The Fifteenth of June

by Brent Jones

  “I was.”

  “You still are. That’s why you agreed to meet me again tonight.”

  “Sure, I guess, but I think you’re reading into it.”

  “Am I?”

  She dawdled for a few seconds, unnerved, and then gave Drew a soft, sweet kiss on the lips, holding nothing back. It was the type of kiss that made it impossible for him to keep his eyes opened. It sent chills down his spine and filled his stomach with butterflies.

  Sierra unlocked her lips from his after a moment and opened her eyes. “Goodnight, Drew. Let’s do this again soon.”

  * * *

  Chapter 23

  It was Saturday, the third of July, and Drew was due to arrive for Neil’s big celebration, eager to show up with Kara on his arm.

  They passed through tall revolving doors and found themselves in a foyer that rivaled five-star hotels in decadence. Its interior was constructed of marble, an elegant grand piano at one end, high back winged chairs grouped together, separated by sculptures and other abstract works of modern art.

  A mini security detail greeted them, collecting their personal details before allowing them to go further. After a brief exchange, the two guards on duty waved Drew through to the elevator bank, him wearing jeans and a faded polo shirt, his usual look of gracelessness about him.

  Kara followed behind him, decked out in a one sleeve party dress that hugged her curves, heels and a handbag to match, the poise of rock star. She looked no worse for wear, despite consenting to a backseat romp with Drew on the way over. They stepped on to an elevator.

  “You haven’t told me anything about your friend yet,” Kara said.

  Ding. The elevator opened to more marble. Fresh cut flowers welcomed them from a crystal vase upon a stone pillar adjacent to the elevator door. Hanging globe lights and plush ruby carpet blazed a trail toward Neil’s corner unit.

  “Neil is, uh, a year older than me. We used to work together. He fancies himself a big shot of sorts and dresses the part.”

  Kara looked around. “I can tell.”

  “He, uh, does well with the ladies.”

  “Ooh, is he hot?”

  “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Oh, come on. Boys do it all the time. You even mention another girl and it’s the first thing they ask, ‘Is she hot?’ So I’m asking you the same thing.”

  “He’s a good looking guy.”

  “But no competition for you, right?” She winked.

  “I never considered myself much of a looker.”

  Kara smacked Drew in the chest with her handbag, startling him. “Do I look like the kinda girl who’d hook up with an ugly guy?”

  Yes. “No.”

  “Don’t put yourself down like that, Drew Thomson.” She leaned against him, grabbing his crotch and giving it a squeeze. “You’re a decent looking guy.” Another squeeze, this one almost painful. “And I want more of this later—give me a signal when it’s time to go, and we’ll head back to your place for round two.”

  Loud music and the smell of fresh paint emerged from the edges of Neil’s door. Neil opened up and flashed his trademark smile. He looked like a listing agent at his own open house.

  “You made it,” he said to Drew. His eyes quickly shifted to Kara.

  “Hi, Neil,” Drew said, motioning to his date. “This is Kara. Kara, this is Neil.”

  Neil was dressed to impress, as anticipated—a matching suit jacket and trousers in navy blue, walnut brown shoes, and a crisp white shirt, freshly pressed. He reached for Kara, kissing the back of her hand. “Kara, it’s wonderful to meet you. I had no idea you were so lovely.”

  She reacted with an elegant curtsy, her face brilliant, reflective of his compliment. “It’s nice to meet you too, Neil. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “Please, come in,” Neil said, making a sweeping gesture.

  Kara entered first, slowing down to take in her surroundings, her eyes wide with astonishment. Neil restrained Drew for a moment, holding him within earshot at the door. “You didn’t tell me she was so fucking hot, bro.”

  “I tried to, but—”

  “You hit that yet?”

  “Yeah, a couple times now.”

