Long Shot (13 page)

“
R
eady to go
?” Jane is all perkiness and smiles as she pops her head in my room. “We’re going to be late.”

I’m sprawled out on the bed, half dressed, empty wine bottles all around me, staring at the ceiling, totally unmoved. “Sure.”

“Maybe you should reevaluate, put some clothes on and all that.” She cocks an eyebrow at me, and I can feel the pity rolling off of her like thunder in a rainstorm. Jane has always been good at that pity-the-fool business. I never thought I was the fool until now. These past few days. “Can’t really go anywhere without a shirt. You know, that whole no shirt, no shoes, no service thing.”

“If we lived on the beach, it wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Pretty sure you still have to wear
something
in beachy establishments. We certainly did in Cabo.”

“I will never know. I’m going to die in this room. Tell Mom I’m sorry again, and there should be enough cash in the desk drawer to cover an anonymous burial in a potter’s field somewhere.” I sound like a petulant child, but I feel like one, so whatever. “Just go without me.”

“Putting on a shirt is really that horrible?” She has a touch of laughter to her voice. “I always thought pants were the enemy.”

I got as far as my pants and quit, because I really didn’t want to go, anyway. Why go drink in public, where someone will likely recognize me, when I can just drink in my room, in peace, without anyone knowing what I do for a living?

My mother has left seventeen messages since Rob’s article hit the internet. Seven-freaking-teen. Questions, crying, demanding that I go back home at once. Apparently she’s trying to pull strings to get me an interview with a “respectable company” somewhere, but it’s hard now given my name is immediately tied to penises when you search it. She’s upset about that, too.

Grandma, on the other hand, has sent me flowers twice.

Piper Roberts emailed over her contracts a few days ago. Bobby faxed them back from his office so I wouldn’t have to leave, and now I’m officially represented by a professional. Someone who is going to look out for my best interests in the art world. Someone who can get me into galleries. And she promised it wouldn’t all be the penises. My agent actually loves my regular work. It’s the dream.

I’d thank Rob if I were currently speaking to him, but I’m not ever again, so I won’t.

“Hey!” Jane smacks my leg. “Everyone is waiting for us at the bar and you’re sitting here waxing existential in your brain. Cut it out. You’re supposed to be drinking yourself into oblivion, not going all Dead Poet’s Society on me.”

“I don’t even know what that means.” I don’t move. I don’t want to go. Outside is where all the people who know who I am are. Outside is where recognition happens. Outside requires a bra. “Just go without me. I know Bobby doesn’t like to be late anywhere.”

“
I
don’t like to be late. Get dressed, lazyass.”

I groan and roll over onto my stomach and prop a pillow on my head. “I don’t feel well. Go without me.”

“I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice.” Jane sounds wicked, like she’s been dying to do whatever it is she’s about to do. Older sisters are such brats. “If you don’t get up, stop wallowing, and come out with us, I’m going to have to kick you out.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?” She’s downright gleeful. “I can’t exactly have you wandering around my house half-nude and morose with David here…”

I shoot up and glare at her. “You wouldn’t?” I’m less certain now.

She nods, still wicked. “Oh, I would. And I’d charge you back rent. Plus a studio fee.”

“I hate you,” I seethe. She wouldn’t, I know she wouldn’t, but actually I don’t really want to test her because what if she does? What I must owe her now would fund another trip to Cabo for her and Bobby.

Jane leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smile playing her lips. A smile I don’t like. “You’ve got to get up and socialize. Stop drowning yourself up here. You’ve got an agent, a full schedule, and money flying at you. Get the fuck up, put on a shirt, and meet me downstairs. You have five minutes.”

“I’m not a chi—”

“Five.” She holds out a hand, all five fingers splayed. “If you aren’t downstairs in five minutes, you may as well stay up here and pack.”

I shoot her the middle finger and roll off the bed. “Fine. But I’m not going to enjoy myself.”

“Don’t care!” Jane sings and disappears down the hallway.

I officially hate everything. I grab a shirt from my closet without glancing at it and pull it over my head. It’s an old band tee, not the sort of thing I would typically wear for any reason other than a band or laundry, but since I don’t even want to go? Whatever. My hair goes up in a ponytail and I only layer on a coat of mascara before stomping downstairs.

