Sweet As Sin

30

Sunday morning arrived with all the pleasantness of a sledgehammer bashing my skull.

When I sat up in bed, I immediately wished I hadn’t. Rooms weren’t supposed to spin and tilt in that awful way. Groaning, I flopped back against the pillow. From beside me came an answering groan.

Apparently, Chloe had slept over.

We were sprawled on my bed, still in PJs and boas, the bedcovers a tangled mess beneath us. Obviously we hadn’t had the presence of mind to get beneath them when we passed out.

Through the cotton in my mouth, I said, “I feel like I’ve been beaten with a bat.”

Chloe’s blond hair looked as if some angry nocturnal animal had made a nest in it. She winced, laying a hand over her eyes. “The infamous margarita bat strikes again. And why are you yelling?”

Her voice sounded like thunder to my sensitive ears. “Look who’s talking, Miss Shouty Shouterton. They can probably hear you on Muscle Beach.”

From the kitchen drifted the delicious scents of freshly brewed coffee and frying bacon. I assumed that it was Grace’s doing, or I’d been burgled by a short-order cook. I waited a moment, breathing deeply, letting my stomach decide if it was going with violent barfing or if it could tolerate the grease and caffeine cure. After a moment in which my stomach stayed mute on the matter, I decided to try getting up again, this time with better results.

Once standing, I looked at Chloe. “You know what we need?”

She peered at me through her fingers.

“Hair of the dog.”

“There’s only one problem with that idea.”

“Which is?”

“I’d have to stand.”

I walked to her side of the bed. “Walked” is actually a generous description of the herky-jerky movements of my body, but nonetheless I made it in one piece. I held out a hand to Chloe. She took it and sat up, swinging her long legs over the side of the bed. In her wake she left a drift of rainbow feathers on the sheets.

She looked down at the boa lying listlessly on her chest. “This thing has definitely seen better days.”

“So have we. Now get your ass out of bed. I need a transfusion of coffee and a Bloody Mary.”

Chloe sent me a lopsided smile. Mascara was smeared beneath her lower lids, her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and that hair, but she still managed to look pretty. I, on the other hand, would be avoiding any mirrors like the plague.

With the speed of ninety-year-olds, we made our way to the kitchen. Grace was reading a newspaper at the table, coffee cup in hand. She looked up at us, and snorted.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in!”

Chloe and I eased ourselves into chairs beside her. “How are you looking so bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning?” I distinctly remembered her keeping up with us drink for drink. At least until after the front yard mariachi serenade. After that, things were fuzzy.

Grace raised her chin in the air, arch as the Queen of England. “Because I’m not an amateur, clearly.”

It was my turn to snort. “If experience counts, we’re all professionals.”

“Olympians,” Chloe agreed. Sighing, she folded her arms and rested her head on them on the table. While I contemplated that Olympians were the exact opposite of professionals, Chloe appeared to be about to drift off back to sleep.

“Children,” said Grace, rising to pour Chloe and me coffee, “there are three things one must do in order to prevent a hangover.” She set the mugs in front of us, turned to the stove and began piling bacon and scrambled eggs onto plates. “First, never drink on an empty stomach.”

“We ate!” This from Chloe, speaking to the tabletop.

“Not nearly enough, and not before you started drinking.”

I thought about it. She was right.

“Second, you should drink a glass of water for every glass of alcohol you have. Two glasses of water is even better.”

“I hate water,” said Chloe. “It’s so boring. And it takes up so much room in your stomach.”

I agreed via grunt.

Grace ignored our input, setting the breakfast plates on the table. She took her seat. “Third, you should take an Alka-Seltzer before bed, along with a B-complex vitamin, and another of both in the morning.”

“You could have told us all this last night.” I crunched into a piece of crispy bacon. Delicious.

“Like you would’ve listened to me. Besides, this is so much more fun.”

“For you!” Chloe warily eyed the plate in front of her. Her face turned faintly green.

“Yes, for me,” Grace agreed. “What, you think I keep you two around for intellectual stimulation?”

I kicked Chloe under the table. “Grandma’s grouchy this morning.”

Chloe pushed her plate away, picking up her coffee cup instead. “Well, you know that old joke about women and menopause.”

“There’s at least twenty years between me and menopause, Einstein.”

Chloe acted as if Grace hadn’t spoken. “What’s the difference between a pit bull and a woman in menopause?” She paused, smiling sweetly at Grace. “Lipstick.”

Grace pressed her lips together in an effort not to smile, though I could tell she wanted to.

“You’re not going to be twenty-five forever, princess. I’m going to remember that joke and trot it out at a very deleterious moment.”

“If I knew what that word meant, I might be worried. By the way, how was it when they first discovered fire? Those must’ve been exciting times for you and the other Neanderthals.”