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Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!
Between the damn alarm endlessly clattering and the pounding of the pulse in my ears from my adrenaline rush, I couldn’t really make out what this girl was screaming at me. There was one word that was coming through crystal clear, though.
“Fire!”
My brain was finally catching up. The fire alarm was going off. It was time to bounce.
Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!
As the realization sunk in, the girl turned from me, her arms still waving in the air above her head as she bolted out the bedroom door. I almost laughed out loud because she looked like a deranged muppet with crazy wiggling arms flapping around as she disappeared.
Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!
I looked around the room for my clothes. Her room wasn’t clean, so it wasn’t like my clothing rested in a pile on her pristine floor. There were clothes everywhere. And other junk girls tended to accumulate was littered everywhere — on dressers, on the floor, and absolutely overflowing a chair. Jesus, the more I looked, the more of a pig I realized this girl was. There were old plates with leftover moldy food on them scattered about. Soda cans everywhere. A few beer bottles. Papers, books, and notebooks strewn around the room. Lots of shoes. Just shit everywhere.
Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!
Near the foot of the bed, I saw what looked like a pair of men’s jeans. I picked them up and recognized them at once. One of my favorite pairs. Well worn. Ripped in all the right places, not by a razor, but by years of use. They fit my body perfectly. I’d wear these jeans until they disintegrated. I poked around the clothes lying near where I found my jeans, searching for my boxer briefs.
I didn’t find them, but fished my wallet from the bottom of the pile. Thank goodness. Luckily, my jeans were broken in and comfortable because I’d have to go commando. I didn’t have time to dick around here.
Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!
I slipped on my jeans while scanning the ground for my T-shirt, but quickly realized that was hopeless. I’d never find it in this mess. As I moved toward the door, I glanced out the narrow window in the bedroom. I was up on about the fifth floor. I had been focused on other things when we’d stumbled in last night, so I was surprised to see that this must be a big apartment building. A ton of people had gathered on the lawn and road in front of the building. Some were wearing jackets. Some had blankets draped over their shoulders. This was Los Angeles, but November could be damn cold at times. Most of the crowd was looking up toward the apartment building. Some were even pointing. Two things hit me. I needed more clothes, and I needed to get the fuck out of here. Right now.
Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!
My eyes landed on a sweatshirt. I grabbed it and held it up, inspecting its size. It was probably huge on the girl — I still couldn’t remember her name — but it wasn’t quite my size. It would do in an emergency. I pulled it on as I stepped through the bedroom door into the rest of her apartment.
Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!
The apartment was clear. No smoke. No fire. No sign of the girl or any roommates. I crossed the front room toward the entry door and felt for heat before I cautiously opened it. Peeked into the hall. All clear.
Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!
I followed the exit signs toward the stairwell, pleased my brain was making the right choices — checking for fire and not using the elevator. I jogged down five flights of stairs, all while the blaring alarm spurred me on to move even faster.
Finally, I pushed out into the brisk fresh air, where the sound of the alarm was more muted. It no longer felt like it was boring into my brain. Outside, it was cold, and I was grateful I’d grabbed the sweatshirt. Unfortunately, it was a salmon-pink color. I glanced down at it. It was way too tight. The sleeves were too short. It had the word ‘Princess’ written across the chest in a shiny gold script.
I probably could have found something better to wear if I’d searched for a few more minutes, but the place was on fucking fire. So…
I took a step and felt the shocking cold of the concrete on my bare feet. Shit, I’d forgotten my shoes in the rush to get out. As I’d torn down the stairwell, I hadn’t even realized I was barefoot. I grimaced as I looked up from staring at my feet and noticed the crowd.
I was used to being the center of attention. Used to thousands of eyes focused on me and every move that I made. I loved it. Made a living from it. Drew my energy from it. Performing was my lifeblood.
Yet, I felt a rumble of uneasiness as I saw a few phones lift up. Aimed at me. Some people had recognized me. It was only a matter of time before the entire crowd knew who I was. My head was pounding with renewed vigor. And I was wearing this awful, ill-fitting sweatshirt to boot.
It was time to disappear like a ghost into the mist. I took a few steps into the crowd. Blending in was better. Fuck, I didn’t have my phone. I asked the nearest star-struck girl if I could borrow her phone to make a call. She nodded mutely and handed it over. I quickly punched in Bishop’s number, which I had conveniently memorized for just such emergencies.
Bishop was my personal security guard. Last night, I’d purposefully left my cell phone in the men’s bathroom and exited the club out the back door. It wasn’t the first time I’d ditched Bishop. I was expecting an earful from him when he picked me up, but he was a consummate professional. He wouldn’t take it personally, but he’d double down on his efforts to keep me under tabs. It was getting harder and harder to outmaneuver him. He was great at his job and I trusted him, but more importantly, he’d become more of a friend than an employee. Regardless, I vowed to keep him on his toes.
Bishop chuckled when I let him know it was me calling. I had to get the address from the phone’s owner and then I told him I’d be waiting for him a block east. A few seconds later, Bishop promised to pick me up within 15 minutes.
Fifteen minutes was a huge wait, especially with half the damn cell phones in the vicinity recording my every move. While I’d been securing a ride, the crowd began to coalesce around me. Even more phones were aimed at me. A girl — my girl from last night with the unknown name — pushed through the crowd to reach me. She wrapped me in an enormous hug.
“Ghost! You made it out. I’m so sorry about the whole water thing. I didn’t know what to do! You wouldn’t wake up.”
Fuck. That didn’t sound good. I had to shut her up. Wrapping my arms around her to return her hug, I whispered into her ear, “Hey, babe. I gotta get out of here. Too many cameras on me. I’ll see you around.”
