The Rooftop Party

by Ellen Meister

Megan studied her friend’s face. “Did he do something?”

  Dana shuddered. “It was gross. He’s older than my dad. It was all so...so Harvey Weinstein.”

  Megan bit her lip in concentration, and Dana waited. Her friend could hold her liquor well enough to fool most people, but Dana understood that when Megan slowed down, it meant she was buzzed. “Don’t worry,” she finally said. “We’ll...document everything—take him to court if we need to.”

  “I should really get out of here,” Dana said. “Ari’s waiting for me.”

  Just then, the band launched into a rendition of “Firework,” and Megan’s face lit up. The two of them had partied to the song in college.

  “Not yet,” Megan said. “We have to dance to this. Please!”

  Dana figured one dance couldn’t hurt. In fact, blowing off a little tension was just what she needed. And so she let her friend drag her onto the dance floor, where they joined Jamie Dennison as the musicians did a very passable job with the Katy Perry number.

  She had promised herself that would be it, but the band segued into “Forget You,” which was just too much fun to pass up. But Dana was perspiring now, and wanted just another sip or two of a drink. She rushed back to the ledge where she had left the cocktail and downed a big gulp before realizing Ivan, that idiot, had ordered a gin martini, which was piney and bitter. Still, it was better than nothing, and the song was playing on, so she had a couple more sips and joined her friend on the dance floor.

  Within moments, a different kind of dizziness began to overtake her. How strong had that drink been? Dana continued dancing, but her limbs began to float, and when the band started playing Beyoncé’s “All the Single Ladies,” she glanced up to see Ivan across the floor, holding up a drink as if toasting to her.

  After that, Dana lost a sense of where she was, as everything blurred into random images played against a muted, driving beat. It seemed to go on and on and on. She waited for it to end, for the vertigo to clear, as there was something she needed to do, someplace else she needed to be, though for the life of her she couldn’t remember what it was. The world stopped making any kind of sense. Her body. Her brain. Everything was strange and disconnected, impossible to track. She seemed to strobe back and forth between here and elsewhere. At one point, a man was standing very close, saying something important, but it was as if she were suspended on a string, swimming through space and unable to reach the earth. Someone grabbed her arm and she reacted in anger, wrenching it away and saying...something. Time collapsed on itself and she didn’t know if she was back on the dance floor or elsewhere. Then, just like that, it all went black and silent, as if the world had ended. Until one sound broke through the haze of her thick trance: a piercing scream.

  6

  “Dana, are you okay? Wake up.”

  For a moment, Dana thought she was still on the dance floor, and wondered why she was on her back. But no, the room was warm and a soft expanse cradled the length of her.

  She opened her eyes to discover she was on the couch in her dressing room, looking up at Megan.

  “What happened?” Dana asked.

  “You don’t remember?”

  She sat up and rubbed her throbbing head. “I don’t think so.”

  “How many martinis did you have?” Megan handed her a glass of water and Dana took a gulp.

  “I remember a gin martini, dancing with you and Jamie, and then...not much. What happened to me?”

  Her friend’s brow tightened. “You were dancing with one person after another and then I lost track of you. You don’t remember what happened after the lights when off?”

  She focused hard and bits of it came back to her. She recalled that everything went dead very suddenly—the music, the lights.

  “Was it the generator?” Dana asked.

  “Yes, the generator died. And then...” Megan looked away, as if hoping Dana would complete the sentence.

  “Then what?” Dana said.

  “You really don’t recall?”

  Dana studied her friend’s face and realized she had the pale, faraway look of someone who had been traumatized.

  “Tell me,” she pleaded.

  Megan’s hand went to her throat, as if she had to find her own pulse before continuing. Finally she said, “Dana... Ivan Dennison is dead.”

  Dead? Dana blinked, trying to understand. Her brain seemed to need an extra beat to process the simple sentence.

  “One minute the lights went out,” Megan continued, “and the next minute someone screamed. Everybody rushed to the side of the roof and looked down. There he was—on the sidewalk right next to a lamppost. His whole body...” She trailed off and shuddered. “Poor Jamie. He went white as stone.”

  “Someone pushed Ivan?” Dana asked, picturing the impossible drop from the railing to the street below. No one could survive that fall.

  “The railing is too high for someone to trip over accidentally, so...”

  Dana held her head in her hands. She didn’t need Megan to complete the sentence—Ivan was murdered...and she remembered none of it. “Where was I?”

  “I found you in the crowd. You didn’t look right. Your eyes were glassy and blank, and you couldn’t speak. Next thing I knew, you passed out. I caught you just before your head hit the ground. I didn’t know what to do. Jamie was freaking out and you were unconscious. Thank goodness for Charles Honeycutt, who carried you here like you weighed nothing.”

  “Where is he?” Dana asked, glancing around the empty room.

  “Went back up to the roof to try to calm everybody down while they waited for the police to arrive. He asked me if you’d done any drugs.”

