Chapter 3 – Dirty Sal, Obviously.
After four more painful conversations about me going out into the world and needing to experience “the burn in my loins”— Gag—and the possibility of a matchmaking date planned by my aunt—never again will I let her do that—I’m burned out on peopling for the rest of the day.
I throw my apartment keys on the kitchen table and kick off my Converse pumps, relishing in the freedom my toes feel from walking four blocks home from the diner. I’d have taken the sub but this time of day it’s too crowded for me.
Milo, mysphynxcat who I rescued from a cardboard box outside of my apartment’s blockthreeyears ago, purrs around my legs, weaving in and out—it’s his way of greeting me.
“Hey, Milo,” I say, scratching behind his ear.
“What you get up to today, huh? Catch yourself some more mice and hide them around the apartment again?” I try not to heave out that last part. He has an awful habit of doing that. I find mice at the most unexpected times and in the most unexpected places. The worst being my bed late at night when I rolled over. It was on my pillow, for God’s sake.
I head into my kitchen, as I do every day, and carefully pull open my falling apart cupboard door to pick out a tin of cat food. Scraping the contents into his bowl, I glance over to see Milo’s taken to his usual position, spread eagled on my couch. Walking over, I place his food next to the sofa. Doesn’t take him long before he rolls off andscarfsit down like he’s never been fed before.
My apartment is a shoebox. Lucky me, hey,but it’s what I can afford in this great city. It’s a one-bedroom apartment with a tiny window looking out onto the busy street below, open and lit living room and kitchen space, cozy bathroom, and a metal balcony fire escape where I sit and enjoy my morning cup of coffee.
I’vemade it homely and sweet with plants and books, pictures of my aunt and uncle, grandpa, granny, and Max, and yes, it’s girly.
Don’t get me wrong, it has its downsides, like the short supply of space, all the doors hanging on by a thread, and laundry day can be a nightmare with the lack of washing facilities in the building. Oh, and the laundromat being a ten-minute walk from here.
Then there’s my building neighbors. A grumpy old man, whose name I still haven’tfound outin the three years I’ve been here. He lives below me and grunts in response to anything I say. Mrs. Dotty, the nosy, gossiping window peeper. She says she doesn’t do drama, but that’s an outright lie, she’s always watching. Shady old witch. We also have a wannabe NYC bachelor whose front door’s a never-ending conveyor belt of ladies going in and out. And lastly, there’s my favorite one, a middle-aged stockbroker man named Tony. I’m certain he’s half man half elephant. Tony lives in the apartment above me, he only comes to life after 1:00 a.m. to—I am almost positive—dance.
Yes, even with all that, it’s mine and I love it.
What more could a twenty-eight-year-old want? Glancing around my home, I know one thing no one would want—an eviction notice—but unfortunately for me, my assholelandlord-hashanded us all our letters to leave.
In just eight weeks, I’m expected to pack my life up and move somewhere else.
What the fuck am I going to do?Rent’s far too high, I got this place on a steal. Icannot afford anywhereelse. I know if I told Max or Agnes and Harold, they’d drop everything to help, and I know if needed, I could move in with one of them. But I love my independence, my peace. I love coming home, shutting out the city and everyone in it.
I’m interrupted from my thoughts when my phonerings.
******Hoe down show down is calling******
“Yas,” I answer, knowing exactly why Max is calling me.
“Yo, sugar tits, heard you’re going on a date with Joe from booth 4,” she shouts down the phone.
What?
“No, the hell I am not,” I reply.Aggie strikes again, and I makeamental note to ramp up tomorrow’s story time with Harold.
“Yeah, I figured as much,” Max says.“So,are you coming out, or what? There’sa new club opened, and I heard it’s where all thestallionsare at. They’reall at leasteightinches and built like brick houses.”
Max and I have known each other since we were in diapers. Her parents lived next door to my grandparents, and Max’s mom worked in the diner. We were born on the same day,justa minute apart, and the onlydifferenceis she was born in the hospital, and we haven’t lived a day without each other.
