Author's note:
The characters in this story got their names as a tribute to the amazing
"Chasing the Dragon"
by AwkwardMD.
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June 2006, Illinois
Brandon sat at the bar alone. His shoulders were hunched and he was hanging his head, staring down at the glass of amber whiskey he was lazily swirling in his hand. It was late, getting too late, and he was drunk, getting too drunk.
It had been a mistake to come here. When he had first received the invitation to the class reunion he'd had no intention of participating, and that would have been the right decision. But his divorce was in a phase that was getting even more bitter and resentful than he had thought possible, and somewhere along the way he had started to reconsider.
Maybe he had thought it would be a good idea to put two thousand miles between himself and his soon-to-be-ex, Shirley. Maybe he had thought rubbing his financial success in the face of those less fortunate would make him feel like he had at least achieved something measurable in his life. Maybe he had thought it would be gratifying to look at the faces of all of those who had never believed he would make it, never believed he would become the famous movie director he had aspired to be when he went to school with all these strangers. The famous movie director he had indeed ended up becoming.
Maybe he had thought Roxanne would be here.
Dinner had included an uncomfortable and oddly formal round of everyone telling of their later accomplishments. Twenty years had passed since their graduation, and it was amazing how little most of them had achieved since then.
The devil had possessed him when it was his turn. He had bathed them in his easy Hollywood smile and spent a full fifteen minutes listing the movies he had directed, awards and nominations he had received, charity organizations he had established and promoted and rounded the globe representing. He told them of his wife, former supermodel slash actress and their two poster perfect kids, eleven year old Sandra and nine year old Leo. He told them of their comfortable life in their house that wasn't quite a mansion on Hollywood hills. He failed to mention Shirley was in the process of leaving him and ripping him off while doing it.
After a perplexed silence the baton had been passed to flustered, still clumsy and plump Joe McPherson who had apparently become a science teacher in their old school and was still unmarried.
He had felt ashamed afterwards. They all knew already, he was famous enough that there was no doubt, and it was boorish to boast like that. Not to mention it hadn't made him feel any better.
After dinner there'd been dancing and free socializing. He had tried to stay and mingle, but after fending off a few gold diggers who thought him turning up meant he was willing to finance their petty businesses he had gotten so disheartened he had retreated to his hotel.
None of the others were staying in the same hotel. It was the best in town, after all, well above their pay grade. The ridiculously expensive lobby bar was empty except for him and the bartender, who was gracious enough not to let out if he recognized him.
"Hello, stranger."
He lifted his head, words of rejection on his lips, and felt them catching in his throat.
Roxanne. Roxanne Stone. Roxie. He would've recognized her anywhere, even without following her on the media for years and knowing full well what she looked like nowadays. Her smile was the same, her eyes were the same, there was dizzying familiarity in all of her.
Her long, dark, curly hair flowed down on her shoulders and back. Her brown eyes were clear, sharp and twinkling. He used to tell her they were like squirrel's eyes and she had always been mightily annoyed by the comparison. She had a dimple on her right cheek, but not on her left. It used to make her crazy, she had even tried to learn to smile so that it wouldn't show.
He lifted his hand without a conscious thought and touched her lone dimple. They both shuddered and he withdrew his hand.
"Hiya," he said. She always did bring out the poet in him.
He gestured his drink, questioningly. Roxie ordered one for herself. She climbed up on a bar stool next to his, and they sat in silence and drank.
Roxanne had been his lone comrade growing up in this dump. His partner in crime, the only one who had believed in his vision. The only one who'd had a vision of her own. They had spent long afternoons daydreaming of their future glory days, success and fame that would surround them. They had encouraged each other, sparred each other, bettered each other. They had loved each other for a few glorious years.
His career had been so tumultuous from the early days it had quickly shredded their relationship, or what little of it they had left after being separated by going to different universities. They had separated on good terms and hadn't kept contact since.
Roxanne was a writer. Her career was different from his but no less successful. It had taken her longer to establish herself, but by now she had written one bestseller after another and everything she said was received in the media as manna from heaven. She frequented talk shows and panel discussions and wrote articles in numerous magazines and newspapers on various topics. She was becoming some sort of all around public influencer in society. Her intelligence was keen and dazzling, almost intimidating. Brandon was nowhere near as sophisticated or well informed of current issues. His work was more centered on feelings, portraying moods and feelings through pictures.
"I hoped I would meet you," he confessed. She knocked back her drink and asked for another, waited until she got it until she turned to him.
"Is that why you came? To see me?"
"I think so," he said. "I mean I wasn't going to attend at first. But my marriage is failing, Roxie. Shirley's leaving me, it's getting really ugly. So I thought I'll escape it all. But I still wouldn't have come if I didn't hope to see you."
He went over the words in his head. Now that he had vocalized it he knew it was the truth. He was unhappy that he was so wasted already, he would've really wanted to talk to her. He would've wanted to meet her on some honest, personal level.
"So how about you?" he asked. "You weren't at the reunion. How come you're here now?"
Roxanne sighed and gulped down another shot of whiskey. She asked the bartender to leave the bottle and charge it on her room.
"You staying here as well?" he asked.
"Sure, this is the only decent place in this hellhole and you know it," she said lightly. He chortled. She drank deeply from her glass, shuddering when it burned on the way down, and turned to look at him.
"I'm a few years ahead of you on this," she said. "I got divorced three years ago. We have a daughter together and a joined custody. And Fred is still so angry and petty that when he found out where I was coming this weekend after I'd drop Tracy to him he caused me to miss my flight. I mean really, so childish.
"He wasn't home when I went to take Tracy over and he didn't answer his phone. He took just long enough that I'd be late but not long enough for me to call the police or get Tracy to someone else or anything. He did it on purpose, I'm so fucking sure of it. Not that he'd ever admit it."
"Yeah? Sounds a little like Shirley," he said with a weak smile.
"Just wait, it'll sound exactly like her, sooner or later," she said and knocked down another drink. "You've got kids as well, right? You'll see. Ain't nothing like getting back to your ex through your kids for those willing to sink low enough. And the gist of it is that it works, time and again."
