This one is for you

CHAPTER 4

Meredith's POV.

What an ass! I thought, as I put on my coat and gathered my things. What kind of person sits around, drinks all day and consider himself as a songwriter? Song-writer my ass! If he tries that stunt on my again, I'll beat him up so much that he'll sing for me! I've got enough crap from other people to deal with, I don't need his. Bartenders should get paid more, or at least get therapy sessions.

I vented all the way back to my apartment that I shared with Izzie and Christina. As soon as we hit home, we pretty much just "drop dead." Not even a millionaire dollars can make either of us move an inch.

The next day, we came into the bar after we woke up at 4. When we were still setting up the place, and cleaning up what ever yuck that was left from last night, the freaking drunk ass came in.

"You have got to be kidding me!" I yelled as I threw down my towel.

"Aren't you guys open?" He asked, looking at me almost like a challenge.

"Yeah, but isn't it a bit too early for you to get wasted again? Don't you at least have a headache or something?"

"Sorry babe. But I'm too tough to be knocked down by some scotch."

"For your information, you were almost reaching your second bottle when you left. And don't ever call me babe!" Or I'll make you cry mommy!

"Whatever. I'm here to finish our conversation from last night."

"What conversation? Oh, you mean the you're a songwriter part? That's not conversation, it's called being drunk!"

"But I am a songwriter!" He protested. Why is he so annoying!!!

"Oh...I see, you're not even sober yet. No wonder you're acting like a maniac." I said, half amused.

"No, no, no....Listen, I am a songwriter. You just gotta believe me." He said as if he was pleading with me. I looked at him and gave up.

"Fine...so you are a songwriter, what about it?"

"I wanted you to know....and I want to talk to you." He said quietly, as he sat down in his regular bar stool.

"You want to talk to me? Why do you want to talk to me?" I asked. Are songwriters suppose to be this crazy? Cuz I don't like him.

"I wanted you to listen...I need someone to talk to."

"And what are friends for?"

"To listen to your problems?"

"And what are bartenders for?"

"To listen to your problems?"

"No! To get you drunk and take your money!"

"But I really want to talk to you. None of my friends will listen to me!"

"And you think I will listen?"

"Yeah...I hope you would."

"And what good do I get out of this?"

"Are you always this business-like?"

"When I'm dealing with idiots, yes."

"I'm not an idiot. Besides, I think I bought enough scotch here to make you listen to me for the whole night."

"Yeah, you do...wait, you won't actually talk for the whole night will you?" I asked, really panicking. Gosh, I think I'm going to need a shrink if he did.

"If you don't let me start soon then I will."

"Fine. Talk." I said, as I sat down opposite of him. He was about to start, but I got curious first.

"Wait, why can't you talk to your friends? And don't snap at me."

"Because...they won't understand my problems."

"Okay...but if you are as rich as you said you are, then why are you here, instead of at some rich, expensive as hell nightclubs?"

"Because those nightclubs are too loud, and just, I've spent so much time there that everything there just look fake and cheap."

"Oh...really?" Are they really that bad? They don't look that bad to me.

"And this bar is more quiet, and close I guess. And no one from my, umm, work, knows me here."

"So it's kinda like an escape?"

"Exactly....Isn't that pathetic?" He said with a sad smile.

"No, not when you need it." I said quietly. Strangely, I can feel myself actually listening to him, and sympathesizing him.

"So my problem...actually it's kinda stupid, and embarassing." He said with a sheepish smile. Actually, he's not that bad looking when he smiles...stop, don't go there! That's bad, bad, bad!

"Try me." I said, encouraging him.

"I can't compose."

"Huh?" I said with raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, I know it's weird. But it's the truth."

"Why, though?" What about "most talented musican of the century"?

"I don't even know. I mean, I haven't composed anything decent for...for two years actually."

"Did something happened?" I asked, really interested.

"No, I mean everything is the same as usual. Nothing's different." He replied as he played with the glass of scotch that I put in front of him.

"Is that why?"

"Why what?"

"Nothing's different, so you can't compose."

"Maybe...I don't know."

"Have you tried getting some ideas? I don't know, maybe traveling, doing something new?"

"Being there, done that."

"Hmmmm...weird."

"I know...I'm sorry. I probably should let you get back to work."

"Yeah...actually, you know you're not such a bad person...except when you're drunk."

"Aren't everyone horrible when they are drunk?"

"No! I'm actually quite nice when I'm drunk!"

"Why are you so feisty?" He asked, as if he was making peace. I served him with one of my best glares.

"Anyway, when do I get to see you drunk?" He asked, leaning forward.

"Not in a milion years." I said as I walked away.