"And another thing … " Margo says, her face a little red now, her finger-pointing slightly inaccurate.
Thirty-five minutes later Margo's holding my arm to keep herself steady and waving another empty shot glass around the studio as she continues to eviscerate her boyfriend. There's a bigger crowd around us now, some offering Margo words of encouragement or just nodding sympathetically, and I still have no idea why the bar got set up down here in the first place. I decided the best course of action was to stay sober, not tell Margo she'd been sipping from a shot glass I filled with melted ice, and just let her tire herself out.
///
" … And his films suck! I mean really suck! I figured I was just too close to him to be objective but-hic!-but it's like … I … What was I saying?"
"Ok everybody!" comes a call from the center of the studio. "Who's intoxicated and camera ready? Send me the first victim."
Before I can stop anything from happening, several people are pointing out Margo, who finally realizes her glass is mostly empty, grabs a full one, and downs her fifth or sixth tequila shot just before a production assistant ushers her away into the next studio. I follow close behind and pull Tom-our resident lighting guy-aside, just as Margo's compelled to take a seat in front of several cameras.
"Hey, Tom? What's going on? What are you filming?"
"Oh hey Owen," he says, turning toward me. "It's called 'drunk women get surprised with kittens.' It was Sara's pitch so she's directing."
I'm about to ask for a little more detail when the wail of a crying woman splits the air and I turn to find all the detail I need. Margo's bursting into tears at the table as a tiny ginger tabby is brought to her and set in her lap.
"Oh my god!" she squeals. "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life … " she coos through already-brimming tears as I try not to laugh loud enough to be heard on the audio. "It's so cute I'm going to have an aneurysm!"
More kittens are brought to her one at a time and Margo finds a whole new octave of happy-crying.
"No no no! It's too cute! Is this real? Oh my god, look at the paws! The tiny little paws! Am I dreaming this? Is this really happening? This is too good to be true. Like, I'm too happy right now to be awake. Can this one's name be Mister Whiskers?"
I watch, laughing with the rest of the filming crew as Margo expresses through streaming tears how much she's in love with these mewling kittens. Eventually Sara steps forward and, with a big smile, says, "Ok, I think we've got enough. Send in the next-"
"No! Don't take them from me!" Margo wails, her voice muffled by the fluffy face of a calico she's nuzzling. She pulls back from the kitten, half-seriously staring into the camera with tequila-glazed eyes. "I wish I was a kitten. I'm not even joking. Can I be a kitten?"
Ten minutes later the cats are gone and Margo's standing outside the studio doors rubbing what can only be an oncoming headache.
"She going to be alright?" the production assistant asks.
"Yeah, I'll drive her home," I say. "It's almost five anyway."
"No," Margo slurs, waving a finger in the air like she's stirring an upside-down bowl. "I've got … something? To do?"
"Yeah. You drive her home," the PA nods emphatically.
After a lot of cajoling I get Margo to my car, and then, after buckling her in safely, get us going down the freeway toward her apartment in the Valley. I drive as smoothly as I can while she sits, head lolling, giggling at her own mumbled speech in the passenger seat. When I pull into the parking lot at her apartment I'm just glad that it's a two-floor complex.
"My hero," she grins as I help her out of the car.
"Nobody's ever called me that before-how many tequilas did you have?"
"Just one."
"Must have been a pretty big one then." I scoop her up in my arms and carry her in as appropriate a manner as I can manage across the lot to the doors, though Margo seems intent on draping herself around me like a flag at a parade.
"Thank god you live on the ground floor," I say, as I rummage for her keys in her bag with one hand while keeping her from falling with the other. It's not that I haven't been to Margo's place before, but when we hang out it's usually at work functions or the occasional bar, and at the moment I can't shake the feeling that I'm intruding a little.
"You know, you're really fucking hot," she slurs, giggling. My cock stirs at the brush of her lips so close to my neck, her warm breath against my skin. I have to shake it off.