Games

Supply and Demand #2

Lili doesn’t realize she’s ended up in Tribeca instead, until she’s stumbling into the foyer of his building. The shine of

One World Trade looms above the cast-iron lofts. She giggles as she ducks past his doorman. The elevator dings. “You can go

on up, Miss Marwan.” Damn it, she thinks, he saw her; she whispers a thank you, vision spinning dangerously.

It’s dark in the loft.

Quiet, she should be quiet—take her shoes off, minimize the noise. Lili starts trying to undo the laces of her boots while

still walking. The walls spin dangerously.

A lamp flicks on, low light spreading over the floor. “Lili?”

Perfect, what she was after. Abandoning her struggle with her shoes, she rushes over, throwing her arms around him. The black

cotton of his shirt is thin, warm with sleep. Of course, even his pajamas are black; imagine if he wore, like, a university

shirt. She starts to giggle.

“Lili, what are you—”

“Shhh,” she hushes him aggressively. “You’ll wake everyone up!”

Aleksandr sighs, his hands coming to rest on the back of her head.

“I don’t have neighbors,” he says.

But she’s not interested in that anymore, looking up at him, because he’s handsome, insultingly so—his expression is vaguely

disarmed, like he’s just woken up: half-mussed hair, the slight part in his lips. Lili can’t remember what she doesn’t like

about him because, suddenly, she’s seized by the sense of how much she likes him: likes how he looks, likes how tall he is, likes his body against hers, likes the reassuring weight of his hands on her—and that’s why she came here, she recalls clear and sharp, and didn’t follow her friends to the West Village.

Lili runs her hands up his chest—if she’s quick about it, he won’t even know she was here: it’s dark, late night, sex, and she can leave fast—she reaches up, trying to pull him down to kiss her, she really wants him to kiss her—

Heaviness—gravity?—no, hands on her waist hold her down.

“Are you drunk?”

She shrugs, swaying to music from the bar still playing in her head. “Maybe a little?”

He frowns. Oh, she didn’t want to disappoint him. “How much have you had?”

She grins, running her hands over his chest. “Who’s to say?”

The material of his shirt really is thin; she could just slip her hands—

“Lili.”

She pouts, but pauses in her weak wrestle with his shirt and concentrates, trying to tabulate. “I mean, not much? Tequila

at home—not good tequila, either . . . then Jamie got us another round of actually good tequila when we got out, Lower East Side, and

he was paying—or Hassan? Whatever, I wasn’t going to say no, obviously—then rum and Cokes, but I don’t support Coca-Cola,

their unethical practices? Crazy. And Jackie got margaritas, but all the salt made me thirsty, so I drank some more—Jan knew

the bartender, too, had an open tab—he works in, like, spirits distribution, so he knows everyone, like a giant cartel—so

I got this huge mezcal Negroni, absolutely fucked—ugh, then Tommy made me try a Manhattan, what his dad drinks, all those old Upper East Side guys—oh! And Hassan found Jell-O shots, but then Amina—brilliant, she’s brilliant,

we actually first met partying downtown freshman year, she was an NYU kid—met in, like, the bathroom line, she’s my soulmate—anyway,

she had the idea of body shots—”

“Jesus,” he mutters, running a hand over his face. She frowns, grabbing his wrist; she likes his face, wants to see his face.

“Oh, no,” she giggles, swinging their clasped hands together. “Unhappy Aleksandr. I didn’t do too many—I mean, I didn’t do any, except off Amina—it was more other people doing them off me.”

“Are you joking?”

“Well, I’m actually really quite funny. People think I’m all serious, but I’ve got a great sense of humor!

” Displeasure is clear on his face, even through her haze.

She doesn’t know why; she is funny, people just don’t immediately see it—she’s funny, and also a genius, because if he’s unhappy, she knows exactly how to address it: her dress, she should take her dress off—

He grabs her wrists, which is rude. She tries to squirm out of his grip.

“Lili—Lili, stop—” He squints down at her face. “Do you have glitter on you?”

The struggle with her dress forgotten, she throws her arms up in celebration. “Yes! It’s my birthday! I turned twenty-three!”

His long stare makes her wonder if she’s counting time a bit slowly.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Twenty-three? Alright, come on.”

Motion, he’s walking her backwards, and Lili clings to him, keeping her balance. “I know, I know—I’m a Gemini. But I think

Geminis get a bad rap? Not Gemini men, obviously, they’re psychotic. But I think my Leo rising balances it out, plus Sag moon?

Don’t tell anyone about my Venus in Capricorn, though, that’s a secret—”

White-blue light spills into the kitchen, making her eyes hurt. She buries her face against his chest, but it’s just the fridge.

Against her cheek, his shirt smells good, the fresh, clean scent of a recent shower, slept-in bedsheets, and crisp night air.

