Title: The Railroad Recalibration (6/9)
Author: phantagrae
Rating: G
Summary: My idea of how Sheldon's train journey might have gone. A million thanks to my super beta, FoxPhile!
Feedback: Yes, please. phantagrae@earthlink.net
Author's Notes: A million thanks to my super beta, FoxPhile!
Chapter Six
In the morning Sheldon set out to find the comic book store he'd heard about from Stuart, hoping to find something there with which to entertain himself. He was still feeling a bit out of sorts after last night's disappointment. He had briefly considered calling Amy this morning, but had reluctantly decided against interrupting her at work. Besides, if she'd gone out drinking with Penny last night, who knows what kind of a hangover she might have today.
After several blocks of walking, he found the store, in the French Quarter, not too far from the famous and picturesque Lafayette Square. He happily spent quite a while in the store, inhaling the familiar smell of ink and paper, exploring the latest issues, and browsing through the store's considerable collection of vintage comic books, even finding a few rarities he'd been wanting.
When he had purchased all he wanted, he made his way back to the square for lunch and then wandered through several gift shops in and around Lafayette Square, searching for one perfect item. He was hot and tired when he returned to his hotel that afternoon, and after a brief nap in front of the air conditioner, he decided to try the restaurant the clerk had recommended.
He used the GPS on his phone to find his way to the restaurant, but then stopped and stood outside on the sidewalk for a few minutes. People were coming and going, laughing, maybe a little drunk. Music poured out of the place each time the door opened. It seemed a little wild.
"Bienvenue!" a gentleman called to him, holding the door open. "Come on in, cher! You hungry?"
Sheldon's mouth opened and closed a few times, his eyes blinking rapidly, as he tried to decide whether or not to go in. The man at the door waved him forward again and Sheldon found himself walking forward.
His senses were immediately assaulted on all sides—loud music from a small stage on the far end of the room, the heady smell of rich and spicy food cooking in the open kitchen to the left, a cacophony of laughter and conversation coming from every direction before him, including several patrons sitting at the bar to his right.
"How many in your party sir?" a pleasant woman asked him as he stood frowning at the room.
"Ju…just…just one," he stammered. He took a deep breath and decided to go through with it. The food smelled wonderful, anyway. "Could I have a table kind of far from the stage, please?"
"There's really only one table open, cher," she said sweetly. "It's toward the middle of the room. Will that work for you?"
"Very well," Sheldon replied, wrapping his arms around his body, as if to hold himself together against the onslaught of stimuli.
The hostess led him through the crowded room to a clean little table near the kitchen. As he nervously took his seat, she placed a menu in front of him on the table and laid one motherly hand on his shoulder, causing him to finch.
"It's okay, cher," she said quietly, bending to put her mouth closer to his ear. "You tell me what you need and I'll make sure you're okay." She gave him a wink and straightened up.
"Now, what can I get you to drink? Beer? Wine?" A cocktail?"
"I don't drink," Sheldon replied firmly. "May I please have a lemonade?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, cher," she said kindly. "We don't have lemonade. Do you want some iced tea or a soda?"
"I'll take a diet Coke," he said reluctantly.
"Okay, cher," she replied. "Your waitress will be by soon with your drink. I'll make sure she takes good care of you."
As she walked away, he opened the menu and looked for something that seemed familiar. They had several kinds of burgers and he carefully examined the details of each one, trying to decide which one sounded the least exotic. Another older woman returned with his drink, placing it and a paper-covered straw before him on the table.
"Have you decided what you want, cher?" she asked, in the same motherly, solicitous tone the seating hostess had used.
Sheldon wondered if he somehow looked like a lost child and forced himself to sit up straight at the table.
"Yes, ma'am," he began. "I would like your Creole Cheeseburger, but with the cheese, lettuce, and sauce on the side, please. And I'd like onion rings instead of fries."
"Okay, hon," she said, scribbling away on her notepad. "You want the pickles on the side, too?"
He glanced back down at the menu, surprised that he had missed the detail of the pickles.
"Um, yes, please," he replied, handing the menu to her.
"It'll be just a few minutes, hon," she said, laying a hand on his shoulder as the hostess had, causing him to flinch again.
Why did they insist on touching him?
After she left, he sighed deeply and relaxed into his chair, looking around the room, taking it all in. He found his knee bouncing in time to the energetic zydeco music coming from the stage and he watched the musicians for a time. He wondered if Amy would like this kind of music, or this restaurant.
Probably. It was a little wild and she'd been a little wild lately. It was probably Penny's influence.
He wondered what Amy was doing tonight. It was Friday night, so she might be going out again. Maybe dancing or drinking again, or going to the movies. He wanted to call her, but it was too noisy in here.
He looked at the people at the bar, drinking and laughing. Up near the stage there were six or eight people dancing in the tiny space that served as a dance floor. The music had become a folksy waltz and the couples were holding each other close as they moved across the floor. They were dancing, dipping, laughing. Old couples, young couples, happy couples. The waitress interrupted his thoughts as she returned with his food.