All of my photos online are of me dressed up and in heavy makeup. Maybe if I dress down, no one will know it is me. Ah, fame.

“Well, aren’t you pretty.” Jane is finishing a glass of wine in the kitchen. She’s the queen of the pre-game, because it’s cheap. She hands me a glass, and I refuse it out of spite. “Your loss. I guess you’re rolling in the big bucks now that your dick business has taken off.”

“You are literally my least favorite sister,” I say, as I long for another sister option to choose from.

Jane blows me a kiss and shoves me outside, yelling over her shoulder at the babysitter some last minute instructions. Bobby has the car running and I’m grateful for the air conditioning, though it would be a hell of a lot better in my bedroom. Where people wouldn’t be. Where I could get drunk alone and pretend this last week didn’t happen. Aside from Art Basel, of course.

That’s the highlight that keeps giving, really. I try to cling to that as we maneuver our way through downtown KC. I pointedly ignore everything the two up front are talking about and brood emo-ly out my window, wishing desperately for another life.

Maybe I could work through the rest of my schedule, sell all of my belongings, and go live on a beach somewhere, in Costa Rica or something. Somewhere that people won’t know my name. Somewhere that I don’t have to wear pants or a bra. I’ll have to research it tonight, maybe while I’m pointedly ignoring everyone else at the table.

Bobby valets at Offkey, because of course he does, and we scuttle into a private room already full of Jane’s friends, including the loud next door neighbors who like to break shit in their driveway.

“Jane!” Melissa squeals and runs over to hug her. I like Melissa, from what I remember of her. She’s a teacher who married a cop. She seems extremely respectable. I probably shouldn’t make eye contact with her. I bet she’s never done anything untoward in her entire life.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!” she squeals at my sister.

“These night shifts have been killing me.” Jane squeezes her back and kisses her cheek. It makes me miss my friends. Ever since I moved in with Jane, companionship has been kind of sparse with the exception of Jane and my unending stream of trouser snakes.

Melissa squeezes my arm. “Hey Meredith! How are you?”

I flash a tight smile. “Lovely.”

She looks like she wants to say something, but instead directs me around the table. “This is Spencer, my fiancé. I don’t think you’ve met him yet.”

“Hi.” He smiles big and offers up his hand. “Nice to meet you, Meredith. Heard a lot about you, LOL.”

“Great.” Fan-fucking-tastic. I can’t get arrested for pornography in Missouri, right? Feels like more of a Kansas law, but I’m not asking the cop til I am way more drunk.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Eric Hosmer?” I ask instead.

“Nope!” He looks utterly delighted. “You’re the first.”

Melissa sits next to Spencer, all cozy-like, and rattles off some story to Jane about a kid in her classroom. I try to listen, but I don’t really care because there is no booze in here, and all I can see is the attentive way Spencer is listening. His arm is draped across her chair, his body turned towards her, and he laughs at all the appropriate places and rolls his eyes in others. Melissa keeps looking back at him with this euphorically happy grin and never takes her hands off of him while she tells her story.

Happy couples are the actual worst. Time to find drinks. I leave our private room without a word to anyone and hunt down the bar. Bartender is cute in a way that reminds me of Rob and it momentarily steals my breath away.

“What can I get you?” he asks, and his smile reminds me of Rob.

“Shots,” I manage. “Jameson. And then I need a double on the rocks.”

Hot Bartender makes my drinks and I try not to stare, or have inappropriate flashbacks of the last time I saw Rob, where his mouth destroyed me in inappropriate places and how no orgasm since has felt complete. He screwed up my entire life. I don’t want to think about him, but I also can’t not think about him because of this stupid bartender. Even his back has the same outline. Next round, I need to find a cocktail waitress.

I shoot two shots and take the tumbler back to our room without looking at the bartender anymore. I give him Bobby’s name for the tab and run like hell, or as close to running as I can go with alcohol in hand. Our room is fuller now, with two extra bodies. Great. I’m officially the seventh freaking wheel. Just what I always wanted in life.

“Meredith!” Miranda yells as I walk in and she runs in for a hug. I’ve met this chick once, and I am not a hugger, but I endure it because Jameson makes me a nicer person. “So good to see you again! This is Joe. Joe, this is Jane’s sister.”

