"It's 7:23 PM!" He shouts, hopefully, and she smiles as she gets into the car. He stares after them, as they go. Under the beard, and the hair and the jacket, under the madness, He is beautiful.
Then it's later, and Kevin and Jackie watch as Eleanor downs a bucket of scotch and wipes at her makeup. She's told them the story; Kevin bristles at whatever it is. "He's a fucking criminal," he growls, and Jackie holds up a hand. "I had to say it!" Kevin says, also in his cups, angry about whatever it is. "He's her father," Jackie says, and corrects herself. "Stepfather." Eleanor sniffles and says Kevin's right. She points at him, and nods through her tears, and picks up her drink. She is ashamed. Cheers. "Total waste of plasma, that one. My sister's gonna be destroyed..."
"What about you?" Jackie asks, and Eleanor snorts. "I'm getting blasted in Queens. Consider me already destroyed." This puts Kevin's hackles up, and Eleanor shivers. "Rats. That came out wrong, didn't it?" Kevin heads upstairs, pointedly making it clear he's heard this particular area of Eleanor's bullshit more than once before, and kisses Jackie goodnight. Eleanor waves to him guiltily, and asks if she hurt his feelings. "Kevin? Nooo." Jackie puts her at ease, and watches her. She looks 15 years older: just smoking, sad and broken. Jackie watches her pour another glass.
Then it's morning, 10:10 AM to be exact, and Fiona and Eleanor watch the coffee dripping into the carafe like morphine. "You can pour now," Eleanor grunts, and Fiona smiles to herself. "It's still going!" Eleanor shakes her head indulgently. "You're a tiny, cruel little creature." Fiona nods, with a sparkling smile. "I know!" Eleanor loves it. Me, too.
Fiona finally pours the coffee, while Eleanor notices a pile of open bills on the table. Fiona hands over the mug, and Eleanor shrieks when she tastes it: "AUGH! What the hell is this?" Fiona giggles, like chimes. "What you trying to do, poison me?" While Fiona laughs her ass off, Eleanor spits the coffee back out: "Pah! Hideous!" She asks if Fiona got it from the gutter, and sends her to the fridge for milk, "to dilute this catastrophe!"
The bill on top of the pile is for about a hundred bucks. She pops it into her purse faster than a half-bottle of Xanax, thinking they won't notice. She never does, and anyway, that's nothing. She's not a good friend, she thinks. Not a good person, not like Jackie. She says the most terrible things, and has no family, nobody who loves her. There's not much she can give but money; no other way to deal with problems than to throw money at them. This is a problem, then, to be solved: how to even the score. How to make Jackie happy, without giving up anything of herself.