Save Me, Sinners

My throat is burning. I haven’t had a drink, let alone a shot, in forever. My financial situation doesn’t exactly allow for luxuries like going out and sipping cocktails. I stare in horror as David hands me another.

“Well, it's his birthday,” he says, smirking. Egged on by Willie’s friendly smile, I have no choice but to accept it. And then comes a third.

“Okay, enough!” I lean away from him.

“Well if you're going to write a feature on me, then what better way to do that than to experience my lifestyle?”

“That’s true,” Willie joins in. “Real writers write from experience.” He grins.

In some strange way that makes sense, and I take the glass.

“Bloody hell that felt good.” David sits back down on the stool.

“David, you're a funny guy. Given the shit you're in, you should be laying low and here you are, at this massive party, downing tequila shots. Respect, man. I admire a guy who likes living on the edge.”

“I'm British. We know how to drink,” David answers mid-sip of a tall glass of beer. Jeez! I'm beginning to see what Ana was saying about him.

“He’s not wrong ya know,” I say, fueled by liquid courage.

“What?” David turns his attention to me.

“That you should be laying low, and not be drinking at a party with a hundred people. I mean any of these people could make a video of you drinking yourself senseless and before you know it, it goes viral and you get yourself in a bigger mess than you're already in. I mean that’s the whole point of running this piece right? To get your image cleaned up.”

“Why? What’s wrong with my image?” He crosses his arms.

“Well, duh! You were caught snea

king out of Ana’s apartment, your coach is pissed off with you and your bad reputation has followed you across the ocean.” Quick words exit my mouth and I wonder if I’ve said too much. Willie looks around sheepishly, not wanting to make eye contact with David.

“Well if it wasn’t for your bloody paparazzi, none of it would’ve happened. It’s all the media’s fault.”

“You're in the media eye. You can’t expect them to not run a story just because you don’t want them to.”

“And is it okay for them to invade my privacy then? Is this the American way?”

“This has nothing to do with ‘the American way.’ This has everything to do with you not being responsible with your life and your career!” I don’t know where the words are coming from but I can’t seem to stop.

David sits quietly, staring daggers. For the first time since I downed those three shots of tequila, my nerves catch up with me.

“You want to save your career and clean up your image, right? That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Sleeping around with models and getting plastered is not gonna be a solution to that,” I say, a bit more softly this time.

“At least it’s not as embarrassing as fainting at a charity dinner,” he answers, smugly. Fuck! How does he know about that?

“Yeah, that’s right. I was there. At the table, right next to you. If it weren’t for me, you would’ve hit the floor. So as you can see ‘Carrie,’ You're not perfect either.” He smirked.

“You know, David, after what Ana told me about you and what a jerk you are, I didn’t want to work with you. Now you've just proven everything she said right. So to hell with you and to hell with this piece!” I get up and storm off.

“Carrie, wait,” Willie says, reaching out after me but I ignore him and quickly make my way into the crowd of people, being extra careful not to drunkenly trip. But after the last week, the dam has burst. I can’t take it anymore.

To hell with David Adams and to hell with this job. I’m just gonna go back and help mom with the bar. To hell with this whole damn town.

“Hey, did you and David talk it over?” It’s Shauna.

“Yes,” I answer hesitantly. “But I'm sorry I can’t do this.” I try to walk away but Shauna stops me.

“What happened?” She asks, a slight note of concern in her voice.

“I just can’t do this anymore. You were right, maybe I'm too nice for this job. I’m sorry.”