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Days six and seven are a blur of sex, bickering, makeup sex, chicken, steak, kale, and laughter. We find it amusing to play up to the reporters but when we aren’t giving them much of a new story, they seem to get bored.
We never mention Izzy’s leaving in a week. We steer clear of the topic of family and difficult questions. Instead, we talk music, sports, movies, and mundane things, like which brands of running shoes we prefer. Izzy educates me on how to make a perfect cup of English tea and I tell her about JFK and the Kennedy family.
We are in a bubble that we decide to make unbreakable by not letting in any deep thoughts or outside influences. It is one of the best times of my life and I can say that without needing years to reflect.
* * *
The bubble just popped. I’m just getting out of the shower at my place before going to see Izzy for dinner. At the sound of my phone ringing, I wrap a towel around my waist and find my cell.
‘Hey, Cady.’
‘Hi, Mr Adams, it’s not Cady. It’s her friend Meghan.’
My mind immediately goes into red alert. ‘Where’s Cady?’
‘I’m with her but she’s really drunk.’ I can hear now the alcohol in Meghan’s words too.
‘Where are you?’
‘We’re at her boyfriend’s house. There’s a party and she’s been drinking a lot.’
I move to the bedroom and start to pull on clothes, still talking to Meghan as I grab my car keys and she relays the address.
‘Are you with her?’
‘Yes. We’re in the bathroom. She’s sick. She can’t really walk and she only wants you.’
‘Okay, Meghan. You two stay in the bathroom. I’m on my way.’
In my panic, I almost forget about Izzy.
I double back and knock loudly on her door. What the on earth am I supposed to tell her?
‘Izzy, come on, I need to speak to you.’
When she pulls open the door, I’m struck by the smell of vanilla from the candles burning around the living room. I wasn’t prepared for candles. I really wasn’t expecting to see Izzy in stiletto heels and a short silk robe. And I definitely couldn’t have anticipated her running her fingers down the silk and parting the robe to reveal a black lace bodice, stockings, and a garter belt.
Goddamn it.
‘Izzy, I’m sorry, I have to be somewhere.’
‘Somewhere as in not here?’ She closes the robe around herself.
‘Yes. I’m so sorry. Christ, I’m more sorry than you know but I have to go.’
‘I… what? Is everything okay?’
‘Yes. No. I can’t explain right now. Ah man, you look so hot.’ Growling, I drag my hands over my face. ‘I’m sorry, Izzy, really fucking sorry.’
In my truck, I burst from the underground garage and concentrate on nothing except looking for police and getting to Cady as fast as I can. I ignore the part of my mind that knows I’ve just brought a shitstorm down on Izzy and me.
The address Meghan gave me leads me to a tired-looking block of apartments, seven or eight stories high. As soon as I step out of the truck, I can hear and see the party on the first floor. Multicolored lights flash behind curtains, and dance music bellows. There are students outside the main entrance, smoking and drinking from brown paper bags. There’s a distinct stench of cigarettes and the sweet smell of marijuana in the air.
A few girls whistle as I pass by them and dip into the building. Two guys exit, staggering. The corridor, full of people making out and otherwise acting like dicks, leads me to the party.
Inside, music pounds in my ears. Teenage girls are wearing too few clothes and the air has a musty, stale-sweat smell. I peel the hands of a young girl off my chest and ignore the glares I receive from drunk young men, who really shouldn’t mess with me right now, as I search for the bathroom.
A line of girls gives me a pretty good idea where I’m going.
