Love and Chaos Read Free Page B

one another, always have and always will, and so is Cornelia. “I need to make some money, fast.”
    “You wanna split an Adderall?”
    “Sure.” I look around. “So who do I have to blow to get a drink around here?”
    “You’re funny. This is my buddy’s place. It’s not open to the public yet, but the bar’s fully stocked. Help yourself.” Stef takes out his wallet, looking for his pills. He has a sort of cracked drawl, so he sounds permanently amused and slightly stoned. He probably is. “Fix me something while you’re at it. I’m going to the bathroom.”
    Two dirty vodka martinis and half an Adderall later, the world is a lot smoother.
    I like Stef, I really do. I think he’s a nice guy underneath the slightly sleazy exterior. There’s nothing between us, either, which is so refreshing.
    And he’s been good for meeting guys. That’s how I met Mani last year. He’s the one who bought me this dress, actually. He liked shopping. He also dumped me without a second thought or a follow-up phone call. I really thought we were in a serious relationship, so I guess I was, um, stunned by that. The previous guy, Marc, had been married, and messed me around for a long time, but I thought Mani was the real thing. He wasn’t. I sort of partied my way through November to get over it. Then just before Christmas I began sort-of seeing another friend of Stef’s called Jessop, from L.A. But he only called me when he was in New York, which was rarely, and it fizzled out.
    My love life is like a cheap match. Lots of sparks but the flame never catches. I pretend I don’t care, of course. Even when I’m dying inside, I just put a cigarette in my mouth and say something stupid and flippant, and no one can ever tell. Well, Pia can. Or used to.
    “You are very good at making dirty martinis, Angie,” says Stef, taking another sip of his drink.
    “One of my not-so-hidden talents,” I reply. Alcohol always makes me cocky.
    “I’ll just bet.”
    “Hey guys,” says a voice as two guys, one heavy and one skinny, walk into the bar.
    “Angie, this is Busey and Emmett. Emmett is the owner of this particular establishment.”
    “Hey,” I say. “Love the place. Does it have a name?”
    “Not yet,” says Emmett, the skinnier guy, fixing himself a drink in that self-consciously arrogant way that guys who own bars always do. “Why? Got any ideas?”
    “Name it after me,” I say. “The Angie.”
    The guys laugh. “Fuck it, why not?” Emmett smiles, holding my gaze just a fraction too long. “Maybe I will.”
    “Emmett, a word in my office?” says Busey. I look over. He’s racking up lines on one of the little round tables. Ugh, I am so over coke.
    “Angie? Ladies first.”
    “Not for me,” I say. “Not my bag.”
    “I’m good for now, buddy,” Stef takes out a little leather purse. “Let’s have a smoke, and then I’ve got a couple of parties for us.”
    “Okay,” I say. “What are we smoking?” It doesn’t look like plain old weed.
    “That’s for me to know and you to enjoy.”
    For a second, I wonder if I should. I’ve been drinking since, what, 2:00 P.M. ? And Adderall sometimes makes me a little crazy.
    Then I think about why I started drinking. And about the fact that my father still hasn’t called. I don’t want to feel alone right now.
    “My folks are splitting up,” I say to Stef, accepting the joint.
    “Mazel tov! Welcome to the club. Let’s celebrate.”

 
    CHAPTER 3
    I wake up naked. And alone.
    The first thing I think is: forty-one days till I turn twenty-three.
    The second thing I think is: something is wrong.
    I’m not sleeping on my pillow. I always have the same pillow. It fits my head perfectly. This pillow is higher, firmer.
    I open my eyes and sit up real fast, my heart hammering with panic. Where the hell am I? Big bed, square windows, taupe blinds, huge TV, desk, one of those weird phones with the Line 1 and Line 2 buttons.
    A hotel room.