Tonic & Gin

Original Short Fiction

The Clubhouse sat high above the Valley floor. It was 80,000 square feet of sleek modern luxury. Views of the golf course and the valley beyond extended to the snow-capped San Bernardino mountains in the distance.

My employer had brought me there to fire me. He did so before we had lunch while wearing golf attire. He was kind enough to instruct the bartender to put “anything I wanted” on his account, and I sat draining martinis while I considered ordering an obnoxious amount of food to spite him.

The last of the sun came through the picture window. Through the rays of sunlight, I could see particles of dust floating in the air. The dust existed, didn’t it? Mostly dead skin, I’d read. Remnants of our decaying bodies are made visible and float to the ground like ashes. It would accumulate and thicken if not for modern ventilation systems and old-fashioned housekeeping. It would rise from floor to ceiling like a hoarder’s stack of newsprint and eventually envelop us all.

I heard the stirring of ice in a glass next to me. I looked over, and a woman was stirring her drink with her index finger. Her finger was soaking in it. It had been sitting in liquor for so long that it had begun to prune. All of her was pruned, but she had been beautiful or pretty once.

“Vodka?”

“Gin.”

“Must be serious.”

“Oh, it is. I’m not much of a drinker, really, but I think if you are going to drink, it should be gin. The smell lets you know what you’re getting into.”

Her brightly colored blouse fit loosely around her neck, and her collarbones were prevalent below a long and thin neck, reminding me of Audrey Hepburn at the end of her life working with children in Africa. A Hermes silk scarf was tied tightly around her head.

“You don’t look so cheery yourself, mister. What’s got you drinking?”

I gave her the ten-cent version of my story, and she gave me the expanded version of her own.

“I know I should be grateful for all of the time I’ve had, but beating this damn thing twice seemed just like a bit of a cheap trick now. Like I got the wedding dress and was left at the altar. I mean, it’s silly; we’re all dying, right? I’m not a young woman. But why must I waste away like this? To wither and die on the bone seems so cruel.”

She was right; it was ridiculously cruel. But I wondered what it was like to know that you were right up on the cornice and ready to fall. Get your own coins ready to pay the ferryman.

“I sound like a whiny shrew.”

“You don’t, but you’re entitled.”

“I’ve made my peace with it, I have. Said goodbyes to the children and the grandchildren. I know what the end looks like; I’ve seen it. My first husband's prostate. Christ, what a damn toxic gene pool we’ve given our brood, haven’t we?”

“How many do you have?”

“Children? I had four.”

“And husbands?”

“I’ve had three. The first, Karl, was my real husband. The real deal. Father to our children. Love of my life and all that. But his time came. The second was just a mistake, a real blip on the radar. Women do these things sometimes when they’re grieving or brokenhearted. Or when we're fat. In my day, they did anyway. They married impulsively. That was number two. A temporary stop. The third, whom I am technically still married to, but I haven’t seen much of him since he put me up in this godforsaken desert. He said he thought the weather would be peaceful for me. And the children are all over the place anyway. I had never understood why he loved this place so much. I thought it was the golf until this trip, my last trip, the only one I’ve spent any real time down here, and I figured it out. He’d been spending time with a different crowd. I didn’t mind, really. I mean, I never loved him. It seemed like a nice fit. For both of us. He had children of his own. We could travel. See the grandkids. Snowbirds, that sort of thing. But he’d been coming to the desert alone and made new friends. I didn’t mind that so much either, but they were influencing him now. It became goddamn embarrassing. But what is really pissing me off is that I’m hanging around places like this to find some comfort of my own.”

I nearly choked on my martini.

“I’m sorry. It must be startling for you to hear that from an old lady.”

“Just from a lady. From a real lady.”

“You’re being kind, and you’re sweet. But the truth is I know it; women aren’t supposed to feel that at my age, are they? But I do. I mean, I’ve said my goodbyes, and I’ve found my peace, and I’m ready when it comes; I swear I am, but all I’m thinking about is the companionship I’ve been missing since marrying number three. He’s a bit older than me, so I’ve rationalized. But I thought down here, I thought he’d have sympathy for me. At first, I assumed it was this goddamn body that’s given way long before my mind has, but when I realized it wasn’t that, I was really disappointed.”

“You must have found many suitable candidates in this part of the world.”

“Oh, I have. I’ve even tried one or two. But it’s difficult. Do you know what it’s like between two old folks? It’s mostly just companionship and understanding. Most old ladies are happy for the tenderness I’ve gathered. The human touch. I get that, and I’m not immune to it. But what I want, what I really want before I leave this world, is to feel alive again.”

“Alive?”

“Damn straight. Karl. That was a good man. Really knew how to make me feel special. Must have learned it in the service. I didn’t want to know then, but now I wish I had asked. Good man, Karl. And you know what he wanted on his deathbed? To feel that connection one last time. I did everything possible to make him comfortable, and I think he passed with a smile. That makes me happy that he died happy, but I feel guilty that I’m so angry he’s gone and not here to return the favor. Honestly, I can’t say if he’d be up to the task now. I mean, take a look at me. You’d be afraid to hurt me, wouldn’t you? But you won’t. You won’t hurt me. Nobody will.”

As the sun set deeper, we both got quiet, and she told me about the private penthouses above the clubhouse. I put both of our tabs on my ex-boss’s account. We took an elevator up a single floor, and the door opened to a suite that looked like Las Vegas. Cold seafood was laid out on the bar, packed on ice. A bottle of vodka and a bottle of gin kept each other company, and a pack of cigarettes sat next to them.

We ate shrimp cocktails and smoked cigarettes on the balcony. I poured her gin and tonic and mixed myself more martinis. When I couldn’t really see straight, we went to bed.

xAP