“Should I answer it, Lourdes?” I asked the bartender.
“Why ask me?”
Lourdes said. “I’m not your minister, your mother or your wife. You want to
answer it, knock yourself out. Do it before you actually do knock yourself
out.”
“You may not be
my minister but you’re the closest thing I’ve got,” I said. “Pray with me?” She
gave me the stink eye so I went ahead and answered the phone. “Taco Bell,” I
said. “Will this be eat-in or carry-out?”
“Taco, it’s
Cat,” the phone said to me. Cat was bordering on breathless. “I need you right
away. I know where the object is and I have an idea how to get it. Can you come
to the gym and talk?”
“I can come to
the gym,” I slurred, “but I can barely talk. Why don’t you come down to Chapel
and watch me fall off this barstool. You’d better hurry, though. It could
happen any minute now.”
“You’re drunk!”
Cat said.
“Bingo!” I
replied. “A direct hit! Pick out a kewpie doll for yourself and take one for
the little woman.”
“What?”
“I’m drunk,
sweetie, and I’m not going anywhere. I think that just going outside in this
condition would constitute a misdemeanor, and driving would most certainly be a
capital offense.”
No comments:
Post a Comment