The Descent Ch. 08

Sharon tapped the glass vial against the marble countertop of her expansive bathroom, allowing a small mountain of white powder to accumulate before tilting it upright and replacing the cap. She replaced the vial in her hand with a Platinum Mastercard and began separating the heap into several lines, her nose already seeming to run and a phantom drip manifesting at the back of her throat in anticipation.

It hadn't even been that long—a few hours maybe—since Sharon had last taken a bump but it was a small one on the road to meet Liz and it had only whetted her appetite for the main course. Driving back with an 8-ball tucked into her expensive gold Chanel purse, Sharon had been practically salivating. Despite the frequency with which she was snorting her way through mountains of the stuff, she had lost none of the excitement she felt at the prospect of doing even more.

She'd hardly even acknowledged her daughter as she breezed past her on the way to her master bathroom, offering only a curt 'good morning' and a smile without slowing her pace. The somewhat confused and scrutinizing look on Amanda's face had barely registered with Sharon, her focus entirely on the contents of her purse and its imminent inhalation up her nostrils.

Evening out the last of the three lines, Sharon paused to take a drag off her Marlboro Light 100 smoldering between her fingers. She hastily exhaled a thick stream of smoke into the giant mirror above the double sink vanity and noticed her reflection in the mirror. She removed the dark sunglasses she hadn't noticed she'd still been wearing and observed herself for a moment.

Her eyes were a little glassy and bloodshot and wore a slightly smudged outline of eyeliner, accentuated by the remnants of a glittery silver eye-shadow that had been applied the previous day. Her foundation was a bit uneven, and her lipstick had completely worn off—more evidence of enduring the effects of the last 24hrs. Her reddish-brown hair was lightly tousled and hung messily to her shoulders, a result of being pulled back constantly as she snorted lines.

It could have been a moment of realization for her, in which she came face-to-face with a version of herself that conflicted with the perception she had—ultimately leading to thoughts of change and doubt toward her current lifestyle. Instead, however, it was barely noticed as thoughts of the impending high she was about to experience loomed large enough to obscure any other concerns she might've had. Sharon took another hard pull on her all-white 100 and sucked the smoke as deeply into her lungs as she could, trying to quell the nervous anxiety that was making her hands shake and her breath uneven.

She finally expelled the smoke that'd been trapped in the deepest recesses of her lungs and grabbed the straw from her purse. It was a large straw she'd copped from Starbucks, cut in half and used solely as a conduit for cocaine to travel up her nose. She didn't even remember what she'd ordered or if she'd even drank it, only that she left with that straw and a welcome alternative to the slightly unwieldly rolled up bills she'd been used to.

Leaning down with the straw placed at the entrance to her right nostril, Sharon pressed her pointer finger against her left nostril and positioned the straw at the end of her first line. It was a quick and powerful sniff that only lasted a couple of seconds but rocketed the fine narcotic powder out of sight and into her upper nasal cavity. Sharon sniffed a couple of times before switching the straw to the other nostril and repeating the process. As the effects of the coke were edging into her consciousness, Sharon switched the straw once more and railed her last line.

The familiar racing of her heart and rush of dopamine pricked her senses to wonderful heights, buzzing through her like electricity. Sharon wiped her finger over the surface of the countertop, collecting any remains and rubbing it on her gums. She enjoyed the numbing feeling intertwined with the incredible high she was experiencing body-wide.

The sound of her phone buzzing from her purse pulled her attention away from her gums and the buzzing electricity of her high and back on reality. Grabbing it from the front pocket and swiping it open she read a text from Barb.

"Still on for 1?" it read.

Sharon fought the urge to cancel on her friend for the 3^rd week in a row and begrudgingly texted back an affirmative.

Diving headfirst into a week's long cocaine binge had sapped Sharon's desire for her weekly brunches with Barb—a tradition that had lasted for as long as she could remember. She had felt momentary guilt for the previous cancellations, but it washed away as soon as she did a few lines. The combined weight of not having seen her best friend of over 30 years for nearly a month was finally enough to compel her to take a small break from her isolating coke ritual and peek her head out.

She sighed audibly, running her hand through her tousled hair and again eyeing herself in the mirror.

She would need a shower.

