by Ian Mark
“Wait, but he’s been texting me.” She looked down at her phone.
“I think that might be the guy who mugged him. Look, we can figure it out. The point is, he’s in Washington Square Park right now asking for you. He told me you were here, showed me a picture he carries, and asked me to get you.”
“Omigod. I’ll be right there.” She grabbed her purse and kissed her girlfriend on the cheek. I followed her as she went out the door, then grabbed her arm, maybe a little roughly.
“Are you nuts?” She wasn’t even drunk.
“What?”
“You’re about to follow a random stranger to an empty park in the middle of the night?” She tensed up. I was between her and the door.
“William’s fine. I don’t even know him. I just wanted to help my friends.”
“You asshole! You fucking asshole!” Her tiny fists started hitting me. I snickered.
“C’mon! You were like Marty Brodeur over there! I needed to set a screen.” She looked at me, incredulous.
“Asshole,” she muttered again. She stormed back inside. I pulled out a cigarette. I needed to chase the high. A scary-looking Mexican man walked past. He asked for a cigarette. I have one rule in this city-- if someone asks for a cigarette, I give them one. I lit his and then mine. He took off. I wasn’t in the mood to shoot the shit. Was I really better than Louie and Randy? I didn’t creep on girls sitting at tables to get them to sleep with me, but I did just lie to a woman that her fiancé was in danger to try and get her friends to sleep with my friends. If that’s not stage one behavior, I don’t know what is. I threw down the half-smoked cigarette and stomped it out. I went back inside. It hadn’t even worked. Randy and Louie were waiting for me at our original table. I sat back down. None of us said a word. I checked my phone. Nothing from Amanda. I typed out a message to her, but didn’t send it. My bladder reminded me that, like Amanda, its needs had not been met.
An hour or three later, I was sobering up.
“I’m not even high anymore.” I turned to Randy and Louie. They were exhausted from a night of rejection. “I need a drink.”
“I know where we can get one.” Randy started smiling. I hailed a cab.
“I’m not walking anywhere.” I said. I got in. Louie joined me. Randy pointed to the sign on top of the cab.
“Take us there please.” The cabbie nodded. Randy got in next to Louie. I placed my forehead against the cool glass and reached into my pocket. I squeezed the stress ball while we drove. The lights from buildings blurred together, and before I knew it we were there. At the strip club. I didn’t even know the name. We shuffled out, Randy and Louie excited, me thirsty. We showed our ID’s to the large black man working the door. “Head on in, fellas.” He pulled the red rope back and waved us in. We traipsed past the underage high schoolers who had thought for sure that their fakes would let them see boobies, even though they had more red marks on their faces than Tina Turner after a fight with Ike. They stared at us with envy as we entered the world of shaking and ogling.
The smell of cheap champagne washed over us. I looked around for a bottle, eager to drink the night away. A black-haired girl wearing a v-shaped onesie with enormous fake tits came over.
“I’m Misty.” She spoke through her nose. “Can I get you boys anything?”
I reached into my pocket for my wallet. It felt thinner than normal, and I realized that I hadn’t brought any cash, to prevent high me from spending too much. Sober Zach is such an asshole, I thought, even though I was almost him at that point.
“Buy me a drink,” I told Randy, who shook his head. His eyes were on a thin redhead up on the nearest pole. She bent over and flipped her hair up, catching Randy’s eye.
“No way man, I need to save this money for important things.” The song ended. The redhead hopped off the stage, landing gracefully on her fuck-me heels. Randy eagerly waved her over. Two other strippers came as well, evening up the sides.
“Hello, I’m Naomi, would you like a private dance?” She placed her hands on Randy’s shoulders. He salivated. Her eyes didn’t smile nearly as wide as her mouth. Randy wasn’t looking at her eyes, or her mouth for that matter. He nodded, and placed a twenty in between her breasts. She straddled him. One of the other girls, the blond, approached me.
“Hello, I’m Olive, would you like a private dance?” She placed her hands on my shoulders. The similarity in approach between her and Randy’s redhead was creepy. I shook my head.
“No money,” was all I said. She frowned and moved towards Louie, but the brunette was already there.
