Pour Yourself A Drink, Put Some Lipstick On and Pull Yourself Together

Trigger warning: Substance abuse, Suicide

Pour Yourself A Drink, Put Some Lipstick On and Pull Yourself Together

Congratulate Martin who’s celebrating one year at Styx Ferryman.

The words triggered a wave of loss and misery. She gulped down her gin and tonic and thus the spiral began.

More than a year later and a stupid Linked In text notification could still do this to her.

Typical Martin. He refused to approach his terminal diagnosis with anything but black humor. He changed his Linked In profile announcing his impending journey to the afterlife by adjusting his company name to Styx Ferryman. All his friends were invited to congratulate him on his final role.

Now Linked In haunted her like a ghost of Christmas past, bringing up his stupid joke in her texts without warning. Hollowing her out even more as she felt his loss.

Was he aware that every year his friends and colleagues would be sent a reminder to congratulate him on his “work anniversary”.

Probably. Exactly the sort of thing Martin would find hilarious.

He did not live out his last six months. His note stated he didn’t want anyone to watch him die.

It was more about Martin always having to have the last word. Jennifer should have expected it, but she hadn’t. Even though he was ill, he had been larger than life. Insisting on continuing to work, he completed his novel then wrote his suicide note.

It sometimes felt it was her life that had stopped, not just his.

A whisky drink. Then a vodka drink. A lager drink. What next? A cider drink.

She was living out a Chumbawumba song.

Except in Jennifer’s case, it felt like she was never getting up again. The stupid Styx Ferryman joke haunting her like the ghost of Christmas Past, knocked her down again.

Everything at this work Christmas party reminded her of Martin. They met through work. Jennifer worked for an agency that represented musicians and writers. Martin had been a particularly difficult client that they had passed on to Jennifer because she had a way of corralling the diva’s into behaving and producing their best work.

Her secret was simple. She respected talent and intellect and Martin, oh he had both in abundance. Along with ego. He ran at 78 rpm while the rest of the population jugged along at 33 rpm. Was his ferocious living of life the reason it was cut so short?

Six more months they could have had together. She would have done anything to keep him longer. But typical Martin had to manage everything on his own terms.

Jennifer waved her cider drink at her best friend Olivia with fake joie de vie. Olivia was just tipsy enough to buy it.

“Luke’s arrived,” she said. “Oh, Jennifer, you just have to meet him. You guys will just love one another, Stay here, I’ll bring him over to you.”

No choice, thought Jennifer. She would very likely fall flat on her face if she tried getting off her chair. She had always subscribed to Liz Taylor’s golden advice; Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick and pull yourself together, although there were patches where she didn’t quite get to the lipstick part.

Olivia bounded back, her snowman earrings wobbling, Santa hat flashing. Bobbing in the wake of her sparkling Christmas light show was the man she was determined Jennifer should meet. He wore a t-shirt bearing the legend “Jingle Balls.”

Loud and overly friendly, his jokes, like his t-shirt were slightly off color. He abbreviated her name immediately to Jenny.

At the first “Jenny” she assigned him to the crypt of horrible blind dates and erased any memory of his name. Noting his surfer dude long blonde hair and Australian accent she renamed him Thor.

Olivia clucked with triumph clearly seeing something that Jennifer wasn’t. With the same vehemence as Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind, Olivia had declared to Jennifer a few weeks ago, “I promise, you will never spend Christmas alone. again.”

Jennifer chided herself for being ungrateful. There had been many times in the last year that Olivia had dragged her up, dusted her down and convinced her she could go another round.

I don’t think I can anymore, thought Jennifer although her audience saw a wide smile. She even managed to laugh at Luke’s jokes. The less sexist ones anyway.

Predictably the pub jukebox got around to playing “Merry Christmas Everybody” by Slade.

Again.

Olivia and Thor whooped in delight and leapt up to dance. Thor had abbreviated her name to Jen by now and implored her to put her dancing shoes on. Jennifer shook her head and pointed to her empty glass.