I laugh.“Andwhere did you get that kind of information from?”
“Dirty Sal, obviously!” She chuckles.
Ahh, the famousDirtySal. New York’s elite whore. If you find a man she hasn’t charmed into bed, youkeep himclose, real close.Don’tlet him out of your sight.
“Nah, I’mgonnamiss tonight, you go out, take one for the team, enjoy,” I reply in a rush.AsI go to say love you and hang up, she pulls out the fucking no-way-José card.
“Nope, not happening, sister. Tonight’sthe night you lose that v-card you’re clinging onto for dear life,” she singsongs.
“Okay, first off, I’m not coming out, and secondly, I’m not a virgin. I lost it to Nate in high school!” My stomach drops at the memories of that night. Nate.
“Oh, I thought you lost it to randy Ron?”Shelaughs.
I laugh back at her. “What the hell, Max, you know I didn’t, that creep lied to everyone.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t say that to anyone else either. You heard he’s in prison now for dodgy tax returns, right? Don’t want to get yourself tied up with that! Best to keep that info to yourself. Besides, I’m joking, I know it was Nate. Anyway, you need to come out. You’re turning into the crazy cat lady.”
BeforeI could respond with “I only have one cat,surely,I’d need more to be classed as a crazy cat lady,” Max shouts,“You have two choices.Youcan either get ready the nice way or my way, and we know you don’t like my way.However,you choose, you’re coming out, so what’s itgonnabe,Hals?”
******
It’s 11:30 p.m. and we’ve already been to a few bars downtown, and now we are back in Times Square. At the new Club Malibu.
God, my feet are killing me!
Only reason I agreed to coming here was Max’s comment that DJ Julie is the opening act of the night.That DJ knows how to play old school hits like no other. I should be at home with my laptop out, looking for apartments, not here spending money Ireallyneed.
No, a night off will do me good,justbe responsible.
Walking into the club, it’s packed, strobe lights throwing out everycoloracross the dance floors, the fog machine has been turned up to cemetery mode, and the line to therestroomis a mile long.
Glancing around, all the girls are in short dresses that barely cover their ass and the menclearlycamestraight here from the office—all looking like they are hoping to have a fun time.
So many thirst buckets in here.
I’m feeling the opposite. Onlygood thing isI have a fantastic fact-based reason to be late for work and clear tomorrow’s awkward man topic of conversation with my aunt.
I went with a blackmid-lengthsilk dress that has a split going up my thigh. “It’sall the fashion, what the young kids are wearing,” the lady in the shop told me when I was browsing a few weeks ago. I have a tough time saying no, so Iboughtit. My long red hair is down in loose waves, and with the limited time limit Max gave me, Iwasonly able to apply some lip gloss and mascara before she was pulling me out the door.
“Let’s go dance,” Max shouts over thespeakersbooming out JT’s “SexyBack.” Thank you, DJ Julie!
I nod in agreement.
We head to the busy dance floor where girls are slut dropping guys, men are gripping hips and rubbing themselves on the girls,couplesare kissing each other’s faces off. This place is minutes away from an orgy. It’s a complete fuck fest in here.
Get in the mood, Hallie!
I do what I do best and dance to the beat of the music, swinging my hips from side to side, thanking myself for the few shots I had at the last bar.
Max is laughing and doing the same. One song goes into another and another, and as much as I won’t say it aloud, this actually feels good. A few more drinks downand I might join in the orgy.
We dance to a few more songs, coming up with stupid dance moves, and swat men’s wandering hands away before we head over to the bar.
“Two o’clock, sexy, hot stallion staring right at you,” Max shouts.
“What?Twoo’clock?”Iturn around in a circle, trying to see who Max is talking about but come up empty when Irealizethe numbers in the place have tripled since we arrived, and shecould literally be talkingabout anyone.
“Hot, young Henry Cavill look-alike. Abeautiful manscaped god over there in the corner, finger on lips, white shirt, ready to make you beg, kinda staring right at us, you have three seconds to decide or I’m having him.”