sports coat and jeans. He’s your size with a thick mustache and dark eyes.
“Someone wants to talk with you,” he says, his eyes unwavering.
“Who’s that?”
“Why don’t you come with me?”
“I don’t think so,” you say, starting to walk around him.
You feel an arm wrap itself around your neck, and suddenlyyou can’t breathe. It’s strong and quick and you think
God what am I thinking what is he doing
and then someone breathless and sweaty comes to the open doorway to the bathroom.
“Get out!” the man holding you in a brace shouts, along with a few expletives.
The young sweaty club hopper turns around instantly.
“Either I drag you upstairs or you go on your own,” he whispers in your ear.
You’re beginning to black out and you nod, not able to say anything, not able to breathe.
He lets you go and you fall to your knees, gasping, choking.
“Get up,” he says, oblivious to the fact that he almost crushed the life out of you.
You nod and hold up a hand and keep coughing. You stand and feel wobbly and start to go get something to drink, but the guy pushes you and tells you to move.
Outside the men’s restroom, you half expect to see Jasmine waiting in the hallway at the bottom of the wide stairs. But she’s not there.
Thank God
.
“Keep going up,” he tells you.
You walk up the stairs as music continues to dance and beat around you and strangers pass by oblivious.
“What’s this about?” you ask over your shoulder.
“Shut your face and keep walking.”
You pass a man dressed in black pants and a black dressshirt who looks like he could bench-press you. The guy nods at the man behind you.
Where do these Herculean guys come from and what do they really think? Do they get hired to look tough and act like pieces of meat?
They’re doing a great job
.
You wonder if Jasmine is going to come back.
Maybe I should leave before she does
.
A couple passes by laughing hysterically and having what looks like the night of their life.
Why couldn’t that be Jasmine and me? Laughing and drunk with no cares and no responsibilities?
You reach the top of the stairs and a man stands there sizing you up.
“It’s okay,” the guy behind you says. “Second door on the left.”
You look behind and see that the man who strangled you is being accompanied by the big guy in all black.
You cough again.
Your head still hurts.
Your mouth is like cotton from the alcohol you’ve drunk.
Your heart is hung out to dry.
You wonder where Jasmine disappeared to.
Again.
“Go on in,” the guy tells you.
You open the door, unsure who you’ll meet, unsure what this is all about.
This is all your own fault, Michael
.
I T ’ S 4:08 A.M. AND L ISA IS PROBABLY DEEP into her sleep and Olivia and Peyton are in their beds tucked away and breathing sweetly and silently.
Meanwhile you’re standing in a room that looks like a small VIP lounge with several couches and glass coffee tables positioned throughout. Strange artwork with naked women in various provocative poses adorns the dark room with moody canned lighting. You notice a man sitting on the white couch, smoking a cigarette and watching you.
“Come on in,” he says in a calm voice.
You walk over to the couch and sit in a leather loveseat next to it. The door is closed but you can still hear the music from below.
“I don’t know what this is all about,” you rush to say.
The man looks to be in his forties. He has dark features and could be Cuban. He has thinning hair and a heavy five o’clock shadow. He wears light pants and a suit coat with a colorful shirt.
He doesn’t react to your comment. He continues smoking his cigarette and just watches you.
“What is your name?” he asks in a voice that has a tinge of an accent, tempered by years of living in the States.
“Michael.”
“Michael what?”
“What is this all about?”
He smiles. “Ms. Shreve says you have something for me.”
You look at the man and in the dim glow
“Someone wants to talk with you,” he says, his eyes unwavering.
“Who’s that?”
“Why don’t you come with me?”
“I don’t think so,” you say, starting to walk around him.
You feel an arm wrap itself around your neck, and suddenlyyou can’t breathe. It’s strong and quick and you think
God what am I thinking what is he doing
and then someone breathless and sweaty comes to the open doorway to the bathroom.
“Get out!” the man holding you in a brace shouts, along with a few expletives.
The young sweaty club hopper turns around instantly.
“Either I drag you upstairs or you go on your own,” he whispers in your ear.
You’re beginning to black out and you nod, not able to say anything, not able to breathe.
He lets you go and you fall to your knees, gasping, choking.
“Get up,” he says, oblivious to the fact that he almost crushed the life out of you.
You nod and hold up a hand and keep coughing. You stand and feel wobbly and start to go get something to drink, but the guy pushes you and tells you to move.
Outside the men’s restroom, you half expect to see Jasmine waiting in the hallway at the bottom of the wide stairs. But she’s not there.
Thank God
.
“Keep going up,” he tells you.
You walk up the stairs as music continues to dance and beat around you and strangers pass by oblivious.
“What’s this about?” you ask over your shoulder.
“Shut your face and keep walking.”
You pass a man dressed in black pants and a black dressshirt who looks like he could bench-press you. The guy nods at the man behind you.
Where do these Herculean guys come from and what do they really think? Do they get hired to look tough and act like pieces of meat?
They’re doing a great job
.
You wonder if Jasmine is going to come back.
Maybe I should leave before she does
.
A couple passes by laughing hysterically and having what looks like the night of their life.
Why couldn’t that be Jasmine and me? Laughing and drunk with no cares and no responsibilities?
You reach the top of the stairs and a man stands there sizing you up.
“It’s okay,” the guy behind you says. “Second door on the left.”
You look behind and see that the man who strangled you is being accompanied by the big guy in all black.
You cough again.
Your head still hurts.
Your mouth is like cotton from the alcohol you’ve drunk.
Your heart is hung out to dry.
You wonder where Jasmine disappeared to.
Again.
“Go on in,” the guy tells you.
You open the door, unsure who you’ll meet, unsure what this is all about.
This is all your own fault, Michael
.
I T ’ S 4:08 A.M. AND L ISA IS PROBABLY DEEP into her sleep and Olivia and Peyton are in their beds tucked away and breathing sweetly and silently.
Meanwhile you’re standing in a room that looks like a small VIP lounge with several couches and glass coffee tables positioned throughout. Strange artwork with naked women in various provocative poses adorns the dark room with moody canned lighting. You notice a man sitting on the white couch, smoking a cigarette and watching you.
“Come on in,” he says in a calm voice.
You walk over to the couch and sit in a leather loveseat next to it. The door is closed but you can still hear the music from below.
“I don’t know what this is all about,” you rush to say.
The man looks to be in his forties. He has dark features and could be Cuban. He has thinning hair and a heavy five o’clock shadow. He wears light pants and a suit coat with a colorful shirt.
He doesn’t react to your comment. He continues smoking his cigarette and just watches you.
“What is your name?” he asks in a voice that has a tinge of an accent, tempered by years of living in the States.
“Michael.”
“Michael what?”
“What is this all about?”
He smiles. “Ms. Shreve says you have something for me.”
You look at the man and in the dim glow
Similar Books
