“Well, I’m going,” I said. It was a bad idea. But I wanted Saturday night again, a switch flipping on to make me okay. I needed it. “Do you want to come or what? There’s bound to be plenty of borderline-personality art school girls there.”
My brother sighed and dropped a fifty on the bar. “How can I resist that,” he said.
*
The condo at the Dakota was one of those lofts with high ceilings and exposed ductwork and beautiful, uncomfortable furniture that looked like it was looted from a Swedish train station. Neither of us needed anything else to drink but Andrew procured us some and we sat on a low leather ottoman near the windows, people-watching. There were lots of tattoos, experimental haircuts, and drapey black garments in attendance. The crowd a mix of art people—the ones standing near the twelve-by-fifteen-foot vagina painting on the wall and discussing its composition—and hipster lesbians—the ones discussing who the owner of said vagina might be. The consensus was that it belonged to Thao’s fiancée, who was presently in LA on a grant for building a public sculpture out of reclaimed plastic flatware, though there were murmurings that it could be Thao’s teaching assistant. I assumed Thao was the hostess. I saw a few people I sort of knew and collected two condolences about my father, plus one inexplicable compliment on my hair.
I didn’t see Catherine.
Classic.
“If she was a guy,” Andrew was saying, “you’d write him off as a complete dick so fast. You’d never put up with it. This is boring.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Oh, so I’m being sexist?” I stood up and held a hand out for his empty cup. “I’m getting us a refill and then we can go.”
He nodded, looking tired. But as soon as I walked away, a redhead in a sequined bustier and satin pants sat down in my spot, and Andrew’s mood appeared to improve. I went into the kitchen and found the bottles but I felt a hand between my shoulder blades before I could pour.
“There you are,” Catherine said in my ear.
I turned around to face her. She was wearing a claret-colored dress that brought out the green of her eyes and she smelled like whiskey and clove cigarettes. If anyone could take my mind off the Belmont situation, it would be Catherine. Or so I hoped. “I was starting to think this was some kind of trap. When did you get here?”
Her eyebrows went up slightly when she saw my face. “I’ve been here,” she said. “I was upstairs. What happened to you?”
“The first rule of Fight Club,” I said. We looked into each other’s eyes. Hers were bottomless. Everything seemed off-kilter, like a dream where you’re in one place that looks like somewhere else. “What’s upstairs?”
“Quiet,” Catherine said. She nodded at the two cups in my hands. “Make a friend already?”
“Andrew came with me,” I said.
She laughed that big laugh of hers. “You brought your brother to this? Christ, you need to get a life.”
Andrew was right about her, per usual. “That’s a shitty thing to say.”
She poured whiskey into the cups I was holding and took one of them, tossing it back quickly. “Drink up,” she said. “And come on. I want to introduce you.”
I looked out at the ottoman where Andrew and I had been sitting; it was now vacant. Andrew and the redhead were over by the vagina painting, and he met my eye and winked.
I followed Catherine out of the kitchen toward the balcony, which looked like it might have been occupied past fire code, twelve or so women crowded into a space the size of a bathtub. The center of attention was an Asian woman with bluish hair and white plastic-framed glasses and an elaborate tattoo peeking out from the V-neck of her paint-spattered T-shirt. When she saw Catherine through the window, she pushed out of the pack and reentered the apartment.
Catherine said, “Thao, Roxane. My first true love.”
“Dude, the famous Roxane from Saint Bleeding Heart’s or whatever,” Thao said, taking my hand in both of hers. She had good collarbones, a good, wry smile.
“I thought the two of you might get along,” Catherine said. I was confused for a second. Was this a fix-up? To puzzle me further, she linked her arm through mine, the curve of her hip pressed against my elbow.
“Cat always thinks everyone will get along,” Thao said, which was the truth. “And ten minutes later, someone’s sobbing in the elevator. You look like an interesting type, though.”
“Thao, you should get your camera,” Catherine said. “Wouldn’t Roxane be perfect for the series?”
“No,” I said. I didn’t know what she was talking about. But if there was a camera involved, I wasn’t interested.
“Ah, you’re one of those girls who hates having her picture taken,” Thao said.
“Thao’s doing these great portraits,” Catherine said. “Large format, straight-on angles. Think Richard Avedon, except naked dykes.”
I almost choked on my drink. “I thought you were a painter,” I said.
Thao grinned at me.
“No,” I said again.
“You think you hate getting your picture taken. But getting, like, a driver’s license photo taken isn’t the same as really being photographed,” she said.
“I’m sure there are plenty of other people here who’d love the attention,” I said. I swallowed the rest of the whiskey in my cup. It wasn’t helping me forget about Veronica. It wasn’t doing anything.
“Oh, it’s not about attention,” Thao said. She brushed my hair away from my cheekbone. “It’s about telling the truth. What happened here?”
“I jumped out of a moving vehicle,” I said, and they both laughed.
“Maybe you could do us together,” Catherine said.
Thao nodded. “Hold that thought,” she said. She took my empty cup and headed for the kitchen. “This calls for more liquor.”
I looked at Catherine. “Is this why you invited me?” I said. “Some fucked-up art project?”
“No, of course not,” she said. “But then here you are, looking all scrappy and hot?” She slipped her hands inside my leather jacket. “So sue me.” Then she pulled away, her eye on something over my shoulder. “Andrew, hi,” she said.
I turned around. My brother was holding his car keys and the redhead was behind him, pulling on her coat. “Are you cool if I go?” Andrew said.
“Yeah, of course,” I said. “She looks fun.”
He raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see,” he said. “Hey, call me tomorrow?”
“To let you know I survived?”
“She’ll survive,” Catherine said.
Andrew squeezed my shoulder, then walked away without saying a word to her.
“Wow,” she said. “What’s his deal?”
But Thao returned with my drink and thrust it at me. I had the distinct feeling that once again, the evening was getting away from me. Catherine slipped her hands back into my jacket. I closed my eyes and focused on her touch, like maybe enough contact with her could erase my memory. And I kept drinking. I didn’t know what else to do.