Page 1 of Vicious Arrangement
Chapter One
ARIA
In my head,a clock ticks loudly. Timing is important. Being on time is doubly so, and as I pound down the wet East Village pavement from Union Square, the inner clock just ticks louder.
Not the traffic swishing on the Manhattan streets or the people dashing into buildings can crush it.
I thank my hospital, Quentin Memorial, for having a plethora of umbrellas in a pile in a hold-all bin where the changing rooms are.
And I’m pleased there’s only one spoke sticking up at a strange angle.
My lungs burn, and my sneakers slap the pavement as I try to somehow make up time.
I can’t. I’m late for Katie’s party. I’ve already missed the dinner due to a crash that came into the ER, which along with the usual spatter of ODs and elderly slip-and-falls, put us into overdrive and overtime.
But now, in the dress that always sits in my locker, heels in my bag, I’m running.
I turn onto Second Avenue as the rain lightens and stops. On Sixth Street is the insanely cool bar, and I duck into the doorway of the apartment building next to it, a hand on the wall, and hop as I change shoes.
Then, I somehow fold the umbrella and go into the bar.
It’s warmer in here than the cool touch the spring rain brought outside, and I swear steam rolls off me. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the small space’s mirror-backed bar and grimace.
Wavy hair’s a curling nest of blonde, my dress’s top is lower cut than I thought, but at least the red matches the lipstick I slapped on.
Pitchfork’s latest song plays loudly, the song list in places like this always up to the minute with an indie twist. The only reason I know the band is that Claire, a fellow nurse, loves them.
I scan the crowd for Katie and our friends. Honestly, my feet ache, and all I want is a half glass of wine, a soak in the tub, a stupid movie, and bed in my biggest, ugliest, most comfortable PJs.
“Heeeey, it’s my favorite nursey!” Katie wraps me in a big hug. “She’s got her sexy hair on! Yeah! Happy birthday to me. I’m old now, Ari, old. Like ancient. Like, I need a wheelchair with a walking frame attached.”
I roll my eyes and hug her. “You just turned twenty-five. You’re two months younger than me.”
She grabs my cheeks. “Yesh, but I don’t have your cheekbones. You are sooo pretty. My friend,” she shouts, “is pretty and single and looking to mingle!”
I slap a hand over her mouth. “And you’re drunk.”
She peels my hand away, and draws her small frame up and flips her long silky black hair over one shoulder. “I am celebrating my birthday. I’m not drunk. Just happy.” Then she dives for my bag. “Gimme my present.”
A giggle breaks free as Brie and Luke come up to try and wrangle her back. “You can have it later, when you’re more… not happy.”
“Shots!” Katie shouts. “And get my best friend here…” She waves a hand in my direction, “ten of them. She’s sober as a nurse.”
And then she falls all over the place laughing.
I grab Luke, whose smiling face is a little glazed from the booze and possibly the girl who comes up to him, no one I know because she clearly thinks I’m a threat to her newly staked territory for the night. She’s so wrong.
I’ve known him for years and we’re just buds. But he’s on his way to the bar so I need to stop him. “How many has she had?”
“A few,” he says, shrugging.
I glare. “No shots, just a drink and get a weak one for her? Please?”
“Okay, Aria.” He runs off, weaving through the crowd, the girl following, and I spot where Brie’s taken Katie, to a table filled with friends of hers and ours.
Katie’s downing a second shot, and I know I’m losing a battle because the booze hits her fast.
She’s in her superhuman mode, where she thinks she can drink like a pro and come out unscathed. Next will be a mess of regrets and bad decisions. I sit her down, pluck a water from the table, and put it in her hand. She has a sip and then manages to spill it all over the table.
