I stare up at him. There is no point in trying to understand him, he is just too angry, but I really don’t know what nerve I struck in him and I really never expected to be on the receiving end of anger like this. Oh no, not like this, never like this.

I cross my arms and stare at the floor. “Maybe.”

“Then get the fuck out.”

My face snaps up. I feel shaky inside. My heart stops. How did we get here, a near break-up moment, from this strange, disconnected, angry sort of night we’ve had? Is he breaking up with me and tossing me out in the middle of a party?

I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know what to say. “Do you know where my things are? Someone put them away.” It’s the only thing I can think to say.

“So, is that it? You want to leave?”

God, why are we doing this? How did we get here?

And before I know if this is it, if we’re over, my shorts are on the floor and I am propped against the wall, and we are having sex. Really, really rough sex, standing up with me pinned against the door. I wrap myself around him, eagerly meeting the violent thrusts of his body, the aggressive joining of his flesh.

Each thrust against the wall is painful, and I am drowning in the consuming fire of his anger. It is stormy, but it subsides quickly with a ragged climax and the abrupt retreat of his flesh from mine.

My back against wall, I slip to the floor. I sit there breathing hard and staring up at him. And then I realize, when he doesn’t look at me as he jerks his pants in place and smooths his hair with an angry swipe of his hand, that he intends for this to hurt and humiliate me. What did I do to make him angry enough to hurt me?

“You just screwed me like a whore in the middle of a party!” I hiss, wounded and accusing.

His expression doesn’t change. “If you are going to behave like a whore, guys will treat you like a whore.”

“Get out!” I scream.

His clothes are all put back together on him. He is staring down at me. “Your things are in the closet off the bathroom.”

I nod, and just like that Alan leaves. I manage to hold back the tears until I’ve counted to twenty in my head, just to be sure he’s not coming back and won’t see me cry.

My body feels heavy as I pull myself up onto my feet. Shaking, I go into the bathroom, but I feel spacey, disoriented, and uncoordinated. My trembling flesh sinks onto the ledge of the bathtub.

What am I supposed to do now? I can’t just pack up my things and lug them out in the middle of a party where everyone will see me. Raw, bitter, humiliating emotion runs like ice through my veins. What did I do that was so awful that he would screw me at a party then dump me? Scalding tears pour down my cheeks. Frantically, I replay the minutes in my head, but for the love of Jesus there is nothing to explain this—his lashing out at me and ending us.

I curl into a tight ball, rocking, trying to stop my tears. What did I expect? You have only to open a newspaper to get a pretty clear idea of what kind of guy he is. I knew—but I thought he cared about me. Really cared. How could he do this to me? How could he turn in a flash into an asshole that screwed me at a party and tossed me aside?

My gaze darts around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do. I can’t leave. I can’t go back into the party. And I don’t want to stay here, trapped in a bathroom, humiliated and alone.

I hear sounds from the bedroom and my anxious heart betrays me, wishing that it might be Alan returning to apologize to me. Maybe it was just a fight? A big wicked nothing.

I peek through the open bathroom door. The wives and girlfriends, all but Linda, are huddled around the table where the newspapers magically appear each morning, and it’s covered with white powder, and one of them is using a credit card to line it.

Shit, now I’m trapped in a bathroom while the wives snort coke.

I hear my name mixed in the chatter of the room.

“Who does she think she is that she doesn’t think she needs to talk to us?”

“Talk to us? She doesn’t think she needs to talk to Manny. She ignored him the entire night.”

“Who is she? I’ve never seen her before, not anywhere, and out of nowhere she’s just here.”

“Where do you think he found her?”

“She reminds me of that girl. Remember that girl he dragged around with him on tour in ’86? The one who took it all too seriously and didn’t know Manny was just messing with her. All sweet and small town cute.”

They all laugh.

“I think she is cute. In an understated way. Her clothes are awful and she really needs to do something about those eyebrows. But she’s cute.”

The bedroom door opens. Linda enters the room and sinks down among the circle.

“OK, Linda. What gives? Is the little princess living with him? And where the hell has Manny been for six months?”

Linda snorts a line. Then I hear the snort sound of fingers to nostril to clear the powder from the nasal passage. She wets her fingers, snorts it in again, and then dabs her finger and rubs it on her gums.

“I like her.” That’s all Linda says.

“Well, I don’t. Such a bitch. Where does she get off thinking she is so superior?”

Linda stares at them all. “Don’t mess with her. This girl matters.”

This girl? I shake my hands to shake the icky feeling away. This girl. That’s what I am. This girl. Just another girl, just the girl of the moment, and not even the girl of the moment any longer because Alan dumped me.

“Christ, Linda. He makes them all feel like they matter.”

Linda arches a brow. “No, I didn’t say he makes her feel like she matters. I’m saying she does matter. And we’ve got enough fucking drama and enough problems without you messing with her. Leave her alone.”

“I don’t know. Everything feels so bizarre. Stranger than usual since Manny came back with her, which is strange enough.”

“Does anyone know what happened?”

Linda says nothing. Not one piece of what she knows falls on the table. “He’s just went into Rehab. Why do you all make such a drama about everything?”

“Rehab certainly hasn’t helped with his anger issue. Did anyone else hear that he broke Vince Carroll’s arm for drugging her?”

Linda rolls her eyes. “If you are going to get your gossip from the tabloids, no one will ever take you seriously, Bianca.”

Bianca looks up at Linda. “Ryan told me Manny almost put Ian through a wall just for talking to her and then admitted he broke Vince’s arm for drugging her. I don’t think the Rehab shit helped much with his anger issues.”

Linda is now like a laser-guided missile. “Manny has been with Ryan and Ian?”

“You didn’t know?” Bianca asks. “He’s recording a solo album with the little princess. Manny didn’t tell you? Len doesn’t know?”

Linda says nothing. She stares. She shrugs. I can feel how upset she is, but she is loyal. Always loyal.

Linda stares them all down. “Shut the fuck up! I mean it. No more gossip. No more chatter. Nothing. And if you fuck with her you are fucking with me.”

The door slams behind Linda. The girls stare at each other.

“God, what’s up with her these days?” Bianca asks.

“These days? It’s every day. Len fucks everything that moves and she goes ballistic on us.”

Another line snorted. The door opens and the wives all look up at once, as Kenny Jones saunters in.

“What’s up with the hen house? You all look guilty. What are you cackling about now?”

Kenny sinks to the floor and pulls his girlfriend back against him. He takes the rolled hundred, does a quick line, and then cleans his airways.

Bianca says, “The little princess. Ian says Manny is recording a solo album with her. That he’s quitting the band.”

Kenny leans back against the bed, laughing so hard that his face reddens and tears sparkle in his eyes. “Where the fuck do you get this shit? The girl is nothing. Just something to do. She’s just some bird he picked up at The Blue Light. Her friend was a crazy ass bitch. He fucked her in the bathroom at the club. You know how Manny is. Fuck ’em and on to the next one.”