  Neil slapped Drew on the shoulder. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  After obligatory small talk, Neil took Drew and Kara on an expedition, first nodding toward a number of uniformed caterers, and then a hired DJ. The condo itself was a bit like walking into the cover of an interior design magazine—glossy, uninhabitable, and two dimensional. Neil made sure to exhibit his expensive furnishings, some still wrapped in plastic, as well as decorative embellishments and miscellaneous artifacts, each one straddling a fine line between sophisticated and tasteless. The twelve-foot ceilings, rife with pot lights, triggered echoes of his voice, ensuring no remark went unnoticed.

  “Isn’t it a bit big?” Drew asked. “You know, considering you live by yourself.” Drew found himself out of his element, missing the sheer simplicity of his own dilapidated dwelling. He never did visit my place, come to think of it.

  Neil looked equal parts revolted and insulted.

  “I think it’s perfect,” Kara announced with glee. “You should be really proud, Neil.”

  “Looks like your woman has better taste than you do, bro.” He punched Drew on the shoulder—too soft to inflict injury but too hard to be friendly. “Come on, let me introduce you to some people.”

  Neil marched onward to continue the tour, Kara at his heels.

  The realization came to Drew at once that if Sierra were present, she would have deduced that Neil was compensating for something. Kara, by comparison, seemed enchanted by Neil’s every word, salivating at the luxury around each corner.

  The trio entered what was presumably a second living room, certainly much larger than the last. A double glass door swung open at its end onto a balcony, overlooking the urban landscape below. The room was filled with a dozen or so picture perfect socialites, mixing and mingling as if to reenact a beer commercial.

  “I think you might recognize a few of these characters,” Neil said to Drew, motioning toward some of his former colleagues from The Ascension Group.

  Drew exchanged subtle nods and smiles with a selection of familiar faces—he hadn’t made a lot of friends at his former job—then spotted a few characters who looked out of place. Private security contractors, it appeared. “Why do you have rent-a-cops here?”

  Neil took Drew by the elbow, guiding him a few paces from Kara. “I hired a promoter to make sure we do this thing right. He’s coming by later with some girls and things might get interesting. Plus I scored a few party favors for the ladies, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Ketamine, ecstasy—bro, I don’t know, whatever gets chicks in the mood to party.” He eyed Kara. “There’ll be plenty of quality tail to choose from tonight. If you were smart, you’d give her the night off.”

  Their sidebar ended without ceremony and they rejoined Kara, who had already introduced herself to a young couple who sat at one end of an expensive leather couch—the same couch that Drew had slept on for nearly a month.

  “Let me get you both something to drink,” Neil said. “What would you like, Kara?”

  “How about a vodka soda?”

  “My kinda girl,” Neil said with delight. “How about you, bro?”

  Drew hesitated. “I’m good for now, I think.” Did I really just say that?

  Neil and Kara exchanged glances, as though someone had just tried to disprove gravity.

  “What do you mean?” Neil asked.

  Drew wasn’t sure why he had said it, but he suspected that his fleeting thought of Sierra moments before might be to blame. “I, uh, had a few earlier at dinner. Think I might wait a bit.”

  “I’ve known you three fucking years, bro, and I’ve never heard you say no to a drink.”

  “I’m trying this new thing where I make better choices.”

  “Bet
ter choices?”

  “Yeah, getting drunk and high all the time. Life is a bunch of moments and, uh—” He tried to replicate the words of wisdom that Sierra might have offered, “—and those moments are all strung out together, or something like that. Just trying to slow down a bit, you know.”

  “I know you sound like a goddamn pussy at the moment.” Neil howled. “That’s what I know.”

  Not sure why I expected him to be supportive.

  “Listen up, everybody.” Neil raised his voice to capture the attention of the room. “Drew Thomson, the same guy who got sacked last month for snorting blow before a client meeting, is too good to have a drink at my party.”

  Kara offered Drew a sympathetic look as though she were affronted on his behalf.

  “Was that necessary?” Drew asked with a heavy sigh.

  Neil’s voice returned to normal. “Listen, I know you’ve struggled with this shit for a while, so it’s great that you’re making improvements and all that. But tonight, you’re at my house, at my party. You can start being a saint tomorrow. Tonight we get fucked up.”

