Sweetbitter(50)

They started laughing.

“Stop guys, don’t make fun of her. Thirds is an important lesson! Like a cappuccino,” I said. “I mean, ideally, the perfect cappuccino, it’s one-third espresso, one-third milk, one-third foam, but I mean, ideally, you want the foam and the milk to be perfectly integrated, um, aerated actually—”

“There she is,” said Will. He pulled down a stool and sat next to me and I hugged him, generously, an overflow of the love I had burrowed within me and needed the drugs to interpret.

“Now she got diarrhea in her mouth,” Sasha said.

“No, wait, guys, it’s a lesson—”

“The lesson of thirds,” said Terry. “I ever tell you guys about the two German girls I took home? It wasn’t as fun as you would think. Even before the gonorrhea.”

“One time I took too much Special K and ended up with two fat, ugly motherfuckers, not a good time,” Sasha said and pointed at me. “Don’t touch that shit.”

“Threes, threes, the three amigos,” I said. “No, sorry, the five amigos.”

“Jesus, Skip, will you shut up and make a pretty little line.” Ariel scrolled through her iPod. “Then we’re done.”

“Are you high?” I asked Ariel. I turned to Will and Sasha. “Wait, are you high? Is anyone high?” I made the line the way she taught me, about the length of a cigarette, evenly distributed with sharp, tapered ends. “I’m high.”

Ariel passed me a Negroni and it tasted like cough syrup. “Medicine. Hey guys, I think I hate my job.” They laughed. “No I’m serious, isn’t it kinda depressing and dirty in there lately?”

“What you think, everyone look, Alice just wake up and oh fuck, no wonderland.”

“Maybe you should hit the pause button every now and then,” Will said, and I turned away from him.

“I’m putting on your favorite song, Skip.”

Ariel was aggressive about music. She had made me a few CD mixes, the depths of my ignorance presented in sixteen tracks. It never ended well. For her, the enjoyment of music was contingent on its obscurity. Once people knew about it, she discarded it, moved on. And yet she was always trying to educate me. Every time I told her I liked a song she had shown me, she put on a disappointed smirk and said, “You would.” Which I thought had been the point.

“You don’t know my favorite song,” I said. When I caught her eyes they were like rain-washed windows I couldn’t see inside. Worry fluttered through me and I took another drink.

“No LCD,” Terry said, hitting his hand on the bar for emphasis.

“I will shoot myself, Ari,” said Will.

“Fuck you, fuck your mothers, if you talk shit on James Murphy I will fucking kill you.”

The song came on. “Heartbeats.” I clapped my hands.

“Oh, I do like this song!”

“Why you squeal like a piggy?”

“Sasha, come on, it’s my song.” I moved my shoulders and shut my eyes, dizzy, white cloudbursts inside my lids. I pulled Sasha off the stool. I swung my hair in front of my face like Ariel taught me, my body dilated under the water of the synthetic bass. It was an apathy dance. I heard Ariel singing, and when Will took my hand and spun me, I smiled, lip-synching.

To call for hands of above, to lean on…wouldn’t be good enough for me, oh.

All the movement stopped and I looked toward the door. Vivian stood, wobbling, cautious. I waved and looked at Ariel, who had a glass in her hand. It went flying by my face and into the wall next to Vivian.

The sound came seconds later. I had already watched it explode and shower the floor, no snapping, nothing clean, full disintegration. During the delay in sound I covered my eyes.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“You’re out, Ari,” Terry yelled. “God fucking damn it.”

Vivian looked bored. Ariel grabbed a handful of straws and threw them before Will grabbed her by the shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I heard someone call out above the music. The song ended and I realized it was me. Vivian walked to the bar, not looking at Ariel, and sighed as she brought up the hand broom.

“Sorry, Terry,” she said.

“Oh, she’s sorry, Terry?” Ariel wrestled as Will held her arms down.

“Let’s go, string bean, party’s over.” Sasha grabbed her purse and Will picked her up and went to the door. Sasha waved to someone out the window. “Oh and look, Victor-baby is here.”

“I know you,” Ariel yelled at Vivian, her voice shot and guttural, “I know everything about you.”

—

NEARLY FIVE A.M. in the park. A frigid night that should have been blown over by sleep. Empty bottles rattled in the gutters, darkness lay thick as wax in the trees. We couldn’t get Ariel to do anything but pace and rage and smoke. Sasha and Victor took off immediately. I thought, What’s stopping me from leaving? Why can’t I grab a taxi too? Do all the single people have to wait it out together?

Vivian was a sex addict—undiagnosed, but Ariel was familiar with the signs. Vivian was illiterate. She was tits and ass, barely queer. Ariel was embarrassed to be seen with her. Vivian had used her. For what was unclear.

“Take the down pill, babe,” I said. I smoked with her for solidarity, but I was sick, sweaty, shivering, coming down hard.