She weaved her way to the bar and bit back, “Arsenic,” as a reply to the bartenders “What can I get you love.”

Dammit, Martin, I can’t be here. I can’t do this without you.

“Goldschlager,” she said. “Four please.” She knew they were a party of three but she abhorred prime numbers.

Two goldschlagers were earmarked for Olivia and Thor but as the bar tender poured the shots, her hand shot out automatically and suddenly there was only one left. As she reached for the fourth there was a loud crack and the music stopped.

An unexpectedly sober, dark-haired man had punched the juke box silencing Noddy Holder.

“Yay,” said Jennifer.

The bar staff cheered loudly. The festive season was very long for the underpaid bar staff.

The man nodded to his appreciative audience. There was nothing festive in his attire. He wore head to toe black and refused to tolerate Slade's Christmas Anthem on repeat play.

“Oi,” said the pub landlord striding over to the jukebox. “What exactly do you have against Christmas cheer?”

“I’ve heard that song already,” said the man with a smile that seemed defuse the landlord’s wrath.

His jukebox selection spun and the melancholy chords of Hurt rang out in the now silent bar.

“It’s Christmas,” the pub landlord snapped. “Play something jolly.”

What have I become? My sweetest friend, sang Johnnie.

The pub landlord pulled the plug. When the juke box started again The Fairy Tale of New York rang out.

Happy Christmas your arse

I pray God it's our last

Olivia joined Jennifer at the bar and touched her arm tentatively leading her back to the table. Jennifer felt the concern emanating from her friend wrap around her like a soft mohair blanket. Her disguise was slipping, and Olivia could feel her pain.

I don’t want you to see me go through this. It will hurt you too, my sweetest friend.  

Jennifer realized there was an echo of Martin in her thoughts. A wave of intense sadness did not dilute the anger she felt towards him.

How could you steal that extra time from me?

I can’t do this.

I can’t.

This is too hard,

Did you know how badly this would hurt?

The world was spinning. She hurt but couldn’t cry. There were no tears left.

I just want this to end…

< >

Whenever Jennifer woke there was a moment before before her consciousness caught up and dropped into an empty void remembering Martin’s absence.

Today, however, her first conscious thought was that this was undoubtedly the worst hangover she had ever experienced. Her second thought was the view through the window was a Thames waterfront facing penthouse. Definitely, not her apartment.

I’ve crossed the rainbow bridge to Asgard, she thought despondently.

She swung her legs out of bed. She was wearing a tee-shirt. She glanced in the mirror and saw with relief the graphic was not Jingle Balls. Instead, it was a simple black tee-shirt. Man sized.

When will you hit rock bottom?

The sound of a piano, mournful chords rising to a crescendo rang out from down the hallway. Jennifer followed the music to a sparsely furnished room dominated by a grand piano. She semi-recognized the pianist. Dark hair, blue eyes. Dressed in black. Click click, went her brain as semi recalled images from the work Christmas party slowly came back.

The Johnny Cash fan. He was one of the invited clients. She represented the writers not the musicians so she had no idea who he was. Judging by the outstanding view of the Thames, he must have been successful at whatever he did. She tried to recall if they had been introduced at the party. The last thing she remembered was the world spinning and Olivia saying with some understatement. “Oh dear, this hasn’t gone very well.”

When the man in black saw Jennifer he left the room, without saying a word, returning with two aspirin and a glass of water. She swallowed them down gratefully.

“You’re the man who killed Noddy Holder,” she said finally, still unable to come up with a name.

“That was some Christmas party,” he said. “I was wondering if I was going to have to get your stomach pumped before you succumbed to alcohol poisoning.”

Way to make a first impression, thought Jennifer.

