I hope I see you again. I have an early morning boat ride in the Gulf and need to get back to my place.” I thought take me with you. He told Brad and Charlotte good night and didn’t even look at Mandy or any of the other interlopers.

Mandy tried to persuade Charlotte, Brad and me to go to The Cat’s Meow to sing karaoke with her and the rest of her friends. Charlotte declined, and Mandy ordered a round of tequila shots as an alcoholic bribe. When Charlotte still declined, Mandy relocated her group to a nearby table. Brad and Charlotte resumed their conversation. I really felt like a third wheel. Abandoned by Tom, two martinis and a shot circulating in me and a boob blouse adorning my body, I wanted to party. Why not? I was a city girl now wasn’t I? And, I needed to celebrate my victory at work today. I told Charlotte I was going with Mandy and headed to her table.

Charlotte and I had been out with Mandy before. Mandy knew how to party. She should; she practiced every night including most Sundays. Hanging with Mandy was like riding the scariest roller coaster in the park. The only difference was that someone maintained the roller coaster to make sure it was scary but safe. Mandy careened through life, crash after public crash, but kept on going. What was I about to get myself into?

Mandy spied me walking over and yelled, “Alexandra! Sit down, girl, and show us those big boobs.”

Oh shit, I thought here we go, as I tugged at the top of my blouse. And go we did after another martini down the street to The Cat’s Meow on Bourbon Street. We sang on stage, sang along while standing in the shoulder to shoulder crowd, and drank and drank and drank. Somewhere along the way I blacked out. I was in trouble. No Charlotte or Sarah there to look out for me. Only Mandy, the booze queen of New Orleans, who couldn’t even take care of herself. I was in trouble. No way would this end well.

Chapter Three:

The Zombie Life

“Hey... Hey...I gotta go. Look, uh, I had a great time last night. Got to go to work now. My boss is a jerk.”

“Is it morning? OK, bye,” I said with a drowsy half-articulated grunt, the sour taste of bile in my mouth. Grunting is not ladylike, I thought.