Chapter 22
Bar Next Door, West Hollywood, Los Angeles
Later that evening Antoinette and I make our way along Sunset to a cocktail bar that Antoinette saw recommended on Instagram. The strip is bustling and noisy, crowds of revellers spilling out onto the streets.
‘Looking good, baby girls,’ someone shouts to us as we squeeze past a group of people in cowboy boots and feather boas. ‘You enjoy your night.’
‘How nice is it here?’ Antoinette beams. ‘That would never happen in London. You’d just get a cold stare. Or some mouth-breather telling you to get your tits out.’
The bar is small and busy, but in a good way, a way that feels cosy rather than claustrophobic.
‘Cute,’ I say, looking around at the sepia-coloured space with its low-lit booths and dark leather seats.
‘The building was once home to Marilyn Monroe’s talent agency,’ Antoinette tells me and I stare at her, impressed.
‘I didn’t think you were interested in Hollywood history?’
‘I never said that,’ she says. ‘That old hotel was just a bit musty.’
A young woman sitting in a booth with a group of people grabs my arm.
‘We’re just leaving,’ she says. ‘Do you want our table? So hard to get a seat in here.’
I give her a grateful smile. ‘Thank you so much,’ I say as she and her friends slip out of the booth, allowing Antoinette and I to take their place.
‘See?’ Antoinette says. ‘It’s so friendly here.’
‘Only because they’re drunk on craft cocktails.’
‘Drunk people in London would just try to start a fight.’
I laugh. ‘That’s not true. London is friendly.’
Antoinette raises an eyebrow. ‘So what are we drinking?’
I look at the menu, which is really cool – designed to look like an Old Hollywood gossip paper. The cocktails look amazing. They’re named after places in Hollywood like Whisky Go Go and The Roosevelt. There’s even a Chateau Marmont. I shudder.
‘Not alcohol,’ I say. ‘We need to be on our game.’ I’ve learned the hard way that being sloppy drunk leads to being a sloppy killer. No one likes a sloppy drunk. They like a sloppy killer even less.
‘Just a sparkling water then,’ she says and I order the drinks on my phone.
A server brings them over a little while later. As she’s placing them on our table I notice Antoinette’s eyes widen in shock.
‘What?’ I spin round, not sure what I’m expecting, but there’s nothing. Just people drinking, talking and laughing.
‘That guy, the one in the grey T-shirt,’ Antoinette says. ‘I’m sure I just saw him slip something in that girl’s drink.’
‘What?’ I say. ‘What was it?’
‘I don’t know, something in a little vial. He just poured it in while she was looking away!’
I stare at the guy. He doesn’t look shady.
He’s wearing a vintage-looking T-shirt, old-style Levi’s and an earring in his right ear.
There’s a thin gold chain around his neck.
He has that carefully curated stubble that most of the men I’ve seen here are sporting.
He’s laughing now, with the group of people he’s with. They look like they’re friends.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask Antoinette but she doesn’t answer because she’s jumped out of her seat and is making her way to the bar like she’s on a mission.
I watch as she reaches the group and leans over the bar, trying to get the attention of a server.
As she moves I see her hand slip out and knock over one of the drinks lined up on the bar.
It goes everywhere, all down the side of the bar, on the floor, but mostly over the guy.
‘Oh my God, I am so sorry,’ Antoinette squeals, grabbing a handful of napkins and dabbing at his jeans. ‘I am so clumsy.’
‘Hey, don’t worry about it,’ says the guy, appeased by having Antoinette effectively paw him. ‘Accidents happen.’
‘I’ll replace the drink,’ Antoinette says but he waves her off.
‘Seriously, don’t worry about it, it’s fine.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course, get back to your night.’
Antoinette gives the group a dazzling smile and shimmies back over to our booth.
‘She won’t be drinking that spiked drink now,’ she says to me, looking triumphant.
‘No,’ I say. ‘But you know he’s probably just going to spike someone else’s drink later.’
Antoinette gives me a wicked smile and holds out her fist, it’s curled around something. She unfurls her fingers and I see, in the palm of her hand, a little vial of clear liquid.
‘Swiped it when I was wiping him down,’ she says.
‘What? How?’
‘I learned how to pick pockets at boarding school,’ she says with a casual little shrug. ‘We used to practise when we went out on day trips. No one ever suspected a group of girls from an expensive school was going to steal from them. I’m quite good at it. My sleight of hand is unreal.’
‘So I see.’
I sip my drink and turn my attention back to the guy at the bar.
He really doesn’t look the type to be drugging girls in bars but if I’ve learned anything it’s that looks can be incredibly deceiving.
Monsters don’t always look like monsters.
Sometimes they look like Jacob Elordi in a V-neck tee.
He’s the perfect lab rat. He must sense me looking at him as he turns and glances over at our booth, gives me a grin and then turns his attention to Antoinette.
A plan quickly comes together in my mind.
‘Antoinette?’
‘Yes?’
‘Can you quickly google the nearest rooftop bar?’
She looks at me, confused. ‘Don’t you like it here?’
‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘But I’m about to give you your first practical lesson.’
Antoinette grins wickedly and reaches for her phone while I smile back at the bar guy.
‘So apparently the nearest place is Ophelia’s. It’s a five-minute walk.’
‘Great,’ I say, just as bar guy approaches our booth, drink in hand.
‘Hey,’ he says, looking from me to Antoinette. ‘Would you ladies mind if I joined you?’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Sit.’
He squeezes himself in beside Antoinette.
‘Hi again,’ he says to her. ‘Do I need to keep my drink away from you?’
He does. But he doesn’t know why. Yet.
I laugh. ‘She’s not usually so clumsy. I’m Kitty,’ I say, holding out my hand. The man takes it and shakes it.
‘Very nice to meet you,’ he says. ‘I’m Carey.’
‘You’ve already met Antoinette,’ I say and he laughs.
‘We’re acquainted. I’d like to say she threw herself at me but sadly it was just a drink.’ Antoinette gives an embarrassed shrug. ‘Can I get you girls anything?’
‘We’re actually just about to leave,’ I say with a sad face.
‘You’re not going home? The night’s only just starting.’
‘We’re actually going to check out Ophelia’s,’ I say. ‘Apparently the views are to die for.’
‘You should come with us,’ Antoinette says. ‘You could be our tour guide!’ She’s looking at him hopefully. Carey looks over at the group he was with. I can see him wavering.
‘Sounds great,’ he says. ‘Let me just go and tell my friends I’m bailing.’ He hops out of his seat, leaving his drink on our table.
When he’s out of earshot, I say, ‘Now pour some of whatever you swiped into his glass.’
‘How much do I put in?’ Antoinette says, pulling the cap off the vial.
‘All of it,’ I say.
And she does it so quickly I barely even see it.
She wasn’t lying about her sleight-of-hand skills.
‘Told you,’ she says to my impressed face.
Carey is back over. ‘All cool,’ he says. ‘We leaving now?’
‘Let’s finish our drinks,’ I say, sucking down the last of my water. Carey picks up his glass and downs it.
‘Let’s bounce,’ he says.
I smile inwardly.
He won’t be bouncing. That’s a certainty.