“What?” Lena shoots me an irritated look. “She’s a local. This is fun. This is what we’re supposed to be doing.” I look closer and her smile, while wide, seems off. Something’s not right. I’m losing her. Instead of arguing I hurry after her, anxiety building in my stomach. I think back to what she told me when we first met. I say yes a lot. Sometimes to my detriment. I think about what this means. How often it’s gotten her into trouble. How it’s played a role on this trip. How Charlie probably knew to anticipate it. She’s not defying habit. She’s being the old Lena, wild and tempestuous and careless. Something’s not right. I have to remind myself three times that I selected Cha-cha. She did not find us. Everything will be okay. Still, with everything that’s happened, I’m reluctant to trust anyone.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I whisper, but Lena just waves off my question with an intolerant sigh. Then she quickens her step to match Cha-cha’s, and we’re turning down one dark alley after another until I no longer remember which way we came from, or how to get back to the main road where we could find a cab. Finally we turn into a lowlying, unmarked building. I hesitate until Lena ducks inside, then pops back out to motion me forward. It’s nearly ten p.m.
“Let’s do this,” she says. Cha-cha’s already in there, putting in a request with the DJ. Eerily, Western pop is blaring through the speakers in the form of Lady Gaga, Miley Cyrus, and Taylor Swift. Party in the USA is blaring loudly, and two Caucasian guys are rocking out to it, slurring the lyrics about half a beat after they’re due. “I don’t know about you,” Lena confides, “but I’m a huge fan of any song that rhymes ‘crazy’ and ‘famous.’” I laugh. It’s ridiculous; she’s right. Lena walks to the bar and orders shots and hands me one and I decide, To hell with it. I can’t control old Lena but I can control old Aubrey, and who I don’t want her to be, even if I’m not sure yet who I do want her to be.
I take the shot, only mildly bothered that this tab is going on my credit card, with its rapidly waning credit. Lena takes hers and goes back for another one, and alarm bells go off. “Take it easy, okay?” I caution.
“Live a little, Aubrey,” Lena says, tossing her head impetuously, her hair streaming down her back. “That’s what we’re supposed to be doing tonight, isn’t it? Just say yes.” She takes my face between her hands and holds it there. “You’re so beautiful, Aubrey. Just say yes to everything for a while.”
It sounds dangerous. But I do it anyway. I nod, my face still inside her palms. Lena lets go when the bartender delivers the receipt; she signs my name and pockets the paper, waggling the credit card in my direction. “For later,” she tells me, smiling broadly. Then she pockets my card, too, and I try not to worry about what she plans to use it for. I watch her climb on top of the bar and I lean my head backwards, staring at the ceiling, allowing everything to roll off me as the music plays. When I put my head down, everything’s different. I’ve let go.
Letting go is a hard thing. It makes you feel vulnerable. But this is not to be mistaken for weakness. It takes strength to be vulnerable. That is what I’ve learned from Lena.
I don’t want to drink too much. I’m not used to it, and tonight I need to maintain control. I sip on a sparkling water and watch her dance onstage with Cha-cha, this girl we met only an hour or so ago. Lena is beautiful up there, fearless, raw, her blond hair streaming about. It’s what makes her so lovely. It’s, I’m sure, why Charlie loved her. Why another guy will love her again someday, someone far more worthy, I hope, than he was. She deserves that.
“You didn’t see me, I was falling apart . . .” The National plays as Lena leans into Charanya and sways, unsteady on her feet. I sit by myself at the bar, watching them. Watching her, watching over her. My watch says 10:37 p.m.
It can’t be right. That’s so early—we’ve been here for at least an hour. I look closer. My watch has stopped, for sure. The second hand is barely limping along. I’m overcome by the sudden, irrepressible need to know how much time is left. How much time is left to expire before we can consider ourselves safe. Lena stumbles onstage and almost falls. I stopped counting after her third shot. She must have had at least one or two more. Charanya, just as drunk, supports her with one arm. A jolt of suspicion rocks my frame. Who is this girl, and why is she here? What would cause her to leave her job in the middle of the evening to come with us? Just a wanton desire to get drunk on our dime? Or something much worse?