  It wasn’t that Neil had made a good point, it’s just that Drew’s self-control was already so threadbare that it took very little persuasion to pierce it. “Fine—whiskey then. I’ll have a whiskey.”

  “Attaboy.”

  “Hey,” Drew exclaimed before Neil could head for a bartender, “there’s something else I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s my dad. He’s got cancer.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “He doesn’t have long left.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” Neil inserted a somber pause, more for effect than authenticity. “Tonight we drink in his honor.”

  *

  Drew couldn’t decide if the music had gotten louder, or if his ability to hear his own thoughts had faded on its own. The crowd had doubled or tripled in size since he arrived and he found himself feeling claustrophobic.

  He and Kara had been dancing for the last hour, her movements precise and provocative, his offbeat and inept. The DJ had transformed Neil’s living space into an exclusive nightclub of sorts, activating a show of laser lights and the occasional puff of fog.

  “Neil seems nice,” Kara shouted over the music.

  “Yeah, he’s a peach, isn’t he?”

  “Do I detect sarcasm, Drew Thomson?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She frowned.

  Drew scanned their cups—both empty. “I’m going to get us a refill.”

  He walked to the nearest bartender. Staggering as his propensity for alcohol was, he found his senses dulled—the mixed drinks strong, and the straight liquor poured to the brim. But immersed in a sea of bodies as he was, his sense of unease was heightened, directing him to drink more, faster, two hands at a time if it were possible.

  Neil appeared at Drew’s side. “I thought you wanted to stay sober tonight.”

  “Looks like I don’t know what I want.”

  *

  Neil led a small group into his private study, ornamented with an expansive desk and numerous bookcases encompassing its perimeter. The titles in his library appeared untouched, more a display of refinement than a space for intellectual endeavors.

  A number of his guests made wisecracks upon entering:

  “Guess it must be story time.”

  “You gonna tuck us in now, Neil?”

  “Since when does this guy read anything besides Hustler?”

  I’m not even sure if Neil can read.

  On the desk was a mirror, several razor blades, and a pile of short straws. A feeding frenzy descended on the desk, like a mob at a Black Friday sale.

  Between lines, Drew noticed a member of Neil’s security personnel stationed at the door. Drew approached Neil, who, having not partaken himself, appeared to be supervising. “Do you really need security posted outside the door for this?”

  “You can never be too careful, bro. Got to protect myself.”

  “How can you afford all this?”

  “I told you I got promoted after you left.”

  “Yeah, but the condo, the furniture, the security, the booze, the drugs. Even if you doubled your salary—”

  “Don’t worry about it, bro.”

  I’m not worried. I’m confused, and more than just a little bit jealous.

  With his attendees distracted, Neil pulled a small pouch of pills from his breast pocket and stashed it between two books on a nearby shelf.

  “What’re those?” Drew asked.

  “Ecstasy, I’m told. You wanna try one?”

  “Sure.”

  Neil raised an eyebrow. “Bro, I was kidding. These are for—”

  “First you blast me for wanting to take it easy, then you won’t let me have a goddamn pill?”

  “Rolling on ex is one thing, but you’ve been drinking—a lot. And doing coke. It’s gonna hit you hard.”

  Only if I’m lucky. “I’m a big boy, Neil. I can make my own choices.” Drew swiped the pouch from the shelf and opened it, tossing two pills in his mouth, swallowing them both with greed.

  “I’d better store these someplace else,” Neil said, taking the pouch from Drew. “Last thing I need is you popping my entire supply like Tic Tacs.”

  *

  A half hour passed and Drew felt exhilarated. He had no idea where Kara was, but he had made new friends—two of the nicest guys he had ever encountered. Drew was disoriented, uncoordinated, but somehow fluid in his interactions with others, or so he thought. His topics of conversation were riveting, his dialog witty and charming, and his dancing electric. The DJ was playing some kind of magic music, the best songs he had ever heard.

  “Bro.” Neil tapped him on the shoulder. “Thought you might like to check in on Kara. She’s been in the bathroom for a while now.”

