“Do not touch that, Griffin!” I shout, all but kicking in the door of the bathroom stall. I find Griffin leaned against a wall, an incredulous expression on his face, and the photographer dude next to him, halfway through a line of coke.
“Wanda.”
“Don’t you even think about touching that!” I grab Griffin’s hand and pull him out of the stall. “That could kill you, do you understand? Don’t ever, ever, ever touch cocaine. That’s bad news for anyone, but especially for you.”
“Oh, so that is cocaine,” he mutters. “Am I going to a rehabilitation center now…?”
“No, you’re leaving this disgusting bathroom right now and coming with me to the bar.” After a few seconds of hesitation, I snatch the scummy photographer guy’s camera up from where he’d left it on the floor. “Real nice, trying to sell photos of Griffin for blackmail!” I say. “Real nice! But you failed this time! Ha!”
I claim a better grip on Griffin’s hand, squeezing hard enough to get a few little huffs and puffs of protest, but I drag him along anyway, out of the bathroom. A man standing outside the bathroom eyes Griffin and me, attempting to give me a high five as I breeze by, but I ignore him.
After all this heroic behavior, I want a drink.
Devon seems to have made himself rather comfortable at the bar, chatting up a red-haired lady and sipping something that looks incredibly similar to a vodka with cranberry. Oh well, I’ll give him his moment. I sense he doesn’t usually get the opportunity for much flirting when Griffin’s in the room. Any room.
“You’re going to buy me a vodka and cranberry,” I say to Griffin, and then wave for the bartender before he can argue with me. “Vodka and cranberry! Actually… make that two. They’re on this guy.”
The bartender squints at Griffin, as if trying to place how he knows him, and then he goes strangely stiff. He offers us a huge smile. “No problem, Mr. Valentino, these are on the house,” he says, and then whips up two vodka and cranberries. Extra vodka.
Maybe I should have ordered more drinks.
I turn back to Griffin, handing him one of the cups. “You might want to go easy on that, until you see how you handle it. You’re kind of petite.”
“Petite?”
“You’re not that much taller than me.”
Griffin shoots me a venomous glance. “I’m tall! Or, well, at least above average!”
“On your planet?” I take a long sip of my drink. “So you look like this on your planet, too? Just like this?”
Griffin frowns. “Well, I dress a bit differently, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, I mean…” I lean forward so I can speak directly in his ear. “You’re aliens, but you look just like us. Except for the weird eyes. Oh, and the quick digestive systems.”
“I think you’re the ones who look like us, but I suppose otherwise you’re correct. We’re superior to you in many other important regards, however.”
I roll my eyes at his superior comment. “Most of us imagined aliens looking really different. My friend, Kammie, for instance. She’s always talking about aliens and what they look like.”
“You know, there are all sorts of beings on all sorts of planets around the universe, Wanda. We don’t all look the same. Your people and my people happen to be descended from the same matter, but not everyone is. That’s terribly racist of you.” Griffin takes a sip of his drink and swishes it around a bit in his mouth. “Hmmm, this tastes good.” He slurps down the rest of his drink in one big gulp.
Griffin orders another drink before I can stop him, and soon, we’ve both had a few drinks and he wants to dance. I let him drag me back to the floor, and we dance together for so long that I almost forget the circumstances that have brought us here. For a while, I’m just dancing with some hot English guy who has entirely too much energy and smudged eyeliner, and who doesn’t know any normal dance moves at all. His hands wander all over me, and his heavy-lidded gaze roaming my body feels tingly and palpable, so it’s okay.
After a while, maybe a long while, Devon joins us, smirky and satisfied, as if he’s been up to no good. Griffin all but tackles Devon and kisses him on the side of the head before whispering something in his ear and hysterically laughing. They converse in secret, and then Griffin raises his hand into the air, about to snap his fingers.
“Heeeeeey, I think it’s time we headed out!” I say, catching his wrist and yanking it back down to his side. “No tricks in here, okay? You don’t want to call attention to yourself.”
“Of course I do, Wanda, don’t be daft! I’m a famous pop star!”
