Milkrun (27 page)

“When?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“I have to go find him.”

Find him? You mean leave? “You can't leave!”

“Yes, I can.” And with that, she takes off, leaving me on New Year's Eve, at a bar, by myself. Oh, that's right. I'm not by myself. I'm with the happy-Andrew-and-Jess-couple. Isn't this perfect?

I hate this place. It's packed. Drunken fools are packed in here like hordes of sweaty commuters in a subway car at rush hour. Hundreds of people are in this bar, yet here I sit by myself.

Time for another shot. Never mind. Time for two more shots. Jess is still there. Why is Jess still there?

About four—five?—shots later—how much later?—Raisin-Eyes feels it's the appropriate time to start talking to me. Apparently, I'm sending out I-am-desperate-please-come-annoy-me signs. Am I desperate? Maybe I am. Jess is still there. Why is Jess still there? Oh, look, there's Amber! Maybe I should go talk to Amber. That's not Amber. And here's Raisin-Eyes! Maybe I should talk to Raisin-Eyes. Raisin-Eyes, Raisin-Eyes, weren't you once a nice, plump grape? Why are you looking at me with those raisin eyes, Raisin-Eyes?

What time is it? Is the new year here yet? Did I miss it? “What time is it?” I ask my dear friend Raisin-Eyes.

“Ten to twelve.”

Now look what I've done. I've gone and broken the seal, and now we're having a conversation. Kind of like the first time you visit the bathroom after you've been drinking. After that, it seems you have to go every five minutes.

“What day is it?” I say. Get it? What day is it? It's New Year's! I start laughing so hard that I temporarily fall off my stool. Whoa!

“What's your name?”

“Amber,” I answer, and I'm not sure why. I suddenly miss her. Where is Amber? We're like sisters, me and Amber, with our silicone.

“Why are you sitting by yourself, Amber?”

Can't you do better than that, Raisin-Eyes? Tell me I'm beautiful or something. C'mon, you can do it! Tell me. I'm serious. He'd better tell me. “Because my friend left and Andrew's with Jess and I'm drinking.”

“Oh.”

“Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh, say can you see? So why are
you
by yourself?”

“I'm not. I'm talking to you.”

Rate me, already, Grape-Face/Raisin-Eyes. Rate me, date me, but please don't hate me. “Why?”

“Why? What do you mean why?”

“Why are you talking to me?” I'd like a compliment, please.

“Because you seem nice and friendly. And you're beautiful.”

That's better. 'Cept you forgot to mention easy prey.

“And because I don't meet a lot of women at work.”

Hmm. He wants me to ask him what he does. Could he be any more obvious? I'm not asking. If he wants to tell me so badly, let him tell me. “You don't want to meet women?”

“I'd like to meet more women, of course, but I don't know any female investment bankers.”

Puh-lease. That's the most pathetic excuse to sneak in what a guy does for a living I've ever heard. “You don't know any? In your whole company there's not one woman?”

“Well…I guess there are a few.”

Gee, nice of you to pull your head out of the nineteenth-century's ass. “My best friend is an investment banker. My female best friend.”

“I didn't say there weren't any.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I…” Yadayadayada. He keeps blabbing about investment banking. I watch his mouth open and close to the thumping music. He tells me about mergers and acquisitions, acquisitions and mergers, and…is he still talking? Why hasn't he asked me what I do? Why does it take guys hours to consider the possibility that I may also have a career?

“Excuse me,” I say to the bartender. “Excuse me? Ms. Bartender? Uh, can I get some more shots please?”

“How many is some?” she asks. Rather obnoxiously, I might add.

“Some is three.” Obviously. Or maybe a few is three. I don't know. Who cares? I take out my wallet and hand her
some
bills. Get it?
Some
bills. That's three dollars. However, Ms. Obnoxious says it's not enough. Thanks for offering to pay, Raisin-Eyes. He's too busy blabbing. Still. About his stupid job.

“Guess what?” I ask. “I work, too!” Shot one. Shot two. Shot three.

“You do? What do you do?”

“I work for Cup-id.” I emphasize the
P.
I'm not sure why. “I'm an editor.”

“Cupid?”

“Romance books.”

“Do you know—” don't say it don't say it don't say it “—Fabio? Have you met him?”

What is it with everyone and Fabio? It's enough with Fabio. “Yes. Actually, we're sleeping together. And frankly,” I look down at his crotch, “I don't think you'd measure up.”

He stares at me in disbelief.

“Ten minutes 'til New Year's!” a loud DJ-esque voice announces from a hidden speaker. Where's Andrew? I must find Andrew. Andrew? Andrew! Where are you? There you are! There! You! Are! At the table. There you are at the table. Yoohoo, Andrew! I'm trying to get to you but there are all these people between us. Move over, people. Here I come! I wave to him. Wave wave wave. Arm up. Arm move. Dancing arm. Arm dancing. Back and forth. Hello. Hello, Andrew.

