went down. Henry turned to help me up, and the blood rushed to my head as I stood.
“Don’t tell me a gal like you can’t hold her booze?”
“I can hold it just fine, thank you.”
He raised the bottle again. “Good.” He looked at his watch. “Seven minutes till midnight.” He put his arm around my waist, his thumb digging into the small of my back, and guided us toward the exit.
“I don’t have my coat,” I told him.
“Oh, we’re not leaving.”
We passed the doorman slouched on his stool, looking as though he’d indulged in a nip or two himself. Henry took my hand and danced us into a corner. His breath smelled like a bar floor, and I knew he was perhaps drunk enough to be loose-lipped. I straightened his tie—a narrow, ugly thing—and looked toward the doorman, who was pretending not to watch us. “I thought we were going somewhere quiet to talk?”
He reached behind me, and the wall turned into a door. “Well, what do you know?” he said, backing me into an unused coat-check room. The tiny room was empty except for a few white uniforms on wire hangers, a broken chair, and an old vacuum cleaner.
“Not exactly the cozy spot I had in mind.”
“I know a girl like you is used to”—he pointed the champagne bottle toward the broken chair—“more ambiance and all that. But it’s quiet, right?” He popped the cork, which landed in an empty hat cubby, and took a swig. “And private.”
He offered me the bottle but I declined, feeling I was already just one drink away from losing the upper hand. “Maybe a sip at midnight.”
He looked at his watch again and tapped its face. “Three more minutes.”
“Any New Year’s resolutions?” I asked.
“Just this.” He put his sweaty hand against my cheek and leaned in to kiss me. I took a step back, my head brushing the closet rod behind me.
“Tell me something first,” I said.
“You’re beautiful.” He moved in again.
I pushed him away with my index finger. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
He snickered in a way that made me cringe. “I like that. I like a challenge.”
“Tell me something…interesting.” I held his gaze, an old trick to get people to talk.
“Me? I’m an open book.” He looked at the ceiling and exhaled. “I think you’re the one with secrets.”
“Every woman has her secrets.”
“True, but I happen to know yours.”
My mouth felt dry, my tongue heavy as a sandbag. “And what’s that?”
“You want me to say it?”
“Say it.”
“You don’t think I know why you chatted me up?” he said. “You just happened to take a sudden interest in a man, what, a decade younger than you? You think I don’t know what you are? I know you’ve been asking questions about me. About my loyalties.”
I eyed the door.
“What you don’t know is that I have more friends here than you do.”
I’d stepped right into it, too distracted and drunk to see it. I moved to leave, but he blocked me. “I’ll scream.”
“Good. They’ll just think you’re doing a job well done.”
I pushed him away, and he pushed back. My head hit the closet’s metal rod with surprising force. Before I could move, he crushed his body into mine and pressed his mouth to my lips so hard I tasted blood when he pulled away. I tried to push him off me but he did it again, forcing his tongue into my mouth. When I tried to knee him, he swept my legs out from under me. I went to the floor. He followed. I tried to get up but he forced my hands over my head and held them in one of his. I screamed but was drowned out by the crowd on the other side of the door beginning its countdown to midnight. Thirty! I could hear the side of my gown rip. “This is what you do, isn’t it? How they use you?” Twenty-three! I spat at him and he wiped my spit from his face with a smirk I wished I could take a brick to. He pressed his forehead to mine. Fourteen! “So the other rumors are true, then?” His breath was hot and sour. “You’re some kind of queer? Shame if that got out.” Three! Two! One!
The crowd roared “Happy New Year!” and the band began playing “Auld Lang Syne.” I closed my eyes and thought of the L-Pills from our survival kits back in Kandy—white and oval, in a thin glass vial