Drinking, Fighting, Fucking and Crying Title

Drinking, Fighting, F*&king, and Crying

Steak KnifeTwo weeks ago I related the story of meeting Nichola, the sexy Irish blonde who, in the fall of 2001, was to be my first one night stand. Well, she didn’t actually end up being a one night stand – I was never very good at that sort of thing, as the subsequent tale I told of flying to Dublin to meet back up with her demonstrates. The second part of that tale is coming in two weeks, in the meantime however, I realized to give a better understanding of her character, I should go a bit further into the night we met.

As I stated previously, I was shocked a girl like this would be interested in me. Even more shocked when, as I ended my shift behind the bar for the night, she accompanied me out for drinks. We headed where you have to at 1:30 AM in the South Suburbs, to Groucho’s, an infamous 5AM bar on Chicago’s nearby South Side. It was there that things really heated up. I’ve never been one for PDAs but this girl would not stay off of me. By the time we left the establishment somewhere North of 3AM, Nichola was hammered and attempting to give me a lap dance at the bar. After drawing hard – but jealous – looks from most of the off-duty cops and South Side tough guys who frequented Groucho’s, we returned to my car and headed back to the hotel where I worked and Nichola was staying. This was the first of two nights before she headed back to Ireland, and, well, she was out to party. I was pretty buzzed, riding high on having this girl who couldn’t keep her hands off me in my car, so I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise when I tell you that the last thing on my agenda, even at 3:30 AM, was taking her back to her hotel. Instead, I convinced her to accompany me back to my place in Oak Forest, where I rented an apartment with my good friend Tim at the time. Nichola agreed, and the excitement of encroaching sex pushed us on down Cicero Avenue and toward what I hoped would be a fantastic night.

And it was. All around. This was the sex of twenty-five-year-olds who barely knew each other, and it was exquisite. After a few rounds I excused myself to the bathroom, and when I returned to my room, Nichola had disappeared. I walked out to the kitchen and found her sitting on the counter, a steak knife in one hand, opening a fairly innocuous but still startling gash in her arm to the tune of about four or five inches long.

Whoah. This is where the survival force in my brain kicked in, freeze-framed everything and straight up asked me, “Hey, uh, you might want to think about getting this chick out of your place. Like NOW.”

And yes, that seemed the totally sensible thing to do. For about five seconds. Then… well, I can remember that my bedroom door was open, and as things remained freeze-framed for a few seconds, I could hear my CD player faintly in the background – track 5, Better Living Through Chemistry, had just come up on Queens of the Stone Age’s masterpiece Rated R, and I couldn’t help but feel it was appropriate. Nichola seemed confused, essentially crying out for attention, and I realized I had plenty of more attention to give to her. Somehow I coaxed the knife from her and, well, guided her back to my bedroom where we did not go to sleep until well into the daylight hours of the next morning.

Next week, perhaps a little catharsis.

Shawn C Baker

Shawn C Baker

Shawn lives in Los Angeles where he co-hosts Drinking w/ Comics, writes screenplays and fiction and has been known to drink quite a bit of beer. Good beer.

One Response to Drinking, Fighting, F*&king, and Crying
  1. […] in their worry – because Nichola apparently had a fairly dodgy psychological history (see this... joup.co/drinking-fighting-fking-and-crying-21

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