The Next Best Thing by Deidre Berry Page B

tripping?” he asked, incredulous. “It ain’t like we’re married or something. I mean, damn. I just met you.”
    I shook my head, which was really spinning at this point.
    Was I hallucinating?
    Someone I have known all of five fucking minutes has never so blatantly disrespected me.
    Not a minute later, Sean chuckled as if it were nothing more than a big misunderstanding. “Look, I apologize for all that,” he said. “Can we start over?”
    I looked at him through narrow eyes, not exactly sure where this weird sonofabitch was coming from.
    â€œHi, I’m Sean,” he said, offering a handshake.
    â€œTori…” I replied, shaking his hand reluctantly.
    When Sean said “start over” he wasn’t kidding. For the next forty minutes, I was forced to feign interest as he told me his life’s story from start to present.
    I learned all about his whorish mother and abusive step-father. The five-year bid he served in the early ’90s “on some bullshit.” The nervous breakdown (brought on by his recent, nasty divorce), his finances (which are in bad shape because of the divorce), and his bitch of an ex-wife (who hasn’t let him see the kids in almost a year because of the restraining order).
    Blahdy Blah Blah…
    During the time Sean was rambling on and on, he kept ordering and downing drink, after drink, after drink.
    Now, I’m all for people having a good time, but three Budweisers and four double shots of Hennessey in less than an hour is a bit much.
    And the more alcohol Sean consumed, the more he talked.
    The more he talked, the more agitated he seemed to get.
    â€œSo, what is it that you do again?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation in a lighter direction.
    Sean glared at me as if he resented the question, and said, “I was in sales, but I’m transitioning at the moment.”
    â€œTransitioning? That’s just a fancy way of saying you’re unemployed, right?”
    I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just an innocent remark to keep the conversation going, but Sean took such great offense that he stomped off to the restroom without even excusing himself from the table.
    Oh. My. God.
    I was sitting at the table by myself wondering if I was caught up in the Twilight Zone or The Matrix , when Erin called on my cell phone with a question about the Carousel of Hope benefit next month. Right in the middle of telling Erin to contact the caterer to finalize the gourmet hors d’oeuvres selection, Sean came back from the restroom with a pee-pee track down the front of his pants. His fly was also unzipped, exposing the fact that he was not wearing boxers or briefs.
    I couldn’t help it. I burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
    â€œWhat in the world is going on with you?” Erin asked, over the phone.
    It took almost a full minute for me to catch my breath, and I had to struggle to say, “I’ll call you later…”
    After ending the call, I looked over at Sean, who was staring at me with crazy all in his eyes.
    It was a look somewhere between excitement and agitation, which confirmed for me that this man was indeed a couple electric shock treatments away from having a full deck.
    â€œThat is so goddamn rude,” he said with cold disdain. “You could at least wait until we part ways before you start bad-mouthing me to your fucking friends.”
    â€œWait a minute now,” I said, keeping my voice low so that Sean would take the hint and do the same. “That phone call wasn’t even about you. Actually I was laughing because—”
    â€œYou know, you independent, highfalutin broads are all the same.” He sneered. “Always putting a brother down instead of trying to lift him up.”
    I had no idea how to respond to that.
    What do you say to a profoundly unstable man while he’s on an alcohol-fueled tirade?
    â€œI wasn’t putting you down,”