Personal Log - Lotta & Mabel Under the Table
[[This transpires the night before the earthquake.]]
Lotta watched in mild fascination as a ceiling fan spun above her. Even on her best friend’s kitchen floor, it was warm and comfortable. She lay beside Mabel on the floor, surrounded by empty beer bottles, drunk and feeling happier and safer than she had in a long while. She really normally didn’t drink, but with Mabel…
She let herself go.
Mabel, drunk or sober, was warm as a shot of whiskey going down and had this disarming sweetness about her. Even the iron will of the Informer Incognito held no chance against her, especially when she insisted that they make tin foil sailor hats earlier that evening, somewhere between their first six-pack and the third bottle of whatever-that-was…rum, maybe?
And so, there they lay on an old linoleum floor, bottles everywhere, tin foil hats atop their heads at jaunty angles, with no desire to get up.
“So, so, Lotteeeers, ya seen that guy lately?”
Lotta nibbled on the rim of the near empty bottle in her hand. “Wha-? Why’dya ask?”
Mabel turned on her side to face her, cheeks flushed and pouting. “Becaaause I wanna know ‘bout him! Why won’t ya tell meeee?”
“Cause…he’s like…private, ya know?”
“…no. No, I don’t.”
“Look, Mabe’, it’s just… He’s sensitive. About what people think of’im an’-“
“He’s ‘shamed-a ya.”
“What- no! No, no, no! He’s’not, it’s just with his job an’ mine… We gotta be careful.”
Mabel rolled back onto her back and crossed her arms. “Ya know what yer problem is, Lotters? Yer too paranoid.”
It was the photographer’s turn to shift onto her side. She brought her arm up and propped her head on it, giving her friend a quizzical look. “That comin’ from the gal’at thinks the news people’re gonna take over the world with mindbeams?”
“Hey! It ain’t paranoia if it’s true!”
“My point, ‘cactly.”
Mabel stared at her for a moment, giving her a few blank blinks, before sitting up and grabbing a nearby bottle and upending it into her mouth. She got a few good swallows and set it back down again.
She crossed her legs and turned to look down at Lotta, propping her elbows on her knees. The photographer just gazed up her.
“…come on, Lottie,” Mabel whined after a few moments, “Tell me ‘bout’im!”
“Fine…” She looked away, but glanced back up at her friend again when she spoke. “His name’s Bob.”
“…really?”
“…yes.”
“…yer a damn liar.”
“Yeah, but I had you fooled for a minute.”
“Looooottaaaaaaaaa!”
“Fine.” Hell, she ain’t gonna remember any-a this tomorrow… “His name’s…Matt.”
Mabel arched an eyebrow, slumping forward to eye Lotta. “Really now?”
“Really then, too,” Lotta nodded.
“So… Matt. What’s Matt like?” Mabel tilted her head, grinning. “He from the Heartland too?”
“Tennessee?” Lotta smirked. “Naw, not even close. L.A. native.”
The other eyebrow joined the first high on Mabel’s forehead. “…city slicker?”
“Classic def’nition.”
“…and jus’ whyyyy are you so hooked on this guy? He even know how to pluck a chicken?”
“…I don’t think he’s ever even seen a chicken up close.”
Her friend squinted. “…do I need to hook ya up with a good ol’ country boy?”
“Mabel. Stoppat.”
“…ya know what yer problem is, Lotts? Yer losin’ sight-a where ya came from. Why ya wastin’ yer time on this guy? What’s he got goin’ for’im?”
“W-well… He’s really sweet an’ handsome an’ strong… An’ funny an’ really clever an’ we like a lot-a the same things…” An’ he saved my life and took in Choker and takes care-a me…
“…and?”
“…cellar full-a wine?”
Mabel snapped to attention. “…he share?”
“Yeah. Good stuff too.”
“…do ya ever get drunk with him?”
“Well, once…er, twice, but I wasn’t really drunk… But then ‘gain I did-! …”
Mabel leaned forward. “Keep goin’. What’d ya do?”
“I…er…I kinda...” Lotta blushed and suddenly started talking very quickly, “We made out an’ I kinda used my swim top to blindfold’im an’-an’-an’-“
“Lotta Hart!” Mable shouted. “You been seein’ this guy three weeks, what’re ya doin’ things like’at for!? At least tell me ya got’im in some kinda commit…ment…”
Lotta glancing away, sheepish and blushing and curling up slightly was all the answer Mabel needed.
