Page 16 of A Very Snowed In New Year
DAD:Hey there, sweet pea! We can’t wait to see you for Christmas, but I hope you’re having fun with some rizz peeps! Here’s a link to a fascinating news article I just read about a college girl who was abducted while she was walking home from a bar in LA because a young man asked for directions and she was kind enough to speak to him.
ME:Did Mom tell you to use the word rizz? Because you just told me you hope I’m having fun with charismatic people who are romantically and sexually attractive.
DAD:Well then, I would very much like you to avoid the rizz ones.
Sighing, I click on the article my dad sent. I have never once felt in any kind of danger since I’ve been out here, but there is something about December in LA that makes me homesick. All those Christmas lights on the palm trees. Instead of throwing a festive vibe, they look melancholy and maybe a little angry, even? Or am I projecting my feelings about Lainey’s sister meeting Holden Archer tonight when she probably doesn’t even like him half as much as I do? Which is a ridiculous thought—everyone likes Holden Archer, and he probably meets actresses like Shay all day, every day.
ME:Daddy, that article is from seven years ago.
DAD:And strangers have only gotten creepier in that time. Just want you to stay alert, angel.
ME:Once again, I will remind you that I grew up in Manhattan. I have the New York edge. The guys here need to be alert around ME. Please don’t worry. Why are you even awake right now?
DAD:Just felt like touching base, sugar. Be safe, see you soon.
When we get out of the Uber on Sunset, Lainey and Tracy take my hands, and the three of us bypass the long line waiting to be let into the bar. The bouncer unhooks a velvet rope without even checking to see if we’re on a list or asking to see our IDs. It’s pretty baller. Both of my roommates are snatched, and when guys check me out I realize it’s because they’re wondering if I’m Lainey’s assistant or something. I am the best friend supporting actress to Lainey’s and Tracy’s beautiful starlets in the movie of their lives when we go out. It’s fine. I’m just concentrating on not tripping.
This club is designed like a fancy old Hollywood supper club, and the music is, surprisingly, not ear-splittingly loud. The crowd is just so much eye candy. Seriously, everyone here is beautiful. This might not be terrible after all.
“Okay, this was too last-minute for us to get table service. Also, a bottle here costs, like, four hundred and fifty bucks, so no thank you,” Lainey informs me. “Let’s get a cocktail at the bar, do a lap, and see who’s here.” She waggles her perfectly sculpted eyebrows at me.
Still holding my hands, they lead me over to the bar. The lighting in this place is stunning. A cinematographer must have consulted on the design. Lainey and Tracy don’t let go of me until I’m resting my forearms against the counter for support.
The bartenders are all dressed in crisp white shirts and black tuxedo pants. One of them comes right over and nods at us. “Hey there, ladies. What can I get ya?” I detect a slight Boston accent, and I like it. He’s probably in his early thirties.
Lainey orders us Old Fashioneds with some kind of special bitters. The bartender is looking at me the whole time, and I start to open up my little handbag to show him my ID, but he just nods.
“You got it,” he says. He starts to make our drinks, pausing to check something on his phone, then he eyes me again.
Lainey wraps her arm around my shoulders and says into my ear, “He likes you! I think thisbahtendahwants topahkhiscahrin your frontyahd.”
I can’t help but laugh at that, but now I’m thinking about Billy Boston and how overprotective he was when he took me to that bar at Harvard when I went to the book signing. And that makes me think ofRiders of Storm and Fire, because I went to Boston to meet the author, and that reminds me of Holden Archer, and now I’m feeling melancholy and kind of angry again.
When the bartender slides the drink toward me, I don’t even wait to clink glasses with my friends, I just take three big gulps.
“Whoa. Pace yourself, Poops,” Lainey says, rubbing my back. “You’re a lightweight, remember?”
I smack my lips together. “Delicious,” I say. “My compliments to the drink chef!” And then I try to wink at him, but my fake eyelashes stick together. I do not hesitate to use the thumb and index finger of my free hand to pry my eye open, but that causes me to wobble a little when I let go of the counter.
“Okay, honey…” Lainey and Tracy grab my arms.
“Let’s do a lap,” Tracy suggests. “Moving on.”
“That was supposed to be a wink!” I explain to the bartender. “I was trying to wink at you. ’Kay, bye-bye!”
“Hey, hang on. I like your bangs,” the bartender says to me. “I know this sounds weird, but can I send a picture of you to my girlfriend? She’s always looking on Pinterest for pics to show her hairstylist, and I think she’d like your hair.”
Girlfriend. Of course.“Really?Myhair?”
“Sir, that is highly sus,” Lainey says, not at all accusatory. “But you look and sound like a young Ben Affleck, so go ahead. Give him your good side, Poops.”
“Okay. Which one is that?” I mutter, placing my drink back down. I rest an elbow on the counter and rest my chin on my fist, like a five-year-old posing for school pictures.
“Your right profile,” Tracy says as she adjusts my stance. “Hand down, chin up.”
I slap my hand down, lift my chin up, and part my lips, like a sexy fish gasping for air. Then I remember this is for his girlfriend, so I snap my mouth shut and smile demurely. “Cheeeese!” I say, because I’m fun.
The bartender holds up his phone, taps the screen a few times, and says, “Awesome, thanks.” He winks at me, in afriendly way. Without any parts of himself sticking together. “Lemme know if you need anything else, ladies.”