  Dana closed her eyes and tried to remember if anyone had offered her a pill, a joint, a bump. Nothing came back to her.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Just that you’d had a few too many. But you sure seemed fucked up. I’ve been waiting so long for you to wake.”

  Dana took several slow breaths, absorbing this new reality. Ivan Dennison was lying dead on a sidewalk. She tried to imagine how his family might react to this heartbreaking news, and with a shudder, she realized what his son had witnessed. She looked at Megan.

  “And Jamie?” she asked.

  “All I know is that Sherry and Eleanor were with him.”

  Dana reached out and gave her friend’s arm a squeeze—a thank-you for staying with her.

  “I don’t know why I passed out,” she said. “I didn’t take anything. At least I don’t think I did.” She stopped to recall about how far away she’d felt, how altered her consciousness had been, and a terrible thought occurred to her.

  “You okay?” Megan said, when she saw her friend’s expression.

  Dana shook her head and swallowed. “I think somebody doped my drink.”

  Megan’s eyes went wide. “You mean like Rohypnol?”

  A date-rape drug. Dana shivered. “I don’t know, but that was not an ordinary drink.”

  “Maybe that bartender just made you paranoid.”

  Dana sat up and swung her legs over the side of the couch. “I’ve been drunk plenty of times. This was different.”

  “Who would have done something like that? Ivan?”

  Dana shrugged. “He’s the one who got me the drink, so maybe. Probably. But it could have been anyone. I left it on the ledge.”

  Megan sat on one of the chairs facing the sofa. “Did he try to get you to leave the party with him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did anyone else come on to you?”

  Dana concentrated, but the memories were so elusive, like wisps of smoke. She closed her eyes and tried to recall. There were flashes—a man trying to get her to understand something, the feeling of someone grabbing her arm, followed by some kind of argument.

  “I think someone got...physical,” she
said, “but someone else intervened.”

  “Do you know when it happened?”

  Dana sighed. “It’s all so vague.”

  “Think hard. Was it right before the lights went out?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And who was it? Who intervened?”

  Dana studied her friend’s face to understand her line of questioning. She was still a little fuzzy and felt a few beats behind. “Why is that so important?” she asked.

  “A man is dead.”

  “And you think my savior was the one who pushed him?”

  Megan shrugged as her eyes narrowed in concentration. “Who knows? After that announcement, everyone on that roof wanted to see Ivan Dennison choke on his own tongue...or worse.”

  Dana thought about how complicated the investigation might get, and then she remembered something. Ari. She realized how late it was and knew where she was supposed to be. “Oh god,” she said. “Ari was expecting me at that party.”

  “Somehow I think he’ll understand.”

  Dana nodded. She knew from the sound of sirens that the police had already arrived on the scene, and wondered if he had heard about what was going on. She was about to get her phone so she could text him when there was a sharp knock on the door.

  Megan answered it, and there stood a woman in a gray blazer over a black shirt and pants, a plastic-covered identification badge hanging on a chain around her neck. She had pale red hair and a delicate complexion, but the steely resolve of a police officer. She identified herself as Detective Byrne of the NYPD.

  After taking their names, Byrne got a full account from Megan on what she saw. Then it was Dana’s turn, and she had to explain why her memory was so hazy. The detective nodded sympathetically, but Dana could tell her wheels were spinning.

  “But you’re okay now?” she asked.

  Dana nodded. “I feel like I just woke from a deep sleep. You think someone gave me a date-rape drug?”

  “It’s possible,” Byrne said. “Will you consent to a drug test? It could be valuable information.”

  “Of course,” Dana answered. She was eager to know what had been dropped into her drink...and by whom.

  Byrne got the details on the type of glass Dana had been drinking from and closed her notepad.

  “If you can stick around for a bit,” she said, “I’ll take you straight to the lab.”

  After Detective Byrne left, Dana retrieved her purse from her dressing room locker and fished out her cell phone. There were two texts from Ari. The first one was sent during the party, asking about her ETA. The second one came in only a short time ago, when he was in police mode.

  Heard about the incident at your office. Hope you’re okay. May get called in.

  She understood that he needed to be vague, as it would be unprofessional for him to tell her anything specific about what he had learned. From her conversations with him, she also knew that may get called in meant the homicide squad was waiting to hear from the precinct detectives about the probable cause of death. If it wasn’t an accident or a suicide, the murder police would be summoned.

  She started to type back a message about what had happened with her drink, but thought better of it. No need to worry him with a few vague sentences. So she backspaced over it and simply wrote:

  I’m fine. Come over when you’re done.

  His reply was quick:

  We got the call. It’ll be late.

  It meant he was on the case, and some cop on the scene would probably tell him about the Shopping Channel host whose drink had been doped. He’d be worried as hell. But she would fill him in later. For now, she simply sent back two emojis: a key and a snoring face. It was her shorthand for Let yourself in—I’ll be sleeping.

  7

  After the drug test, Detective Byrne drove Dana home with a promise that someone would call her soon with the results.