He sees me. He's looking at me funny. Why is he standing sideways? Why is everyone standing sideways? Why wait for midnight? Maybe I'll kiss Andrew
now.
I don't feel well. I don't feel well at all.

“Heyyyyy.” Andrew is right here. And his voice sounds as though it's in slow motion and turned to a ridiculously loud volume. “Wheeeere havvvve yoooou beeeeeen alllll nighhhht?”

Where have I been? I don't know where I've been. “I've been sitting at the bar watching you talk to Jess, that's where.” So there.

Hi, Jeremy! Is that Jeremy? It can't be Jeremy. Why would Jeremy be here? “Jeremy?”

Now he looks really unhappy. I think I can see him clenching his teeth through his jaw. “I'm Andrew.”

“I
know
that.” Silly, silly boy. Giggle, giggle. “Are you in love with Jess?”

He looks at me kind of strangely. “We were just talking.”

“Sure. Just talking. Whatever.” What's wrong with this picture? If you knew tonight was the night, would you be rubbing up against your ex? “You guys can get back together for all I care. And I don't care. Don't care. Don't care even a smidgen of a bit.”

“We should get some air.”

“I don't need air. I need another drink.”

“No, you don't. Come outside.” He's holding on to my arm and pulling me outside.

“But it's almost midnight!” Where's my watch? How come I'm not wearing a watch? Do I have a watch? I don't have a watch.

“We still have five minutes. You look green.”

“It's not easy being green. Kermit said that. In a song. I always liked Kermit. Do you know Kermit? I know Fabio.” Cold air. Cold air on exposed skin. “I'm going to freeze to death, then will you be happy?” Spinning. Watch out! Orgasmic neon woman now spinning!

“Are you okay?”

Andrew kind of looks like Kermit. Have I mentioned that I always liked Kermit? If I kiss the frog, will it turn into a prince? “Fine,” I say.

“Do you need some water?”

“Water? I need more than water. I need a boyfriend.
Boyfriend.
Do you understand? Not a friend who's a boy, but a real, live, honest-to-God, flesh-and-blood
boyfriend.
Not someone who wants to hang out with a Sweet Valley Twin on New Year's Eve. Don't you know we're supposed to end up together at midnight?”

“Jackie—”

“Didn't you see
When Harry Met Sally
? Why don't men ever pay attention? It all comes down to New Year's!”

“You have to calm down.”

“I don't want to calm down! You calm down!” Why has the sidewalk turned into a treadmill? “Can I sit down?”

He nods. I sit. The ground is hard and cold.

“Are you going to throw up?”

“No.” I shake my head. Maybe. “I'm not sure.”

“Come with me to the side of the building so you won't be embarrassed about this tomorrow.”

Embarrassed? Why would I be embarrassed?

He takes me to a deserted brick wall that seems to belong to the bar. Only I can't be sure because it doesn't want to stay in one place.

This whole thing would not make my dad happy, especially me leaving a bar with a strange guy. He doesn't know Andrew, so in his eyes, that makes him strange.
Is
this Andrew? I look at his hair. Yup. It's red. It's Andrew. Unless someone else is trying to trick me and is wearing a wig.

Someone is counting over a microphone. “Ten…nine…eight…”

It's almost twelve! It's almost twelve! “Are you going to kiss me?” I ask. “I really need to know
now.
”

If he doesn't kiss me, my carriage will turn into a pumpkin, and my prince will remain a frog. If he doesn't kiss me, I may as well forget him.

“Four…three…two…”

“I don't feel well.”

“One! Happy New Year everyone!”

Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind…

I throw up into a snow-covered bush.

H
EAD
. H
URTS
.

What day is it? I vaguely remember making a bad joke with that punch line last night. Where am I? I'm in my bed. That's good. What time is it? My clock says three. Why do I have perfect vision? My contacts must still be in. Why are my contacts still in? What is that smell? Oh, God, it's me. Why do I smell like crap?

Uh-oh. Memories are trickling into my consciousness like a bad aftertaste. Orgasm…Marc…Raisin-Eyes…Andrew. Uh-oh. I have a bad feeling about this. A
very
bad feeling.

Knock, knock, knock.

Is someone at my door or is that the pounding in my head?

“Who is it?” I call out. I doubt the person outside my apartment can hear me. I'm not sure if I even spoke out loud.

What did I say to Andrew? What did I do? I remember a bush…uh-oh. I remember him walking me home…giving me a glass of water…putting me into bed. I remember me getting out of bed and throwing up again in the garbage pail.

