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Bringing her back to New Amsterdam is a big no. She assaulted Cory. The man had to get two stitches, which I generously paid for to keep his mouth shut. I bet it was her first brush with doing something less than perfect, and I take pleasure in knowing I corrupted her, even if just a bit.
“I didn’t blush,” I say shortly.
“Yes, you did. You’re going to have to explain the last five minutes to us,” Christian announces.
“Nothing to explain. She works at Calypso Hall,” I say.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Arya moving in our direction at rapid speed. Time to wrap up this little girl talk.
“And, for your information, even if I wasn’t still mourning the untimely death of my fiancée, pursuing an employee is tacky and frowned upon.”
“I’m getting weird vibes.” Riggs licks the ball of his index finger and raises it in the air, closing his eyes. “Yup, there it is. There are horny winds coming from the east.”
I stand to the moron’s east.
“Even if there arehurricanesof horniness, I demand you don’t act on them.” The voice belongs to Arya.
I turn around, studying her. “I don’t like to be ordered around. What’s your angle?”
“That girl is an angel on earth. She visits the children at Saint John’s hospital once a week. Dresses up as a fairy and paints their faces. They love it. They loveher,” she says desperately. “And I love her! She’s a widow, you know. She knows what pain is. I don’t want her to get hurt again.”
So she heard, but she doesn’t know how it happened. Good job, Winnifred, on keeping our shit private and not letting people put two and two together.
Christian watches Winnifred as she makes her way back to who I assume is her agent. “Met the girl before. She seems kind, talented, and attractive. Don’t worry, my love. Arsène doesn’t stand a chance even if he tried.”
“Money talks,” Riggs points out. “And our boy has plenty of it.”
“She doesn’t care about money.” Tiff, his date, reminds us of her underwhelming existence. “She was married to someone super rich and signed areallyshitty prenup or whatever. Then when he died, he left her with pretty much nothing. She’s been doing odd jobs to make ends meet.”
Collective murmurs fill the air. My eyes follow Winnifred. Is this true? Was she really left with nothing? Knowing what I know about her late husband, I wouldn’t put it past him. And she’s naive enough not to protect herself.
“Anyway, she’s off limits.” Arya snaps her fingers in front of my eyes, trying to catch my attention. “Got it?”
“My apologies, Arya. I must’ve given you the false impression I give two craps about what people think.” I flash her a sincere smile. “Once I make up my mind about a woman, no one can save her. Not even God.”
I walk off, leaving my cluster of friends behind. I drift toward the outdoor balcony. This room is too crowded, too hot, too pretentious. The night breeze hits my face. I splay my fingers over the wide, blond-bricked banister. When I look down to Fifth Avenue, the people below appear as ant-like dots. Tightroping the banister is the last thing my drunk self should be doing.
Then again ... what’s to lose here?
I’ve no mother, no father, no fiancée. As Riggs pointed out charitably, I’m not exactly the most lovable person in this zip code. There is nothing to tie me down to this universe, and I’m starting to suspect this is precisely the reason why people take mortgages, pop out kids, make commitments—so that suicide wouldn’t be a valid option when things are in the shitters.
Not that I’m contemplating suicide. This banister is wide and not very long. I can do it.
Just one time, for old times’ sake.Grace’s voice is throaty and tempting in my head. Even beyond the grave, she entices me to do the wrong thing.
Glancing behind my shoulder, I make sure the coast is clear. It’s just me outside. I hop on the banister, righting myself until I stand up straight across the surface. I don’t look down.
The first step is solid. The second makes me feel alive. I spread my arms in the air, like Grace and I used to do when we were kids. I close my eyes.
“Time me,” I mouth.
And I can hear her in my mind answering.Three. Two. One. Go!
I take another step, and then another. I’m almost at the end. One more step ... and my foot doesn’t land the hard surface this time. It’s all air beneath it. I sway. Lose my balance. Tip to the left. It all happens fast. The memory of Grace falling slams into me again.
The tears. The pleas. The silence.
I’m going to be pancaked to the street in a few seconds.
