Light a cigarette.
Smoke.
It is somewhere near 4:00 am and you want to go home. You can’t find your friends. Bury your head in your hands to retreat form the confusion of the light and the hazy drunkenness. It won’t work. Lift your head -- slow now -- and feel the all-too-familiar queasiness and see one of your friends running across a shaky catwalk that connects the two balconies. The thought of having to balance like that unbalances you. "Claire! Anna and I have met these three guys and they have drugs!" Khira says.
Ask, "what do they have?"
"Does it matter? Come on!" Khira says as she grabs your hand and drags you across the catwalk. Just close your eyes and follow.
Anna with her short red hair and her old men clothing, Khira with her long blonde hair and her thrift store chic and you with black hair somewhere in between long and short in your Levi cutoff’s black shirt and Doc Martens looked quite the picture. All three of you were trying to look... something. You are never quite sure.
All three of you are so contrived.
Notice Anna has already moved in on Eric and Khira has chosen Stephen, so you are left with Christian. He isn’t bad looking, in fact, he is the best looking of the three, the most calm. None of his clothing have designer labels, while everything Stephen is wearing has a visible label. Right away, you suspect Christian has no drugs, or barely has any drugs, or knows anyone else with drugs.
Or maybe he is so rich, he doesn’t need labels.
Either way something is wrong. Gay? Lean way over so to expose the topmost pink of your nipples. If he isn’t gay, he is definitely not holding any drugs. In the close quarters of the back seat of a cab, the smell of alcohol being sweated out is overwhelming.
Or did you take the train?
As you stand in the lobby of Eric’s apartment building, find yourself wishing your black t-shirt covered more of you body, but in mid-August, New York, you wear as few clothes as possible. Make eye contact with Christian. His eyes are green. His eyes are naturally green. His eyes are the color green of the contacts your father paid a fortune for so you could have green eyes. You never wear these contacts. The elevator doors close, you feel relieved to be in the closeness, instead of exposed in the brightness of the lobby.
The apartment smells of new money under the smell of Ralph Lauren’s Polo. A fair-sized apartment. Eric is a stock broker -- so cold, so stark, so politically correct -- or maybe he’s an architect.
You mother always says to you: You can take the boy out of the gym, but you can’t take the gym smell out of anything.
"Would anyone like a drink?" Eric asks.
"Do you have beer?" Anna asks.
"I have Rolling Rock, Sol, Dos Equis, Anchor Steam, Guinness Stout, Budweiser, Corona and Pabst Blue Ribbon." Eric says.
"Guinness, room temperature," Anna says.
Find yourself wondering why anyone needs so many different types of beer. "You," Eric says to you, "can I get you anything to drink?"
"A Chambord and vodka." You bet his sweet tits he has Stolichnaya, Limonaya, Abslout, red label Schmirnoff, blue label Schmirnoff, silver label Schmirnoff, Skye...
"Absolut or Bartons?"
Bartons? How gauche.
Whatever his attributes, a vodka drinker is not one of them. Whatever that mean. "Absolut."
"Absolutely."
Absolutely?
You and Khira and Anna attack he powder filled cellophane pouches trying to get all you can get. It seems you have found the fountain of... something. Khira has begun to flip her hair almost like a famous blonde. You hate it when Khira does her dumb blonde. Anna is the horniest person in the tri-state area. You like sex, but Anna can never get enough. Both Anna and Khira bore you, but the three of you are cut from the same cloth, so -- what to do?
Ask, "so what do you guys do?"
"I’m an architect," Eric says.
Surprise! Only an architect could live somewhere so empty of humanity. "I’m a floor manager at Barney’s," Stephen says.
Double surprise! Only someone who sold designer clothes could wear so many. "I own an art gallery in Soho," Christian says.
Something to actually surprise you this fine evening so much like all the others. "What do you girls do?"
"We’re students at NYU," Khira says.
"And I model, part-time," Anna says.
