Goddess Ch. 17

Tom checked his cell to make sure he had the right address. Alan's place of work was a huge glass covered tower, which had a light glow even in the dim moonlight. When he thought about it, it made sense that a guy like Alan worked in a soulless place like this, away from the average person at all times when the flow of money wasn't involved. He walked into the lobby and then the elevator, taking it to the top floor to get to Alan's firm.

The elevator itself was rather slow, so he had a bit of time to catch his breath. He absolutely loathed being in the presence of crap like this, and something told him it was going to be a long night. Still, if nothing else his clothing was comfortable. In the first act of kindness Alan had shown him, he'd gotten a suit from the Brednar family's tailor, and coupled with his brown hair he was looking like a convincing James Bond cosplayer. The elevator dinged and the doors opened up. The office was a long stretch of cubicles, the furniture was grey and lifeless, and all around him was a sea of upper middle class pricks in suits with plastic cups.

As he stepped out of the elevator, he was approached by a young woman in an incredibly short miniskirt, with a tight shirt that displayed an ample amount of cleavage.

"Excuse me, sir! This is an employee only party!" she said.

"Oh, no, I'm here wi-" he began.

"Tom!" Alan called out, approaching the elevator. "It's alright Trish, Tom's with me"

Alan grabbed Tom by the arm and brought him into the office. Tom looked around and noticed that Trish was the only woman in the office dressed like that.

"There a reason that Trish girl is dressed like the cover of a porno?" Tom asked.

"Hm? Oh! Oh yeah, hot ain't it, Tom? Yeah, up here at the office we had to go through what we in accounting call payroll. It sucks and we all hate doing it. So to raise morale, we got a nice looking 19-year old intern with an hourglass body roaming around. Gotta get through the shift somehow, right?" Alan said, nudging Tom's arm. Tom immediately felt like this was a mistake, and now had his fist clenched trying not to sucker punch this man dead in his face. When suddenly, he heard a familiar voice call, "Tom? Tom Vernor?!"

Tom turned to his right, and approaching him was an old man, tall, fat, and balding. Alan's face turned white. The old man ran up and shook his hand.

"Oh hey, Greg! Didn't expect to see you here" Tom said.

"Y-y-you two know each other?" Alan asked nervously. Greg turned to Alan.

"I could ask you the same thing, jizzrag. How is it you know my mechanic?" Alan went paler.

"M-m-m-mechanic?" he wheezed.

"Oh yeah, remember that Maserati I told you about? That's his. Greg here's been coming to our shop for... oh, how long is it now, I wanna say 5, 6 years?"

"Yeah, I tell ya, I remember my first visit like it was yesterday. My front end was annihilated, and you guys had it patched in... I don't even think it was an hour! So how is it you know jizzrag here?"

"Oh, Alan? He's my girlfriend's brother. Are you guys co-workers?"

"Pfft, fuck no! This meth-head looking piece of shit works for me."

"I... I'm right here... sir."

"Was I asking you, pissant?"

"N-no, sir."

"That's what I thought. So Tom, what brings you here?"

"Alan here was going to introduce me to some of the people here, get our shop some more nice clientele such as yourself."

"Oh, well you'll get nowhere with this jackass. You still got my office number?"

"Yessir."

"Ah, good good good! Listen, I'll call you early next month with some of the other partners here. Between you and me, I'm a man of sensible taste in cars. Now Ben and Taylor, you remember me talking about them last time I was in? They got nice rides. Real expensive things. But you guys do better work than most dealers, and you've treated me well, so I'd be happy to get your foot in the door."

The conversation continued for some time, and Greg shifted between insulting Alan and complementing Tom's work as a mechanic. Finally, their chatting ended, and Tom was left with a smile.

"Well, that went well," Tom said "Never figured Greg was in this line of work. Y'know, somehow despite all the conversations he's had with our mechanics his profession never came up. Weird."

Alan, now incensed that Tom had hit it off with his boss better than he ever had, began subtly grinding his teeth.

"C'mon, let's go introduce you to some other people!" he grunted, grabbing Tom. Soon Tom found himself feigning politeness with a variety of accountants, each more conservative in their attitude than the last. He felt like he was at a meeting of the RNC. After about the fourth person, Alan handed him an orange drink.

"What's this?" Tom asked with some exhaustion.

"Screwdriver," Alan said "I've been told you like vodka, and we're off campus, so there's no shame in the R.A. handing you something, yeah?"