An hour later Sharon walked out the front door showered and dressed, not even bothering to say good-bye. The familiar odor of marijuana and a pair of voices from the den indicated her husband and daughter were engaging in their near daily ritual of getting stoned together.

By the time she reached the parking lot of the café it was 1:04pm and Sharon was sitting in her BMW taking bumps of coke with her pinky nail. She dipped her long red, perfectly manicured nail into the vial of coke and scooped. She then raised the nail-full of coke up to her nostril and snorted it up, doing the same thing back and forth a couple of times until she felt satisfied. After another heavy sigh she stepped out into the harsh sunlight, thankful for the shielding properties of her large black sunhat and oversized Chanel sunglasses. Taking a final drag off her Marlboro, Sharon dropped it to the concrete and stamped it out with her shiny red pumps.

The light breeze felt good against her chest and legs, amply displayed by the plunging neckline of her flowing black sundress that stopped well above her knees. The click of her expensive heels echoed into the air and the now familiar confidence of feeling sexy instilled Sharon with a renewed energy to be out of her home—or maybe it was the coke, she wasn't sure.

As she approached their usual table Sharon was surprised to see that Barb had beaten her there—a seldom occurrence that she would no doubt be teased about by her serially tardy friend.

"Wow, you're alive. I was starting to wonder," Barb quipped as Sharon sat down.

"I haven't been feeling well lately, I didn't want you to catch whatever I had," Sharon lied, something that was becoming increasingly easy for her.

"Oooo, yeah, okay maybe it was a good thing then. I hate being sick," Barb agreed a little too readily.

"So, what's new?" Sharon asked, hoping to shift the focus back on her talkative friend.

"Well, we missed you at the last event. Rich and I met this younger couple and they really rocked our world. But I guess that's the last thing you'd want to do when you're sick. Um, what else?" Barb mused to herself.

"Oh! I wanted to ask you, what are you doing this weekend? Rich and I wanted to have a bit of a backyard barbeque thing. Well, Rich wants to have a barbeque, I just want to drink beer next to the pool. But it's a family affair, there will some of my friends and Rich's friends so bring Amanda and Jim—whoever. You free?" Barb pressed, obviously quite hopeful.

Sharon struggled to hide the grimace that threatened to cover her face, her plans of doing lines and compulsively scrolling through her phone suddenly in jeopardy. Alternatively, Sharon's sex drive had been insatiable the last week and no amount of masturbation had been able to quell it. The idea of having Rich's huge cock inside of her again was tempting and there would no doubt be lots of opportunities to slip away and do a line here and there—maybe Rich or Barb would join?

"I can talk to Jim, we might be able to make it," Sharon offered with a non-committal shrug and casual smile.

Barb let out a musical laugh, accompanied by a physical display of tossing her head back dramatically.

"Yeah, hopefully you can fit me into your busy schedule. Seriously, what's gotten into you?" Barb challenged, a hard edge finding its way into the latter half of her statement.

"What do you mean?" Sharon answered plainly.

"What do I mean? Oh, come on, hon. You're unavailable for weeks, never call and barely text. Jim is acting strange—Rich's words not mine—and now you show up acting as cool as a cucumber and unable to commit to spending a single weekend with your best friend? I know you're going through some changes, new experiences, I get it. But you're barely even recognizable," Barb challenged.

Sharon was somewhat taken aback by her friend's sudden shift from the always care-free woman she'd known to the perceptive, curious, and concerned individual seated across the table from her.

"I think you're being a little dramatic," Sharon scoffed.

"Am I? Because I've known you for a long time Sharon, and there's definitely something going on that isn't easily explained away by new experiences and all that," she countered.

"I don't know what you want me to say, nothing is going on. I wasn't feeling well, that's all," Sharon stated pointedly.

"If you say so, but if you tell me you can't come to this thing on Saturday when Jim already told Rich that you guys had no plans...," Barb let the sentence hang there like a piece of bait on a hook, begging for a bite.

"So, you had Rich ask Jim first to see if I would say something different?" Sharon asked defensively.

Barb just smiled, content that Sharon had taken the bait.

"When my best friend falls off the face of the Earth for weeks at a time and I hear Jim is a shell of his former self, and you're not texting or calling, and I don't know what the Hell is going on? Yeah, I'm going to take precautions, hon," she confessed unabashedly.

