Unrevealed

herself falling into that place where the voices entice; the ones that promise temporary solace with just one
sip. Even though she had thirteen months under her belt and numerous sobriety chips tossed in her bedroom drawer, the triggers that prompted her to drink away the darkness were still present on a daily basis. And as tough as Jane appeared on the surface, the bloodbath she’d just seen could easily trip that trigger.
    The bartender slowly made his way toward her. “I stop serving in ten minutes,” he said, his eyes full of hesitation. “You want a drink?”
    Jane smiled an uneasy grin. “Oh, yeah. I do.”
    The blond woman turned when she heard the sound of Jane’s voice. “Jane?” There was a soft, familiar Texas drawl. “Is that you?”
    Jane cocked her head to the woman, recognizing her. “Courtney,” she said.
    “Well…,” Courtney said with a slight grimace, “this is embarrassing, isn’t it?”
    Jane addressed the bartender. “Hold that thought, would you?” She ambled down the bar toward Courtney. “Mind if I sit here?”
    “Of course not. I could use the company.”
    Jane sat on the stool next to Courtney. Now that Jane was closer to her, she could see how much Courtney had aged. The last time they’d seen each other was about a year prior, at the annual Domestic Violence fundraiser that Courtney’s husband sponsored. The vibrant blue eyes Jane saw then were now replaced by gray spheres that lacked any life force. This former Miss Texas beauty queen looked like she was in her mid-fifties rather than early forties, with lines carved around her mouth and into her forehead. Her deeply set eyelids — a creation of cosmetic surgery — appeared to be hollowed recesses that gave off an almost ghostly gaze. Her skin was pale and moist, as if she’d been sweating or
was feverish. Gone were the false eyelashes Jane recalled her always wearing. Gone was the rocket-red lipstick that was so perfectly applied, it never smudged. The polished red fingernails, Courtney’s trademark, were still there. But this was the first time Jane had seen her manicure with gaping chips.
    “Should I ask how you’re doing?” Courtney gently said.
    Jane cleared her throat. She was not one to open up to others, even when it might serve her. “I’ve had a shitty night. I’m pretty fucked-up right now.”
    Courtney reached out and touched Jane’s hand. “I’m sorry.”
    Fresh images of the bloodbath flashed in front of Jane. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, hoping in some way it would shift the deathly scene out of her mind. She looked at Courtney and felt a shudder down her spine.
    “My God, Jane. I can feel what you’re feeling right now. Is there anything I can do to help?”
    Jane stared straight ahead. She had to focus. She wanted to scream but she had to tamp down the anger and revolt that was rising up inside her throat. “No, really. It’s okay, Courtney. Thank you, though.”
    The bartender spoke up. “Five more minutes before cut off.”
    Jane considered his words. She checked the large clock on the wall. It was nearly 1:40.
    Courtney leaned closer to Jane. “Don’t do it, Jane,” she whispered. “It’s not worth it. Believe me.” Her eyes drifted to the half-finished martini. “I should know, right?” Courtney slammed the remaining alcohol and slid the glass forward. “One more, please,” she instructed the bartender.
    When had the desperation begun for Courtney? Jane wondered. When had the voices crowded into her head to the point that she could not ignore their demands anymore?
Jane remembered the first time she met Courtney in the basement of the Methodist church. She was shocked that a woman who was married to a public figure like Craig Gardner would have the courage to hang with the drunken riffraff and expose her vulnerabilities. She could call herself “Courtney M.” all she wanted, but everyone in that room knew who she was. But they all played along and pretended that they’d never seen her face on the front page of The Denver Post when she and Craig were photographed with the governor-elect after his landslide win for the office. If you knew anything about anything, you knew that it was Craig Gardner and his outstanding public relations skills that made that astonishing victory a reality. You also had to forget that ten-page spread in Architectural Digest featuring the Gardners and their three blond children — a girl and two boys who ranged in age