The only lady missing from this picture is my mom. I’d put money on it that she would get along fabulously with Dana, and maybe a little further down the line it’s a picture that will be possible to arrange.
“Is everything okay, Lottie?” Dana asks casually, but I don’t miss the gentle concern in her voice.
“Sure,” she mumbles unconvincingly around a mouthful of truffle.
“You’re quiet,” Dana remarks.
Lottie shrugs, then sighs. “I had a shitty day…I had a complaint from a customer,” she says, looking into her lap.
“Wanna talk about it, babe?” I offer.
“No,” she grumbles before she can’t hold it in any longer and blurts out, “Can you fucking believe it? A complaint…Asshole. Well, he wasn’t smiling when I poured his gin and tonic into his lap, was he? No, he wasn’t. Maybe he’ll think twice about snapping his fingers at me like I should come to heel like a pet dog, then having the audacity to complain because he asked for ice and no lemon and instead I gave him lemon and no ice.” She rants the whole sentence in just one breath. Dana is looking on, her eyes wide with a smile to match. Lottie is unique, but it’s hard not to love her. She might have flame red hair and the temper to go with it but she has one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever known.
“Lottie!” Dana says unbelievably. “You can’t go around throwing drinks into customer’s laps.”
“Well, he was an asshole,” Lottie grumbles.
“So what did your boss say?” I ask.
“Oh look! We’re out of Prosecco, I’ll go to the fridge and get some more, shall I?” She hops up from her chair in one swift move and makes an escape back into the apartment.
“Lottie!” Both Dana and I shout out to her at the same time. I hear her footsteps falter then scurry away. Lottie doesn’t usually use avoidance tactics. She’s a straight up, head on kind of girl. So, I’m beginning to think there’s more to her story than she’s letting on.
“Do you want to go check on her, or shall I?” Dana asks.
“I think maybe we should just give her a minute, she’ll come out in her own time. You know Lottie, she’ll talk when she’s ready. She can’t stay quiet for long.”
Dana and I chat for a few minutes before realizing that Lottie still hasn’t come back with the Prosecco, and for her to avoid us this long really means something is up.
“I’m going to go check on Lottie. This is unusual for her,” I say, before making my way back through the balcony doors. As I step through the doorway, I let my eyes adjust from the bright sunlight to the cool, shadowed room.
“Lottie…” I call. No answer. She’s not in the kitchen area or the lounge, but her bag is still where she slung it on the back of the couch, and her shoes are left in the middle of the lounge rug in true Lottie, haphazard style. If Lottie could spend her life barefoot, she would. She’s constantly torn between her love of heels and the freedom of letting her feet breathe. If you saw this girl’s shoe collection, you’d think she was crazy.
“Lottie … Where are you?”
I pad through the bedroom and stop at the closed bathroom door.
“Lottie?” I say, quieter this time.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she calls back. Her voice sounds different and I’m sure I hear her sniffle.
“Babe, is something wrong?”
No answer.
I push down the handle slowly and crack the door open. Lottie is sitting on the edge of the tub, with her elbows on her knees, and her head bowed. She has handfuls of tissues and when she looks up at me she has mascara streaks running down her face.
“Oh my god. Lottie, what is it? What’s happened?”
I rush forward and hold on to her shoulders, making her look up in my direction.
“Nothing,” she says trying to stand and brush me off. “I’m just a bit hormonal is all.”
“I call bullshit, Lotts. Tell me or I won’t let you leave this bathroom.” I stand in front of her indignantly with my arms crossed.
“Ari. I’m not in the mood for playing, okay?”
“No.” I shake my head.