"Anything else, cher?" she asked.
"Um, yeah," he found himself saying impulsively. "Can I get a glass of…of…some kind of alcohol?"
"Are you sure?" she asked, with a sympathetic smile. "You don't seem to know what you're asking for."
"A Long Island Iced Tea," he said more firmly. "I would like a Long Island Iced Tea." He suddenly wanted to get drunk.
"Okay, you got it," she replied.
He took a moment to fuss over his burger, putting it together exactly the way he wanted, taking a moment to taste the sauce before pouring a bit of it on the patty. He had just begun to eat when the waitress returned with his drink.
"You make sure you eat that food before you drink this, hon," she said.
"I've had alcohol before," he said defensively. "And I've had this specific drink before, as well."
"Okay," she said kindly. She patted his shoulder one last time and left him to his meal.
Despite his response to her, he did indeed make sure he had a full stomach before taking an experimental sip of the drink. It tasted as good as he remembered from the time Penny had served him one. Or was it three? That evening was still a little fuzzy in his memory.
He alternated between the diet Coke and the cocktail, feeling the alcohol burning its way down his throat. The waitress swung by his table a while later and offered to take his now empty plate.
"How was everything, cher? Do you need anything else?" she asked.
"Yes, it was fine. And I'd like another Long Island Iced Tea, please," Sheldon said, feeling heady and loose.
"Are you sure, hon?" she asked doubtfully.
"Of course I'm sure," he replied. "I'm a grown man. I can drink."
"Okay, okay," she said, smiling to herself. She soon returned with another glass, taking his empty glasses away.
He sipped the new drink a little more quickly, enjoying the feeling of his joints uncoupling. Part of him wanted to get up and dance to the jig the band was now playing. The singer was singing in French or Cajun French. Something about someone leaving and not coming back.
He flagged down the waitress one more time.
Sheldon wobbled over toward the dance floor by himself, holding his fourth drink in one hand, trying to make his gangly body move to the time of the music, with little success. He came close to falling onto a couple sitting on the edge of the tiny dance floor. The band was playing another slow song, with mournful French lyrics. His fuzzy mind was still able to interpret the words and his quick musical ear quickly learned the tune. Soon he was trying to sing along, getting the notes right, at least.
"My girlfriend didn't call me last night…" he sang in time to the song. "She wants to live with me…but I don't know how. My best friend is moving out…and I don't know what to do. I don't want to study…string…theory…but they're making me…My girlfriend didn't call me last night…"
His waitress approached him and tried to take his arm.
"Come along, cher," she said sweetly, trying to steer him back to his table.
But Sheldon instead pulled her into his wobbly dance and sang to her.
"My girlfriend didn't call me last night…"
"Oh, now I know why you wanted to get drunk," she said, putting a strong arm around his slim waist and pulling him off the dance floor.
"Miss…ma'am…Miss…um, I'on't know y'name," he slurred as he let her lead him back toward his table.
"Marie, cher," she said. "My name is Marie."
"Marie," he began again, "woul'you hep me towar'th' res'oom? I'm'onna puke."
She nodded knowingly and led him down a narrow hall, releasing him in front of the men's room door and relieving him of his empty glass.
"Thanyou," he slurred as he pushed his way into the small restroom.
He made his way to the single toilet stall and bent over it just in time to lose his dinner.
He emerged several minutes later, not feeling much better. He looked for his waitress again, hoping she cared about him as much as she had seemed to all evening.
"Marie," he whispered as he approached her.
"Aw, cher," she replied sympathetically. "Are you feeling any better?"
"No' rilly," he said hoarsely. "I nee' a ge' back to my'tel. Ca'you hepme ge' a taxi?"
"Sure thing, hon," she said, taking his arm and leading him up to the entrance of the restaurant to a bench near the door.
"You sit here and I'll get you a cab." She stepped away for a few minutes and soon a taxi had pulled up, honking once.
She helped Sheldon get in the cab and made sure the driver understood Sheldon's slurred directions to the hotel, then sent him on his way.
As the taxi moved slowly through the dark streets, Sheldon struggled to pull his phone from his pants pocket. It took him a few minutes to touch the right button as the taxi jostled his already unsteady limbs around in the back seat. At last he managed to dial her number and the phone rang a few times. To Sheldon's disappointment, it then went to Amy's voice mail. He waited for the beep and began.
"H'lo, Amy," he slurred. "Thiss yer boyfren'. I wan'd to talk to you, bu' yer no' there. I wan'd to talk…oh, I sedthat'redy. Um…Amy, I mizyou. I wan'd to talk t'you."
He lowered his voice and whispered into the phone. "Iloveyou."
The taxi bounced through a pothole and Sheldon bent forward to vomit between his feet.
"I gotta go, 'my," he gasped into the phone. "I have to vomit."
Sheldon barely made it up to his room before he had to dash to the toilet and vomit again several times. At last he rinsed his mouth and threw himself onto his bed, barely taking the time to kick off his shoes.
He never noticed the text message notification on his phone.
Continued in Chapter Seven