  “But I just met these guys.”

  “Their names are Carl and Sanjay, and we worked with them for years. Not to mention I watched you introduce yourself to them three times already.”

  “No way.” Drew tried to sound convincing, but his feet were floating two inches off the floor.

  “Yeah, bro. Just in the last twenty minutes.”

  “We might have to disagree on this one.”

  “You’re a fucking clown,” Neil scoffed.

  A two-man security team led a bevy of young beauties into the room, fifteen of them or more, all outfitted for merrymaking. Black, white, Asian, and Hispanic women—none of them much older than twenty-one—decorated in slinky dresses, towering stilettos, revealing skirts, and low cut tube tops.

  “Is this parade of estrogen, uh, courtesy of your friend?”

  Neil’s face was full of anticipation. “The guy works wonders, doesn’t he?”

  “Your friend, what? Just goes out and, uh, invites women to parties?” Drew petted Neil while talking to him.

  “He snags a few barflies, I’m sure. But being well connected is what he does best. He finds sluts who wanna party and rounds ‘em up for me.”

  “What, like on a tour bus?” Probably a rickety van . . .

  “I don’t concern myself with details, bro.”

  . . . the driver baits them in the back with Louis Vuitton.

  “All you need to know is these bitches are looking to go out and have a good time, so why not right here? I’ve got security, drinks, food, music, uppers, good people. These bitches don’t care. It’s all free for them. It’s like going to the kind of house party you see in movies except I put on the real thing.”

  “And you pay this guy for his help?”

  “Something like that.” Neil grinned. “He usually comes to the party and gets first dibs.”

  “Your very own meat market, huh?” Drew snorted, becoming acutely aware of how much he appreciated his own nostrils.

  “I guess, but let’s be honest—none of these bitches are going to be our first woman president. Young crack whores in the making for the most part.”

>   Drew recalled attending a number of Neil’s parties over the years—there had always been a plethora of attractive women and refreshments of every variety. But even intoxicated as he was, this was the first time Drew had considered not just the cost of these parties, but their consequences. Perhaps it was because this was the most epic bash Neil had ever thrown. Like something right out of a movie, just as he had said.

  The last two girls who entered with the rest caught Drew’s eye. They looked conspicuously undeveloped, reserved and timid in their demeanor, unlike the others. “How old are those two?” he asked, pointing.

  “How the fuck should I know?”

  “Doesn’t your friend, uh, check?”

  “I don’t tell another man how to run his business.”

  “They look too young to . . .” He realized he was still pointing and lowered his hand.

  “You’re tripping balls, bro. Settle down.”

  “Uh . . .”

  “Let’s go say hi to them.”

  They made their way to the two girls. The first one had freckles, braces, and pink streaks of dye in her sandy blonde hair. Her friend was about five feet tall with a fat face and a bra stuffed unevenly.

  Even in his most careless moments, Drew wanted nothing to do with underage girls, although being Neil’s friend felt a lot like guilt by association. But with every fleeing second, Drew had more trouble remembering why he and Neil were talking to them in the first place.

  “Good evening, ladies,” Neil said.

  “Hi . . .” was all Freckles could manage. She seemed nervous to make eye contact with anyone in the room. She folded her arms and moved closer to her pudgy friend.

  “This girl,” Drew said with his lips pressed to Neil’s ear, “the one with the talking freckles. She looks like she’s fifteen, and her friend looks even tinier than that.”

  Neil rolled his eyes. “Ladies, my friend here thinks you’re too young to know how to have a good time.”

  “We are not,” Pudgy proclaimed. “We party with older guys all the time, don’t we Chelsea?”

  Freckles jumped in, daring herself to be heroic. “And we heard there’d be Molly at this party.”

  “You could learn something from these two,” Neil said to Drew, turning the discussion into a teachable moment. “They know how have a good time.” He gestured down the hall. “This way, ladies. I keep a stash under my pillow.” Neil pointed them in the right direction and they took off, but he lingered a moment. “You want the one in the pigtails or the chubby midget?”