I was still tired from the night before. I don’t usually stay up until 9am the next day but it’s been different these past few weeks. There’s a constant flow of cocaine and alcohol and everyone’s doing it. At least that’s what I tell myself.
My friend Kaitlyn came down from Connecticut Phil’s BBQ. She brought her new roommates and another friend, I didn’t know them and to be honest I had no interest in getting to know them. I just don’t fit into their puzzle.
There are about 50 people crowded in Phil’s backyard in Bushwick. A brick wall closes the left side of the yard with old graffiti on it. There’s rusted backyard furniture and a makeshift keg setup that has a jar on top of it asking for a monetary contribution. Phil tells me to put some money in, I told him I was going to but left before that ever happened.
He started texting me around 4pm. “Come to Brass Monkey.” I told him maybe, that I might swing by tonight but that I was busy for now. That’s not what I wanted to say. I wanted to drop him flirtatious texts as I slowly made my way over to him.
I look around at Kaitlyn, at Phil and everyone else in the backyard. I didn’t want to be there. People were smiling and pretending and everything seemed so superficial. I wasn’t sure if I was just in an off mood from getting no sleep the night before, or if I really wasn’t feeling it. It didn’t matter at that point anyway. It was about 8pm and the devil on my shoulder already determined I was going to get out of this.
I grab my bag and chug the rest of my beer. I was gone. I texted Kaitlyn and told her I had gotten sick in the bathroom and that I was going home to get some sleep. “Are you ok? I’m worried,” she wrote. I told her that I was totally fine and just needed to sleep it off.
I go home and change my clothes. I wanted to wear a short dress but couldn’t. I got the most severe sunburn of my life a week and half earlier and remnants of it still made my legs look like Zebra print. I pulled out a low-cut black jumpsuit I hadn’t yet worn. It has a choker neckline and I liked the way it let people know I lived in Brooklyn without muttering a word.
I got on the subway and read through the text exchange leading up to this. We’ve been pinging each other back and forth, off and on for the last 6 hours. He mentioned a few hours ago that Maria was there. Maria was a new girl I met the night before. She’s a lesbian and very beautiful. They both knew I was bisexual and by the looks of it I think he was trying to set the night up for the three of us.
I’m a 5-minute walk away and I can see the Hudson. I never go out in Meatpacking. When I first moved to the city I had a few white trash nights in this part of town. But it was not my go-to. I was out of place here, but I liked the way it made me feel, like all bets were off and it was going to be a crazy night.
I text him, “You still there?” “Yes Coke up here. Brass Monkey. Roll up here. In the meat packing.” OK he was fucked up at this point and must’ve thought I was still in Brooklyn. I tell him I’m here and he says he’s upstairs.
I grab a vodka soda w/ a splash of cranberry as soon as I see the bar. It’s my drink these days because it’s cheap and strong. – the quintessential white girl beverage. I head upstairs, drink in hand, adjust my bodice and turn the corner.
As soon as I see him his face lights up. I probably could have been anyone. As soon as he sees one his “gals” roll up he knows there’s a good chance he’s getting laid. I didn’t care. I show up because I’ve been on a roll lately and I needed to feel reckless like the night before.
He throws his arm around me. He thinks he’s whispering in my ear, but he’s yelling. He says he’s so happy I came out tonight and I am just so cool and that he adores me so much. I know it’s the alcohol talking. He introduces me to his sister, who is also drunk and searching the bar for her missing phone. Then I met his sister’s boyfriend, who is a tall man whose eyes were empty of emotion. Then I look to the right and there’s Maria. She looks great, but she too is loaded and I get the feeling something’s up.
She was off-again-on-again making out with one of his sister’s friends. The woman was married, Maria tells me, and she was being aggressive and dramatic but that she was kind of into that shit. Then he grabs from the left and kisses my cheek. His droopy eyes meet mine and he wants to buy me a drink. I don’t hesitate.
I tell him to order shots. I have a lot of catching up to do to fit into this crowd. My buzz from the BBQ faded away on my commute to the city and I wasn’t about to hang around this place sober.
His arm is around me so tightly that it makes me uncomfortable. I know I would love this if I were the least bit drunk. I take his arm off me and push it away. I try to ask him about his day and his arm comes up around my neck again. It’s getting more difficult to breathe.
Tequila shots. Another vodka soda. Some bantering with Maria and we’re back with Jameson shots. I’m feeling more lit now. His arms are still draped around my shoulders and he whispers in my ear that he wants to take me home and fuck me.
I pull away. I told him what he didn’t want to hear. I told him the same thing he told me two weeks prior. We can’t have a physical relationship, we’re just friends. He didn’t like what I had to say, but even he, in his drunken state, knew that this is the same bullshit he fed me before and now I was dishing it right back.
We drank more. He kissed my cheeks more times than my fingers could count. I told him I needed some air and that we should go to the roof. He looked at his sister, at Maria and they were both occupied. “Great idea” he said. I have a feeling he thought the roof may have had less people. He was dead wrong.
We get to the roof and can hardly edge our way into the crowd. The handsome white men wearing Vineyard Vines tower over him as we weave our way through the ocean of well-to-do young adults. This is hilarious. Someone from Idaho with no sense of direction, a nose ring and dirty white sneakers is on a Meatpacking rooftop with Manhattan’s horniest. I fit in in that respect, but I still don’t belong there. He feels out of place too. I can see it in his face. We can’t find a place to hang so we head back downstairs into the dark.
More drinking. Maybe another round of shots paired with a drink? I’m drunk at this point. I want to flirt with Maria but she’s not around anymore. I look back at him and he says we should go back to his place. I told him we’re just friends and I’d be happy to help him to his Uber, but that I was going home.
I wasn’t fooling anyone, including myself. I wanted to go home with him. I like stumbling into his building off of 44th and 2nd in the wee hours of the morning. Something about joking with his doorman, who knows exactly why I’m here tonight. I’m not the least bit ashamed and to be honest it kind of turns me on.
We never start things off fast. We always sit back and chill on the couch in his living room, already coked up with beers in hand. But this is not one our white nights, which is probably while I’m able to remember things so much clearer. He opens two beers bottles for us and we put our feet up.
Brand None 