"So, this barbeque? Is it even real or was that part of your 'precautions'?" Sharon pressed, feeling her skin start to burn hot with anger.

"Oh, it's real. But the idea for it came to us as a way to arrange this little scenario. So, it was a test but it's also because we miss you guys. I miss you. For 30 years, three fucking decades there hasn't been a week where we haven't seen or talked to one another. You expect me to just accept that you're too sick to do either for weeks at a time, coincidentally following our little get together?" she finished.

Sharon could now finally see how everything looked. From Barb's perspective it looked like the fallout from their impromptu partner sharing adventure was for her and Jim to pull away—perhaps indicating regret or resulting marital issues. Rich's account of Jim's behavior certainly would do nothing but support that idea. It made a lot more sense to Sharon now, and the anger melted away to understanding.

"So?" Barb pressed impatiently.

"I understand why you were worried, but that had nothing to do with it. We had a great time, and we had more 'get togethers' after that night. I've just...," Sharon struggled with wanting to admit the truth, spurred by her friend's openness.

Barb's face contorted into a mixture of concern and confusion, obviously worried for her friend but retaining some measure of discernment.

"I've been dabbling in some of the stuff we tried that night you were over," Sharon confessed, tapping her nostril suggestively.

Barb's look of concern morphed into a sly smile.

"So, that's what this has been about?" she asked incredulously.

Sharon offered a sheepish grin in return.

Barb shook her head on mock disappointment, making 'tsk-tsk-tsk' noises but never losing her toothy grin.

"Oh, don't give me that. You're the one who made me try it," Sharon replied, playing along with Barb's game.

"How the mighty have fallen," she continued, her smile threatening to break out into a full-fledged laugh.

"Oh, whatever," Sharon scoffed dismissively, herself fighting a chuckle.

"No, it's just, I remember a time when 'little miss goody-two shoes' was giving me a hard time for drinking in the afternoon and smoking a cigarette. Now look at you, our little fallen angel," she continued, milking the moment for all it was worth.

"Oh, stop, you're being ridiculous," Sharon chuckled.

Barb continued 'tsk-tsking' for a few more moments before letting out a hearty laugh—buoyed by the relief she felt for not having been the reason her friend's marriage was in trouble.

"Then what's the deal with Jim? Rich said he's been acting like someone who's been told they have 6 months to live," Barb pressed, trying to complete the puzzle.

"Well, I've been... less attentive to his needs as of late. I've been a little wrapped up in my own world, which I feel bad about," Sharon explained.

"It happens," Barb shrugged, clearly understanding, "men are like machines, they need constant maintenance, or they'll break down. Without sex, Rich gets all brooding and stormy. One blow-job and he's back to making bad jokes and being annoying," Barb finished.

"Yeah, I need to be more attentive. I've really been neglecting him lately," she reflected.

"Gotta oil your machine, hon," Barb joked.

The two women laughed together and the tenseness of the earlier part of the conversation immediately felt far away.

"So, we gonna order some drinks or what? Where is that damn waiter?" Barb snapped, suddenly incensed at not having something to drink.

"I need to go to the bathroom really quick, order for me," Sharon said, standing up and adjusting the strap of her purse over her shoulder.

"Oh, I see how it is," Barb mused, her perfectly shaped eye-brows arching suggestively over the rims of her white sunglasses.

"How what is?" Sharon paused.

"I share with you, but you don't return the favor huh?" she teased.

Sharon's eyes narrowed behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses, a crooked grin etching its way across her painted red lips.

"Fine, you caught me. Would you like to accompany me to the bathroom?" Sharon offered playfully.

"Why yes, I think I would," Barb answered in kind.

The two women made their way back from the outdoor patio section and into the restaurant proper, removing their sunglasses to peer into the relative darkness of the lounge. As they marched toward the bathroom, Sharon noticed the eyes of several of the middle-aged men sitting at the bar track them with a hungry gaze. They looked to be mostly day-drinking alcoholics, blotting out their failed marriages and unpaid child support the same way they got there.

Nevertheless, attention was attention and Sharon reveled in it.

