Page 1 of What Happened Last Night

ONE

Will

This was the last time, I promised myself. The very last time.

I looked at myself in the elevator mirror, then looked away again. The tie I’d put on this morning for the meeting at the lawyer’s office was gray with blue stripes. It complemented my blue Oxford shirt. Matched with charcoal dress pants, the outfit made me look like any other guy coming and going in this building. A corporate type, clean shaven, clean cut, a bit nerdy. When I looked at myself, all I wanted to do was strip.

I used to own an assortment of ties, an expensive collection of them. Now I only owned one—this one. I’d donated the rest, along with the suits and a lot of the other things from my former life. But I’d held on to one tie, just in case. A man should own a tie, right? For weddings or funerals. Or lawyer appointments.

So, by habit, I’d put on my only remaining tie this morning. Halfway through the meeting, I’d had the urge to yank it off. I’d managed to refrain.

But now the meeting was finished, and when the elevator doors opened at the lobby, I tugged at the knot. By the time I exited to the street, the tie was in my pocket and I’d undone the buttons at my throat. No more ties. I was done.

Portland in July was sunny and beautiful, making you believe you’d imagined the gloom of the rest of the year. I put my hands in my pockets and walked slowly, soaking in the happy crowds of people downtown, the blue sky, the feeling of nowhere in particular to be. The walk to Nob Hill would take nearly half an hour, longer if I stretched it out. So I did.

When you got a few blocks from downtown, you got the Portland of craft breweries, coffee shops, and communal gardens. You got beanies, man-buns, and bicycles. I loved New York—it was in my blood—but even New Yorkers know that Manhattan is hideous in July, under a blanket of wet heat and the sweltering smell of trash. Any New Yorker with a few dollars saved up did their best to get out of the city at this time of year. Portland was busy with tourists, but the air smelled faintly of coffee, flowers, and the river. There was no comparison.

I strolled. I meandered. Something else I’d never done in New York. Something I’d rarely ever done at all.

I was going to get a phone call in three, two one…

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I answered it. I knew who it would be, because she knew my schedule better than I did.

“Hi, Luna,” I said.

“Hi!” My assistant sounded cheerful. She’d worked for me for three weeks, and I still wasn’t sure whether the excitement in her voice when I answered the phone was an act or not. It seemed like a long time to put on an act.

“How did the meeting go?” Luna McQueen asked. I pictured her in the office space I’d rented, sitting behind her desk because the work day wasn’t over yet. “Are you now a homeowner?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Congratulations!” She sounded thrilled. “How exciting.”

She was being polite, because it wasn’t all that exciting. I had owned a brownstone in New York before I sold it, and I already lived in the penthouse I’d just bought. When I first came to Portland a year ago, I’d rented the place from a pharma guy who had been sent to work from his company’s Singapore office. Once I moved in, I decided I wanted to stay, so I made the owner an offer.

He'd negotiated with me for a while just to jerk me around, but eventually we’d made a deal. Now I’d signed the papers and the place was mine, though I didn’t have to move.

The lawyer I’d just met with had been professional, but he hadn’t been able to help a subtle dig of curiosity as he’d watched me sign the papers. “It’s a big move, from New York to Portland. To get into the music business, of all things. An interesting change.”

Interesting was one way to put it. Insane was another, mostly used by my parents and my ex-girlfriend when they talked about me now. Good thing I was a multimillionaire at thirty-two, so I could afford to ignore people’s opinions.

“I guess,” I’d said, flipping the page and finding another spot to sign.

“There can’t be much money in it,” he’d remarked. People got curious when they met me, but only about my success. The money always fascinated them more than the rest of me did.

“There’s no money in working with a rock band,” I said. “None at all.”

I wasn’t looking at him, but I could hear the confusion in his voice. “So what’s in it for you, then?”

I’d told him the truth. “Everything else.”

I probably shouldn’t have been so honest. People expected a lie.

Luna was talking to me on the phone as I walked, going over tomorrow’s schedule. I’d learned early that I needed an assistant or I’d be lost in my own complicated life. I wasn’t disorganized, but my life had a lot of details, and my brain was usually focused on other things. I needed a schedule to keep me in line. I needed reminders. I could give you three ideas before noon, but I’d forget to go to the dentist unless my phone chimed to tell me to leave.

I’d had a good assistant back in New York, but I’d had to let her go with a huge severance when I moved. Since coming to Portland, I’d been through two who didn’t cut it.

The weird thing about having someone so deep in your business is that it isn’t enough if they’re good—you have to get along with them, at least to a point. It isn’t a personal relationship, but if you dislike each other, it isn’t going to work. I wasn’t used to liking people, and they weren’t used to liking me. I had weird patterns and stunted social skills. More than breaking up with my longtime girlfriend, leaving my parents, and ditching most of my belongings, replacing my assistant had been the most distressing part of my cross-country move.

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