Shame on Me

I did some Google searches on Vinnie DeMarco and talked to Ted again in the hopes that he would give me more information on the guy aside from “He’s mean and scary and you should stay far away from him.” The only thing he let slip was that there is a current investigation of the guy being handled by the criminal investigations unit. Something about an illegal gambling ring and stolen property reports leading back to the members. Obviously it’s nothing that will help me prove that Melanie is a cheater. I want so bad to be able to do this for Matt, and the fact that I keep striking out has made me depressed.

I hate that he thinks I’m a liar and that nothing about me was true and honest. I had hoped my text to him would make him realize that I was trying to make things right. Obviously I was wrong. He wants nothing to do with me and I don’t blame him.

Picking up my chilled glass of wine, I chug it and clumsily smack the empty glass down on the bar. When it looks like the bar tips sideways like the Titanic going under, I realize sucking down that glass probably wasn’t the best idea.

My cell phone vibrates and bounces up and down on top of the bar. It takes a few tries before I can get my six hands to grab onto it and see on the display that it’s Lorelei calling.

Wait, I don’t have six hands, do I? This vibration feels funny. I should stick it down my pants and pretend it’s Matt.

“Hey, hang up and call me again so I can pretend it’s Matt in my pants,” I answer with a giggle.

“Oh, my God, are you drunk?” Lorelei asks through the line.

I can hear the annoyance in her voice. Lorelei never gets drunk. Lorelei wouldn’t understand my need to get drunk and forget I ever met Matt Russo.

“I’m not drunk, I’m hammered,” I tell her with a snort.

“Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

“HEY! BARTENDER!” I yell, pulling the phone away from my ear. He stops stacking glasses behind the bar and walks over to me.

“I don’t think you need a refill,” he deadpans.

“Oh, you’re a funny, funny little man. Where are we?”

He stares at me like I’m an idiot. Screw him! I’m not a drunk; I’m just an idiot. Wait, no. I’m not a drunk; I’m an idiot.

Shit! I’m so drunk.

“This is Mulligan’s. It says so on the glass in front of you. And on the napkin underneath it. And hey, even on this giant neon sign right above my head,” he tells me sarcastically, pointing above him.

Smartass. I blow a raspberry at him like the mature adult I am and hear the faint sound of Lorelei yelling through the phone.

“DON’T GO ANYWHERE! I’ll be there in ten minutes.”



“Did you see that? A light just went on!” I tell Lorelei excitedly.

As soon as Lorelei dragged me out of Mulligan’s with an apology to the bartender for my behavior, she shoved me into her sleek black Mercedes with a firm warning not to puke on her leather upholstery. We left my car in the parking lot and Lorelei promised to bring me back the next day to pick it up. Somewhere between the bar and my condo, I convinced her we needed to go to Matt’s house because it was a matter of life or death.

Let it never be said that “ex-models turned private investigators” can’t act. Even with seven glasses of wine in their systems.

“Amazing. He has electricity,” Lorelei answers, her voice void of emotion.

We’re currently parked right out front of Matt’s house. As soon as we pulled up and Lorelei killed the engine, I tried to convince her that we could better assess the situation from a closer vantage point, say in his bushes, but she immediately vetoed my idea. She muttered something about crazy drunk women and how her colleagues would hang their head in shame at her for listening to me, but I tuned her out. All I cared about was getting a glimpse of him. Just one little peek.

I press my nose against the passenger-side window and spot Matt walking through his living room wearing just a pair of pajama bottoms. He scratches his muscled chest as he walks past the window and disappears from sight.

Never before have I ever wanted to be a hand more than I do right now. Who knew he was packing all of that heat underneath his button-down shirts?

“I cannot believe you convinced me to do this,” Lorelei complains for the tenth time since we pulled up. “Remind me again why we’re parked outside Matt Russo’s house in the middle of the night? Because right now, I am not buying your story that you think he’s in danger. Stop drooling on my window.”

I pull my face away from the glass and turn to face her. She’s not happy with me. I sort of don’t blame her. I’m not happy with myself either now that the alcohol buzz has begun to fade. I may or may not have told a little white lie to convince Lorelei to take a detour on the way to my condo. There might have been a mention of someone stalking Matt, and I might have told her it was the Mob and that they all carry guns and his life could be on the line. And since I’m being honest, I might as well admit that I threatened to throw myself out of her car into oncoming traffic if she didn’t bring me here immediately. In my defense, it was the booze that did all of the talking for me.

Okay. Fine. A little bit of my heart as well. But mostly the booze.