Chapter 6
The pulsing beat of the music in the bar thrummed through Lorraine Baxter’s body. As she looked at her three best friends in the world, who were all seated around her at the table, she halted her head-bopping as a wave of emotion washed over her. “I love you guys so much,” she said, her eyes misting as she looked at each of them in turn. “You know that, right? Every time I need you, you guys are there for me. You never fail me. So thank you for always being there. And thanks so much for being here for me tonight.”
“Where else would we be?” Rosa asked, giving Lorraine’s hand a squeeze. She was five foot nothing, part Mexican and part African American. She had a mass of long, curly black hair that flowed down her back and around her shoulders, hair that she hadn’t cut in about a decade. Whenever she went out, she liked to show off her voluptuous figure. Tonight she was doing that by wearing a low-cut, formfitting black dress that highlighted her “girls”—as she liked to call them.
“Of course we’re here for you,” Amanda said. “This is the most important day of your life.”
Amanda was tall, five foot nine, with a slender frame and smooth, dark skin. She liked to wear her hair short and away from her face. She had beautiful eyes and perfect cheekbones, features that were highlighted when she wore her black hair back.
“It is, isn’t it?” Lorraine asked, the significance of today once again dawning on her. She was a newly single woman, her divorce final now for six and a half hours. She raised her glass, which was filled with an icy margarita brew. “To dear friends. The ones a girl can really count on through the good and the bad in life.”
Rosa, Amanda and Trina all raised their glasses with their own drinks and held them high. “Hear, hear,” and “Cheers!” they said in unison, before sipping their respective drinks.
Lorraine had met these three women in college. They’d all been in the same sociology class, and tended to sit in the same seats, which coincidentally were near each other. One day, Rosa had been crying softly throughout the lecture, and Trina had ended up talking to her. Lorraine, who’d overheard bits of the conversation that had to do with some guy who’d dumped her, had inserted herself into the conversation to offer Rosa comfort. Amanda had done the same. It had been Amanda’s idea that they all go out to have a drink and talk about the class assignment as a way to help Rosa’s mood. Ever since that day, they’d all been friends.
“I think we need a round of tequila shooters,” Trina announced, already pushing her chair back. Trina was also tall, just about an inch shorter than Amanda. Her skin was very pale, and on occasion people confused her for Hispanic. But she would proudly point out that her thick hips, big booty and kinky brown hair were sure signs that she was African American.
“You always think we need tequila,” Amanda said to Trina, then laughed.
“Because life is better with tequila.”
“Not my life,” Rosa quipped.
Trina looked down at her, giving her a pointed stare. “If not for the round of tequila shooters that day after sociology class when we first met, would we even be friends right now?”
Lorraine remembered that day well. Trina had assured Rosa that tequila would help her forget whatever guy was causing her so much emotional grief. Rosa had downed the tequila shot and promptly gagged. They’d all laughed about it, but through the laughter, Rosa realized she was no longer thinking about the guy who’d broken her heart. So tequila shooters were always on the menu whenever there was some sort of man drama among the group.
“All right,” Rosa agreed. “But one tequila shooter is my limit.”
“Oh, we already know that!” Amanda said as Trina started off toward the bar. “Ah, this is just like old times. A round of shooters will kick this celebration into high gear.” She faced Lorraine. “And you—no more tears!”
Lorraine nodded. Tonight was a celebration. That had been the plan, to go out with her friends. She certainly hadn’t wanted to mark the occasion at home alone.
“Okay,” Lorraine agreed. “No more tears. Not that I’m crying over Paul,” she added with a frown.
“Good!” Rosa exclaimed. “You’re rid of that jerk who made your life a living hell. You should be dancing on the table!”
Lorraine couldn’t help smiling. “That would go over well with this crowd, me jumping on the table and getting down.”
“I’ll
