*Author's Note: As a referrence note to understand the circumstances surrounding this chapter, notions here for clarification purposes, are a direct parallel to those found in the beginning of Chapter 7 of A Tale of Two Popstars.*
 

“Fuck.”

He staggered through the doorway, head pounding.

Were his days ever going to start off the right way? 

Ever since he’d met Aliesa Montaine they’d just gotten worse and worse.  Not to mention the fact they always seemed to involve some kind of hangover. 

“Fuck.”

His head wasn’t just throbbing now.  It was burning too.  Not to mention the nausea… 

Ritchie leaned his head against the bathroom wall, trying to stop the room from spinning.  It wasn’t working, and all the images flashing through his mind weren’t helping to appease the ache. 
 

     “Heavenly?”  Her eyes went wide at the mention.  “Aww…that’s so sweet Ritchie.  That’s the sweetest thing ever, ever, ever…” Aliesa sighed against him,  “You’re so, so, so, so, sweet…” Her chin lifted.  “And hot!  God are you hot!”  She hiccupped.  “I told Shan you were so, so, so, so, so, hot.” Her drunken giggle began again,  “And then you smiled at me!  And I wanted to die!” 
 

He blinked back the onslaught going on in his mind.  More bits and pieces of last night seeping readily through like a bad movie. 
 

     She wobbled a bit, laughing even harder when he had to tighten his hold on her waist to steady her.  “And we danced like right now!”  Her head fell heavily against his shoulder.  “We’re dancing!” she announced.  “We do that good.”  Her arms snaked around his neck.  “And we sing too!  And oh!”  Aliesa gaped aloud, her hand ungracefully landing against his chest.  “We’re supposed to go out and do that silly!”  She pushed at Ritchie playfully, trying to lead them to the door.  “But remember I’m not me and you’re not you okay?” 
 

His fingers reached up and pressed against his temple. 

“Shit.”

He may have been out of it, but he knew that wasn’t him.

The sudden vocal outburst caused Ritchie’s head to lift up ever so slightly.  Enough so to notice a disoriented and disheveled Aliesa braced against the doorway.  And when their gazes met, Ritchie found that the more he stared at Aliesa in that dimly lighted bathroom, the more he could recollect from the post alcoholic haze he had awoken too. 
 

     “And I’d like to dedicate this song for my Ritchy.  Love you baby!  So, so, so, so, so, so, much!”
 

“Shit.” 

That second outburst sounded more pain stricken than her first.  Obviously Aliesa was remembering too, and the knowledge was not a good thing.
 

     “I can’t believe you said that!”

     Ritchie grinned down at her exclamation, his arm steadying them against the wall of the elevator.  “He wanted a name baby.”

     Aliesa giggled more at his slurred explanation. “Mr. & Mrs. Jack Daniels?”

     “We got married remember?”

     Aliesa’s eyes widened at the statement.  “Again?”

     “Fuck no!”  Ritchie bellowed, shushing her.   “We’re not stupid Ali!  I just said that so we could get the honeymoon suite!”
 

“Oh God.”  Aliesa’s hand rose up and covered her face, as the two of them stood there, unlike their first experience, recalling exactly what had happened the night before.
 

     “Pink roses huh?  Everything pink?  Pink panties too?”

     “Uh-huh…” Her shirt lifted higher.  “See! I told you!”

     “I can’t see it.”

     “Because you’re on the floor!  Come up here!”  She reached down towards him.
 

“Oh God,” she continued to repeat over and over.  “I think I’m going to be sick,” she mumbled shakily right before dashing past Ritchie towards the toilet.
 

    “There’s no mint on the pillows!  The other place had mints!”

     He grinned down at her, shoving aside the sheets.  “Good thing we don’t need mints for what I have in mind...” 

     She giggled.  “Ritchie…”
 

Ritchie swallowed back his own queasiness, wetting his parched lips.  His eyes shut briefly as his mind burned with picture after picture.
 

     “Shannon is going to kill us.”

     “Shannon isn’t here.”  Ritchie pulled Aliesa down beside him.  “But you are...and I      am…” he trailed off, his fingers entwining themselves in her hair.

     Aliesa grabbed a hold of his wandering hands.  “You can’t tell Shan, Ritchie…”
 

“Shannon,” Ritchie breathed out, his eyes popping open as situational understanding and its repercussion dawned through the haze in his mind.  His gaze traveled over towards the floor to Aliesa’s slumped figure.  “Fuck,” he swore again.  “Where are we?” 

Her back against the wall, hands beneath her, Ritchie got his answer in Aliesa’s weary tone.  “Not in our hotel.”

The same curse he’d uttered all morning escaped Ritchie’s lips at the confirmation,  “Fuck.”

Aliesa blinked at the detonation.  “Last night…” 

Ritchie nodded faintly, and Aliesa steadied her head.  They were silent for a minute, till Ritchie pushed himself away from the wall, as the throbbing subsided into a dull ache.

“I’m going to call up some Aspirin,” he announced, turning back towards the main room.

“Coffee,” Aliesa’s raspy voice halted him.

Ritchie looked over his shoulder at her, and silently acknowledged the request

Her gaze dropped to the floor, her cheek resting against one knee.  “We’re going to need to talk about--”

“After,” he said simply, cutting her off.

Aliesa’s chin lifted.  “Okay,” she settled quietly.

And with that Ritchie escaped through the doorway, pondering her readied agreement.  They never agreed like that, so quick, so easy, not without an argument…something…  Making his way back into the main room, he continued to question what accounted for the difference in attitude, and then checked himself.

She was hungover. 

At that reminder, Ritchie snorted, and picked up the bedside phone to call the concierge desk. 

Only with a hangover...

That really was the only way they would ever get along…wasn’t it?  But they were sober enough to start drinking with each other and… Why did he care?   Why was he even thinking about this?  He didn’t need more of a headache.  His head was hurting enough as it was without having to start going into that kind of tangent. 

But it did continue like that.

Despite himself, Ritchie’s thoughts continued to hang there, thinking about Aliesa.  And they propelled even further when he felt the bed dip next to him, and that soft voice of hers called out his name.

Turning his head, Ritchie sat silent, phone against his ear, watching as she crawled back against the pillows.  A sight that triggered his memory once more into recall, as another incident from last night made its way to the forefront of his mind.
 

     Her head moved from side to side, as she contested the comment.  Her hair fanning against the stark white of the pillow, the picture she painted reiterating to him, what he’d just said. 

     “You really do look like an angel.”

     Brown eyes danced against the light.  “That’s just the alcohol talking, silly, silly.” 

     He shook his head.  “But I’m not that drunk Ali.”

     “Hmm…” Aliesa murmured, shifting slightly.  A soft smile graced her face as she looked up at him.  “But I am.”  Her smile lifted higher.  “I think…”
 

One arm outstretched Aliesa nudged him, a weak smile shadowing her lips when his brows furrowed questioningly at her, and he continued to eye her silently.

“It was in my purse,” she mouthed, handing him the aspirin and a glass of water, before she laid back down covering up her eyes with the back of her arm.

Hangover, he told himself as he continued his conversation on the phone.

Hangover, he repeated silently in his head, as they waited for their coffee. 

Hangover.

But for some reason, after that phone call of his was finished, as Richard Neville cradled his head in the crevices of his arms, and peeked at Aliesa Montaine every now and again, he couldn’t help but think about that small feasibility, that perhaps under different circumstances without alcohol involved, that maybe, just maybe, they could get along.
 

Six
Back to In Love and Fame Menu
Back to Stories
Back To Main
Send Feedback