know,” I state calmly as she steadies herself on her own two feet. I notice that she’s lost one of her pumps and she’s standing lopsided with one shoe on and one off. She reeks of alcohol and I wonder why Neal let her have so much to drink tonight. That’s when I see that her left hand is grasping a half empty bottle of rum. Not only is she drunk, she’s stealing alcohol from the bar.

“Did you see the rainbows?” she asks me and I look at her confused before she lifts up her hand that’s holding onto the bottle of rum. She brings it to her lips and takes a swig, the amber liquid flowing steadily into her mouth. She stops drinking long enough to look at me and laugh, “The rainbows were reading! They were the Reading Rainbow!” she cackles loudly, throwing her head back before bringing the bottle back up to her mouth.

Reaching forward, I attempt to take the bottle out of her grasp. Lauren realizes her good times are in jeopardy and she steps back quickly and looks at me with a scandalized look. “Bastard! It’s mine!” And I watch in slow motion, as she lifts up her free hand and tries to smack me across the face. I grab onto her wrist and push her against the wall, pinning her arm up over her head. Her other arm, the one with the rum firmly attached to it, is still free and she reaches over to smack me upside the head with the bottle of rum but I grab that arm too, the bottle falling to the floor with a loud crash.

“You killed it! You stupid, no good piece of shit! You killed it!” she howls and she starts to thrash against my hold but I hold tight. She’s way in over her head and if I don’t calm her down she’s going to hurt herself, me, or someone else in this club. God, why did she have to be an aggressive drunk?

“Shut up, Lauren!” I bark and my voice manages to reach through her drunken haze. She pauses for a split second, looking at me intently before she clumsily brings her head towards mine. And before I know what’s happening, her mouth is on mine in a very sloppy and alcohol driven kiss.

I’m completely overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol that is creeping its way into my brain and taking a hold of my senses. The rum on her breath is mixing with the gin and tonic that’s lodged in my own mouth and the mixture is enough to make me tear my mouth away and start to gag, but for some odd reason my mouth stays planted on hers.

This is definitely the worst kiss I have ever had in my life. And I’m counting the first one I ever had with Britney when we both had no idea what we were doing. I think I could do better making out with Helen Keller than Lauren Walters because half the time she’s kissing around my lips rather than hitting her intended mark. I let go of her left hand and bring my hand up to her face so I can protect myself from drowning in the slobber she’s madly producing. Grabbing onto the side of her face, I hold it steady as she deepens the kiss and her free hand is doing…God I don’t know because my eyes are closed. I don’t know why I’m enjoying this because it has to be the worst kiss I have ever experienced, but I don’t know, blame it on the buzz.

She opens her mouth and soon the pungent smell of rum is inside my mouth and I’m sure she tastes the smell of gin in hers because I’m exploring every single nook and cranny of her rather large mouth. No wonder why she screams so loud…the sound has to echo inside the damn cavern she calls her mouth. And then there’s the foreign burning sensation that is attacking my tongue, and it hurts. A lot.

“Ow!” I yell and I pull away, ignoring her cries of protest. I bring a free hand up to my mouth and press my tongue against the palm. I swear when I see a line of blood mixed with saliva. She bit my tongue. But does she care? No, she’s breathing hard and laughing exuberantly as if she’s just won the Academy Award for Best Drunken Make Out.

But her mood changes in an instant and she reaches forward and smacks me on the side of the head, not helping the throbbing of my tongue or the fact that I’m getting a standard size headache from my alcoholic buzz.

“Stupid ass prick,” she spits, “I’m outta here. Peace out bitch,” she adds before she stumbles away, leaving me in a complete stupor. The music is still pounding and it seems that no one saw that nasty public display of disaffection.

Except for one person.

“You no good motherfucker!” a voice yells behind me and soon I’m being pinned up against the wall by a rampaging Neal Feat. Shit, this is not good.

“Lay off man, what’s wrong?” I manage to gasp out seeing as I just had the wind knocked out of me.

“You let her have the night off so you can get her drunk and fuck with her mind? What the hell is your deal? Why do you have to take away the one thing I love the most?”

“She’s drunk! She kissed me! She…”

“There you go again, always blaming her for your own damn problems! But I’m done with this shit. Find someone else to feed your legions of Hollywood hookers and druggies because I refuse to work for you anymore. And you can tell Lauren that she can go fuck off because I’m done with her. And I’m done playing second fiddle to you.”

“What?” I ask incredulously but before I can ask him what the fuck he’s talking about, his fist firmly makes contact with my left eye. All I can feel is pain as I crumple to the ground, Neal muttering obscenities under his breath and massaging his hand. I’m going to get the biggest black eye on the planet no thanks to that jerk off and all because he let his girlfriend run off with a bottle of rum and get plastered.

“What the fuck are you doing on the ground?” she’s back and I look up at her with my right eye, seeing as my left is swelling to the size of a small tennis ball. Her hair is still sticking up and her lips are swollen from no doubt kissing me. She obviously didn’t run into Neal because she’s stumbling around like nothing’s happened and I know she’ll be in for a rude wake up call when she tries to talk to Neal tomorrow. I almost feel sorry for her, but seeing as its her fault I’m going to have a black eye, I’d rather see her get chewed out by her now ex-boyfriend.

“What are you doing?” I ask her as I get to my feet. She grins at me and punches me before she swears again and stumbles. I catch her yet again and when I realize that trying to help her got me into this mess, I quickly let go. Lauren holds up a ring of keys and laughs.

