Mercy's Debt

FOUR



I woke the next morning to the sounds of Liz gagging.

I sat up on my elbows, worried that she might be hurt, but then the memory of the night before came flooding back, along with a ferocious wave of queasiness. I collapsed back down on my pillow and groaned. The ceiling spun out of control above me. I rolled on my side to stop whirling inside my head. It helped very little.

Liz and I emptied two and a half bottles of merlot between us after we escaped the polyester hell at Shwilly Pete’s. Like all things in life that felt good, carelessness with alcohol came with a price. My penance for behaving like an out of control lush came in the form a blinding headache. Liz, on the other hand, sounded like she was atoning for an entire year’s worth of binge-drinking.

She continued heaving, and I began to feel guilty for just lying there instead of providing her aid. I threw back the covers and staggered out of bed, feeling my brain slosh around inside my skull. I shuffled into the bathroom where I found Liz hunched over the toilet.

“Hey,” she said weakly. Drool seeped from her mouth. Not a good sign. “I don’t really know what happened last night, but I think I was visited by the Hangover Fairy in my sleep.”

At least she hadn’t lost her sense of humor.

“You look tore up from the floor up,” I said, snapping my fingers in a pathetic attempt to be funny. “Ouch,” I muttered, the snap banging through my ears like a drum.

She laughed, but I think it was more at me than with me.

“Want me to get you anything?” I offered, hoping that she wasn’t going to request something that required any real effort on my part. Water and aspirin I would do, but if Liz wanted breakfast, she’d have to leave the apartment. Mercy’s Kitchen was closed until further notice, or at least until the chef was able to walk more than three feet without stumbling.

“Yah, can you bring me a time machine so I can travel back to last night and cut myself off after one glass of wine? Wine… Oh, God.” She dry-heaved into the toilet. “I’m better now,” she panted, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Let’s not bring up booze anymore, though, okay? I think I’m having merlot flashbacks.”

I grimaced at her with an expression I suspected probably wasn’t pretty. “I know,” I said lifelessly. “I can still taste it in the back of my throat.”

I rubbed her back gently, ashamed of being grateful that it was Liz who was over the toilet and not me.

“I feel like ass,” she moaned. “Maybe a shower will help.”

“Probably,” I said, though I seriously doubted it. Liz was at the hangover point of no return. She was just going to have to wait it out.

“Could you help me get into the shower?” she asked feebly. “I feel too weak to stand.”

“Sure.”

I helped her off the floor by lifting under her arms. I sat her on the edge of the tub, handing her a toothbrush and toothpaste at her request. While she shrugged off her robe and brushed her teeth, I started the water. When it was pleasantly warm, I turned to leave.

“All ready,” I said. “Call me if you start to feel dizzy.”

“Where are you going?” she asked in a panicked tone.

“Umm, back to bed.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed. “I thought you’d get in with me. I’m still feeling woozy.”

“You’re such hard work, Liz,” I muttered facetiously, not actually put out by her demands. She’d do the same for me if I was the one hurling my guts out.

Sighing, I started to undress.

She tried to conceal her smile. “I owe you one, Mercy.”

“Yah, yah,” I said. “You owe me more than one.”

Liz stepped into the shower first with her back turned to me, and then I followed.

The balminess of the air alleviated my headache almost instantly, but it also had the secondary effect of bringing back my buzz.

Liz handed me a bottle of mango scented shower gel and a puff. “Could you wash my back, please?” she asked coyly.

“Oh, you’re really pushing it.”

She bent over slightly, resting her forearms on the wall. I went to work behind her, rubbing the sudsy puff in a circular motion up and down her back.

“That feels incredible,” she cooed.

She lifted her arms, and I scrubbed at the pale skin underneath, moving down the back of her ribs. She took a step back, arching her back slightly, indicating that she wanted me to scrub higher. I pulled the suds under her cleavage, coming close to, but still avoiding, the apex of her chest.

“Don’t be shy,” she purred, turning around to face me. She leaned back against the tiled wall, widening her stance to steady herself. Her dewy folds pulled open, and I caught a quick peek of the rosiness hidden within. She’d shaved her pubic hair in a soft V-shape, which was atypical of her characteristic baldness. The downy pelt contained an auburn hue that complimented the plump pinkness beneath it perfectly.

I ran the puff across her areolas and something stirred inside her. She let out a suggestive whimper, shifting her body so close to mine that our hips touched. Without a second thought, I dropped the puff and went to work on lathering her with my bare hands.

She moaned louder, rubbing her slippery breasts against mine, the warm water cascading down her beautiful figure in a mango-scented stream. She abruptly embraced me. We kissed, then, tasting each other with our tongues, continuing to explore the intimate areas of our bodies.

