Greg Gifune - Night Work

Charlie kissed Beth's cheek as he left the kitchen, taking the steaks with him to the grill outside. It was a strange kiss, Sandy thought, an aggressive peck that seemed almost mean.

The afternoon had mysteriously ended and evening had arrived. Like boys at a summer camp, the three men stood in front of the gas grill tossing lit matches at it until it exploded with a ball of fire and a fierce popping sound. Sal stood off to the side, watching them without comment.

While the steaks sizzled, Frank headed back to the bar to get himself a fresh drink. He found Sandy in the doorway to the kitchen. "Having a good time?"

"The more I drink the more comfortable I get," she said softly. "They're different, but everyone seems nice. Except for Sal. What a weirdo."

"I know what you mean."

"Beth says he's harmless."

"I'm sure he is." Frank winked and moved across the room.

Sal had meanwhile been abandoned on the deck. He watched the grill with a disinterested expression, a cigarette dangling between his lips. Everyone had had quite a bit to drink, and most of the conversations were either dying down or becoming somewhat forced, artificial and dull.

"I think it's time to breathe a little life into this sucker," Steve said from the couch.

"Ooo," Claire said, crossing the room and joining him there. "Is it that time already?"

Pepper removed several small glass vials and a credit card from her purse, handed them to Steve then sat on the floor next to a coffee table in front of the couch. Steve emptied a generous pile of cocaine onto the table and began separating it into thin lines with the credit card.

Frank's eyes immediately shifted to Sandy. She was standing by the bar chatting with Charlie and Beth. Frank was used to seeing drug use – it was rampant on the road – but he could tell by the expression on Sandy's face that she was attempting to mask her discomfort.

"Who's getting in on this?" Steve asked.

Luther joined the others around the couch. Beth turned to Sandy. "Interested?"

"I don't think so." Sandy smiled nervously. "I haven't done coke since high school."

"That's okay," Charlie said, slipping his arm around her shoulder. "You and I can be the odd ones out."

Beth smiled, her eyes softened by the liquor. "Charlie used to put half the state of California up his nose. I'm sure he'd love to tell you all about it."

"How about you, Frank?" Steve asked.

Pepper leaned forward, purposely making her eye-catching cleavage more accessible to Frank, who had been inadvertently standing above her. "Yeah, how about it? Want some?"

"Maybe later," Frank said.

"That's cool." Steve rolled up a dollar bill and bent over to snort a line. "No pressure. We're all friends."

"It's here if you want it." Pepper smiled.

Fearful that Sandy might become angry, Frank joined her and Charlie at the bar. "You two look shit-faced."

"Isn't everybody?" Charlie grinned.

Frank thrust his empty glass at him. "Fix me another one."

"Is he this bossy at home?" Charlie asked Sandy.

"Much worse."

As Charlie removed his arm from her shoulder, his fingers gently brushed her behind. "I like her," he told Frank. "Why she settled for you I have no idea, but I like her."

"I think I'd like to get some air," Sandy said, her eyes smoldering and locked on Frank.

He followed Sandy out to the deck. Sal greeted them with a courteous nod and they continued on until they had reached the edge of the pool. A single floodlight illuminated the area. "What's the matter?" Frank asked her, his voice too low for Sal to hear.

"You were right," she said, hugging herself. "These people are a little too far out for me."

"I thought you were getting along with everyone just fine." Frank moved closer. "It looked to me like you were having a good time. What happened?"

"I just don't think I like the direction this party is headed in."

"You mean the drugs?"

"No," she said purposefully. "I don't mean the drugs." Frank stared at her blankly. "If this is what you meant by not wanting to expose me to the people you work with then – "

"Honey," he interrupted in a tone he hoped was soothing, "what the hell are you talking about?"

"Are you going to stand there and tell me that you had no idea what scene these people are into?"

Frank lit a cigarette and offered her one, but she refused. "I suspected," he admitted quietly. "But I didn't know for sure."

"How many drinks have you had?"

Frank shrugged. "Too many."

"Can you drive?"

"If I have to."

"Because I'm not sure I can."

He moved over to the railing and gazed into the woods. "Do you want to leave?"

Her response was not immediate. "Do you?"

He faced her. "It's up to you."

Sandy bit her lower lip. "As usual, you've come through with flying colors."

"What does that mean?"

"That was the wrong answer, Frank," she snapped, her voice breaking. "That's what it fucking means."

Frank pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. "Please don't get upset. If you want to leave, we'll leave."

"The right answer is: Yes honey, I want to leave."

"Fine, no problem, let's leave."

Her eyes searched his. "What the hell's happened to you?"

"For Christ's sake, no matter what I say it's wrong."

"You just don't get it."

Frank sighed. "Come on, we'll blame everything on me. I'll tell Charlie I'm not feeling well and we'll take off. We can stop, get a few cups of coffee somewhere and I'll be fine."

Sandy's face slowly twisted into an expression he had never before seen. "No," she said, spitting the word at him. "I think I want to stay."

Before he could reach her she'd crossed into the kitchen. Frank ran his hands through his hair and tried to shake off the effects of all the alcohol he'd consumed. He noticed that most of the steaks had begun to burn, but no one seemed to care, including the man left in their charge.

"Girl problems?" Sal asked flatly.

Frank looked at the steaks. "Those things are about as dead as they're gonna get."

Sal shrugged. "I told Charlie they were burning. He said he didn't think anybody was hungry anyway. It don't matter to me one way or the other."

When Frank returned to the living room, Sandy was sitting on the couch, sandwiched between Beth and Steve. He hesitated, watched his wife inhale a line of coke and then sit back as it hit her system. Steve looked over at him and smiled. "I guess she changed her mind."

"She's a big girl," Frank said, forcing a smile.

"Have you changed your mind?" Pepper asked, moving behind Frank, her breasts pressing against his back.

Frank ran a finger through one of the lines then put it in his mouth, brushing it back and forth under his upper lip. His gum line was completely numb by the time he reached the bar. "Where's that drink I ordered?" Charlie handed the glass across the counter to him. Frank gulped it down and handed it back. "Thank you. I'll have another."

Charlie laughed. "I'm not about to fuck with a guy who can do that."

"Doesn't that bother you?" Frank motioned to the cocaine on the coffee table. "Isn't it sort of like drinking in front of an alcoholic?"

Charlie handed him a fresh drink. "At my lowest point I was sitting on a park bench in L.A. I hadn't had a bath in more than a month – hadn't eaten in God knows how long. With a gun to my head I couldn't have told you where I was or even what the hell my name was. If it hadn't been for the cops busting me and forcing me into rehab, I'd be dead now. Whenever I get the feeling I might relapse, I remember that moment. The temptation leaves me like shit through a goose, my friend. Shit through a fucking goose. Nothing is worth going through that again. Nicotine and booze are all the drugs I need."