ALICE Ch 310

“What are ye doin’ here?” Glynda groans. She stands just inside her room at the hotel, clutching a glass of something amber.

Lotte forces a smile. “Good evening.”

“Good night.”

Lotte gets her foot in the door as Glynda tries to slam it.

“Ah!” she cries out.

“Oh,” Glynda says, shocked that it actually connected like that. She opens it worriedly. “Sorry.”

Lotte drops her act of being hurt and snatches the glass out of Glynda’s hand, breezing into the room.

Glynda, a little buzzed, blinks and follows her with her eyes. “This isn’t your room, girlie.”

“You did not just call me that.” Lotte dumps the whiskey down the sink. “I knew you would be drinking.” She fills a glass with water and takes it to Glynda, then plops on the sofa.

Glynda stares at the glass in her hand as though it is a live grenade.

“I’ve bleedin’ earned it,” she says.

“Having a headache tomorrow won’t help things. If you are going to escape your problems, do it correctly.”

Glynda snorts. “I was.”

“No,” Lotte says, unzipping the fanny pack that she wears crossbody.

“Is that a water pipe?”

“Call it what you want. And give me that water,” Lotte says, her hands busy preparing the bong. She pats the spot next to her.

“Did you even read your employee contract?”

“Do you want to feel shitty now and have a hangover, or do you want to feel good now and get a good night of sleep?” Lotte asks.

Glynda glares at her and then sits. “This will not get you a raise,” she warns.

“I am a famous footballer,” Lotte lies.

“How long did you play?”

One season. Lotte ignores the question and clicks her lighter. The next couple of minutes pass in silence, which is pleasant.

Lotte glances over at Glynda, who wears leggings and a tee with a funny word on it in faded, elaborate letters. Clannad. Lotte gestures at it. “What is that?”

Glynda looks down at herself. “It’s music. Old, like me.”

Lotte takes a hit and gets comfy. “Play it on your phone.”

Glynda thinks that over, then leans to get her phone. She puts the music on, then motions for the bong.

Lotte watches her. Glynda’s still got her hair up, and she’s still wearing a bra. The only reasonable conclusion is that she hates being comfortable and enjoys pain. Lotte doesn’t judge.

“Why did you not race seriously?” she asks finally. She has Googled Glynda.

“There weren’t many woman racers back then.”

“Your wiki said you were good.”

Glynda sighs, gazing at the far wall. “I was pregnant at the wrong time.”

Lotte takes a hit, listening to flutes and bouzouki chords coming from Glynda’s phone. “Take that off,” she says, reaching over for Glynda’s scrunchie. Glynda bats her hand away. “You look like the evil headmistress in those wizard films.”

Glynda snorts and lets her hair down.

“That’s better,” Lotte says with a yawn. The TV is off, but it’s in front of them, so she stares at it. “Do you have any food?”

“I was going to ask you that.”

Glynda looks disdainful. “Where would I keep it?”

“Right. Oh! Lotte!” Glynda stiffens, affronted as Lotte climbs on top of her, but she’s just clambering over to get the room service menu from the table.

[ Summer's over (for me). Some stuff on the blog about the various stories, nothing major, very short. ]