“Luckily you threw up on me on the cab ride here,” he continued, ignoring her stuttered apology. “I promised Olivia I’d take care of you. She stole your date by the way. I had to bring you here because you couldn’t remember where you lived. Of course, the elevator was out again,” he said with a wry smile rather than a tone of complaint. “I had to carry you up the stairs. Ten flights carrying you in a fireman’s lift.” His eyes flickered over her. “Lucky you weigh about the same as a nine-year-old girl. Although you drink like a marine. That’s a terrible combination by the way.”

 “Are you a fireman?” Jennifer asked hoping for some clue as to who he was and how she came to be in his apartment.

He shook his head. “Boy scout.”

“Well,” said Jennifer intending to make a hasty exit just as soon as she found her clothes. “Thank you very much for the…ah…” He raised an eyebrow. Avoiding any detail of what she could not remember she rushed on. “Well, it’s Christmas Eve, you’ll have plans.”

“It’s Christmas Day, hon,” he said. “You lost a day in your self-induced alcoholic coma.”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” said Jennifer aware that her first impression was probably not convincing him of anything otherwise. “It’s just that Christmas is not so joyous when…” she stopped.

He waited and held back questions. She was grateful for that. Then he asked, “Do you have plans for Christmas Day you need to rush off to?”

“Well,” started Jennifer hoping to salvage some pride from this encounter. “No,” she said finally. No plans. No pride.

“Want to spend it with me?” he asked. “I promise no Yuletide joy. You won't even know its Christmas. I make a mean bloody mary that will fix that rip snorting hangover you’re trying to ignore.”

“I make it a rule never to spend the holidays with men whose name I can’t recall,” said Jennifer “Although I’m sure we had a lovely time, I should go.”

He snorted back a laugh. “Good to know you really do have standards. I’m Jack. For the record you were unconscious for most of the last 36 hours and no lovely time was had.” He frowned. “That was a euphemism, right? I carried you home, put you in the recovery position and listened to you snore like a sailor.”

“The teeshirt?”

“Couldn’t let you sleep in your own vomit, sweetheart,” said Jack with a grin. “I didn’t peek and slept in a chair to make sure you didn’t choke in the night. Let me get you that bloody mary and maybe you can tell me who Martin is. You called to him in your sleep over and over.”

Jennifer held her face very still but he saw something because his expression changed.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Jack said as if it was an undeniable fact. “Stay, just for today. Get through today and it won’t seem so bad. I promise.”

Hurry up and pour me that drink, I’ll get my lipstick… pull myself together … no really this time I will...

“Don’t do that,” Jack said. “Don’t put that fake cheerful face on. That’s my one house rule. No fake happiness.”

“And no Slade Christmas songs,” said Jennifer.

“No Mariah Carey. No figgy puddings. I do a non-traditional Christmas. No expectation of joy. No festivity. No family,” said Jack. He instructed Alexa to play his Anti-Christmas playlist while he mixed the bloody marys.

First up on the playlist Bradley Palermo’s "Whisky for Everyone".

Every gift under this tree, comes straight from Kentucky.

Whiskey for everyone this year.

Jennifer smiled. That was rare. She hadn’t smiled, genuinely smiled, in so long. A black Christmas indeed, but tolerable and she didn't mind, for once, that she wasn't alone.

“Made yours a virgin mary,” said Jack returning with two drinks. “My inner boy scout insisted.”

Jennifer felt her lips curve upwards again. “I doubt very much you were ever a boy scout.”

When she introduced herself, he did not abbreviate her. He had a keen, sharp sense of humor and seemed kind. That was all she knew about him. What she liked best was he didn’t need to know more about her and listened to her silences.

Did she feel her pain ease slightly?

You’re going to be okay now

She glanced around. It was as if somebody had whispered that in her ear. Jack had moved into the kitchen to prepare some food, and she was alone.

Or was she?

The Christmas playlist jumped to Chris De Burgh “Don’t Pay the Ferryman”.

“How did that get on there?” Jack muttered skipping the track.

Jennifer took a sip of her drink, found her lipstick.

She was ready to pull herself together.