“Oh!” Joe leans around and extends his hand. “The dick photographer!”

“Joe!” Miranda hisses.

This, I’m pretty certain, is what hell looks like. I force a smile and nod. “That’s me.”

“Think I could set up an appointment with you sometime?” He leans forward. “Our anniversary is coming up and I need a gift…”

Miranda swats him away. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Another fake smile, another huge sip of whiskey. I should have never left my room. Ever. These two are like, authors. I’m the only hideous monster in a room full of abject professionals. I bet everyone in here owns a briefcase.

“Jane said to expect you popping in whenever Bobby’s gone to steal wine, but I haven’t noticed you once.” I make casual conversation with Miranda.

Bobby snorts. “I knew my bottles were going missing.”

“Meredith.” Jane shoots me a look. “Hush.”

“What?” I scoff. “It’s just what you said. I haven’t seen her around.”

Miranda laughs good naturedly. “Joe keeps me well stocked these days. It’s my writing fuel, you know. Wine in the house means we don’t have to leave.”

“If you know what I mean,” Joe jumps in, waggling his eyebrows. “And I think you do, Rice-a-Broni.”

He and Spence and Bobby all high-five. I would like to drown myself in my alcohol now, thanks. Miranda and Joe are as equally repulsive as Melissa and Spencer, entwined in one another and sharing books for karaoke. It’s like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole into the land of esoterically euphoric couples.

Everyone is adorable, and I hate all of them because they make me miss Rob even more.

“Weren’t you dating someone?” Miranda leans around Joe. “I was hoping to meet him tonight!”

Jane shoots her a look and pats my hand. “He’s busy tonight, unfortunately.”

I stare at her, outraged. I don’t need her pity. I’m tired of her pity. “We broke up.”

Miranda and Melissa both immediately jump to that place where they want to say, “Awww” and pout, and I regret even saying anything. Instead, I head them off.

“It’s totally fine. These things happen, very normal.” I pretend to shrug it off, like it was no big deal. “I’ll find someone else.”

“You’re so young,” Melissa nods. “There’s plenty of fish in the sea.”

“What did he do?” Joe asks. My horror must have shone through, because he immediately explained himself. “I know everyone. I wonder if I’ve met him.”

Jane catches my eye, and we both have that deer-in-headlights look. I honestly don’t know how to answer his question. I could lie, tell a half truth, or just spill the whole thing on the dirty floor and let everyone truly gawk at my patheticness. I kind of want to just lay it all out there. Why not? The rest of my life is.

I open my mouth to answer, but Bobby butts in with the book of karaoke listings. Saved! “Who wants to go first?”

“Oo!” Miranda squeals with delight. I bet she’s a screamer in the sack. Joe must have a field day. I do a quick search on him to find his books and nearly snort out loud when I see the covers.

He admits to writing this filth? I’m impressed. It appears my dick pics are in like company. I feel moderately better, though it may be the alcohol talking.

A cute waitress with a short skirt and enviable cleavage pops her head in our room. “Drinks?”

“God yes,” I say a little too loud, garnering looks from everyone at the table. I flush and say quieter, “Double of Jameson, please.”

“Careful,” Bobby taunts me. “Last time you got hammered on Jameson, you ended up in this predicament in the first place.”

I glare at him. Just because he’s right doesn’t mean I plan on ending my evening sober. Plus, no one here would let me leave with Not-Rob the bartender, even if I was in the mood for teargasms with a cheap lookalike.

Jane, thankfully, kicks him under the table, because she’s a good sister.

Miranda hits the small stage and sings
Bad Touch
by the Bloodhound Gang with a ton of enthusiasm. Jane and Melissa lose their minds screaming for her and the guys just sit back and laugh. At one point, while Miranda is humping the mic stand, Spencer high-fives Joe from across the table.

“Nice work, Han Brolo!” he yells, as they mutually appreciate their girls.

Look at all these happy couples. Gag me. Kill me. End this misery.

The song ends and we all cheer. I may hate all the couples, but it is insanely entertaining to watch. Melissa is next, belting out a little Amy Winehouse as the drinks fill up the table. She’s sultry and seductive and basically eye fucks Spencer the entire song. I never knew a breakup song could be that sexy. Also, Melissa is a teacher, so why is she singing about blow and puff?