“Hey baby, I like your hair. How ‘bout a dance? I’m Paris.” Louie looked her over. He wanted to, that was clear. But he also didn’t have any money.
“Could we work out some kind of… payment plan?” I cracked up. Had he really just said that? Paris left. Louie ran his hands through his ginger hair and looked over at Randy, who was thoroughly enjoying Naomi’s company. He looked at me. I pointed at another table. We took a seat in front of a pole. A large black girl came out. “Introducing Quinn!” A Russian man with a thick accent said into a microphone. One guy clapped. A bunch got up and moved to another table.
“I’m too not high for this.” I turned away from the large girl who had removed her robe and begun to gyrate. “Why the fuck they got Precious up there?”
“Wait.” Louie had his hands in his pockets. “I just realized I have something that might help.”
“What is it? I’ll do anything right now.” I leaned forward and rested my chin on my hands. Louie placed a small baggie of white powder on the table.
“What the fuck is that?” I got up. My voice was too loud.
“It’s just coke,” Louie said. I wanted to hit him.
“Just coke, you fucking asshole? Just coke?” I grabbed his collar and pulled him towards me.
Louie understood his mistake and took back the coke. It wasn’t worth it, I decided. I pushed him back down. I felt tears, so I got up and left without another word. I walked briskly home. It started to drizzle. I walked faster. It started to rain. I began jogging, then running. A block from my apartment, I heard a crash of thunder and it began pouring buckets of rain. I stopped moving and looked up. I was soaked. I had never been more sober.
“I’m 24 years old. I hate my job, I hate my friends, and I spend every night getting too fucked up to think about it.” I spoke to no one. I walked inside. “And the only woman I’ve ever loved dumped me because I said she snores too much,” I whispered to myself as I unlocked my apartment and went it. I looked at my “home.” It was a collection of Ikea furniture and bare walls. There was nothing personal to it. I had a TV, a computer, and a bong. They were all I had to show for six years living away from home. I hadn’t truly had a home since I came home for winter break my freshman year and my parents had moved to the other side of town. We were moving up in the world, but I wasn’t really coming along. I sighed, then the tears I had felt came out. I cried for the first time in fifteen years. I stopped holding back. Big, racking, sobs came out of me. I grabbed an empty bottle of vodka off the cheap Ikea table and threw it at the wall. It shattered into a million tiny pieces. I searched desperately through piles of dirty clothes, hoping for a dub, a pill, anything to take the edge off, to close Pandora’s box. I couldn’t deal with it. I couldn’t find anything. I retreated to my favorite chair in the corner. I sat in it and looked at the mess I had made, had been making, had stuck myself in. The tears finally stopped. I was out. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands and closed my eyes. Images of Amanda and Brian assaulted my brain. I pulled my hair and screamed. I cursed. I flashed back to that night…
A text. It’s Brian. We made plans to meet up, like we always did. He said he had something good for tonight. He’d been weird lately. Distant. Never seemed to be where we were. He was always off in some special place. I texted Amanda, but she was swamped with briefs to read. I figured I better put on some pants. I threw the joint I was smoking out the window. I was
buzzed, but not high. I walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Mirror Zach, with two-days-too-many growth, stared back from inside the glass. I put my hand up against his. He smiled. I laughed. I reached for my razor and shaved just the mustache. He looked better now, I decided. I flexed my abs and was satisfied with how he looked shirtless. I brushed my teeth for the first time of the day. I spit out the bright blue paste and washed out my mouth. Another text. Amanda. She said she might join us later.
I looked for the best smelling pair of jeans on the mountain of clothes in my tiny bedroom. I could touch every wall in the room from my bed. I found a pair with no food on them. I sniffed. Smelled like denim, just like it should, with just a hint of mustard. I pulled them on, taking care with the zipper to not catch anything extra. I headed for the door, but noticed in the reflection of the stainless steel toaster that my grandmother had given me as a You Live Alone Now gift that I had a stain on my shirt. Fuck. I went back to the mountain and found a faded Hendrix shirt. I loved the freedom of having a girlfriend. I barely had to care what I wore; I knew I was getting laid anyways.
