Page 2 of Screwed
More people arrived. Callie tossed back another martini, the faint buzz from the alcohol distracting her from the heaviness in her chest and the desire to flee. The manners and social graces drummed into her since childhood took over, and she smiled and made small talk and, along with Kristy, ensured everyone had food and drinks and someone to converse with.
Later, she danced with some girlfriends, shaking it to the cool tracks the DJ was spinning, laughing when she spilled her martini on the dance floor. Her mother would be horrified. She laughed at that, too.
A guy made eye contact with her and moved closer. “You have a great smile. Dance?”
“Sure.” She didn’t know him, but he was cute and she was celebrating, so she flashed him another big smile and boogied out to the dance floor with him.
She danced with other men and with her girlfriends. She drank every martini that was handed to her. Then it was time to cut the cake.
“Where did you get this cake, anyway?” she asked Kristy as she sliced into it.
“Marlene’s.” Kristy flashed her a guilty look. “Sorry, but I couldn’t ask you to make your own divorce cake.”
Callie studied it critically. It was cute, but she could have done a much better job. After working for a few months atDuchesse, a patisserie in Paris, she’d learned a lot about baking and cake decorating, something that had always been a hobby.
“That’s okay,” she said. “I’m sure it’s awesome.”
She handed out pieces, then dug a fork into her own slice of cake. When she tasted it, she was even more sure she could have done better; the cake was bland and the texture too dry. The fondant icing was decent, she’d allow that.
She politely said none of that, but Kristy sighed as she tasted the cake. “Maybe Ishouldhave asked you to make your own cake. Yours are so much better than this.”
Callie smiled.
“Why is divorce so expensive?” her friend Doug asked as he forked up cake.
“Why?” a bunch of people asked in return.
“Because it’s worth it!”
Callie grinned at the dark humor.
Emma swatted Doug’s shoulder, smiling. “Okay then, what’s the difference between getting a divorce and getting circumcised?”
Callie lifted her hand. “I know, I know! When you get a divorce, you get rid of the whole prick!”
Everyone roared.
“You heard that one before,” Emma pouted.
“Yeah.” Callie grinned. “It’s still good.”
She danced again. The music got louder, the club grew warmer, and the flashing lights started to make her head hurt. She made her way unsteadily back to the private room they’d booked, using a hand to balance on various chairs, then paused at the bar to suck in a steadying breath.
“Another martini, beautiful?” The bartender winked at her.
“No, thank you.” She managed her debutante smile. “I think I need to get some air.”
“Patio is out those doors.” He gestured across the bar.
Damn, that was far away. Focusing carefully on each step, she skirted the perimeter of the club to the open doors.
Outside on the patio, a few people sat at small tables. She spotted an empty table in a shadowy corner, next to a big potted palm. There, she sank into a wrought-iron chair and sucked in a breath of warm night air, then leaned her head back to gaze up at the dark sky.
It was quieter here, the music a distant throb. She closed her eyes, then opened them when things began to spin. Whoa.
She rubbed her forehead. Too many martinis. She was totally trying to drown out the fact that she was now divorced. A failure as a wife. A failure in life.
A tear slipped out of one eye and slid down her cheek.