Yeah, right. If you or Khira or Anna have ever actually shown up for classes or ever held an actual job, well, the storm in hell must have been incredible. The earth truly is the center of the universe. And you are bulletproof. Saying you do something -- anything -- is better than saying you sit on your ass all day while daddy pays for everything.
"Where are you girls from?"
"Far Hills, New Jersey."
In Far Hills, you have been well schooled in country club manners and snob etiquette. All of the essential life skills. But you and Khira and Anna have been exceptional students, only two years out of high school and you have mastered the fine art of talking down so well. Some women spend their lives trying to learn what you were born into. You and Khira and Anna have bitchery down to a science.
"Really," Eric begins, "I just designed and built a house on Mountain Avenue."
"Oh, well, we all three lived on Montrose Avenue, you know, the old part of town." Anna says.
"As a matter of fact, Claire’s backyard is connected to the county club." Khira says.
"Seriously," Eric says, " you live in the Tudor at the end of the road?"
"Yes, and we are constantly finding golf balls in our swimming pool," you say just as you have always said -- you have this speech down pat.
" I know!" You say fidgeting with all of this artificial energy.
"Let’s play truth or dare."
"No, let’s just play truth," Christian says.
"Last time I played truth or dare with these two was in college. They were daring people to snort Drano and to drink rubbing alcohol."
"Okay, then, just truth," you say.
"Start," Eric says. He points to you. You can tell he is the kind of guy who gets real coked up on coke. Maybe he and Anna are perfect for each other.
"Khira, did you or did you not cheat on your E.P.T. test?" Start with a simple, non-controversial question. The controversy will start soon enough.
"E.P.T. test?" Stephen asks.
"Early pregnancy test," Anna says.
"Can you cheat on one of those?" Eric asks.
Say, "of course you can."
"How?" Christian asks.
"Have someone who is pregnant hiding in the bathroom and when you go in to pee, they pee on the stick for you, so your boyfriend thinks you’re pregnant and five you five hundred dollars to have an abortion, so you and your friends can go out shopping..." Anna says.
"Oh," Christian says.
"This is a question with a qualifier," Khira says barely keeping her giggle and hair under control.
"No qualifiers," Anna says.
"Alright then: no." Although you hear it all the time, if Khira giggles again, you will vomit.
Say, "oh God! You lie so bad!"
This must be deja vu or one long never-ending conversation that runs in concentric circles. You are waiting for this conversation to implode. Always, you end up at the same point, nowhere else, ever...
"Okay, yes, but..." Khira begins -- no giggles. You are once again riding the magical, emotional carpet ride. Please keep your hands and arms inside the ride.
"No qualifiers!" You and Anna yell in unison.
"Now you ask a question," Anna orders. Khira shakes her head almost in tears. "Okay, then, I’ll go. Christian, are you now or have you ever been in a sexual relationship with a man?"
"Yes," Christian says. He doesn’t even flinch at the question.
"Who?" Eric demands.
"Let me guess, was it Michael Drummond?" Stephen asks.
"Yes," Christian answers.
"I don’t believe it!" Eric says. Christian just rolls his eyes. You can tell he is just as bored with his friends.
Ask, "how long ago and have you been tested for HIV?" You have the right to know.
"Five years and yes, the test was negative," Christian says. He knows why you asked.
"Anna, you seem to be a sexual being, what is the largest number of people you have had physical contact with at one time."
"As in sex?"
"Yes, as in sex."
"Three." Anna says.
"How about you Claire?" Stephen asks.
Look him straight in the eye, "three."
"Alright, it’s my turn to ask a question," Khira says, her hysterics nearly gone.
"Stephen, have you ever stolen money from the cash register, or, say, not really rung something up, or say, charged someone too much and kept the leftover cash?"
"No," Stephen answers.
"Well, then have you ever stolen any clothes, or just given something away, or let a shoplifter go?"
