The brandy was good. It was very sweet, so sweet that a small glass lasted me half an hour. Lynne took bigger sips, and took them more often and by the time I poured my second glass the bottle was a third empty.
I think she regressed, at least partly. She was thinking about her own Prom night, and what happened in the back seat of that car, but it was being overlaid with later memories of the same activity. She got horny and the brandy got her loose.
"My daughter is probably in the back seat of some car right now," she slurred blearily, staring at her wrist, where she usually wore a watch. She wasn't wearing it that night. "She's probably having sex with Langston right this MINUTE!" She got agitated and then relaxed. "Who names a boy Langston anyway? That's a silly name!" She looked at me. "She showed you her panties, Bob! On PURPOSE!"
I knew she was tipsy, and that it was the alcohol talking, rather than Lynne. I mean it was Lynne talking, but the alcohol had something to do with it. You know what I mean.
"I was honored," I said carefully.
She looked around, somewhat blearily. "I just hope she hash ash good a time ash I did." She looked at me and smiled brightly. "You wanna half a good time too, Bob?" She leaned dangerously, but recovered.
"You look tired," I said. "You want to lie down?"
"With you?" Her voice went up in concert with her eyebrows. "Are you trying to get in my pants, Bob?"
"No," I laughed. "Not while you're drunk, anyway."
"I'm not drunk!" she said, her voice very dignified. "I'm in-n-n-nebriated!"
"Well not while you're in-n-n-nebriated, then," I said smiling.
"Of coursh not," she said, swaying a little. She looked at her glass. It was half full. She tossed off everything left in it and smacked her lips. "You're too much of a genn-a-menn to do that!"
She looked at me owlishly. "Dammit!" she said, and then giggled. "Oops!" she said, wide eyed, apparently as she thought about the rather gentle curse word she'd just used. She stuck her fingers in her ears, then pulled her hands to her eyes and covered them, and finally covered her mouth, giggling all the while.
"Come on," I said, standing up and reaching for her hand. "Let's get you to bed."
"Finally!" she said loudly, standing up and then falling back down. She made an obvious effort to stand up again, and then promptly bent over and peered at my zipper.
"It dussn't look hard to me, Bobby. What's wrong with it?" Instead of standing up and looking at me, she just craned her neck and looked upwards.
This was a side of her I'd never seen. Her innuendo, if you wanted to call it that, was obvious and WAY overboard. The brandy had affected me too, though not anywhere as much as Lynne. Had I been sober I might have thought more about what she was saying, but in the same way one drunk thinks another drunk is funny, I just chalked what she was saying up to the booze.
What that means is I didn't try to take advantage of her. I concentrated on just trying to take care of her.
I got her to her bedroom by half carrying her. Her arms were around me and she was humming, not quite singing. I didn't undress her or anything like that. I just got her on the bed and draped the bedspread over her. I stood up and her head rolled to let bleary eyes peer at me.
"You're not naked."
"Nope," I said happily.
She lifted the bedspread and looked under it.
"I'm not naked either!"
"Nope," I agreed.
"How can I show you my panties if I'm not naked?" she asked, sounding genuinely confused.
"You can show them to me later," I said. "Go to sleep. You're drunk."
Her head rolled back. "Not drunk," she said softly.