“It's me!” a shrill voice yells. “Open the door! I've been standing here for centuries!”

“Hold on,” I mumble and get out of bed. At least I managed to get my dress off last night. Was it me who took my dress off? But why are my legs black? Oh. I slept in my nylons.

“Hurry!” the voice demands, still shrill, a siren in my ears.

Is that…“Iris?” I throw open the door.

“It's about time!” My sister is standing in the hallway, her little arms folded across her massive chest.

“Why are you here?”

“What do you mean why am I here? Can't a girl visit her sister? Why do you always have to be so suspicious?”

Let's see. It's New Year's Day, the day after her big bash, the day after she supposedly got on what's-his-name. Ken? Karl? Kyle? She and Ken/Karl/Kyle have the whole house to themselves and she wants to visit her sister. I don't think so.

“I buzzed downstairs for an hour,” she says, “but you didn't answer and finally, someone let me in. I need some money to pay the cabdriver. He's waiting downstairs and he's not very happy.”

“You came all the way from Virginia to Boston with no money?”

“Yes and will you please hurry? I promised I'd only be five minutes!”

“Okay, hold on.” Where's my purse? There it is. Hmm. Why is it so light? I open it. Why isn't my wallet inside? Shit, shit, shit.

I run through my room. Nowhere.

The kitchen. Nowhere.

“Will he take a check?” I call from the bathroom.

“I hope so.”

“How much?”

“Thirty. And don't forget the tip.”

I go back to my room to get my checkbook, write out the amount, and return to the door. Iris runs back to the elevator.

You're welcome, Iris.

Where's my wallet? I must find my wallet.

I search through the drawers in my room.

Nope.

In my closet.

Nope.

In the sheets.

Nope.

“Can't you at least help me?” Iris screams from the hallway. She's pulling a green duffel bag through the front door. “He insisted on keeping my bag as hostage until I paid him. Ridiculous. My Diesels are worth three times the price of the fare.”

“Did he take the check?”

“Unhappily.”

I help her drag the bag into the living room. “Why does this thing weigh a ton? Did you pack everything you own? How long are you planning to stay?” A warning alarm goes off in my head. “Enlighten me, Iris. What are you doing here? For real.”

“What does it look like I'm doing?” She pulls her scrunchie from her hair and remakes her ponytail. “I'm moving in.”

Hold on there a second. “You can't just move in. I have a roommate. How did you get here? Does Janie know you're here? Why are you here?”

“First of all, you won't have your roomie much longer. Sam is moving in with Marc.”

What? How does she know this? “What? How do you know this?”

“I spoke to her this morning.”

“Sam called you?”

“Don't be an idiot. Why would Sam call me? I called here this morning. Five times. You didn't answer.” She makes a drinking motion with her hand. “Our mother thinks you're an alcoholic, you know.”

Nice to know Janie's been sharing her theories with the rest of the family. “I didn't hear the phone.”

“You were probably unconscious. You look like shit.”

“Don't swear.”

“I'm not six! You're not my mother!” she yells.

“Shh.” Yelling does not mesh well with the present headache. “Why do you think you're moving in with me?”

“Because Mom called this morning to wish me a Happy New Year and said we're moving to Arizona. Just like that. Just like that she thinks she can rearrange my whole life. Well, I have news for her and my father. I am
not
going. Do you realize the psychological damage they're causing me? I called here hysterical this morning and Sam answered. She said she didn't want to wake you. So I told her how horrible my parents are and she told me she was moving in with Marc. Ew…What's the awful smell? You puked, huh?”

“Sam! Sam!” Where is she? Is she even home? She can't be serious, moving in with Marc! Doesn't she hate him? No, I forgot. She ran out of Orgasm last night, looking for him. But he doesn't want to move in with her. He broke up with her! I have to call Ben. Or Philip.

“She's not here. She's out with Marc. She told me she wanted to talk to you, but you were still asleep.”

“I can't believe she would tell you before telling me.”

“She
was
going to tell you, Sleeping Beauty. Actually, Sleeping Ugly right now.”

This is not good.

“Can I have her room? You probably want to switch, right? I guess that's only fair. All right, you've been here longer. I'll take your room, but then you owe me. Do you have a TV?”

When did my life become hell? “You can't move in.”

“But I have nowhere else to go!” She starts to cry. I can't tell if her tears are real, but she gets to me anyway. “Our mother is crazy! I tell you, there is something wrong with that woman. She's never happy. I don't want to move to Phoenix—I just moved to Virginia! And it's way too hot in Phoenix.”

“But it's a—”

“I don't care if it's a dry heat! I don't want to move again. And I don't want to live with her anymore. I hate her. She only cares about herself. And I hate my father. He goes along with everything she wants. She's like,
so
selfish. I can transfer back to JFK High and live with you. At least I'll know people at school.”

