Right now, it’s down to him, cologne guy and the woman who walked in alone and accused me of wanting to sleep with her boyfriend. Lovely.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him.

“Sounds good,” he says as if certain the room is his.

“Okay,” I tell him, no longer caring whether he wants to see the open room or not, “I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds great,” he says and smiles. He turns and heads for the door. “Oh, by the way…”

“Yeah?” I ask, frustration thick in my voice.

“Would you mind just leaving the sports page on the counter? New York newspapers are thicker than what we had back home. I can never find the damn thing.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” I tell him.

He’s out the door a minute later, and I’m on the phone with my friend Mike.

“They can’t be that bad,” he tells me, somewhere around minute fifteen of my diatribe.

“You have no idea,” I tell him. “Today was a cakewalk. Yesterday, I had four twenty-year-olds come in here, not so much to look at the room as a living space, but a spot for their weekly swingers’ club meetings. Don’t even ask me what that entails, and I’m not saying that because I haven’t been very well-informed. Then, there was the cat lover.”

“Cat lover doesn’t sound so bad,” Mike chuckles.

“Oh, did I not mention that she brought the cat, and that the cat was actually an old cardigan with a thin leash around it?”

“Okay, that’s pretty bad.”

“Yeah,” I scoff. “We’re still going out tonight, right?”

“Nine o’clock,” he says.

“Beautiful.” It’s the first good news I’ve had all day. “I think I just need to get out there and get shitfaced.”

He laughs. “You always say that, but after cocktail number one… well, I’m not sure that I’ve ever seen you finish cocktail number one.”

I ignore him. Tonight’s a night to get hammered and make some bad decisions. “I’ll see you there.”

I hang up the phone and try to visualize what life is going to be like. You know, as soon as I’ve clawed my way out of the hell that has been this week.

*                    *                    *

By the time Mike and I are at the club, I’m starting to forget about the relentless cavalcade of freaks and psychos.

Ultra-repetitive dance music can do that to a person.

Just to prove that I’m not such a cheap date, I order my customary cocktail—a tequila sunrise—and a sidecar.

I’m not entirely sure what a sidecar is, but it always seemed like the thing to order at a bar.

“I’ll bet you a shot of vodka I end up drinking at least one of those,” Mike teases.

He’s lived here his whole life. In fact, he’s the one that got me the interview for my current position.

Mike and I met when I was seventeen and I came through Manhattan on a school field trip. He helped me find my hotel after I got lost trying to find Tiffany’s.

What can I say? I loved the movie.

“You’re on,” I tell him and down the sidecar in a single tilt.

It’s a terrible idea—I realize that before I finish the thing—but it gets Mike’s attention.

“So, how much of the sunrise do I have to drink before you give me my shot?”

“Hell, I’ll buy you the vodka now just to see what you taking a shot looks like.”

“Drop the money,” I tell him.

As his back is turned, I take in a few slow, deep breaths, trying to fight the urge to vomit right here.

He turns back to me, shot in hand.

“All right,” he says. “Let’s see it.”

“I’m not drinking it straight, though,” I tell him. “You’ve got to at least get me a chaser.”

He turns his back again and I sit down on the bar stool.

I think I’m already feeling the alcohol setting in.

I’ve never been much of a drinker.

“You doing okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “What’d you get me?”

“Cola,” he says. “Now, let’s see this shot.”

I scoff and take both the shot and chaser in my hand.

“Take a deep breath,” he says. “Hold it in and don’t let it out until you’re drinking the chaser.”

“You’re acting like I’ve never taken a shot before.”

“Have you?”

I’d rather not answer that question, so I take a deep breath and down the shot of vodka. It’s a sensation unlike anything else I’ve experienced.

It’s not a pleasant one.

“Here,” Mike says, patting my cola hand, spilling a little in the process. “Sip it slow so you don’t get a ton of carbonation in your stomach.”

I do as instructed, trying to make my expression portray nonchalance. That falls apart as I take a short breath before the vodka taste is completely out of my mouth.

“Hold your breath,” he says. “Drink the soda.”

He’s laughing.

Mike and I became pen pals when I got back to Waterloo.

He’d given me his phone number and address in case I found myself lost again. We’ve always been closer friends than anyone I ever spent time with back home.

When dad died, he was the one who got me through it.

Now, though, he’s laughing at me, and I kind of want to punch him in the face.

By the time I get halfway through the cola, Mike puts his hand on the glass.

“That’s more than enough,” he says. “You don’t want to get sick.”

“I thought that was the point of the chaser.”

“The point of the chaser—” he sighs. “Who cares? You did it! You took your first shot!”

The people at and around the bar look over at me with surprise and confusion. It doesn’t help matters that Mike’s holding his hands above his head like I’ve just accomplished the unthinkable.

“Now,” he says, “do you still want that sunrise? Really, I’m really looking forward to those two shots.”

I was hoping he’d forgotten about the other drink.

“Two shots?” I ask.

Maybe if I keep talking, I won’t gag.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’ve still only finished one of the drinks you ordered. If you don’t drink the other one, it’ll take you one shot to be even, one shot as the spoils of my victory.”

“First off, your math there is a little fuzzy. Second, I can’t drink that now,” I tell him. “It’s been sitting on the bar, barely guarded, just waiting for a roofie.”

“You are so full of shit,” he says, “but that’s all right. I’ll take the free drinks.”

I didn’t bring that much money.

New York still kind of freaks me out, so I only brought enough for cab fare, club cover and a couple of drinks. If I don’t want to walk home or have Mike pay my way, I’m going to have to down that other drink.

“All right,” I tell him, “but if I end up passed out in the back of some guy’s van, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” he teases.

He’s kind of a smug bastard, isn’t he?

I force a smile and reach for the drink when the bartender grabs my hand.

“Maybe you should slow it down a bit,” she says.

“I’m good,” I lie. I am a cheap drunk.

“Well, I’ve seen you in here before and this is the first time I haven’t ended up dumping your drink.”

Mike just looks at me with that big, stupid grin.

“He’s my designated driver,” I tell her.

Mike’s not happy to be volunteered for such a position, but he seems content enough to see what I’m like drunk.

To be honest, so am I.

Chapter Two

Paper-Thin

Dane

“I don’t know,” she says as we’re walking out of the club. “My roommate really doesn’t like it when I bring guys home.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, then,” I say. “I’m still waiting for the callback on my new place. We could always go back to my hotel room, but—”

“Fuck that,” she says. “Did you ever see that show where they took a black light into a hotel room and had some guy explain all the different fluids and shit?”

“Yeah,” I say. I wanted to ask “Which one?” but it doesn’t really matter. I know where she’s going with this.