In my mind, the rest of the evening was a soaking wet and disasterous montage. Scattered images of yours truly running through drenched city streets since fate had ironically decided to start a downpour the second I peeped through Aidan's master bathroom door. It is eerie how I can only mostly remember the sound of rain in each of those still lifes. First, the spitting stream from Aidan's shower, lit through the steam, where I witnessed not only my boyfriend but the naked girl who was with him. A skinny little size zero with no breasts and a Brazillian wax job. Next the crack of thunder and rushing of blood as I smacked my head on the door trying to flee the crime scene. Then the gushed static of Tom's cell's bad reception when he agreed to meet me at his place. And finally the plopping of huge raindrops and the sweep of the windshield wipers in my downtown cab.
I paid the fare and got out at Tom's sprawling apartment community, breaking one of the heels of my fuck-me pumps as I dashed into the main lobby. He was waiting at the door with a fluffy towel, complete with a Floridian sunset design, and the most perfectly chilled vodka martini.
"Jesus, what the fuck happened?" These five words were all that I'd been thinking too, but Tom vocalized it as I downed the martini and sunk into his overstuffed couch. "I called Kate, she's on her way. Melanie, too, and that crazy lesbian pagan girl she's been hanging out. What's her name? Lotus or something. They're all bringing more booze." He lined up five more martini glasses and filled each with double olives, then emptied his freezer tray of ice into a decanter and doused it with more vodka.
"Those'll get warm before they get here," I croaked, my voice as froggy as I must have looked.
"Bitch, these are for you," he smirked.
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