My foot slipped on a glob of shower gel, and I threw my arm out to my side to maintain balance. Not in the clearest frame of mind, I put all my weight behind my panicked reach and toppled over when my hand plunged through the flimsy shower curtain. My knees cracked as they made contact against the edge of the tub. Liz fell over, too, landing hard on her tailbone.

The stumble had hurt something fierce, but it provided a brief moment of clear-headedness.

I blinked up at Liz, bewildered.

“What in the hell are we doing?” I exhaled.

“I… I don’t know…” she stammered.

“You fell pretty hard on your ass,” I said. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” she mumbled awkwardly.

“Okay. That’s good. I’m, uh, just going to get out.”

“K,” she said.

I grabbed a towel and high-tailed it down the hall to my bedroom. I banged the door closed behind me and leaned back against it, grimacing at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were as wide as Frisbees, and I was trembling.

Maybe Liz was still drunk and wouldn’t remember a thing. Yah, and maybe I’d win the lottery, too.

I dried my skin and sat down on the bed, suddenly feeling sleepy. I got under the covers and allowed my eyes to fall closed, not seeing any harm in dozing for a minute or two.

Soon my breathing slowed, and I let go of consciousness completely, sinking deeper and deeper into a murky void of dreamless sleep.


I sat up with a start, confused by the last remnants of sunlight fading through the curtains. I frowned at the alarm clock on my nightstand. It was seven o’clock at night. How had I slept all day?

I groped around in the darkness and found the lamp, cringing as the room filled with its harsh brightness. My tongue was plastered to the roof of my mouth, and it made a smacking sound as I pulled it loose. I needed water desperately.

I pulled on my robe and headed towards the kitchen, nervous about encountering Liz.

Much to my relief, the apartment was quiet. There was a note on the fridge:



Mercy,

You looked so peaceful that I didn’t want to wake you.

I went to stay at David’s. I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.

Hope you’re feeling better.

-Liz x



Ah, so the name of the game was avoidance. That was more than fine by me. I’d never really been one for confrontation, so if Liz wanted to pretend as if nothing had happened, I was more than happy to play along.

I yanked open the fridge and pulled out a pitcher. Two full glasses of blissfully cold water later, and my thirst was sufficiently quenched. I returned the pitcher to the fridge, exploring the scant contents inside. As usual, there wasn’t much to eat, unless an expired bottle of ketchup and an unidentifiable piece of shriveled fruit qualified as food.

My stomach growled, and an invisible light bulb illuminated above my head as I remembered the wad of cash in my handbag; grocery money.

I trotted back to my bedroom and grabbed my purse off the floor, dumping its contents on the bed. Elated by all the cash, I fought the overwhelming urge to flop down on the blanket and roll around naked amongst the bills.

There was something small and white mixed in with all the green. I picked up the crumbled ball and smoothed it out on the nightstand.

Oh, that. Michael’s card.

I threw the card back on the bed. But couldn’t tear my eyes away from it. I turned my back on it, yet I could still feel it taunting me with its promise of fortune and intrigue.

I picked the card up once again. Well, it wouldn’t hurt just to call...

Before I could chicken out, I grabbed my cell and punched in the number.

The phone rang just once before a woman answered.

“Hello. You’ve reached Dignitary. How can I help?” Her voice was soft and girlish but contained a crisp tone of professionalism.

“H-Hi,” I stuttered, caught off guard. I hadn’t really thought about what I was going to say.

“Hello,” the woman said. She waited for me to speak again.

“Umm, my name is Mercy Montgomery.” I could hear my voice shaking and I was talking just a little too fast. I took a deep breath. “Last night I was… Umm… I met… Michael gave me his card and said that I should call.” God, I sounded like a real imbecile.

“Oh, yes. Hello, Mercy,” the woman chirped. “Michael mentioned that you might call.”

He did?

“Would you like to come down for a visit?” she asked. “We’d love to show you around the place. Oh, by the way, I’m Marlena. I’m Michael’s wife.”

“Hello, Marlena. Umm, sure, that would be great. When would you like to meet?”

“How about in a couple of hours- say around nine?”

“Tonight?” I questioned.

She chuckled. “Sure, why not? We’re very informal around here. Of course, if you already have plans, we could schedule for another time.”

“No,” I said hastily. “No, I don’t have any plans. Yes, I can be there at nine.”

“Fantastic.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

“Okay. I guess I’ll see you at nine, then,” I confirmed.

“Don’t you need the address?”

“No,” I assured her. “I’ll just get it off the… Oh. There isn’t an address listed on the card.”

“No, our clients appreciate their privacy. I’ll give you the address now. Let me know when you’re ready.”

I grabbed a pin from my nightstand and flipped over the card. “Ready.”

She gave me the address and we exchanged pleasantries as the conversation came to an end.

“Oh, there’s just one more thing, Mercy.”

“Yes?”

“Wear something sexy.”