Cake Pt.2 (Rough Draft)

I pour myself another drink. Two fingers of Gilbey’s. No lime. No ice. Straight up. Down it in one gulp. Pour myself another. This time though, my hand hovers above the one and a half liter bottle of Coke. I consider adding a little mixer. That would be the wise thing to do, I tell myself. The prudent thing to do. And so I do. Not a lot but just enough blunten the bite.

Taking a sip I glance in the direction of the cake. Roselyn is still keeping guard. She corners my gaze before I can turn away. Raises her cup. “Salut.” She mouths. She’s joshing me. I can tell. I Play along however and raise mine in reply. “Salut.” I mouth back. I take a sip. Turn away. Head towards the ledge over looking the parking lot.

The party is on the roof of a shopping cum office cum residential complex. The floor just below the roof housing the offices of Transmission Magazine, a local independent publication. The True Voice of the Nation. Or so they claim. With so many “voices” out there, who can tell?

The first wave hits me just as I’m peering over the edge wondering whether if I spat straight down just as someone was passing whether I would be able to hit them right on the head.

I smile at the thought and decide to give a try. What did I have to lose? Leaning over the edge, I wait for someone to pass. Collect as much spit as I can so that when someone did pass I would be more than ready.

I wait. And Wait. And Wait. I pull out my phone. It’s been more than fifteen minutes. I’m about to give up and go and make a pass at the cake pan when I see a couple heading in my direction. The girl in purple pumps, black jeans and a purple top speckled with silver sequins that hung off one shoulder revealing the strap of a bright turquoise bra. The guy; moccasins, jeans and a blue and white striped button down. The guy has an arm around the girl’s waist as if to say, “Back up homies, this one is mine.”

10 feet.

I take a sip of my drink. Give my saliva a bit more volume. Swirl it around my mouth. Lean over and take aim.

Five.

I’m just about to fire my projectile when there’s a hand on my shoulder. It grips me and pulls me back from my unwittingly precarious position.

It’s Richie. One of the dudes I came with. Builds websites, plays tennis and is built like a rugby player. He spins me around.

“Dude, What are you doing? I know we said it would be funny if one of us fell over but Homie!”
“I was fine.” I say shrugging off his hand. Glance back over the ledge but the couple are already gone.

Shit.

For a second I want to blame Richie but he didn’t know. He thought I was going to throw myself over. I couldn’t blame him for thinking that he was saving me from an untimely demise, could I now?

“Dude maybe you should slow down.”

That was Richie for you. No matter how wasted he got, no matter how high, no matter the situation, you could always rely on him being the sober brother. The brother that took care of all the other brothers. The brother that made sure that all the other brothers got home alright and didn’t end up lying unconscious in some ditch somewhere.

I pretend as if I didn’t hear him.

“More cake. Get me some? Roselyn is guarding that thing like a lady spider guards her young.”

“I thought spiders eat their young.”

‘”Ah. Whatever. You know what I mean. Just get me some cake.”

Richie smiles. It is brief and is gone as quickly as it appears.

“As much as I think I shouldn’t, I’ll try…but I’m not making promises.”

Richie is already mid turn when he stops.

“And dude, get away from the ledge.”

I take two big steps back.

“Better?”

“Not really but whatever.”

Richie walks off. Hopefully, in search of cake.