Chapter 5 #4
“On it. Excuse me!” Oscar said, standing up to head to the bar a few meters from their sofa. “Are you a tequila girl?”
“Hell yes, I am.”
“Excellent.”
Two pours of Don Julio 1942 later, Lauren wasn’t sure if the drinks had been a good idea or a very, very bad one.
“So let me get this straight,” Oscar said. He had undone another button on his polo, and at this point Lauren was pretty sure
that she was going to make out with him by the end of the night. “Your ex-boyfriend left you for your best friend, and instead
of fistfighting both of them, you came to work at the Palace instead.”
“That’s a very tabloid-esque summary,” Lauren said, tracing the rim of her glass with her finger.
“How long were you two together?”
Lauren had to think for a minute. “Four . . . ? Yes, four years.”
“Wow.” Oscar shook his head. “And did he work at the White House, too?”
Lauren narrowed her eyes. “Oh, come on.”
“What?” He laughed and signaled the bartender again.
“I know you know the answer to this!” she said. “I bet you still have his Atlantic profile in an open tab on both your phone and your laptop.”
“Okay, fine, yes, I know that Brian Martinez is a rising star in DC.”
“That’s probably because he tells everyone that he is,” Lauren said. “Only half kidding about that, by the way.”
“But I didn’t know that Brooke was your best friend. That one’s new.”
“Well, consider it an exclusive from an unnamed source,” Lauren said. “You can also have the exclusive that she’s a backstabbing
betrayer who backstabs and betrays.”
“I . . . would not disagree with you on that point.”
“You know what really sucks?” Lauren said. “Oh, thank you, you’re the GOAT,” she added as a bartender set down two spicy margaritas.
“Do you know Hugo? He’s, like, three rooms over. He’s great. And so are you.”
“And can we get some water, please,” Oscar said to him.
“Anyway, this is what sucks: They’re happy together. Like, if they had just fucked behind my back and then broke up once I found out, that’d be one thing. I could live
with that. But they’re still together. I see them on Insta—”
“You haven’t blocked or unfollowed them?” Oscar asked. “Seriously?”
“I’m petty and have a slight self-destructive streak,” Lauren replied. “But I see their pics and they just look . . . so happy.
They moved in together. They got a dog. His name is Baxter, and I can’t even hate him because he’s adorable.”
“That is a cute name,” Oscar agreed.
“I feel like . . .” Lauren knew she was definitely drunk at this point because she was about to say the thing out loud, the
thing she had only thought in her head for fear of it sounding true. “Like Brooke is having the life that I was supposed to
have, and now that she has it, I don’t know what my life is supposed to look like anymore. It’s just empty space and I’m filling
it in as I go, and I don’t know if it’s right or wrong.”
“I think that’s how everyone feels in their twenties, though,” Oscar said. “Right? Please tell me I’m right?”
“Do you?” Lauren asked, and then pounced when he nodded. “Okay, I’m doing a feature on you now. Please tell me all about your last girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Or either. Or both. I don’t judge.”
“Girlfriend,” Oscar said, laughing. “But thank you, I appreciate that. Her name was Mari.”
“God, that’s almost as cute as Baxter. And how’d you meet?”
“At work, of course, because that’s practically the only place I go anymore,” Oscar said. “She worked at the paper. She was
a copy editor.”
“Very exacting, I bet.”
“You could say that. Anyway, it didn’t work out and she broke up with me because I worked too much.”
“Do you?” Lauren asked.
“No more than you,” Oscar said.
“So that’s a yes.” Lauren raised her glass and held it in front of his. “To the exes for being complete fucking assholes.”
“I will absolutely drink to that,” Oscar said, both of them wincing as they tossed back the tequila remnants.
Lauren felt like things were moving just a little bit more slowly than they had been an hour ago, like she was floating in
the ocean and looking up at the sky.
“You know what?” she said.
“What?”
“Still off the record.”
Oscar made a “cross my heart” motion.
“I don’t want to talk about our exes anymore. Or work.”
Oscar quirked an eyebrow at her. “Oh really? What do you want to talk about, then?”
“I don’t want to talk at all.” Lauren held his gaze, their eyes locking together for a few extra beats until Oscar stood up
abruptly and took her hand.
“Follow me,” he said.
She walked behind him back through the labyrinth of rooms and hallways until they arrived back in the basement’s Jungle Bar, the thumping bass of the DJ’s throwback house music instantly reverberating in their bodies as they stepped in.
“Still want to stay off the record?” Oscar raised his voice to ask, pressing up against her until she was flat against the wall, the animal-print damask wallpaper soft against her hands.
“Absolutely.”
“Good.” And then his lips were on hers, and Lauren, for the first time in months, felt her entire body relax.
Fuck, he was good at this.
Oscar had just moved down to the soft spot behind her ear when Lauren saw Joy come over, her eyes widening before immediately
doing a 180. A few seconds later she felt her phone buzz in her purse. “Do you have to get that?” Oscar said, his slight stubble
scratching at her cheek. She loved it now and would hate the rash tomorrow.
“It’s just Joy,” Lauren said. “Trust me.”
Oscar didn’t ask for further information, which was for the best because he had moved down to the base of her neck, pressing
a kiss to the hollow of her throat, and even though it was just a small gesture of intimacy, Lauren knew that she had to either
stop it now or not stop at all.
“Oscar,” she panted, pushing at his shoulders. “Oscar Mason.”
“What?” he asked, putting his mouth back on hers. Lauren could almost taste her perfume.
“We have to stop,” she said. “Oh, fuck. Wait, no, we have to stop.”
Oscar pulled back, and under the dim lights, his eyes looked hazy and electric. “Why?”
“Because I’m about to do something really stupid and so are you.” She put her hand on his chest, feeling his pulse racing and heat radiating.