“Aw, gawddangit, Lotta Cora Hart! Where’s yer mind gone!?”
“I…”
“Now what’s he gonna think!? He’s gonna think yer some easy hick-girl!”
“But he said-“
“What he said, what he said, who cares?! You know’em city boy types, Lotta, he’s just gonna use ya and throw ya away!”
The reporter bolted upright. “Matt wouldn’t do that to me!”
Mabel leaned forward a little, glaring down at Lotta. “He’s doin’ it now!”
“No! He’s- he’s not!” But those dates…were because of our bet…
“Open yer eyes, girly! The sooner ya do, the sooner yer gonna get over’im an’ find a guy that’s worth yer time!”
“But Matt-! I like him-“
“That’s yer problem, Lotta! Ya just keep on lovin’ an’ lovin’ an’ people’re just gonna take advantage-a ya an’-“
Lotta suddenly shouted, “No, yer wrong! He’s not like that, he’d never take advantage-a me!”
They glared at each other for a few moments. Lotta reached up and pulled down a fresh bottle of something-or-other, she didn’t even glance at the label, and opened it, taking several gulps. Mabel’s expression softened.
“…awright’en. You keep on seein’im if ya like’im that much. But back off some. No more-a this no shirt business.”
“…I’ll do what I like.”
“At least get’im in a real relationship…”
“…I’ll do…what I like.”
“…this’ll all end in tears, Lotta-love. No limits an’ no commitments an’ all…”
Lotta gazed down at the bottle in her hand sadly.
“Yeah. I kinda figured’at from the start…” She took a deep breath. “Awright. I’ll slow it down with’im some…”
“Good girl,” Mabel nodded her approval and reached out with an unsteady hand to take the bottle from her. “Now, share with yer ol’ gal pal Mabey, eh?”
Lotta scooted away, pouting, and took another drink. “Mine.”
Mabel just watched her for a minute…
Before launching herself at Lotta and wrestling the smaller woman down to get at the bottle.
Lotta watched in mild fascination as a ceiling fan spun above her. Even on her best friend’s kitchen floor, it was warm and comfortable. She lay beside Mabel on the floor, surrounded by empty beer bottles, drunk and feeling happier and safer than she had in a long while. She really normally didn’t drink, but with Mabel…
She let herself go.
Mabel, drunk or sober, was warm as a shot of whiskey going down and had this disarming sweetness about her. Even the iron will of the Informer Incognito held no chance against her, especially when she insisted that they make tin foil sailor hats earlier that evening, somewhere between their first six-pack and the third bottle of whatever-that-was…rum, maybe?
And so, there they lay on an old linoleum floor, bottles everywhere, tin foil hats atop their heads at jaunty angles, with no desire to get up.
“So, so, Lotteeeers, ya seen that guy lately?”
Lotta nibbled on the rim of the near empty bottle in her hand. “Wha-? Why’dya ask?”
Mabel turned on her side to face her, cheeks flushed and pouting. “Becaaause I wanna know ‘bout him! Why won’t ya tell meeee?”
“Cause…he’s like…private, ya know?”
“…no. No, I don’t.”
“Look, Mabe’, it’s just… He’s sensitive. About what people think of’im an’-“
“He’s ‘shamed-a ya.”
“What- no! No, no, no! He’s’not, it’s just with his job an’ mine… We gotta be careful.”
Mabel rolled back onto her back and crossed her arms. “Ya know what yer problem is, Lotters? Yer too paranoid.”
It was the photographer’s turn to shift onto her side. She brought her arm up and propped her head on it, giving her friend a quizzical look. “That comin’ from the gal’at thinks the news people’re gonna take over the world with mindbeams?”
“Hey! It ain’t paranoia if it’s true!”
“My point, ‘cactly.”
Mabel stared at her for a moment, giving her a few blank blinks, before sitting up and grabbing a nearby bottle and upending it into her mouth. She got a few good swallows and set it back down again.
She crossed her legs and turned to look down at Lotta, propping her elbows on her knees. The photographer just gazed up her.
