DRUNK BUT DON’T TAKE ADVANTAGE
By
Ron Shillingford
SMASHWORDS EDITION
******
Drunk But Don’t Take Advantage
Copyright © 2011 by Ron Shillingford
Thank you for downloading this free eBook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
******
Annette rolled away from the snoring man, slipped out of bed, dressed hurriedly and left quickly into the cold morning air.
She couldn’t remember where or how she had met him the previous night nor his name. Alcohol blanked all those details out, as usual. Tall, athletic and funny, the only distinctive thing Annette remembered was the mole the size of a small coin on the left side of his nose.
It started with V, I’m sure. Vince? Vick? Victor? Let’s call him Mole Man. Hope I used a condom. Can’t remember. Totally passed out. All a blur. Wasn’t drugged was I?
It was Saturday so there was no need to rush to the advertising firm, Spartacus Worldwide, where she worked as a graphic designer.
At 32 Annette was enjoying life to the max after years as a penniless student before quickly climbing up the career ladder.
Her new job at Spatacus in Covent Garden offered a busy social scene. Binge drinking had become a way of life and casual sex an occasional consequence.
Annette entered her apartment in Stratford and was startled to be confronted by a stocky man in a hooded fleece in the hallway. In four inch heels, she knew it was futile trying to flee.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hello babes. How are you?”
“It’s over Chip. Told you when we broke up. I changed the locks. How did you get in?”
“Sorry Annette. Can’t get you out of my mind. Mrs Tippins next door let me in. She didn’t know we’d broken up. Told her I’d locked myself out. Please give me another chance.”
“You’re history mate. Finito. I’ve moved on and if you don’t get out right now, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”
Chip protested. After protracted pleas for reconciliation he reluctantly moved on.
Annette told Mrs Tippins the situation and hoped she had seen Chip for the last time. He was a nice phase in her life for three years but he no longer fitted the bill.
Golden heart, totally dedicated to making her happy but his outlook on life as a social worker for Tower Hamlets council was not really a gateway to a hedonistic life.
Chip got too immersed in other people’s problems professionally and personally. He was too kind, considerate, predictable and generally nice. Chip was basically a doormat. Annette preferred bad boys, a bit of a challenge.
Worse still, Chip didn’t drink. As a full-on party girl, a teetotal boyfriend was only good as a designated driver.
Rum and Red Bull, vodka, shots, K cider…there was no limit to Annette’s tastes – and usually on an empty stomach to maximize the effect.
Vivien, her best buddy, worked in sales at a marketing firm in Green Park so it was easy for them to hook up after work for massive sessions they called ‘facelifts’.
“Fancy a facelift tonight Annette?” Vivien would BackBerry message.
“Crafty Cockney @ 6” was the standard reply.
Annette liked to get merry but Vivien was a poster child for excessive drunkenness. She had to be totally smashed at the end of the night’s facelift to feel fulfilled.
Vivien’s weekends started on Thursday, continuing till Wednesday.
Annette enjoyed the drinking as a release of her job but rarely let it get out of control. Her career was paramount. A husband and children could come later. She reasoned, women in their forties and even older were having kids for the first time. Career and partying were the two priorities for the time being.
******
Chuck Henderson, the office lothario at Spartacus, was proud of his record for bagging the firm’s new arrivals. Only a handful had resisted his advances over the years. “Probably dykes,” he sneered.
Annette found it easy to resist Chuck’s dubious charms, which annoyed him immensely.
Vain to the utmost, minute detail, Chuck had been a fitness coach in Miami. He claimed it was with the top basketball side Miami Heat but when somebody searched on the net, it turned out he worked at the amateur basketball club Miami Heatwave.
At six foot four with his smarmy patter, the American whose trademark braces over a cuff-linked shirt was a pathetic version of a Wall St executive, rarely needed to try hard to impress the ladies. Some wittingly called him Gordon Geeko.
Head of magazine production, Chuck used every trick imaginable to bed women. The kid in a candy shop mentality never left him.
A story at Spatacus circulating was that Chuck left Miami under dubious circumstances. Rumour was he was caught having an affair with his boss’s wife and the aggrieved husband blocked him from getting lucrative personal fitness work.
Annette saw Chuck as a pathetic medallion man. “No thanks Chuck, love Sixties music but Retro is full of lecherous dogs like you.”
“Woof, woof. You really know how to boost a guy’s ego. Come along anyway Annette, the vibe at Retro is off the hook. Drinks on me.”
“Okay, but only if Vivien’s invited too.”