“But,” he said, pulling away a bit, and Lauren instantly missed the weight of him. “What if . . . Fuck. Fuck, okay. You’re
right.”
Lauren ran her other hand through her hair, breathing heavily. “I should go home.”
Oscar rested his forehead against hers, nodding. “We should go home.”
“I don’t enjoy being this responsible all the time, just so you know,” she said to him.
“Clearly,” he replied, a little dejected, before resting his hand on top of her head as he pushed away from her once more.
“You really are a buzzkill.”
She laughed when he couldn’t hold back a teasing smile, gently shoving him so he stepped even farther away. “I suppose it
wouldn’t shock you to know that I was also hall monitor and class secretary in middle school.”
“Not in the slightest.”
Lauren pulled the thin strap of her dress up over her shoulder and wondered where her purse was. She hadn’t seen it in . . .
minutes? Hours? “By any chance do you remember—?” she started to say.
“Joy has it,” Oscar said, then shrugged. “I’m a journalist. I pay attention to details.”
“Well, I’m glad one of us does, especially at this particular moment.” Lauren took the arm that he offered her, curling her
fingers around his bicep. He felt warm under his top, and she once again became annoyed with herself for being responsible.
“Now where is Joy?”
They found Joy in the thick of the dance floor, living it up right in the center of the crowd, a champagne flute held high above her head as she danced to Robin S’s “Show Me Love,” Hugo the bartender dancing alongside her.
When she spotted Lauren, she screamed and pointed to her, holding out her hand, but then she saw Oscar and screamed again, this time whispering something into Hugo’s ear before elbowing her way off the dance floor without spilling a single drop of her drink.
“I’m not going to ask questions,” she said, slightly breathless from her dancing.
“I find that very hard to believe,” Lauren said.
“Same,” Oscar added.
Joy turned to Lauren, still not spilling her drink. “How drunk are you? Very drunk? Do you need me to pour you into an Uber?”
“Well . . . I’m standing,” Lauren said. “At least, I think I’m standing. I am standing, right?”
“You are most definitely upright,” Joy said.
“Is Hugo all over you?” Lauren asked. “Or am I seeing things?”
“Definitely not seeing things.” Joy grinned.
“Are you being safe?” Lauren asked, and then grabbed on to Joy’s arm to steady herself.
“Look at you, adorable when you’re wasted. And yes, I’m safe, thank you for being a good friend, but I am doing just fine.
Very fine.”
Lauren leaned in and whispered-screamed over the music, “Oh my God. Are you guys going to hook up?”
“Unless my friend here needs me to take her home, that’s the plan.” Joy pulled back a little, giggling. “Are you good to get
in a cab, or do you need help?”
“I’m fine,” Lauren replied. She wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but there was no way she was going to ruin Joy’s fun.
“Okay, Mr. Reporter, I’ve got it from here.” Joy nodded toward a red lipstick mark on Oscar’s chin, then took Lauren by the
arm. “I have your purse, don’t worry. Hugo put it safely behind his bar.”
“Text me once you arrive home,” Oscar said to Lauren. “All right? I’m serious. Just so I know you get home safe.”
“I will,” Lauren promised. “Absolutely. Cross my heart. You can count on me.”
Oscar, it turned out, could not count on her.
Lauren woke up the next morning to a stream of foggy sunshine spilling across her bed. The dress she had borrowed from Una
was tangled around her waist, she was still wearing one high heel, and there was a half-eaten Nature Valley granola bar next
to her head on the pillow, which was slightly concerning because Lauren had no memory of eating the other half or even buying
granola bars.
And why did she eat it in bed? The crumbs!
“Shit,” she whispered, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes and wishing the blinds could just close themselves so
she wouldn’t have to do it. Had the morning light always been this bright in London? It felt like a laser piercing through
her skull, right above her left eye, and when she sat up, she felt like she was on a ship that had suddenly listed to the
right and taken her brain along with it.
“Shit,” she said again, because there wasn’t a better word for how she felt in that moment, but also because it was her own
fault. Mixing her liquor like she was eighteen years old again and hanging out at some frat house party? Why didn’t she just
toss back a White Claw while she was at it?
She attempted to shift her weight to stand up, then remembered that she had a job and usually that job began quite early in the morning.
She fumbled for her phone while trying to not vomit, her hand finally reaching around it under her pillow.
Like the Nature Valley bar, she had no memory of putting her phone there, but at least she had it now.
And, she discovered as she tapped the screen, she also had fourteen texts and eight missed calls from Oscar.
Shit.
“Hi,” she said as soon as he answered. “I’m sorry, I’m alive. I mean, I feel like I’m dead, I wish I was dead, but I’m alive.”
“Oh my God,” Oscar said. “I was about to send Joy over to your flat. What happened to that whole Girl Scout ‘cross my heart’
promise?!”
“Oscar, you’re at an eight and I’m going to need you at a four right now,” Lauren groaned. “I’m sorry, I really am, I just
got home and”—she glanced around the tiny apartment, seeing now the melee she had left in her wake—“crashed.”
“Next time, I’m taking you home,” Oscar said.
Lauren paused. “Next time?”
“I mean . . . You know what I mean.”
And despite the throbbing pain in her head, despite the granola pieces lodged between her molars, and despite the fact that
she was absolutely going to be late for work, Lauren smiled. “I had fun last night,” she said. “I’m not having any fun this
morning, but last night was worth it.”
There was a pause on the other end, and Lauren could swear that she heard him smile. “Me too,” he said. “Better get to work,
though. It’s almost nine a.m. We’ve got your weekly press briefing today.”
“Wait, what?” Lauren pulled her phone away from her ear, switching Oscar to speaker and immediately flicking on her screen
to see the time.
And just like that, her headache became much, much worse.
“FUCK!”