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“Q,” he said, his voice booming. “Good to see you again, man. You’ve been out of the scene for years.”
“That’s true, that’s true,” Quentin said. “Thought it wouldn’t be a bad time to rejoin. This is my friend Charlotte. Charlotte, this is Peter. Pete.”
“Pete,” Charlotte said, a smile snaking across her lips. She shook Pete’s hand, feeling suddenly like a specimen.
“You always did have the prettiest girlfriends,” Pete said, shaking his head. “Back to your old tricks, I see.”
“Nah,” Quentin said firmly. “I’m a changed man. A dad. And a professional. Fuck, it’s been a while. I need a drink.” His eyebrows rose high. He joined Pete’s raucous laugh, both of them seeming to fall into reverie. Charlotte shifted her weight, listening to the rock music, revving from just over the fence.
“No entrance fee for you guys, then,” Pete said, gesturing inward. “Just go have a good time.”
He stamped them both with black images on their inner wrists and then swept them toward the roof party, with Quentin slipping a firm hand around her waist. Charlotte buzzed with the previous bar’s cocktails, feeling herself transported to a different world: to Quentin’s old world of drugs and sex and abandonment. This was the world she’d craved, from her lonely position in Ohio. The world she’d expected for herself, as a music groupie.
She’d arrived.
As they entered the rooftop party, Charlotte gaped, in awe of the gorgeous guests. A band strummed guitars in the corner, wearing the height of hipster cool, their eyes covered in sunglasses and their jeans sucking close to their skin. Girls leaned heavily against tables, their breasts glowing in the soft light of the late afternoon. Drinks were poured heavily and passed to men in hip hats with mustaches, bringing white wines back to their girl companions. It was clear that everyone had a purpose, everyone had money, everyone was creating a kind of show, for all their peers to see.
“Wow,” Charlotte breathed, whispering into Quentin’s ear. “I don’t think I’ve been to such an exclusive party before.”
Quentin laughed, guiding her to the bar. He ordered them two craft beers and then carried the frothing glasses to the edge of the roof, giving them a grand view of Manhattan and the sun, lingering at the height of several of the skyscrapers. He clinked his glass with hers, congratulating her with a firm nod.
“I’m saying this as your boss. You’re a marvelous journalist,” he said.
Charlotte eyed him. “And what would you say if you weren’t my boss?”
Quentin leaned heavily into her ear, whispering, “I’d say I want to fuck you against the edge of this roof, for everyone to see, just so they know that I have you, I’m the one taking you home.”
Charlotte shivered, feeling her heart rate quickened. “I’ve always wanted to fuck in front of people,” she answered, her eyes dancing. “Kind of a fantasy of mine.”
“Oh?” Quentin asked her, smirking. “Maybe we can make that dream come true.”
Quentin and Charlotte sipped their beers, chatting amicably and heightening their friendship and lust for one another. Charlotte found it difficult to stop giggling, surprised, at a certain point, at how hilarious she found Quentin. “I wouldn’t have assumed you—the king of grunge—would be so funny.”
“When you’re as famous as I used to be, you have to have a sense of humor about it. Otherwise, you’ll go absolutely crazy.”
Mere minutes later, the band quit playing their set. The lead singer wrapped his microphone with the cord, passed it off, and then shuffled toward Quentin and Charlotte, his eyes centered upon Quentin. He gulped audibly, despite his seeming put-together chicness.
“Quentin? Quentin McDonnell?” he breathed, reaching out his hand.
Quentin shook it, probably used to this type of interaction. Charlotte watched as the younger man slipped his sunglasses from his nose, lending Quentin his dark green eyes. “I just wanted to come tell you thanks for listening to our set. We all grew up with Orpheus Arise. And it’s really a dream come true to meet you.”
“You guys partying after this?” Quentin asked him.
Charlotte’s eyes shot toward Quentin, curious. Quentin was off drugs—wasn’t he? The air sizzled around them, anticipating the younger man’s answer.
“Sure. We have some stuff.” He gestured back toward his band, who were packing up and moving aside for the next set. “We’ve just been doing it on the side of the roof. No use for the bathroom up here. Everyone’s fucked out of their minds. Everyone who’s cool, that is.”
Quentin pushed forward, following the younger man, who introduced himself as Miller. The other boys shook Quentin’s hand, giving him firm nods, a sign, apparently, of respect. Charlotte quivered beside him.
“And Morgan’s with her mom the rest of the night, right?” she whispered into his ear.
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t be out here if she wasn’t,” Quentin said, giving her a half-dark look. As the brief moment of tension passed between them, Quentin shrugged it off, gesturing. “I’ll just take a little bit. It’s been years. And you, baby, you’ve ignited something in me. I want to live again, you know?”