“I mean, you don’t want to call attention to your magic tricks. Come on. Let’s go get some air.”
With more than a little griping and giggling in turn, I manage to bully Griffin through the crowd and to the door, with Devon trailing along behind us. The bodyguards surround us long before we reach the doorway, once again enclosing us. This time, I feel a bit less claustrophobic than before.
Outside, it’s lightly drizzling, though even a three-week education in the weather of Manhattan warns me that drizzle will soon turn to the sort of rain that makes you sneeze the next morning.
Griffin shivers and one of the bodyguards leaps forward, holding his jacket over Griffin’s head as a shield against the rain. Another follows suit with Devon.
“We should return to the hotel,” one of the bodyguards says. “You aren’t walking properly, Prince Griffin, and this precipitation is cold.”
“Yeah, I suppose he’s right,” Devon says, though in a rather disappointed tone.
I catch Devon’s sad smile, and I think of what he’d said earlier about rain. “The rain won’t hurt you,” I say. “Not if you’re only in it for a few minutes.” With the sort of courage you acquire from alcohol, I reach up and push the jacket away from over Devon’s head. Mercifully, the bodyguard doesn’t decide to murder me. “Go on,” I say. “You might as well enjoy the rain while you can.”
Devon tips his face upward, like someone in a movie, and his mouth melts into a big smile. “It’s so cold! It’s rain, Griffin! Real rain!”
I’ve never really thought about rain in positive terms; it’s usually a nuisance, slowing progress when you’re driving or walking, or ruining your hair. But watching Devon stand in the rain, face tilted up and eyes closed, I second-guess everything I’ve ever thought about it.
Maybe it is a little special that we have clean water falling from the sky, naturally recycled and replenished.
Griffin shoves away the jacket over his head and snaps his fingers, squinting his eyes, as if concentrating. The rain pours down around us much heavier than before. Devon lets out a little gasp, but his smile is one of pure delight. Everyone else seems to fall into a panic, rushing around to escape the rain or scrambling to rescue their hair, their clothes. Umbrellas snap open with a pop, pop, pop, pop like popcorn, and the line outside Wolf Head thins out.
But amid all the scrambling and hastening, Devon’s simply entranced by the rain, holding his hand out and watching droplets of water splash against his skin, blinking rapidly when rain falls into his eyes, laughing as he passes his fingers through his wet hair. His leather jacket looks like it can’t stand to shrink any smaller than it already has, but it’s soaked through and Devon hasn’t even noticed.
Taxis speed past us. Everything is a blur of rain, yellow and gray, and vodka-infused laughter as Devon finally takes note of Griffin’s soppy appearance. I’m soaked clear through. My dress is clinging to my body, and my hair is hanging flat around my face. It’s probably not a pretty sight, but I can’t help laughing with Devon about Griffin, especially since his eyeliner has migrated under his eyes.
“Alright, he’s shivering,” Devon finally says. “Griffin’s shivering!” His tone takes on that stern edge again, though still laced with just a bit of laughter. “Let’s get him out of the rain.”
The car returns soon after, and Devon bundles Griffin inside, his arm slung around him.
I st
and on the sidewalk for a few seconds, watching the protective way they cling to each other. Good thing I intercepted them, really, because if someone else had… well, who knows what might have happened. They’re strangers here, naïve to the power of our confusing world, and unfamiliar with slimy dudes in bathroom stalls with cocaine and cameras.
But they kidnapped me.
Looking around, I realize that all the bodyguards have already piled into the car, and I could probably make a run for it. You know, go home and try to explain to my roommates where I’ve been. Call my boss at the restaurant and beg to keep my job, call my boss at the clothing store, call my mother, and…
“Hurry up, Wanda!” Griffin says. “I’m bloody freezing!” He leans forward in his seat to look at me. “Also, I found a bottle of champagne in here. Do you know how to open it? I’ve always wanted to try champagne.”
After a few seconds of rain-soaked hesitation, I climb into the car and slam the door shut behind myself.
You just don’t say no to champagne with aliens.
Dating an Alien Pop Star Page 11