Then there was a girl catching his eye across the bar; then there was another whiskey and Coke on the counter. All sense and reason had gone outside with the bar patrons having a smoke, and it was shivering out there, half thinking of hailing a taxi, half looking around for someone to take it home and love it. And then, too cold and frustrated, sense turned on reason and resorted to fisticuffs outside the bar, while Lou turned his back and took sole care of his ambition.

Home Sweet Home

LOU REALIZED HE WAS FAR too drunk to chat up the attractive woman in the bar who had been eyeing him all night, when, in the process of joining her table, he stumbled over his own feet and managed to knock her friend’s drink into her lap. Not the pretty one’s lap, just her friend’s. And while he mumbled something he thought was highly smooth and clever, it was obvious she thought it was sleazy and offensive. For there was a fine line between sleazy and sexy when you’d had as much to drink as Lou Suffern. He appeared to have lost the swagger of charm and sophistication that he’d possessed in heaps when he had first walked in this evening. His crisp white shirt and tie were now stained with whiskey and Coke, and his blue eyes, which usually had hypnotic effects, were now bloodshot and glassy. And so, too drunk to get anywhere with her—or her friend—the more sensible option seemed to be to walk back to his car. And drive home.

When he reached the cold and dark basement parking lot underneath his office building—a walk that took twenty minutes longer than it should have—he realized he had forgotten where he’d parked. He circled the center of the lot, pressing the button on his key and hoping the sound of the alarm or the flashing lights would give it away. Finally seeing the car lights, he closed one eye and focused on making his way to his Porsche.

“Hello, baby,” he purred, rubbing up alongside of it—though less out of love but more because he’d lost his footing. He kissed the hood and climbed inside. Then, finding himself in the passenger’s seat, where there was no steering wheel, he got back out and made his way around to the driver’s side.

After a few moments of trying to get the key into the ignition, he cheered at the sound of the engine, then with his foot pushed the accelerator to the floor. Finally remembering to look up at where he was going, he screamed with fright. At the hood of the car stood a motionless Gabe.

“Jesus Christ!” Lou shouted, taking his foot off the accelerator and banging on the windshield with his hand. “Are you crazy? You’re going to get yourself killed!”

Gabe’s face was blurry through the windshield, but Lou would have bet his life that he was smiling. Then he heard a knock and he jumped, and when he looked over he saw Gabe peering in the driver’s window at him. Lou lowered the window a slit.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Gabe.”

“You want to turn the engine off, Lou?”

“No. No, I’m driving home.”

“Well, you won’t get very far if you don’t take it out of neutral.” His tone was patient. “I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to drive home. Why don’t you get out and we’ll get you a taxi home?”

“No, can’t leave the Porsche here. Some crazy will steal it. Some looney tune. Some homeless vagabond.” Then he started laughing hysterically. “Oh, I know. Why don’t you drive me home?”

“No, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lou. Come on out and we’ll get you a taxi,” Gabe said, opening the door.

“Nope. No taxi,” Lou slurred, moving the clutch from neutral to drive. He pushed his foot down on the accelerator, and the car jumped forward with the door wide open; then it stopped, lurched forward, and stopped again. Gabe rolled his eyes and hung on to the door as the car jumped forward like a cricket.

“Okay, fine,” Gabe said as Lou lurched the car forward again. “I’ll drive you home.”

Lou climbed over the gearshift into the passenger seat, and Gabe sat in the driver’s seat. He didn’t need to adjust the seat or mirrors as he and Lou, it seemed, were exactly the same height.

“You know how to drive?” Lou asked.

“Yes.”

“Have you driven one of these before?” Lou asked, and then began laughing hysterically again. “Maybe there’s one parked beneath your penthouse.”

“Buckle up, Lou.” Gabe ignored his comments and concentrated on getting Lou home alive. That task was very important at this point, very important indeed.

Gabe handled the car well. He brought them from the city to Howth smoothly, without once having to fidget for an indicator or search for the window wipers. He seemed at home in the sports car.

Lou noticed this and began to get irrationally jealous. “Actually, let me drive,” he said grumpily, squirming in his seat to get out. “I don’t like people thinking this is your car.”

“It’s dangerous to drink and drive, Lou. You could crash.”

“So,” he huffed childishly. “That’s my problem, isn’t it?”

“A friend of mine died not so long ago,” Gabe said, his eyes on the road. “And believe me, when you die, it’s anything but your problem. He left behind a right mess. So I’d buckle up if I were you, Lou.”

“Who died?” Lou closed his eyes, ignoring Gabe’s advice but giving up on his idea to drive. He leaned his head back on the rest. “How’d he die?”

“Car crash,” Gabe said, pushing his foot down on the accelerator. The car jerked forward quickly, the engine loud and powerful in the quiet night.

Lou’s eyes opened slightly, and he looked over at Gabe warily. “Yeah?”

“Yep. Sad, really. He was a young guy. Successful. Young family. Lovely wife.” He pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator.

Lou’s eyes were fully open now.

“It just shows you never know when your time is up.”

The speedometer neared one hundred kilometers in the fifty-kilometer zone, and Lou grabbed the door handle and held on tightly. He moved from his slouched position and was sitting up poker straight now, watching the speedometer and the blurred lights of the city across the bay whizzing by.

Lou began to reach for his seat belt then, but all of a sudden, as quickly as he had sped up, Gabe took his foot off the accelerator, checked his side mirror, turned on the signal, and moved the wheel steadily to the left. He looked at Lou’s face, which had turned an interesting shade of green, and smiled as he stopped the car.

“Home sweet home, Lou.”

It was only over the next few days, as the hangover haze had begun to lift, that Lou realized he didn’t recall giving Gabe any directions to his home that night.

“MUM, DAD, MARCIA, QUENTIN, ALEXANDRA!” Lou announced at full boom. As he entered the house, he found Ruth sitting at the dining table filled with dirty plates and glasses. She was alone.

“I’m ho-ome,” he sang. “Where is everybody?” He looked around. “Oh. I’m so sorry I missed dinner; it was such a busy evening at the office. Busy, busy, busy.”

Even Lou couldn’t keep a straight face with that excuse, and so he stood in the dining room, his shoulders moving up and down, his chest wheezing in a near-silent laugh.

Ruth froze, watching her husband with mixed feelings of anger, hurt, and embarrassment. Somewhere inside her there was jealousy, too. After returning from the school play, she’d put the kids to bed and run around the house all evening in order to get dinner ready and the house presentable. She was physically flushed and tired, but also mentally drained from trying to stimulate her children in all the ways a parent should—from being on her knees on the floor with Bud, to wiping tears off the face of a disappointed Lucy, who’d failed to find her father in the audience despite Ruth’s attempts to convince her otherwise.

Ruth looked at Lou swaying in the doorway, his eyes bloodshot, his cheeks rosy, and she wished that she could be the one who threw caution to the wind and acted the idiot. But Lou would never stand for it—and she would never do it—and that was the difference between them. But there he was, swaying and happy, and there she was, static and deeply dissatisfied, wondering why on Earth she had chosen to be the glue holding it all together.