“I’m going home. This party sucks,” she adds before she saunters off towards the exit. She’s trying her best to walk in a straight line but it isn’t working and that little knot of premonition and bad feelings has found its way into my stomach as she yells at a dancing couple to get a room.

She’s in no state to drive anywhere right now and I know for a fact she’s going to get into Bentley and try to drive home for some sleep. I can’t let her do that. I don’t want to get the call tomorrow morning explaining that Lauren is either dead, or in the hospital because she was driving under the influence.

I race after her, my center of balance completely thrown off due to the fact that I’m racing through a crowded club with only one eye open. I catch up to Lauren rather quickly and snatch the keys out of her hand.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asks me and I half expect her to punch me in the other eye.

“I’m driving you home,” I state before I grab onto her arm and start to lead her away from the club and towards the parking garage.

“I don’t need your help! Fuck off!”

“Shut up, Lauren,” I say as I roll my eyes. She listens to me as we continue to walk towards Bentley Lexus. I’m hit with a jolt of realization that this will be the first time I have ever sat behind the seat of Lauren’s car, something that would never happen if she were sober. I would use my car, but seeing as how Trace and I drove here together I can’t take it away and leave him stranded.

And then there’s the question of where to take Lauren. Back to Neal’s is out of the question because I’m afraid the coward will smother her while she’s sleeping. I don’t want to take her back to her apartment because I would rather not see Melissa right now. That leaves only one place and I’m very, very skeptical about taking her back to my place.

But what other choice do I have?

She gets into the car without protest and soon I’m cautiously driving through the LA streets at three o’ clock in the morning. Lauren is quiet most of the ride home and I know she’s going to crash soon. The aggression she was showcasing back at the party is quickly dissipating and she’s now a helpless form of a human being, slumped forward in the passenger seat, mumbling incoherently to herself.

I finally pull Bentley into my driveway after what seems to be an eternity of driving empty freeways and side streets. Walking around to the other side of the car, I open the door and step back as Lauren leans out and throws up all over the driveway.

Lovely. Thank God she didn’t do it all over me. That would be the cherry on top of the sundae that made up this fantastic evening.

“I don’t feel good,” she mutters and I grab her arm and pull her out of the car gently, getting her past the throw up without incident. She can hardly stand on her own and I groan inwardly before I pick her up and start to carry her towards my house. I feel like a newlywed, carrying his bride into their honeymoon suite, except this is the farthest thing from marriage or honeymooning I can imagine.

Yeah, carrying my drunken Personal Assistant into my house is definitely the way I envisioned spending the rest of my evening. We make it into the house and I start my way towards the stairs trying hard not to grunt under the weight I’m carrying. She definitely isn’t light, especially when she’s just a bulk of dead weight.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles into my shoulder as I carry her up the stairs towards the guest room. I can feel my shirt absorb what I hope is tears and not drool from her face and I want nothing more than to drop her on the ground and go tend to my own problems. I have a tongue that’s still numb and probably still bleeding from earlier tonight, a shiner, and a killer headache that are ailing me right now and yet I’m still taking care of the person who caused all of these problems.

Tell me, what is wrong with this picture?

We finally make it to the guest bedroom and I put Lauren down on the small armchair in the corner of the room while I go get her bed ready. Pulling back the covers I can hear her crying in her chair and I look over my shoulder to see her wiping away the tears falling down her face, smearing her black eye makeup even more.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters again and the helplessness in her voice is enough to make me drop what I’m doing to go comfort her. I have never heard anyone sound so lost in my life and somehow I think that isn’t the alcohol in her system talking. “I’m sorry.” She says again.

“Don’t be sorry,” I say loudly before I walk over to her. I peel off her other shoe and disappear into my bedroom to grab her some sleep clothes. There is no way in hell I’m going to undress her and change her like a damn baby and I know when she wakes up in her right mind she’s going to want to know how she got from her evening clothes into mine. And that is a conversation I want to avoid at all costs.

I hand her the clothes wordlessly and she looks at them with a puzzled expression. I motion to her clothes and she gives me another blank stare and soon I’m hoisting pajama bottoms over her skirt, praying to God I don’t get a peep show. She won’t stop crying and the smell of alcohol is quickly soaking up the clean air in the guest room, which is making me nauseous. 

Yanking the shirt over her already clothed torso, I grab her arm and lead her towards the waiting bed and she’s still apologizing. About what, I have no clue but she won’t quit and I’m on the fast track of yelling at her to shut the hell up.

Finally she gets situated in the bed and I clumsily yank the covers up to her chin, her blue eyes glazed over with the all to familiar stupor that comes with obscene drunkenness. I know she isn’t going to remember this. She won’t remember how she got here, she won’t remember me driving her car, she won’t remember Neal breaking up with her, she won’t remember the kiss and for some odd reason that last bit bugs me more than anything.

Because I remember it and every time I look at her, I’ll remember how she bit my tongue, which still hurts by the way, and the way her cheek was so smooth against the palm of my hand…

“Thank you,” she mutters against the pillow, pulling me out of my rather disturbing thoughts, “You didn’t have to do this…” and as soon as the last word is out of her mouth, she’s dead asleep, snuggled up with the covers and a troubled yet peaceful smile passing over her features.

Turning around, I head towards my own room wondering how such a disastrous night could turn into something okay.

I’m putting my money on seeing one of Rebecca’s tits.

***