I headed out the door. “So what we smoke weeeed,” I sang to myself as I walked down the four flights of stairs and out the front door. My next-door neighbor Mrs. Johnson was coming in, carrying Jefferson, her orange tabby cat, with her. The cat hissed at me. Mrs. Johnson sang the next lyric: “So what we do druuuugs.” I smiled at her. She was in her late thirties, but unlike most people her age she didn’t resent my generation for being young enough to still have fun. We sang the rest in unison as we walked away from each other. “We’re just havin’ fuuun.” I jumped over a trash bag that had been moved to the middle of the sidewalk.
Waka Flaka Flame was blasting when Brian opened the door. He wore slacks and a navy button-down with the top three buttons undone, revealing some sparse chest hair and a few moles. He stroked his new beard as I came in.
“When you gonna shave that thing?” I greeted him with a bro hug. Clasp hands and pull in, then pat on the back once.
“When it stops drivin’ girls wild.” He took a big bite out of a red delicious he was holding. “So probably never.” He spoke with his mouth full and little flecks of apple came out. We both tried to keep a straight face before cracking up. Brian was a ladies’ man in the least frat-boy way possible. Killed ‘em with kindness, or something like that. “You want something to eat?” he asked after he had finished chewing.
“You got any of those chewy bars?” I walked past him to the kitchen to find out for myself. A frying pan was on the stove, its handle facing out. I stepped past it carefully and opened the cabinet above the stove.
“Trying to eat healthy?” Brian followed me. He grabbed a silver tray off the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. He held it up to me.
“Of course. Gotta stay fit for Amanda.” I looked down at the perfectly organized lines. I pushed in my left nostril with my pointer finger and leaned down. Pffffft. I wiped my nose and opened the chewy bar I found.
“She coming tonight?” Brian snorted a line of coke off the tray. He picked up his apple and took a few big bites. His cheeks puffed out like a squirrel. His nose was red. He hadn’t just started.
“Not till later. We got some time.” I gestured for the tray. He handed it over. I snorted another line.
“Hey man, you mind throwing for this? Shit’s mad expensive and I haven’t worked in a few weeks.” Brian took the tray back.
“Course man.” I threw a twenty on the counter. Brian snatched it quickly. He didn’t give me any change. “What happened to that commercial you auditioned for?”
“Shit was weird. I went in, right, and nailed the fucking thing. It was for the part of Son, okay?” Brian was animated as he talked, waving his hands and the tray around, a little coke spilled off the edge onto the table.
“Okay, easy man, don’t spill that shit.” I put my pointer finger on the coke and lifted it. It stuck.
“And I do everything great, I mean the dude was almost crying after a few takes. I really got into it.” I sucked the coke off my finger.
“So what happened?” I felt my pulse begin to race. Brian stood up and walked over to the window. He looked out.
“The guy says, ‘that was great. Unfortunately, you’re a little old for the part.’” Brian turned back to me. “Now, I know I’m out of college, but have you seen the kids they have playing high schoolers? Minka Kelly played a high school sophomore while dating Derek fucking Jeter.”
“How old was the character?” I took a bite of the chewy bar. It tasted like walnuts. I looked at the packaging. Fuck. I took the wrong one.
“That’s what I asked. They tell me he’s supposed to be eight to ten years old.” I burst out laughing. Brian scowled, then grinned. “Now, they had a headshot of me, they had my resume. They knew how old I was.”
“And when you got there.” I was laughing so hard. I doubled over. “They still had you do the lines even though you were--”
“24 fucking years old.” Brian started laughing too. I did another line. He walked over and did another line. He started laughing again and blew some of it out his nose. He had powder all over his face. I cracked up all over again. He laughed, and licked around his lips to salvage as much of it as he could. I grabbed a towel that was next to the sink and threw it at his face. He let it hit, then kept it there with one hand. He was wearing a large fake diamond on his pinky.
“So what did you have that’s so good tonight?” I asked, finally calming down. My cheeks hurt from laughing so hard. The fluttering feeling in my chest intensified.
“Besides this?” Brian did another line. I did too.
“Yeah, besides this.” I could feel my heart beating, pumping the oxygenated blood around my body.
“There’s this thing out in a warehouse in Brooklyn.” There were two lines left. Brian looked at me.
