he’ll keep up.
“Then you’ve just proved my point.” He winks. “But, I don’t think you’re beyond hope. We can get some culture in you, I can feel it.”
“Is that so?”
“Definitely. In you, I sense… potential.”
“Potential?” I repeat drily. “What are you, a fortune teller?”
Richard laughs, and I’m amazed at the way the sound carries over the din of the bar. His laughter cuts through the air, full and hearty, and very attractive. “Woman, if you’re this defiant with every guy who comes to say hi, it’s no wonder you’re all alone right now.” He leans in, bringing his lips close to my ear. “Don’t worry though,” he whispers in a way that makes shivers run down my spine. “I can handle it.”
“Two dry Manhattans, on the rocks,” Rod announces from behind us, breaking the tension of the moment.
Rich pulls his head away and takes an appraising look at me. “That’s your poison?”
I hide a little smile. “What? A girl isn’t allowed to drink?”
“No, no, I’m impressed. I was just expecting something more delicate out of you.”
“Oh?” I murmur. “I think I can be full of surprises.” I bring the drink to my lips to take a sip. Richard catches my hand before it gets there.
“The least you owe me so far, anonymous girl,” he says, “is a toast before the first drink.”
“A toast?” I ask. “To what?”
He smiles. “To people from Jersey.”
I consider it for a moment… and find myself grinning back. “To people from Jersey,” I agree, clinking glasses with him before having my first drink in months.
***
Earlier That Night...
The cabbie pulls up in front of my destination. I hand him my last twenty dollar bill.
“Keep the change,” I say without thinking. Then, I cringe at how much of a scrooge I must look. The final fare shows $19.34. My measly tip probably offends him more than anything.
He grunts as he takes my money. I’m tempted to throw a few extra ones in there, but decide against it. I’m strapped for cash. With the twenty gone, all I have in my wallet is a single five, those few ones, and a credit card maxed to its pathetic five-hundred-dollar limit.
The entirety of my last paycheck went to my roommate to cover rent.
I climb out and look at the building in front of me. Barren, the only night-time venue open on campus on a Wednesday, is looking anything but. The doors are gated off by a red velvet rope, and a long line of people stretches out along the sidewalk, waiting to get in. Lively sounds filter out from the entrance. I can hear people’s laughter over the music playing inside.
I take a deep breath before I pull out my phone. This is not where I want to be right now. Not after completing eight grueling hours of class, split only by two hours of lunchtime waitressing at a small diner across town. But, my roommate Abby texted me to meet her here tonight, telling me that it was important.
I find her number in my contacts and send her a text, letting her know that I’m outside. She replies half a minute later.
B riiiight theeerrrre!
I hope to God she’s sober, but I’m not holding my breath. Abby only elongates her texts like that when she’s blackout drunk.
I see her pop out from the front doors, holding onto the shoulders of some guy I don’t know. She stumbles a little as she looks around, searching for me. Oh yeah, she’s plastered already.
I give a wave as I come over, forcing myself to smile despite my complete lack of enthusiasm for being here tonight. “Abby!”
“Oh my God, there you aaaarrrreee!” Abby tries to take a step forward, but her heel catches something on the ground. She almost falls before the guy she’s with catches her and holds her up. She collapses into a fit of giggles against him, sweeping her long blonde hair away from her face.
“Yeah. Here I am,” I say. I feel distinctly underdressed in my schoolmarm sweater and old, tattered jeans. But that was the only clothing I had left this morning after putting off laundry for two weeks.
Still, it’s not like I came here to impress anybody. My plan is to talk to my roommate, get back home, and collapse into bed for a glorious, uninterrupted six hours of sleep.
Abby grabs my hand and pulls me forward. I duck under the velvet rope. The bouncer gives us a hard look, but when Abby screams “She’s my friend!” he backs