  When she finally got into bed, Dana expected to toss and turn. But apparently the mysterious drug was still in her system, and the shade of sleep came down fast. Later, she roused herself to see if Ari had come in, but she was alone in bed. She glanced at the clock—it was two thirty in the morning. That meant he either went all the way home to Brooklyn, or was still working.

  She fell back asleep, but got her answer in a few hours when she heard his key in the door.

  “Ari?” she called out, bleary.

  “Sorry to wake you,” he said, and came into the tiny bedroom, which was actually nothing more than a walled-off alcove.

  She squinted at the light coming in from the living area. “What time is it?”

  “Just after six. It was an all-nighter. You okay?”

  Dana struggled to prop herself onto her elbows. “Can’t say I’m not freaked out.”

  He sat down on the bed, loosening his tie. She put her arms out for a hug and he embraced her, nosing into the warmth of her neck. They held still for a quiet moment before he pulled away and looked into her eyes.

  “I spoke to Byrne,” he said softly.

  “She told you about the drink?”

  He nodded, moving a lock of hair from her face. “We’ll have the lab results next week. You feel okay?”

  “I’m fine. I guess I was lucky—only had a few sips.”

  “You think someone was trying to get you alone?”

  Here, in the intimacy of this dark room, his stoicism relaxed into worry. And she wished she could tell him it was all a big mistake—she had simply had too much to drink. But no. The more time passed, the more certain she became. She had been drugged.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s a confusing blur.”

  “We’ll figure it out, Dana. All of it.”

  She sat up straighter. “Does this mean it’s your case?”

  She hadn’t meant to sound so excited. A man was dead, and here she was, focused on what it would mean for Ari’s career...and for them. After all, if he took the lead on a high-profile investigation like this, his promotion was a shoo-in. But when she saw Ari’s reaction, Dana wished she could take it back. His posture went rigid as he stood and turned away from her. He went through his ritual of taking off his suit jacket and putting it on the hanger she had left for him on a wall hook. He removed his gun from his waistband and put it in the night table drawer. She waited for him to speak.

  “I think I’ll have to recuse myself,” he finally said, his back to her.

  She sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m...personally involved. It could be a problem.”

  “But you’re not personally involved with the victim...or his family, or...”

  “If the issue with your drink becomes relevant to the case, our relationship could be a liability.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” she said.

  “This is going to be an important investigation, high profile. It has to be squeaky clean.”

  “But there’s nothing dirty about—”

  “Tomorrow I’m going to tell the lieutenant to make Lee the lead investigator.”

  “Lee?” she said, feeling suddenly very awake. Detective Kevin Lee—often Ari’s partner on cases—was his competitor for advancement to homicide squad sergeant.

  “It’s the right thing to do.” He sounded resolute.

  “But your promotion.”

  Ari let out a heavy sigh and turned back to her. “It will have to wait.”

  She stared at him, wondering how all that ambition had drained so quickly. Surely there was a way to take the lead on this case despite their relationship.

  “I think you’re giving up too easily,” she said.

  “Dana, you think this is what I want?”

  She considered it, recalling her hesitance to get involved with a guy who had been married. In her experience, divorced men were always terrified to make another com
mitment for fear of repeating their past mistakes. So maybe, on some level, it was exactly what he wanted, because the promotion would also mean fast-tracking their relationship. He had said it was what he wanted, but who knows? He wouldn’t be the first guy to get cold feet.

  “Maybe it is,” she said.

  He backed up. “How could you say that?” His voice was even, but she could tell he was holding back, and that only made her pricklier.

  “You’ve been so resistant to looking for a new apartment with me. Maybe a part of you doesn’t want it.”

  “Of course I want it. You know that.”

  “Then why recuse yourself? Why not just talk to the lieutenant about it and let him make the decision?”

  “Because I know what he’ll say, and I’m trying to be a professional here.”

  “What about us?”

  “This has nothing to do with us.”

  “It has everything to do with us,” she said. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about waiting for the promotion before moving in together.”

  He paused, inhaled. “You know how I feel about that.”

  Dana kicked off the covers and sat up, fear gnawing at her. He was pulling away. “You’re sabotaging this relationship!” she said.

  He grunted. “That’s called projecting.”

  “You think I’m sabotaging our relationship?” She got up out of bed. “Then tell me this—how come I’m the one who went out and got us a perfect apartment?”

  It took Ari a moment to find his voice. “You did what?”

  Dana froze. Had she really just blurted that out? Well, there was nothing to do now but own it.

  “I found an apartment,” she said defiantly. “A steal. Two bedrooms. West Side. Crazy amounts of sunlight. For us.”

  His face went still. “You signed a lease?”

  “It was either that or let it go.” She took his hands. “Ari, once you see this place—”

  He backed away. “You didn’t even ask me?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “But you knew I wanted to wait until after my promotion.”

  She turned on the light to get a better look at his face, and then turned it off again. His fury was mounting.