Free Letters From The Ledge by Lynda Meyers Page A

every time she got triggered. The therapist said it was a trust thing, and when she was ready to trust him she’d let him stay. Until then, he was supposed to respect her need to process in private. It about killed him, but so far he’d kept his end of the bargain.
    The first drink went down way too easily as he too went over the events of that night in his mind. He’d been twenty minutes late, and in that twenty minutes she’d been dragged into an alley, beaten and raped by two different men, one after the other. He slammed the rest of his drink and ordered another, the guilt overwhelming his ability to make sense of the last year and a half.
    "Rough night, sir?" The young bartender slid the glass toward him and Nate nodded. He took a long drink before answering.
    "You could say that."
    "Girl trouble?"
    "Is there another kind?"
    "Not too many others that drive a guy to drink, no. Especially with a face like yours."
    Nate laughed in spite of himself. "Is it that obvious?"
    "I may be young sir, but it doesn’t take long to learn the signs."
    This was going to be interesting. "Really? So what’s my tell?"
    The young bartender looked down, slightly embarrassed. "Well, a good looking, well-dressed man like yourself walks into the bar of a nice hotel and it’s usually one of three possibilities."
    "Go on."
    "They could be meeting someone–business or otherwise, in which case they look somewhat excited, or at least have a sense of purpose. You can almost see the wheels turning in their heads as they go over what they’re going to say or how they’re going to act."
    "Ok, what’s the second possibility?"
    "The usual bad day at work. In that case though, the look on their face is more–well, more pissed off sir."
    "And third?"
    The young man smiled. "That would be you."
    "Which is?"
    "Somewhat confused, forlorn and dejected looking. Sir." Nate chuckled and took another long drink, nearly draining the glass. The bartender picked it up to refill it. "And they drink ‘em hard and fast."
    Nate clasped his hands together on top of the bar. "What’s your name, man?"
    "Jimmy."
    Jimmy didn’t look old enough to be behind a bar, much less giving advice. "Jimmy, you seem very insightful. What is it you do when you’re not bartending?"
    "I’m in school at NYU. Computers."
    "Really? I work with computers myself."
    Jimmy handed him another. "That’s great. Will you excuse me?"
    Halfway through the third drink the guilt and anger fused into a hard lump in the center of his chest and with every sip it sank lower and lower, until it roiled once again in his bowels, a distant acid with a slow, meandering burn.
    He was beginning to regret ordering that third round when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and he just about flew out of his chair. Nate swallowed one last time. It was talk about Frank that had started this whole episode. How ironic that it should end with him in the flesh.
    "Mind if I sit down?"
    Before Nate could say anything, Frank was already on the stool next to him and Jimmy had made himself scarce. Smart kid.
    "So, is this your office away from the office?"
    Frank smiled. "Well, it’s close to home and it’s a lot more informal than the boardroom, if you know what I mean."
    "Besides, if you lubricate the gears, the engine runs a lot smoother, doesn’t it?"
    "Fringe benefits can sometimes be found tucked into the most imaginative places.” Frank smiled again. “Speaking of which, how’s Paige?"
    "Great. Out with some friends tonight. I’m on my way home from a late meeting. Just stopped in to whet my whistle."
    Frank eyed the empty glasses in front of him. “You must have been pretty thirsty.”
    Nate was silent.
    “I talked to some of my senior management staff this afternoon. We discussed your ideas and they’d like to move on launching a new marketing campaign right away. They feel that given the timing of some other, unfortunate incidents, it’s imperative that we come down strong and show our