“Whoa! I ain’t packing Bill Gates paper, baby. Need to remortgage to pay for her night out.”
He continued feigning outrage at the potential strain on his card. Whatever his faults, at least Chuck wasn’t mean when on the babe hunt. He saw drinks bills as an investment.
The Retro bar off the Strand specialised in Motown on Thursday nights. Aimed at young professionals unwinding before commuting home, Retro’s heaving bars were a magnet for anyone looking for casual hook ups.
It was Chuck’s natural habitat. He never left without at least one mobile number, often more and usually with a babe or two on his arm. At 42 he was proud of looking at least 10 years younger.
Even though Vivien was a single mum of a five-year-old daughter, Sasha, few knew. She kept it quiet lest drawing accusations of being an irresponsible mum.
Vivien was a kid herself when Sasha arrived. Living with Sasha’s granny - who was only in her forties herself - made it easy and more affordable for her to party hard.
A bubbly character, Vivien’s good looks and curves never failed to get male attention. Recent help from the plastic surgeon gave her added confidence in the bust department. It certainly got extra admirers.
“I can’t remember your rack looking so, eh, bouncy, Vivien.”
“Back off Chuck, look but don’t touch.”
“Just window shopping. I’d hand over my Christmas bonus for those babies.”
“Santa’s got more chance with me, mate.”
“Ho, ho, ho. Come and sit on my lap little girl and we’ll talk about the first thing that pops up.”
The banter continued.
Annette was chatting to her co-workers when a Supremes medley kicked in. Big Diana Ross fan, she jumped on a coffee table and mimed her way through You Can’t Hurry Love, Stop! In the Name of Love and Baby Love before a bouncer gently encouraged her down.
Admiring Annette’s performance were two Armani suited men who worked at the nearby BMW sales office. Both club rugby players, they looked good, had all the patter and wheels to impress.
Annette saw them talking and vaguely thought one of them was familiar. But then again, with all the vodka coursing through her veins, she could mistake The Hulk for Bruce Banner.
One Armani man whispered to the other, drained his beer and left. The other made a beeline for her.
“Hi, I’m Rod, can I buy you a drink Diana Ross?”
Annette looked him up and down slowly. She liked the expensive suit, polished brogues and brash introduction.
“Hah. Berry Gordy might be jealous but okay. Vodka and lime please Rob.”
“It’s Rod.”
“Whatever. Rod Hull and his Emu, Rod Stewart and the Faces, Rod the construction worker. What’s in a name?”
They clicked, chatted all night. Meanwhile Chuck’s smooth patter was chipping away Vivien’s resistance as the alcohol took its toll.
“I’ll show you we Americans really can prepare more than micro-waved hot dogs. Chicken Chuck Schnitzel is my signature dish.”
“Yeah, yeah. Probably a Marks & Sparks special, cheating like they do on Come Dine With Me.”
“You can watch every stage of the process, honey. The Chuck Schnitzel is a proven aphrodisiac.”
“Really? I’ll bring a stomach pump just in case.”
They fixed a dinner date at Chuck’s apartment in Bloomsbury for the Saturday, the same day Annette arranged to meet Rod at his place in Angel for drinks before going for a restaurant dinner in nearby Upper Street.
Rod started the evening well, picking Annette up outside Angel station in a red BMW M3, opening the car door for her to get in and out.
As Rod poured two glasses of wine from the kitchen of his expansive two-bed apartment, Annette took in the stylish fittings.
She heard Rod’s flat-mate moving around in his bedroom and his TV on but he didn’t come out.
At exactly the same time, Chuck entertained Vivien with perfect manners, the exuberant persona put aside for once.
When Vivien went to the bathroom, Chuck poured the drinks. The chicken dinner lived up to its billing. Vivien had two helpings.
“Chuck, that was superb but sorry darling, I suddenly feel drowsy. That wine is really knocking me out, which is unusual. I know you’ve been drinking too and probably don’t want to drive on this horrible, foggy night and I’m sorry to eat and run, but can you call me a taxi please?”
“So soon! Can’t pretend I’m disappointed but I understand.”
Chuck picked up his phone, dialed a number and ordered a cab.
“Because of the fog they say half an hour at least.”
Vivien had already passed out.
******
Annette sipped the Italian Rosso and pulled a face. “Is it me or does this have a slightly funny taste?”
Rod sipped his. “Mine’s fine. It’s quite an expensive one, give it a go.”
“Rod, I know we’re going out to dinner but have you any snacks, I’m absolutely starving.”
