Page 8 of One Taste
I drop thechick’s hand,and before I know what I’m doing, I’m sprinting out the fire exitof the club—alone.
What the fuck was I thinking?Madison is going to fucking kill me. In my haste to forget about my problems at work, I did what started the whole mess. But did I? I didn’t create a spectacle of myself. I wentout, had a few drinks, and found a woman to go home with. That’s what every single person in the club was doing. Why is it a problem for me to do it? It’s the goddamn vultures with the cameras fault.
It’s bullshit.
No matter what I do, if it involves my social life and a woman, it could cost Midtown money. Something as simple as getting photographed leaving a club with a woman can hurt our bottom line it seems.
The last thing I want to do is have another argument with my sister.
I check the time on myTAG Heuerand see it’s only ten thirty. Hanging a right ontoForty-Sixth Street, Iwalk for a few blocks and clear my head.
What if theyhad enough time to naba picture of me? Ifevenone cameraman got aphoto of me—fuck, double fuck. I mean, sure, the woman and I weren’t stumbling out of the club, but nowadays, people can photoshop anything into a picture.
Now what the hell do I do? Either I take the chance that no one had enough time to get a picture of us,orI call Madison and tell her we might need damage control… yet again.
I dig my phone from my pocket and scroll through the contacts until I see my sister’s name.Fuck.I guess Imade my decision.
As I press Send, I pray to God she doesn’t answer.
Not that lucky.
“Sebastian?” she answers on the second ring.
I stumble over my words, but Iforce them out. “I may have fucked up, Madison.”
She sounds pissed. “What did you donow?”
“I went to the club tonight.”
A long pause weighs on both ends of the line as I wait for her to reply. “Who will have you plastered all over their gossip pages tomorrow, Sebastian? Why do you do this?”
“I’m—” She doesn’t even let me defend myself.
“Does it always have to be a club?Couldn’t you go to anyof the thousandbars in the fucking city? What club was it this time? Please tell me it wasn’t a strip club,or another shot of you midaction with some tramp. I can’t deal with that right now.”
Madison’s rambling, andI feel like a piece of shit for fucking her night up. But only for a moment, then I get pissed.
“I’m sorry, okay," I bite out into the phone. “You don’t have to be such a bitch, though. I was calling to give you a heads-up, and I said I may have fucked up, not that I did. Yeah, I went out. It’s habit for a Friday night, but I removed myself from the situation. I don’t think anyone got a photo of me. I wasn’t doing anything to draw attention to myself. It’s not my fault they see me and start snapping pictures. I can’t spend my life in my damn house. Cut me a break for fuck’s sake, Madison.”
Before she can try to berate memore,I hang up the phone, shove it back in my pocket, and walk as quickly as I can.
Looking into the distance, I notice a bright row of lights under an awning. The word “Hotel” on the sign above it brings me relief. I need a drink—just a drink and a bar where I can slip in and out without being noticed.
A hotel bar is the perfect place.
Devin
My phone rings just asI step out onto forty-ninth Street.
Brielle’s voice singsongs in my ear. “How was your interview? It sucked, didn’t it? Say I was right.”
After my interview withNBCyesterday, Brielle couldn’t understand why I was even entertaining this one today. Everything went perfectly. The man who would be my boss was the perfect combination of stern, respectful, and down-to-business. He appreciated my resumé and never looked at my tits once. Plus, Dennis, my former boss, gave me one hell of a recommendation, so that didn’t hurt. Mr. Tucker told me he’d be in touch and he was a man of his word. He called this morning to let me know the job was mine if I wanted it.
Glancing down at my watch, I check the time and scan the street. “It actually was pretty fucking amazing.”
I’ve got almost an hour to kill before the next train because I’ll never make it to the one leaving in ten minutes with the number of cars honking at a standstill. There’s no way I’m running sixteen blocks in these heels.
My stomach grumbles reminding me I need some food. Subway. Burger King, Some bubble tea place, yuck. I don’t want anything I see so I take a left and keep a look out.