“You can't transfer in the middle of the year.”

“Of course I can! I'd have to if I moved to Phoenix, anyway. You should really brush your teeth. You
did
puke, didn't you?”

I must think fast. “They're not going to want to move in the middle of the year. You have a half a year to work this out.”

“According to Janie, January is not the middle of the year. It's the beginning.”

“But it'll take Bernie some time to transfer!”

“There's an immediate opening in Phoenix, so they have to leave within the next month.”

“Oh.” That does suck.

“Oh? That's all you can say? My whole life is about to go down the drain again and that's all you can say?”

“I'm sorry, Iris.”

“Not as sorry as I am. So can I live here?”

“They will never let you live here.” I will never let you live here.

“Can't you adopt me?”

“I don't think you can adopt a sixteen-year-old. Besides, I have to find someone who can cover Sam's rent. I can't afford to pay for the whole apartment by myself.”

“I don't have any money! You expect me to support myself
and
go to school? What a nice sister you turned out to be.”

“It's not a matter of being nice. I just can't—”

Iris drags her bag into my room and slams the door behind her.

What a way to start the year.

 

I search the living room. No wallet. Did I leave it somewhere? Did I leave it at Orgasm? I think I did. Yes, I did! I must have forgotten to put it back in my purse after paying for the drinks.

I search for Orgasm's number in the phone book and dial. Easy. No problem, except for the fact that even my fingers have a headache—I must have really tied one on last night. What if I'm still drunk and Iris is a hallucination and I can't see my wallet even though it's probably right under my nose?—one can always hope. Nah, Iris's duffel bag is too big to fit into anyone's hallucination, and I probably left my wallet at the bar. Maybe one of the busty bartenders found it and is keeping it safe for me.

Ring. Ring. Ring. They'd better be open. Why wouldn't they be? It's 2:00 p.m. New Year's Day, that's why. It's a holiday. It's the middle of the day. They're probably out maxing my Visa.

“Orgasm.” They're open! Yay!

“Hi. I think I left my wallet at your bar last night.”

“I didn't find any wallets.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. No wallets. Sorry.”

“Can you at least check? Please?” My voice is wavering on hysteria. I don't think this guy realizes what a crucial element he is in this investigation.

“Hold on.”

I hear him shuffling in the background. Five minutes later he returns. I thought he forgot about me.

“No wallet. Sorry. Are you sure you've looked everywhere?”

Why do people always ask this when you lose something? What answer do they expect? Oh, yeah, thanks to your incredible insight I realize I forgot to check behind the couch? “Yes, I'm sure.”

“Do you remember where you left it?”

“Yes, at your bar.”

“Sorry. Someone must have taken off with it.”

Gee, thanks.

Damn that Raisin-Eyes.

I call Sam at Marc's.

Marc answers the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi, Marc, how you doing?”

“Fine. How you doing?”

“Fine. Can I speak to Sam please?” I have no time for one of Marc's nonexistent conversations. Personally, I think Sam should have stayed with Ben. He, at least, has a personality, albeit he's a drunk.

“Sure. One sec.”

I hear giggling. “Hi!” she squeals. “How are you?”

“How am I? How do you think I am? Please tell me what the hell is going on.”

“I was just going to call you. Good morning! Happy New Year!”

Why must everyone scream? “Shh. Happy New Year to you, too.”

“I'm not mad at you anymore, if that's why you're calling. Everything's good. We're back together.” She giggles again.

“So I hear. Apparently, you're moving out.” Why is she so happy when I'm so miserable? Shouldn't friends commiserate?

“Uh…you spoke to your sister, huh? Sorry about not telling you myself. I didn't want to wake you when I left. You weren't exactly in top form last night. Did you get sick?”

Why are we still talking about me here? “Why did you tell my sister she could move in?”

“Tell your sister
what?
”

“She's here.”

“How did she get there? She told me she had no money.”

Hmm. “That's an excellent question.” I scream, “Iris! How did you get here?”

“How do you think I got here, genius?” Iris yells through the closed door. “I flew!”

“How did you pay for the ticket?”

“Mom left me her credit card in case of an emergency! So I bought a ticket over the Net!”

Let me get this straight. The plane ticket to Boston counts as an emergency, so she charges it to Janie. But the cab fare from the airport to my apartment does not, so she makes me pay. A preview of my life to come.

“She bought a ticket over the Net with Janie's credit card,” I tell Sam. “But we're veering off the subject.”

“I didn't tell your sister to move in. I told her that Biggy Bear and I made up and that we're talking about moving in together.”

They just got back together last night! He must have done some serious groveling. “Talking? Just talking? So does this mean you're not moving out right away?”

“Well…not yet.”