“Let me powder my nose,” I said.
That perked him up even more. “You got some blow?”
“I have to take a piss,” I said loudly.
I passed Jimmy and Violet and Lola, all talking and laughing. I ducked and weaved to avoid being spotted. Bypassing the bathroom, I hurried out of the suite, down the hall to my own room. The swirling pattern on the carpet made me dizzy. I expected the mobster to appear any moment behind me, as if this were a bad horror movie I’d already seen and knew what was going to happen.
I fumbled the key card into the lock and practically fell inside. I slammed the door, locked it and threw the deadbolt. The strength ebbed from me and I slid down the door, tears streaming down my cheeks. I swiped my eyes and my mascara left streaks on the back of my hands.
Even two rooms away, I could still hear the party. I covered my ears, staring down at the purse in my lap, my cell phone sliding out. I picked it up, went to my contacts and found Jonah’s number. My thumb hovered over the call button but wouldn’t touch it. I couldn’t call him drunk and hysterical. It would worry him to the core and what could he do about it anyway?
It was too fucking humiliating. We’d been separated as many days as we’d been together, and I’d already fallen apart. He’d probably finished eight more pieces of his installation. His legacy. I was drunk on a hotel room floor.
I kicked off my black stilettos and struggled to my feet, my sights on the mini-bar. I threw it open, grabbed a tiny bottle of something brown and started to twist the top, ready to turn the night into oblivion.
Then my bleary gaze landed on the perfume bottle. The beautiful, perfect vessel with its delicate ribbons of purple spiraling around the middle. I stared. It was no accident my sober self had set it on top of the little cabinet above the mini bar, instead of leaving it in the bathroom with the rest of my perfume.
I set the booze down but didn’t pick up the perfume bottle. Jonah made it for me. If I broke it, I’d have nothing left of him.
I sucked in a deep breath, took a bottle of water from the cabinet and shut the door tight.
Then I went to bed.
Behind my closed eyelids, my thoughts swam together in a blurry infusion: dancing water and lights, fire and glass, and an ugly green and orange afghan around my shoulders. I wrapped myself in the colors and finally slept.
“Hey. Jonah.”
I lifted my gaze from the bubbles fluttering to the surface of my nonalcoholic beer. Oscar peered at me.
“You still with us?” he asked.
“Sorry?”
“You okay, man?”
“Sure. Great.” I took a sip and pretended to be interested in the people moving and talking around us. Theo had had to work late at Vegas Ink, so it was just Oscar and Dena sitting across from me at a tall table in the Lift bar at the Aria Hotel, one of the few that didn’t allow smoking anywhere on premises.
The Lift was a far cry from the unfussy restaurants we usually hung out in, or the little house Oscar and Dena rented in Belvedere. The Lift had huge, thick pillars of what looked like gold tree bark, rising up from a carpet of swirling purple and violet. Guests drank $12 cocktails at purple tables and chairs, and a solid gold wall backed the bar. It was elegantly gaudy, to my mind, but I needed the distraction.
Or so I told myself. I’d never been dissatisfied with our usual hangouts before, but Kacey Dawson had splashed color and light into my life, and now what had been usual for me now seemed plain and drab. The Lift was anything but plain and drab, but the purple made me think of Kacey. Rubbed her absence in my face.
Who am I kidding? Everything makes me think of Kacey.
“Tell me about the girl,” Oscar said. “I heard from Theo you had a rock star crashing with you. Rapid Confession is on the radio twenty-four seven at work. They’re the big time, man, and you had their guitarist on your couch?”
“Not a big deal. She needed a break from the party scene and now she’s back with her band.”
“But she was with you for four days.” Oscar wagged his eyebrows. “Anything interesting happen during that timeframe you’d like to report?”
I expected Dena to scold her boyfriend for being crass, but her dark-eyed gaze was intent on mine. “Was she good company? Did you enjoy having her there? Tell us everything.”
I knew Dena’s interest was slightly more refined: she studied classical literature and Middle Eastern poetry, and was a true romantic. Still, it was an anomaly I’d let someone else into my circle, and the curiosity flowed off them in waves, battering me from all sides. I took a sip of my fake beer to help quell my irritation. They meant well, but I felt like a kid coming home to report a first crush.