The Oxbow Saloon is completely dead. I’m the only bugger in here, besides an extremely intoxicated man in his sixties, sitting at the other end of the bar giving me the stink eye. I wasn’t expecting much company on a Monday night, anyhow.

I signal the bartender for another shot of Jamison, and she saunters slowly to my aide. 

“Feeling a bit of the Monday blues there, Mister Handsome?”

I ignore her. I’m not in the mood for small talk. I throw down the shot without hesitation, then signal for another, while struggling in my attempt at remembering her name. “Jane, is it?”

She grimaces, then pours another shot. “You’ve lost it now, Mister Hayes. You’re sure you want another?”

I nod firmly, and she comes over to place it down sloppily in front of me. This could be my eighth or ninth, but I’ve lost track.

“Close the tab now?” she asks, while sopping up the whisky she spilled and wasted with the dirtiest rag I’ve ever seen.

I can still feel my legs.

“No. Let’s keep it open,” I decided.

She shoots a look of concern. “It’s almost closing time, Mister Hayes. Are you driving?”

“To a couple of bastards!” interjects the intoxicated man from across the bar. He is holding up a glass of water. More than half his rotten teeth are missing.

“Where’s your shot?!” I yell back at him, somewhat annoyed by his audacity.

He pretends to not hear me, and proceeds to gulp down the glass of water, spilling half of it on the bar top.

“He spent all his money,” says “Jane,” rolling her eyes.

“Oh…” I sit peacefully for a moment, then feel an overwhelming urge to change my mind about closing the tab when thoughts of Paula suddenly creep into my consciousness. I realize I haven’t reached out to her in weeks.

“Jane, is it?” I ask once again, stupidly.

“Julie!!” she roars like an angry bear, like I’m supposed to know and remember these things.

I sigh deeply, but still unwilling to give her the satisfaction of being named correctly. “May I have the tab, after all?”

It’s not unlike me to run away from my problems and drown them with whisky, but on this particular evening I decided to quit while I’m still ahead. I need mental clarity. Just enough to drive to Paula’s house and see if she’s interested in making amends. The last time Paula and I spoke she told me she didn’t want to sneak around anymore. That if we were to keep seeing each other, I would need to end things with Candace. 

I told her Candace and I were trying to work things out, and that she and I were just having fun. However, she kicked me out of her house rather abruptly, slamming the door right in my face like something out of a comedy skit.

I start the truck and squint my eyes at the dash, trying to read the time through double vision. The light teal figures blur into the resemblance of some numbers. It’s 12:47 am. I catch myself panicking a little when I can’t seem to place where I was for the last five hours before showing up to the bar. For a brief moment or two, I ponder whether or not it’s too late to show up at Paula’s house, but then I decide that it’s never too late for a “booty call.”

She will be so happy to see me, I think to myself.

I drive five miles under the speed limit, knowing all too well that I am driving heavily intoxicated, and that being pulled over could well mean the end of any happy future for me. My head is spinning and street lights are flooding my vision with psychedelic snowflake patterns. I can scarcely see, let alone think.

I pull over to assess my whereabouts, when I realize that I am far too drunk to remember the way to her house. My phone is taunting me, pressing firmly into my butt cheek causing a great deal of discomfort that I hadn’t noticed until now. I pull it out of my back pocket and scroll, searching for her number in my contacts. 

I think I’ve found it, so I give her a call.

I wait patiently for her to answer, and just when I feel compelled to hang up when the answering machine kicks in, a disgruntled woman makes her debut.

“What the heck is going on, Anthony?”

 Her voice is unfamiliar. In fact, it doesn’t sound like her much at all.

“Paula?”

“It’s Lizbeth!”

“Who?!”

“We fucked a few months ago. I met you at that birthday party for Aidan?”

“Aidan?”

“Aidan, your son’s friend?!” She sounds extremely irritated at this point.

“I didn’t mean to call you,” I say, foolishly.

“You’re damn right, you didn’t. It’s one o’clock in the freaking morning!!” 

The line goes silent. 

Damn it. What’s Paula’s number?! I fumble about with my cell phone for a good seven minutes before finally coming across what I believe to be her contact information: “Paula Teacher.”

No wonder I couldn’t find her with that last name. Her real last name still remains a mystery to me, and not one I truly care to uncover, if I’m being honest.

I call her, and it goes straight to voicemail. Without really thinking it through, I leave a drunken voice message. “Paula, it’s me. I need to see you right now. Are you sleeping? Can you call me back, please? It’s urgent…” 

I hang up, feeling a lonely bead of sweat roll casually down my forehead. It’s hot and stuffy inside the truck, and I’m feeling incredibly tired all of a sudden. 