"No," Stephen answers.
"Really?" Khira asks.
Stephen says, "no."
"Boring," Khira says giggling again. "Now, you ask a question."
"Eric, did you sleep with my wife -- my ex-wife -- while we were still married?"
Eric says, "yes."
"Really?" Christian asks.
Eric says, "yes."
"I thought so," Stephen says.
You would have divorced him too. Boring. It was a messy divorce, lots of bad feelings and bad things said. You can tell.
"Where is the weirdest place you’ve had sex?" Eric asks.
"The bathroom of Limelight," Christian says.
"The bathroom of the Palladium," Stephen says.
"The bathroom of the Cat Club," Eric says.
"Those places aren’t weird, everyone has sex in the bathrooms at the clubs," Anna says. "I once had sex in an almost empty subway car."
"Oh how Risky Business of you," You say. "How about in Utah in the snow without blankets that one weekend we all went skiing?"
"You fucked the ski instructor?" Khira asks.
"Yes."
"When?" Anna asks, "we were with you practically all weekend."
"Remember, we went and skied the back trails."
"Oh my God, you could have been caught," Khira says.
Say, "I know."
"Hey, how about on my father’s desk with his personal assistant when I was only 15," Eric says.
"You fucked your father’s mistress on his desk?" Stephen says.
Eric says, "yes."
"That is sick, not weird," Christian says.
"You guys are all small potatoes, I once had sex in a confessional in the really old cathedral in the south of France," Anna says proud of her deviance.
Although this shouldn’t surprise you, it does. You can’t believe the level to which you have sunk. You wish you could retreat. But you are committed in a most sick and perverse way. Look out the window at the rapidly awakening city and try to block out the remaining conversation.
Bury your face in hour hand.
Light a cigarette.
Smoke.
It is late morning -- 10:00, maybe -- and you really want to go home. You and your friends have just arrived at the Leo Lindy’s on the corner of 42nd Street and 7th Avenue. The buzzing of Times Square nauseates you. Bury your head in you arms resting on the table. You want nothing more than some reds, or valium or Quaaludes, a shower and you bed. The coke you snorted is making your body go, go, go, as your mind screams exhaustion.
"Claire, the food’s here," Khira says. Consider slugging her.
Lift your head -- slow now-- and see the food you thought you wanted. You drank more than you realized.
Ignore the French fries and reach for the orange juice. Gulp down half in one breath. Orange juice is the only thing that will cut through the hairspray taste coke leaves behind.
"So, Anna, was he as good as he sounded?" Khira asks. These questions are obligatory, but nonetheless annoying.
"He was okay."
"Really?" Khira asks. "So, big talker had little britches?"
"Or something like that," Anna answers. "How about yours?"
"Fine," Khira says, "Claire, how about yours?"
"Okay, not the best, but then again not the worst." The smell of the grease the fries were cooked in wafts up and you almost lose whatever is left in you stomach onto the table. "I think I’m going to leave. I’m supposed to call... umm... what was that guys name?"
"Carl," Anna says.
"No, Chris-something," Khira says through a bit of the Joan Rivers Tuna Salad special.
"Christian, I’m supposed to call Christian."
"Don’t take all the hot water," Khira says as you stand.
"I hope you can get a cab in this rain," Anna says, "you know when it rains I almost forget how disgusting this city really is."
"Me too," Khira agrees.
Say, "I never do."
"Hey, Claire," Anna calls after you as you open the door, "don’t take all the vitamins." Everyone in Leo Lindy’s know you never put anything healthy in you body. Check you wallet to see if you have enough for a cab. As usual, there isn’t. Not even enough for the subway. You could go back in and get $1.25 for the subway, or you could just wait till Anna and Khira are done with breakfast, or you could just walk. Forty-one blocks sounds too far and you would much rather not have to go back into the restaurant. Sit on the curb in front of the restaurant.
Light a cigarette.
Smoke.
Or just cry.