“All you,” I said. I had had enough. I jumped and touched the ceiling.
‘We’re going to a rave? Really? Is it freshman year again?” I looked around as if we had been sent back in time and I was trying to figure out what had happened.
“I know the guy throwing it.” Brian did a line. Pffft. His nose was really red.
“Great, what’s that mean?” I put my hands up like a boxer. Brian laughed and held up his hands to me open. I punched his right with my right and his left with my left, then ducked. He took each hit and then swung over my head. “I’m too quick.”
“We get in for free, and we get free drinks.” I did the Ali shuffle. Brian went to the fridge and took out a beer. He tossed it to me. I snagged it and popped the top off against the counter.
“Drink that quick, I want to go. Just let me use the bathroom first.” I drank deeply. God, I loved beer. Brian disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door. I jumped at the noise. I spilled a little beer on my shirt. I called Amanda.
“What’s up babe?” She sounded tired and distracted.
“You coming tonight?”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to.”
“Damn, you sound so sexy when you turn me down.”
“Where you guys going?”
“We’re going to a rave because Brian knows the guy who is throwing the rave and we are going to have a lot of fun because we get to go for free and drink for--”
“Woah, slow down. Are you okay, Zach?” I chugged the rest of the beer.
“I’m fine. We had a little, y’no.”
“Why, Zach? Don’t you think you shouldn’t encourage him?”
“He’s a grown man, okay? If he wants to he can. And when I want to, which isn’t often, I can too, okay?”
“Alright, alright, calm down. I just don’t like it.”
“I hope you can make it, text me when you finish.”
“Okay, have fun.”
I hung up. I realized I didn’t say goodbye. I hoped she didn’t mind. I thought she probably didn’t want to talk to me anyway, she had a lot of work. She works so s
lowly, I thought, Not like me. She was a lot more thorough though. She had better grades than me in high school. I saw her old transcripts once. I did better on the SAT’s though. I heard a crash come from the bathroom. I ran over to the door and banged on it.
‘What’s goin’ on in there?” I spoke in a funny accent. Brian opened the door. His hand was bleeding, his eyes were blood-shot.
“I punched the mirror,” he said. I looked at him. He looked at me. I laughed, and went over to get the towel, which was still resting on the counter where he had left it. I tossed it to him. He wiped off the blood and went back into the bathroom to get a band-aid. He came out a few seconds later and brushed his hair behind his ears. He looked like Tim Riggins, or whatever the guy who played him was named. “Let’s go,” he said.
We saw the warehouse and both basically ran there. I had so much energy. “That’s it, right?” I asked.
“Yep yep yep.” He got there before me. We slowed and approached the bouncer. There was a line of about fifteen people waiting to pay.
“Excuse me,” Brian jumped in front of two college girls wearing neon tank tops and clearly rolling on Molly. They let him in front of them and looked at me with a dazed expression. I smiled and giggled. Brian addressed the bouncer, a surprisingly thin white guy with a scraggly beard and large Jew-fro. “We are friends of Dimitri’s,” he said. “My name is Brian Lewis.” The bouncer checked his list. He handed us 21+ wristbands and nodded. We skipped past him in to the warehouse. MGMT was playing. The MDMA girls watched us go, and one of them smiled at me. She must not have seen Brian, I thought.
The place was absolutely packed. Everyone there was on Molly or speed or cocaine. The music was so loud it sounded like it was inside my skull. I counted three couples violently making out within ten feet of the entrance. The only dancing being done was grinding, and everyone was dancing. I screamed with delight and followed Brian, who shoved his way past one particularly intimate couple. The guy took his hand out of the girl’s pants and turned after us. She had blond hair in her eyes and was mindlessly pumping her fist and leaning on him. He had sharp eyebrows and angry cheekbones, and looked ready to fight. Uh oh, I thought. Just as I prepared to Ali shuffle his ass to death, the girl took his hand and placed it back down her very short skirt. He consented, and a crisis was averted. I caught up to Brian. He was talking to the bouncer of the VIP section, which was just a dance floor elevated two stairs above the regular person dance floor with its own bar. Two Asian girls danced on tables, wearing matching black trash bags and nothing else.