"I mean, I'm more of a whiskey man myself, but whatever, a drink's a drink." Tom said, throwing back the beverage. He shuddered a bit. The taste of the vodka was extra strong. Ordinarily he'd be vocal about it, but it was nice to have Alan try to be decent for a change (as relatively as he could be). The night went on, and Tom continued talking to accountants, each one getting less and less bearable. Thankfully Alan was there with a screwdriver. By the end of the night, he'd downed about six glasses, and everything started to get blurry.

"Lih-hic-lissen hurr, Alan" Tom said drunkenly, staggering all around the lobby "Ah hic ah appreshate yer generosity this evenin'. Ah thank ah was hic ah was wrong bout ya" Alan grabbed Tom by the shoulders, getting him to stand still.

"Hey hey now, calm down there Tom. Night's still young," he said "But you should probably stay away from a car, you are shitfaced."

Tom laughed then put his arm over Alan's shoulder. The pair proceeded to Alan's car and buckled in. Alan lit up a smoke.

"Cigarette?" he asked.

"N-naw. I q-quit smokin," Tom stammered, the liquor starting to take more noteworthy effect "How, how is... how is mah car gon' get back?"

"I'll have it towed to the dorms, my treat." said Alan. Tom clapped in joy.

"Y-yer ah good person." Tom said.

Alan started driving out of the parking lot, when Tom suddenly yelled, "WAIT! WAIT!"

Alan stomped his brakes.

"What? What's wrong?"

Tom paused and said, "Cah, cah we git some hic tacos?" Alan rolled his eyes, but reluctantly agreed. On their way back to the dorms, they pulled through the drive-thru of a taco joint to get something quick, then sat in the parking lot.

"Hey," Tom said "Heyyyy Alan"

"What?"

"Lissen. Ah know hic ya don' like me. Ah know, ah know this. But hic lissen... ah love Sinny. She's hic the light ah mah hic light ah mah hic light ah mah life."

"Alri-"

"-an' an' I want ya ta know... I want ya ta know tha' hic even though we migh not git along. Widge is fine, we don' havta. But even though we don' git along... I'ma curr about ya anyway. Cuz yer hic her family an' all."

Tom took a bite of one of his tacos. "S only... iss only when ah'm drunk that ah like Amurican tacos. Once ya had actual tacos, Amurican tacos r' awful!" He took another bite. "But ah love this taco so much right now."

Alan sighed and started moving the car, not caring whether or not Tom finished before he did so. The entire night had, save for one event, been a bust as far as he was concerned. Even then, he almost felt the one event (great as it was) might not be worth putting up with his sister's drunken communist boyfriend. The whole way back, Tom was either eating a taco, or singing Spanish loudly with a slurred voice and an accent that seemed to be a mix of deep southern and Spanish. They arrived at the dorms, and Alan helped guide Tom inside. Tom meanwhile continued singing in slurred Spanish. Alan pounded at the door to Tom's dorm. "R.A., open up!"

Casey opened the door, looking absolutely livid.

"What?" they asked bitterly. Alan tossed Tom into the dorm.

"He's your problem now."

Casey managed to catch Tom before he hit the floor. Alan heard a faint crying the dorm, looked over Casey's shoulder, and saw Cliff sitting on the couch.

"What's his problem?" Alan asked.

"Rough night." Casey said dryly, trying to get Alan away.

"Why's my roommate smell like a distillery?"

"He was with me, don't worry. I won't write him up," said Alan. "Just get him to bed, make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit, I don't need the headache." Alan made his way down the hall, heading back to the office.

Casey shut the door and looked at Tom, who was barely on two feet.

"H-hola." he said, before hitting the floor and falling asleep.

"Well, that's fun." said Casey. Cliff sniffed a bit, got off the couch, and picked up Tom.

"Here," he said "I'll take your roommate off your hands, bring him to my dorm."

"Cliff, you don't need to do that." said Casey.

"It's the least I could do. Ya been good to me tonight. Besides, I don't want you sniff giving my best friend a Bloody Mary in the morning."

Casey rolled their eyes and shrugged. Cliff slung Tom's arm over his shoulder.

"C'mon buddy."

"Hey Cliff," said Casey "Be safe, OK? Come talk to me again if you need it."

Cliff nodded, then made his way to his dorm with Tom in hand.