Justin Briggs

Below is an excerpt from the short story I'm working on now. Thoughts, feedback, or suggestions are appreciated. Is he too unlikeable? I'm a fan of imperfect characters, but I want him to be somewhat appealing so that people will care enough to see if he makes it out of the bottle in the end.

Houston, TX

October 31, 1983

One o’clock in the morning and wide-awake.

Justin Briggs rolled out of his bed and stumbled over his sneakers. Keeping them beside the bed was supposed to encourage him to run in the mornings with his fiancée Stacey.

Stacey’s absence from the bed reminded him of the epic argument they’d had three days ago. No communication since then. She’d gone to stay with her parents and he wasn’t sure how they’d patch things up.

He staggered to the kitchen and prepared himself a drink: rum and Coke, actually rum with a splash of Coke. He consumed it like anyone else would drink water and then he made another one.

Work called to him. The typewriter on the kitchen table appeared to say, “Deadline, you bastard.”  The profile on Tom Delay, an up and coming politician from Sugar Land, wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. In college, he could crank out a paper the night before it was due, usually aided by a steady supply of No-Doz. His level of give a shit was now at an all time low.

He picked up the phone and dialed. It rang five times before his best friend Travis picked it up and muttered an indecipherable greeting.

“It’s me. Can you come over?”

Travis groaned. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“It’s one-thirty. I really need to talk. Aren’t you off tomorrow?”

“What is so fucking important that it can’t wait until daylight?”

“Stacey’s gone. She’s at her parents.”

“You guys have a fight?”

“What do you think?”

“Alright,” Travis muttered. “You do owe me for this.”

Justin hung up the phone and threw himself on the couch. He’d picked up the phone to call her at least three times since she departed with a door slam that shook the walls and sent their five-year anniversary picture crashing to the floor.

Wine, he thought.  A trip to the wine rack yielded a bottle of Beringer cabernet. He pulled the junk drawer open and cursed himself for not being organized enough to keep up with a corkscrew. He slammed the drawer shut and selected a cheap white zinfandel with a screw on top.

He’d finished off two glasses by the time Travis arrived.

“Damn dude. Things must be really bad if you’re drinking chick wine.”

“Fuck off. I can’t find the corkscrew.”

Travis chuckled. “You drink too much.”

Justin took a sip of the wine. It really was awful, but he wasn’t fazed. “Does Stacey seem much different to you?”

Travis sat down on a barstool and said, “I haven’t really seen her enough lately to know.”

“We fight about everything lately.”

“Give me some examples.”

“If I bring up anything to do with the wedding, she goes ballistic.”

“Girls pull their hair out about shit like that. I wouldn’t worry about that too much.”

“You don’t understand. We can’t have a normal conversation like this without her screaming at me about something. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“Are you guys going to Craig’s party tomorrow?”

“That’s another problem. We fought about what to dress up as. When I gave my suggestion, she went completely ape-shit.”

“Hugh Hefner and one of his bunnies.”

“What was her idea?”

“Barbie and Ken.”

“I see why you revolted. One gets nothing but ass. The other couldn’t get ass if he tried.”

“What would you suggest?”

“Indiana Jones. She could be Marion. I don’t mean the grungy barfly Marion. Sexy low-cut, white dress Marion.”

“That’s brilliant. I already have a leather jacket and khaki pants. I’m pretty sure I have a shirt that would work. I don’t have a hat or a bullwhip though.”

“Or a horse.”

“He didn’t have a horse.”

“He rode one, remember?”

“Only cause he didn’t have a choice.”

Travis shook his head. No point in arguing with a functional alcoholic who would never seek therapy for his screwed up existence.

“Do you want me to talk to her? I’ll throw the Indiana Jones idea out there and see what she says. She might love it.”

“You’d do that?”

“Sure. I’m off work tomorrow, I mean today.”

“I’m not. Curtis will murder me if I call in but show up at the party.”

“Alright, I’ll take Stacey to the costume shop. We’ll find everything ya’ll need.”

“You are a godsend.”