Without warning, I fall hard into an alcohol-induced, sleep-deprived coma.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

I am startled awake at the sound of a police officer pounding his fist on the windshield. “Move along!” he yells. “You can’t sleep here!”

It must be about 6 am. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon. My head is pounding, like I’ve been hit with a metal baseball bat. I need water. I can’t go home. I have to figure this out without going back to Candace, at least not right now. 

I reach for my cell, then glance up at the hovering police officer, waiting impatiently for me to get a move on. When I look down at my phone again, I am stunned to see that I have two missed calls from Paula — the most recent one from just three minutes ago.

I call her back and set the phone to bluetooth, as I drive away aimlessly. 

She answers rather quickly. “Anthony?”

“Paula…“ I have forgotten what I need to say.

“Anthony, what happened?”

“Where do you live?” I ask, stupidly. 

“What?”

“Your address.”

“You can’t remember where I live?”

There is a silent and awkward pause. My eyes are sleepy and heavy. I know I shouldn’t be driving.

“Tylenol…” is all I can manage to make out.

“Anthony, where are you right now?” She is most definitely concerned at this point. “Tell me where you are. I will come meet you!”

I pull over once again, but this time in a Bank of America parking lot. My head is spinning. I realize I’m still very drunk.

“Bank of America, near downtown,” I say, groaning over my headache. 

I am such an asshole.

She pulls up beside me in her white Prius, about ten minutes later, as I’m falling asleep once again. I make note of the fact she doesn’t look all that happy to see me. She taps her finger on the window, and I roll it down for her. Without saying a word, she holds out her hand to place two ibuprofen into mine, then with her other hand, she gives me a plastic bottle filled with ice-cold water. 

“You were drinking last night.” It’s a fact, the way she says it.

I nod, and take a good look at her after swishing down the drugs and the entire contents of the water bottle. 

“I’m in a little bit of a predicament,” I start, wondering how much I should tell her. “I’m ninety-nine percent certain Candace is leaving me, and I’m worried she’ll fight to prevent me from seeing my daughter.” 

I’m feeling ridiculously emotional, all of a sudden. I want to cry, just let it all out right here and now in the Bank of America parking lot at 6:19 am on a Tuesday morning, but I force back tears and hold it together. Paula holds her gaze for a moment, like she has no clue what to say. 

I suddenly feel like I’ve told her too much. 

She looks around, studying the entire vicinity, like she’s about to do something sneaky, then finally she asks, “Can you join me for a sec.?” Her head motions towards her car.

I’m confused by this. “Um…you want me to get out?”

“Come,” she says, opening my driver door. I feel like a child whose mother has to let them out because he/she can’t be trusted without the child-lock activated.

I can’t be trusted…I think to myself, still confused as to what’s happening.

We climb into her tiny cramped vehicle. My bottom feels far too close to the ground, as I sit there feeling disoriented. 

“I have about thirty minutes until I need to head to school and start prepping my classroom,” she informs me.

I sit and nod slowly at her. I’m not entirely sure why she’s telling me this, but before I can open my mouth to speak, her lips are on mine, and she is pushing her tongue inside me frantically. 

Surely, my breath must reek of alcohol, is all I can manage to think during this unexpected turn of events.

I try to focus over my pounding headache. Try to feel her body rubbing against mine as she climbs onto my lap. I slip my hands under her shirt and reach around to undo her bra. She lifts her shirt up and over her head effortlessly, and tosses it behind her, partially blocking the rear windshield. Her breasts spring free, looking incredibly enticing, as they bounce freely. She grinds me with her hips, her eyes locked on mine, then reaches down to lift up her skirt and push her panties to the side. I have no choice but to surrender at this point. I unzip my pants and shove myself inside her without hesitation. She moans with delight, so I drive harder and harder, my hands holding her down to steady her body. We rock back and forth until reaching an intense climax. Her yelps and moans force me back into vitality, while the sun rises on the horizon, casting a light so bright, I am forced to squint. 

Before I can talk to her about anything more, she kisses me on the cheek and tells me she has to go. 

“Until next time, Mister Hayes.” She pulls her glossy black hair out from a messy bun, and it falls sexily around her shoulders, as she winks at me.

Apparently my job here is done. I exit her vehicle and give a reassuring wave, as I shut the door gently. I am struck with the realization right then and there, that Paula has never taken an interest in my affairs, only that she remains near the center of attention in my life.

She’s not upset with me anymore.

I’m just a sex toy to her.

At least my headache is gone…