and shot her prettiest smile at the red-headed cocktail waitress. Shauna smiled back, and as if Liz had commanded her to with just the power off her mind, she tapped the still blathering Mark on the forearm and pointed behind him.
He swung around, his face alight with happiness, his cheeks flushed like a Campbell’s Soup Kid--until his alcohol-hazed mind caught up with his radically changed reality. But by then, it was too late. Liz had smiled beautifully, had said his name as if she were greeting a long lost best friend, and grabbed him by the shoulders, using his own bulk as leverage, and planted her knee in his groin with a sharp, Tae Bo perfected motion. Immediately Mark’s face turned purple and his body curled up in the fetal position on the high gloss hardwood floor of the bar, where he unceremoniously heaved up his lunch and all the pretentiously overpriced cognac.
Liz waltzed uncontested from the resort, stepped into the taxi that awaited her at the curb, and drove off to the airport again for a quick trip home before she headed down to Cancun. She smiled with satisfaction as she replayed her triumph in her head, over and over and over again.
~*~
Susan never realized how many irritating, if not downright painfully loud sounds surrounded her, especially when she woke up. Usually those sounds just melted together to form a complex, though ignorable, mixture. As with most people, Susan was so used to these sounds that she needed to employ the use of an alarm clock.
Happily, paradise had no screeching, ear splitting alarm clocks.
But what paradise did have was a multitude of sounds that, as hungover as Susan was, left her in excruciating pain and begging the gods to kill her.
Susan had woken with the sound of the surf in her ears, which created a dull ache in her head and made her stomach lurch. The wind blowing through the palm trees, the swoosh causing painful tingles to climb up her spine to the back of her neck, made her shudder. And worst of all--wind chimes.
Wind chimes are supposed to be relaxing and peaceful, but with Susan’s hangover, they were clanging, deafening train wrecks, and no matter how she covered her head with the pillow, she couldn’t escape them.
Hell is probably polluted with wind chimes!
Susan scrambled out of bed and staggered to the door of her room, passing into the living room with the blanket still wrapped around her. She collapsed on the couch beside Kevin, and fell against him, holding her ears.
“Turn on the TV!” she moaned.
Kevin grabbed the remote and the large screen, flat panel TV blinked to life.
“Turn it up!” Susan pleaded.
Kevin complied and Susan leaned into him more, relaxing as the easily ignored racket of the television eradicated the deathly cacophony of the tropical paradise. Susan couldn’t remember the last time she’d been hungover. Probably after one of Liz’s art shows. Liz always had great after parties, where the wine and champagne flowed into the wee hours of the night. But whatever headaches those parties had caused were nothing compared to the throbbing, searing pain that now bloomed inside Susan’s skull.
“Take me now, Lord,” Susan cried as she pulled Kevin’s brawny arm around her head, like a pillow, to quell paradise’s racket. She was ready.
She could feel Kevin’s ribs shake as he laughed. She was just about to retaliate by jabbing him in his stomach when she felt something smooth and cold press against her forehead. She opened her eyes and looked up. Kevin was holding a glass of liquid to her head. Pulling it back, she saw it was a sickly burnt orange color, and there were flecks of black, and chunks of red and green in there.
Kevin took his arm back, leaving her vulnerable to the enemy sounds. “Remember my hangover remedy from college?”
At that moment, Susan found remembering her own name to be taxing, so going back to the good old days took some thinking--it felt like a brick wall was between her and her
He swung around, his face alight with happiness, his cheeks flushed like a Campbell’s Soup Kid--until his alcohol-hazed mind caught up with his radically changed reality. But by then, it was too late. Liz had smiled beautifully, had said his name as if she were greeting a long lost best friend, and grabbed him by the shoulders, using his own bulk as leverage, and planted her knee in his groin with a sharp, Tae Bo perfected motion. Immediately Mark’s face turned purple and his body curled up in the fetal position on the high gloss hardwood floor of the bar, where he unceremoniously heaved up his lunch and all the pretentiously overpriced cognac.
Liz waltzed uncontested from the resort, stepped into the taxi that awaited her at the curb, and drove off to the airport again for a quick trip home before she headed down to Cancun. She smiled with satisfaction as she replayed her triumph in her head, over and over and over again.
~*~
Susan never realized how many irritating, if not downright painfully loud sounds surrounded her, especially when she woke up. Usually those sounds just melted together to form a complex, though ignorable, mixture. As with most people, Susan was so used to these sounds that she needed to employ the use of an alarm clock.
Happily, paradise had no screeching, ear splitting alarm clocks.
But what paradise did have was a multitude of sounds that, as hungover as Susan was, left her in excruciating pain and begging the gods to kill her.
Susan had woken with the sound of the surf in her ears, which created a dull ache in her head and made her stomach lurch. The wind blowing through the palm trees, the swoosh causing painful tingles to climb up her spine to the back of her neck, made her shudder. And worst of all--wind chimes.
Wind chimes are supposed to be relaxing and peaceful, but with Susan’s hangover, they were clanging, deafening train wrecks, and no matter how she covered her head with the pillow, she couldn’t escape them.
Hell is probably polluted with wind chimes!
Susan scrambled out of bed and staggered to the door of her room, passing into the living room with the blanket still wrapped around her. She collapsed on the couch beside Kevin, and fell against him, holding her ears.
“Turn on the TV!” she moaned.
Kevin grabbed the remote and the large screen, flat panel TV blinked to life.
“Turn it up!” Susan pleaded.
Kevin complied and Susan leaned into him more, relaxing as the easily ignored racket of the television eradicated the deathly cacophony of the tropical paradise. Susan couldn’t remember the last time she’d been hungover. Probably after one of Liz’s art shows. Liz always had great after parties, where the wine and champagne flowed into the wee hours of the night. But whatever headaches those parties had caused were nothing compared to the throbbing, searing pain that now bloomed inside Susan’s skull.
“Take me now, Lord,” Susan cried as she pulled Kevin’s brawny arm around her head, like a pillow, to quell paradise’s racket. She was ready.
She could feel Kevin’s ribs shake as he laughed. She was just about to retaliate by jabbing him in his stomach when she felt something smooth and cold press against her forehead. She opened her eyes and looked up. Kevin was holding a glass of liquid to her head. Pulling it back, she saw it was a sickly burnt orange color, and there were flecks of black, and chunks of red and green in there.
Kevin took his arm back, leaving her vulnerable to the enemy sounds. “Remember my hangover remedy from college?”
At that moment, Susan found remembering her own name to be taxing, so going back to the good old days took some thinking--it felt like a brick wall was between her and her
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