“Do you want water, or tea . . . milk or something—”

“What is that?” she yells.

Aleksandr nearly drops a carton of milk. “What is what? Jesus Christ—”

“Is that dairy?”

“Yes?”

She grabs the carton from his hand. The milk sloshes in its cold, sweating container. “This is murder! Murder and rape, the

dairy industry is a slaughter industry! Calves get torn from their mothers the day they’re born, how can you support that? Cows are raped for this, it’s

violence—there’s literally blood and pus in milk, it’s horrible for you, horrible for the planet—”

The carton’s taken out of her hands, placed back in the fridge. “Got it, no dairy.”

“No, no, no,” Lili says, shutting the fridge with all her weight. “No. Come on, let’s find Oreos.”

“What?”

“Do you have Oreos?”

“Oreos?”

“Oreos!” Honestly.

“No, I do not have Oreos. I might have some bread in the freezer.”

Lili points an accusatory finger at him. “You’re trying to make me like you.”

“I’m trying to keep you from drowning in a pool of your own vomit.”

She cranes her head back, grasping at his forearms to stay steady as she looks up at him. “You’re very tall,” she observes.

“Yes.”

“How tall are you?”

“This is important information at this hour?”

Lili pokes him in the stomach.

“One hundred and ninety-four centimeters, I think,” he says.

She scrunches her nose. “I have no idea what that means. This is America, adapt.”

Everything surges around her, and she realizes she’s been swaying. Arms hold her steady.

Again, that sigh. “Okay, no food. Let’s get you to bed.”

Yes, good, Lili thinks, as he leads them down the hall. In his bedroom—was the bed really that big last time?—she kicks off her heavy-soled

boots. Dropping onto the bed, she decides to throw one boot in the corner; after a moment’s consideration, she flings the

other back out into the hall.

“I think we should have sex,” she announces.

She has no idea why he looks like he’s trying not to laugh. She said nothing funny.

“Tempting, but no.”

Lili tries to get up, affronted, but he sets her back down. “Stay,” he says, stern. She falls back, spreading her arms like

a snow angel. The cool silk sheets slip like water against her flushed skin.

She hears the sound of a bath being run; then arms are lifting her off the bed.

“Come on—up, Lili—”

“Are we fucking now?”

The world reorients, her feet finding the ground. Lili looks around, confused. They’re in the en suite; he wants to fuck in

here? The counter’s the right height, she supposes. Not one to complain, she starts to pull her dress over her head.

The door closes. She spins around, alone in the bathroom.

“Hey!” she shouts after the shut door. “Where are you going?”

“Just take a bath.” His voice is weary, veering on patronizing.

“No, we’re supposed to be fucking,” she informs the closed door.

“I’m not letting you sleep in my bed when you’ve been on the Lower East Side.”

“I don’t want to sleep!”

“Bath, Lili. Now.”

She scowls, but the steam from the running water is enticing. She does feel too hot and dirty.

After she wrestles her dress off, she looks around. She opens a few of his drawers—finds Sensodyne, mouthwash, well-organized

anonymous toiletries, ridiculous fancy soap with a clean scent of bitter orange and juniper—before leaving her underwear in

the drawer where he keeps his beard trimmer.

It’s a black mesh thong, almost entirely see-through. It’s her birthday, after all. She smirks, proud of herself, and piles

her tangled hair on top of her head in the semblance of a bun.

“The water is too cold,” she complains, stepping into the bath.

“Good.” His reply is vaguely muffled by the door. “You could do with sobering up.”

“I’m shivering.” The water is actually pleasantly warm, but he might come in if he thinks she’s in danger of pneumonia.

“I’m strangely unmoved.”

Lili slides down the side of the tub in one big motion, trying to stretch her toes to reach the other end. Water sloshes over

the edge, spilling onto the marble floor. “Oops,” she giggles.

“Are you alright?”

Looking for soap, she catches sight of black bottles with red lettering. “This is your soap? Why can’t you have three-in-one

like a regular man?” she demands.

Behind the door, he mutters, “I’m going back to bed.”

Humming, she scrubs herself clean, delighted by the slip of bubbles. The warmth and late hour bring a comforting daze over

her. A robe is laid over the nearby stool, obnoxious restored driftwood shit. It’s too big for her, but Lili pulls it on when

she gets out of the bath, stifling a yawn.

“I could have had sex with so many people tonight,” she informs him as she clambers into bed, still trying her luck. “So many

women and men—multiple, interchanging. But instead, I came here, and you won’t even do your whole daddy dom thing.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know,” she yawns, snuggling into the sheets.

The low light clicks off. If she nestles into his side, it’s because of his body heat. “Go to sleep, Lili.”

“You know, I don’t think I will,” she says, fighting back another yawn.