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“You need to get down here. One of her arms over each of our shoulders, okay?”
I squat down. When I wobble side to side, I reach underneath myself and take off my heels, abandoning them to the room before ducking under the girl’s arm again.
I wait for Lizzie to position herself, and when she looks at me and asks, “Ready?” I nod and push through my legs to a stand. The world tilts as I try to right myself.
The girl is small, but we both feel her weight. When we take a small step forward, her legs give out from underneath her.
“Fuck!”
“Stop,” I tell Lizzie. Turning my head, I meet the girl’s vacant green eyes. Our faces are close, close enough that I smell her vomit-tainted breath as it wafts over my face. “What’s your name?”
She doesn’t reply. She starts to cry big, silent tears.
Lizzie steps away suddenly, leaving me to hold the girl up by myself. I strain, my body sagging to one side under the weight.
“You listen to me,” she points in the girl’s face. “Either you pick up your feet, or we’ll leave you here for whoever wants to finish you off.” She grabs the woman’s chin in her hand. “You hear me?”
This time, the woman nods, her pupils wide with fear.
Satisfied, Lizzie gets back into position and, together, we hobble to the doors, the woman’s feet barely helping.
“If anyone asks, tell them she’s wasted and we’re taking her home.”
“Okay.”
But nobody asks.
The elevator pings cheerily, announcing its arrival.
We step in.
“Hold the elevator!”
I reach out my hand instinctively, stopping the doors from closing. Next to me, Lizzie stares as if to say, ‘What the actual fuck?’
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” I turn, but when the man steps inside, his huge form making the elevator seem much smaller, I hurriedly look back at the doors.
Lizzie stands up straighter, as best she can while holding up the other woman. “Well, well, well, aren’t we a bunch of lucky ladies.”
“Lizzie,” I warn.
I’m expecting the stranger to brush us off, maybe raise an eyebrow haughtily and get off on the next floor. He has that look. Good Breeding. He’s wearing a three-piece suit in checkered gray and black Oxford shoes. Diamond cufflinks wink at his wrists.
Instead of soft derision, he surprises me by grinning, and, for a split second in time, I see the devil hiding behind his smile. And he is not hideous as we’d always been told. He’s beautiful. Temptation personified.
“A man stumbles into an elevator with three gorgeous women, I’d say he’s the lucky one.” His eyes pass over us, assessing, then, as realization dawns, dampening. “You were at the Rothschild’s party?”
“Oh, baby,” Lizzie purrs, “we werethe lifeof the Rothschild’s party.”
I close my eyes, begging for the interaction to be over, but when I open them again, the man is looking at me. His eyes, bluer than the Mediterranean in summer, reach right into my soul.
“Can I help you?” The question is simple and addressed to all of us. There is no judgment or scolding in the tone.
“No.” Both Lizzie and the man look at me as if they’re surprised by my refusal. Even the woman, half-conscious between us, rolls her head across her shoulders to stare at me.
“We always come out just fine,” Lizzie cedes. Leaning over, she kisses me full on the mouth for a long moment. “Don’t we, Toni-Baby?”
