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Author's Chapter Notes:
Ah, drunk Pam! How much fun is drunk Pam? Drunk Pam is also a lot more truthful than sober Pam.

She hadn’t ever been what you would consider a party girl. After she met Roy, by default she became a perpetual designated driver. She thought it was yet another sign that they belonged together.

She hadn’t even considered a bachelorette party even though Roy’s buddies had been planning a virtual bachelor extravaganza for him. The guys had wanted to go to Vegas but nobody wanted to spend that much so they settled for a Saturday Phillies game, a night out on the town, and a suite at a fancy hotel. Pam didn’t want to think about what would be going on in the suite but it was one night and she didn’t want to be the wet blanket that he sometimes accused her of being.

When her maid of honor, her cousin Lisa, asked her when Roy’s bachelor party was, Pam could see the wheels start turning in her head. She wasn’t at all surprised when a limo pulled up that Saturday barely 15 minutes after Roy had left for Philadelphia. Her cousin burst through the front door, bottle of champagne in one hand, strings of beads and plastic leis in the other and gave her a huge hug.

“C'mon Pammy! It’s time to party!”

Lisa looked to already have a nice little buzz going. They picked up five other girls – one cousin, one family friend, and 3 friends of Lisa’s who Pam barely knew. She felt kind of sad that she didn’t even have enough girlfriends to fill a limo. Fortunately, the champagne was a fabulous antidote to sadness.

Pam didn’t know where they were going but after a couple of hours, she glanced out the window to see the Manhattan skyline. Lisa seemed to know where all the fun spots were too, both the popular and the hidden. They danced, they sang karaoke, they did shots. They made Pam wear the tiara and veil so everyone would know she was the bride and that got them free drinks all over town.

Pam was feeling pretty out of it by midnight. She collapsed into a chair at a club and told Lisa that she absolutely could not possibly dance another step. Her words were slurred and her eyes glassy. Lisa laughed and said she knew what to do next.

The next thing Pam knew, they were at a tiny tattoo parlor. The girls were egging her on and she was feebly protesting. Lisa was the most vocal.

“Pammy! This is your last time to do something stupid and pointless! Soon you’ll be some old married lady and you’ll wish you’d done this!”

Pam was definitely drunk, but Lisa’s words got through to her. As she mulled them over she did feel older, maybe even a little trapped. Getting a tattoo seemed like a fun young hip thing to do. Like something she would’ve done if she had gone away to college. Or had fun weekends with the girls. Or if she wasn’t such a designated driver type of person.

“Awright!” Pam announced with some difficulty. “I’m gonna do it. But you guys gotta leave. No watchin’ ‘til is’ done. ‘kay?”

They all agreed and went to wait outside. They had another bottle of champagne in a brown paper bag so they’d be able to keep themselves occupied for a while.

“I wanna heart. Wiv a name. How much’s zat cost?” she asked.

“We charge by the letter. How many letters in the name?”

“Three.” Pam smiled.

Waking up on Sunday was a bitch. She was tangled up in the sheets, some clothes still on, her feet hanging out at the foot of the bed. Pam’s eyelids were plastered shut and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her head was throbbing. She looked over at the alarm clock. 4:36. She didn’t remember how she got home or how she got to bed. She was laying there trying to recall what happened after they left the dance club when she heard the front door open.

“Hey babe!” A very rumpled and tired Roy appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. “You look like shit! What’d you girls do?”

Pam was trying to remember. She managed to croak out, “New York, dancing, shots… lots of shots.”

Roy walked over to the bed and absently started rubbing her foot which was sticking out. Suddenly Pam heard him inhale sharply.

“What the fuck, Pam? What’s this?”

All at once, Pam remembered. The tattoo parlor. He was getting all worked up over some small thing.

“What’s the matter, Roy? It’s just a little heart on my ankle. No biggie.”

“And something else, Pam!” he was steaming.

“Yeah, so?” she propped herself up to look. She vaguely remembered telling the tattoo artist she wanted a heart. A heart with the name of the man she loved.

And there, next to the heart, were the three little letters she had asked for.

Jim.


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