He rose from beside her and walked to the kitchen area still in sight of Annette.
“Olives, crackers or almost mouldy cheddar is the best I can offer.”
“Olives and crackers sound good. You can have the cheese.”
He returned with a loaded plate.
“More wine Annette?”
“No thanks.”
She ate a couple of olives then yawned theatrically, stretching arms and legs out before curling up on the sofa.
“Sorry Rod, I suddenly feel really, really tired. Hope you don’t mind me having a quick nap.”
“Go ahead, we’ve got a bit of time.”
“Wake me up in….”
She was already out.
Vivien woke on a white leather sofa with a splitting headache. Vision slightly blurred, it took her a few moments to focus on the figure sitting opposite watching an old black and white western on a gigantic flat-screen TV.
“What happened, Chuck? I totally blacked out.”
“Welcome back. You must have been very tired.”
“Can you call me a cab please, I don’t feel well.”
Chuck’s sweet mood had changed. Agitated and distant, it was as if he couldn’t get rid of her fast enough.
“Hah! Perfect date you were. Slept through it all.”
He continued watching the western, ignoring her evident discomfort from a sore head and aching body.
When the cab didn’t arrive within twenty minutes as promised, he rang repeatedly until it did.
He pushed her through the door without saying a word. She almost tripped. No hug, kiss or sign of affection from Chuck.
On the way home, Vivien tried to piece that evening’s sequence together. She remembered arriving, eating chicken and having some wine before suddenly falling heavily asleep and little more.
She also had a vague recollection of a male figure tugging at her clothes and being touched in inappropriate places.
As soon as she got home, Vivien turned on the shower. She was just about to step in when a little voice in her head told her not to.
She kissed the sleeping Sasha goodnight and in tears, drove to the nearest police station.
“Officer, I think I’ve been date-raped.”
The police interviewed her then a female officer inspected her and took blood and urine tests and kept her underwear for analysis.
The two week wait to hear the next step felt like two years for Vivien who stalled meeting Annette again, did not touch a drop of alcohol and cried herself to sleep every night.
Chuck never rang, emailed nor texted.
An officer phoned and said there was enough evidence to press charges if she wanted to for a date-rape case. They suspected the use of Rohypnol or a similar drug.
Vivien took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time officer, but I won’t be pressing charges. It’s basically his word against mine. I was in his place and tipsy. If it goes to court his lawyers will bring up my past and make me out to be a drunken slag and it will be all over the papers. I have a child to protect from that sort of thing and I just want to put it down to a bad experience and move on with my life.”
Vivien never touched a drop of alcohol again as deep depression set in which forced her out of her job. Sasha’s dad proved to be supportive and he rekindled their relationship, helping Vivien to return to her old, bubbly self - only this time a sober version.
Vivien was philosophical about the Chuck incident. Alcohol had almost destroyed her life but it had improved her long-term chances of happiness and good health.
“What doesn’t kill you makes you a stronger person,” she repeated daily.
She didn’t tell Annette about the drug-rape incident, just that Chuck was a pleasant host and nothing happened.
******
Annette heard Rod go into a bedroom and whisper to another man. She pretended to be asleep but could see through her eyelids what they were doing.
They walked quietly towards her. Standing in front of her, both started unfastening their trousers.
Frightened but aware enough not to panic, Annette began motioning as if coming out of a deep sleep.
They rearranged themselves.
She looked up and Rod was standing above her smiling kindly.
“Sorry about that, Rod. Had a hard week.”
Rod’s mate was walking back to his bedroom quickly.
“Who’s your pal, Rod?”
The man stopped but did not turn around.
“That’s, eh, Vaughan.”
Annette got up, walked towards Vaughan determined to see his face.
He turned and smiled sheepishly.
“Hello again Annette. Remember me?”
It was Mole Man.
Now it all fitted together. Mole Man had been with Rod the night they met in Retro and this was their little plot because she had walked out on him after their one night together.
Suspecting her drink was spiked, Annette had discreetly poured almost all of her wine into a nearby potted plant when Rod was getting the snacks. Had she not had the presence of mind, she might have been another date-rape victim.
She left hurriedly and like Vivien decided never to drink again.
Sobbing and scared, she rang the only person she could rely on 100 per cent.
“Chip, Chip. I’m in trouble. Come and get me please. I’ll be outside Angel station in 10 minutes.”
There was a pause as Chip considered her request.
She knew he had every right just to hang up and never speak to her again.
“I’ll be over right away babes.”