Barb pressed the swinging wooden door to the bathroom, eliciting a creak as it rotated on its hinges. They stepped purposefully up to the beige countertop of 4 sinks and pretended to touch up their faces while waiting for signs that one of the 6 stalls were occupied. After a few moments of silent observation Sharon was convinced they were alone and procured the small, brown, glass vial that she'd topped off before leaving the house.

"Very fancy," Barb commented upon eyeing the ornate vial.

"A gift from my 'supplier,' Sharon explained with arched brows and a devious smile.

"I loved you before, but I really love you now," Barb marveled at her once-demure friend digging her pinky into the vial and snorting a bump of coke like it was just another Thursday.

After getting a good snort up both nostrils Sharon handed the vial to Barb, who proceeded to do the same.

"God, why couldn't you have been like this in high school? We could've had so much fun! You never even got to smoke in the girl's room. Those were the days, I'm tellin' ya," Barb reminisced, snorting a heaping pinky-nail full of white powder up her right nostril in one powerful motion.

"Trust me, I regret it. But maybe it's better this way, now that we're older and wiser and made money and had kids. Like a second chance at being wild and carefree, without all the 'you'll ruin your future' shit," Sharon mused aloud.

"Yeah, maybe. But we could've really gotten into some trouble together. I had some fun times," Barb said before noisily ganking another bump, this time in her left nostril.

"I mean, we are doing coke in the bathroom together. Clearly, we are still capable of getting into trouble," Sharon commented while digging her pinky back in for another hit.

"Sure, I know. But there's just some things that you do when you're young and single and invincible, it's different. Now we're married, we have kids, a mortgage, there are limits that we have that a teenager just doesn't have to think about," Barb replied almost wistfully.

"What things? I mean, do I need to remind you about the last time we were all together? I hardly think that being married is limiting us at this point," Sharon replied between sniffles.

"Yeah, but that's what I'm saying. We planned that, discussed it. Like adults, married adults it was all premeditated. Those are the limits I'm talking about," Barb pressed.

"I don't know if I really see what you mean," Sharon admitted, handing the vial back to her friend.

"When I was 17, I had a fake ID, I'd drive to some shithole bar outside the city with my friends and guys would buy us drinks and get us high. Sometimes we'd go home with them or go back to their cars, it was all totally unrehearsed, spontaneous. You never knew what was going to happen, or with who it was going to happen with. There's a bit of that with these swinger parties, but it's not quite the same thing. It's still this planned thing where Rich and I have agreed to certain things—limits—and we stay within those limits," Barb's face was scrunched up in a discontented scowl, momentarily interrupted by another bump of coke.

"So, you want to go to a bar and get picked up by a stranger and get laid in the back of his mom's Buick?" Sharon joked.

"A Buick? God, no. But a Lexus or Infinity?" Barb flashed a playful smile and artfully averted her eyes to evoke a sense of possibility.

"Well, I saw some drunks at the bar watching golf if that's what you're after. One was wearing Polo and a nice watch so I'm sure you'd at least get a Caddy," Sharon jabbed, taking the vial back after a final bump from Barb and stuffing it back into her purse.

The two women stood in silence for a few moments, each mussing with their hair and making sure there were no visible traces of coke lodged in their noses. As Sharon shouldered her purse and prepared to head out of the restroom, Barb turned toward her somewhat dramatically with a thoughtful smirk on her face.

"We could you know," Barb stated.

"Could what?" Sharon replied.

"Go pick up some guy at the bar and let him fuck our brains out. I mean, look at us," Barb turned back toward the mirror and looked at her lithe frame wrapped in a strapless pale blue dress, complete with flawlessly applied make-up and a shiny red lipstick that accentuated her wild red hair.

"Why would we do that?" Sharon questioned.

"Because we can, because it's fun. Why do you like swinging? Because it makes you feel sexy, wanted, objectified, right? Men look at us and want to fuck us. Doesn't it feel good? Turn you on? I know it turns me on. Knowing we could walk over to those strangers at the bar and be fucking them within minutes? That's power hon. And what's the point of power if you don't use it?" Barb enthused, her cleavage heaving a bit and flushed with color.

"You sure this isn't just the coke talking? Do you and Rich have some sort of agreement outside of the group?" Sharon prodded.