“…come on, Lottie,” Mabel whined after a few moments, “Tell me ‘bout’im!”
“Fine…” She looked away, but glanced back up at her friend again when she spoke. “His name’s Bob.”
“…really?”
“…yes.”
“…yer a damn liar.”
“Yeah, but I had you fooled for a minute.”
“Looooottaaaaaaaaa!”
“Fine.” Hell, she ain’t gonna remember any-a this tomorrow… “His name’s…Matt.”
Mabel arched an eyebrow, slumping forward to eye Lotta. “Really now?”
“Really then, too,” Lotta nodded.
“So… Matt. What’s Matt like?” Mabel tilted her head, grinning. “He from the Heartland too?”
“Tennessee?” Lotta smirked. “Naw, not even close. L.A. native.”
The other eyebrow joined the first high on Mabel’s forehead. “…city slicker?”
“Classic def’nition.”
“…and jus’ whyyyy are you so hooked on this guy? He even know how to pluck a chicken?”
“…I don’t think he’s ever even seen a chicken up close.”
Her friend squinted. “…do I need to hook ya up with a good ol’ country boy?”
“Mabel. Stoppat.”
“…ya know what yer problem is, Lotts? Yer losin’ sight-a where ya came from. Why ya wastin’ yer time on this guy? What’s he got goin’ for’im?”
“W-well… He’s really sweet an’ handsome an’ strong… An’ funny an’ really clever an’ we like a lot-a the same things…” An’ he saved my life and took in Choker and takes care-a me…
“…and?”
“…cellar full-a wine?”
Mabel snapped to attention. “…he share?”
“Yeah. Good stuff too.”
“…do ya ever get drunk with him?”
“Well, once…er, twice, but I wasn’t really drunk… But then ‘gain I did-! …”
Mabel leaned forward. “Keep goin’. What’d ya do?”
“I…er…I kinda...” Lotta blushed and suddenly started talking very quickly, “We made out an’ I kinda used my swim top to blindfold’im an’-an’-an’-“
“Lotta Hart!” Mable shouted. “You been seein’ this guy three weeks, what’re ya doin’ things like’at for!? At least tell me ya got’im in some kinda commit…ment…”
Lotta glancing away, sheepish and blushing and curling up slightly was all the answer Mabel needed.
“Aw, gawddangit, Lotta Cora Hart! Where’s yer mind gone!?”
“I…”
“Now what’s he gonna think!? He’s gonna think yer some easy hick-girl!”
“But he said-“
“What he said, what he said, who cares?! You know’em city boy types, Lotta, he’s just gonna use ya and throw ya away!”
The reporter bolted upright. “Matt wouldn’t do that to me!”
Mabel leaned forward a little, glaring down at Lotta. “He’s doin’ it now!”
“No! He’s- he’s not!” But those dates…were because of our bet…
“Open yer eyes, girly! The sooner ya do, the sooner yer gonna get over’im an’ find a guy that’s worth yer time!”
“But Matt-! I like him-“
“That’s yer problem, Lotta! Ya just keep on lovin’ an’ lovin’ an’ people’re just gonna take advantage-a ya an’-“
Lotta suddenly shouted, “No, yer wrong! He’s not like that, he’d never take advantage-a me!”
They glared at each other for a few moments. Lotta reached up and pulled down a fresh bottle of something-or-other, she didn’t even glance at the label, and opened it, taking several gulps. Mabel’s expression softened.
“…awright’en. You keep on seein’im if ya like’im that much. But back off some. No more-a this no shirt business.”
“…I’ll do what I like.”
“At least get’im in a real relationship…”
“…I’ll do…what I like.”
“…this’ll all end in tears, Lotta-love. No limits an’ no commitments an’ all…”
Lotta gazed down at the bottle in her hand sadly.
“Yeah. I kinda figured’at from the start…” She took a deep breath. “Awright. I’ll slow it down with’im some…”
“Good girl,” Mabel nodded her approval and reached out with an unsteady hand to take the bottle from her. “Now, share with yer ol’ gal pal Mabey, eh?”
Lotta scooted away, pouting, and took another drink. “Mine.”
Mabel just watched her for a minute…
Before launching herself at Lotta and wrestling the smaller woman down to get at the bottle.