The Shattered Looking Glass Part Three: Intoxicated Honesty

It's funny how people always say that drinking alcohol leads to sex. I mean, you have a few drinks, you get buzzed, and then next thing you know you wake up in the morning with a headache only to find that you're in a stranger's bed and someone's in the kitchen making eggs over easy. This theory isn't completely false, but I believe you are more likely to wind up having sex after coffee rather than liquor. That's why there's a Starbucks everywhere you turn.1

I imagined Jerry's Bar to be a run down dump slithering with alcoholics and their hookers, but I actually found the place quite charming. The booths were cushioned with a decorative red material and every surface of the place was wiped down clean. There was a faint sound of music from the jukebox in the corner, and the crystal glasses reflected the soft white studio lights that lined the bar to display small rainbows above the head of the bartender. I looked at his name tag on the left side of his polo shirt, just above his breast pocket. His name was Jeff.2

I turned my attention away from Jeff and faced the stranger in front of me. Trent had ordered a couple shots of Wild Turkey, apparently his favorite thing to drink after allowing the girl he just plowed into with his truck to move into his home. I had a glass of brandy, really the only thing I ever drank. I never tried any other form of alcohol except for wine a couple of times and champagne at weddings and New Years. My father always told me that anything that isn't a dessert wine or brandy is lower class and therefor will go right to your thighs. I never really believed him, but I took his advice anyway. I sipped my brandy lightly and then looked Trent over a couple of times. If I was going to move in with this guy, he better be at least somewhat good looking.3

"So anyway," Trent wondered, "How long do you plan to be staying with me?"4

"Well, I'm not sure. What if I like it there?"5

Trent chuckled softly to himself. "Well, I doubt anyone could really enjoy living at my place, but I guess you could stay as long as you helped out with the rent."6

I smiled gently and then raised the brandy glass to my lips for another sweet taste of the ambrosia. This was going to work out great. I was going to drop my first class life and flush it down the toilet. I was going to be a new girl, and the change I had been craving was about to take place.7

The same familiar silence had fallen once again between Trent and myself. All that was heard within those short seconds was the sound of clanging glasses and the music seeping out of the jukebox. I looked over at the bartender again. Jeff had gone home, and a new person stood in his place. I looked at his name tag the same way I had Jeff's. His name was Bobby.8

I returned my attention back to Trent as he cleared his throat. His lips curled into a grin and his eyes seemed to burn through me. He chuckled softly again, then leaned forward onto his folded arms, his black hair falling into his emerald eyes.9

"Have you ever met God?"10

"What?" His question shocked me and I began to feel nervous.11

Trent leaned back and relaxed in the booth. "Have you ever met God?" he repeated.12

"I don't know what you mean."13

"Don't worry about it," he murmured. "You'll understand later."14

I don't know whether it was the alcohol talking or if Trent really meant it. I was frightened a bit by the question, and I changed the subject quickly. "How about you take me to your place now? I'm kind of tired."15

Trent nodded his head and stood up from his booth. He held out his hand as an offer to help me out of my seat, but I shook my head and stood up abruptly. He shrugged his shoulders and then walked to the doorway. "After you, mademoiselle."16

We stepped outside of the bar and walked to his truck. The front was slightly bent inward from the accident, but the real damage seemed to be on my former sportscar. I stepped into the passenger side as he slid behind the wheel. He lifted the keys into the ignition, but didn't turn them. He sighed, looked at me, and then looked back toward the road.17

"You don't seem like the type of girl who'd just ask to move in with a complete stranger," he commented.18

"You saved my life, I think I can trust you."19

"How do you know I didn't help you just because of the Good Samaritan law?"20

I looked at him sharply. "Then why would you have visited me at the hospital?"21

He grew silent again, turned the key in the ignition, and focused on the road. He scratched his chin, a light stubble beginning to form on his face.22

"Alright, you got me. Let's head to your new home. You're in for quite a social class disaster."23