Chapter Four
In which Ava's glow-up for club night is completely wasted.
Ava…
One week before Moving Day, May 24th…
I haven't heard back from Cynthia about my application.
“How long has it been?” Priya asks.
“Twenty-three days.”
“Plan on more like twenty-three weeks,” she says wisely. “You know that anything good moves at a glacial pace here in New York. We waited almost nine months before the co-op board approved our purchase. I could have birthed a baby in less time.” She’s happily peeling off her scrubs and taking her long, dark hair out of its severe bun.
“I know,” I whine, shutting my locker door. “I shouldn’t be letting myself get my hopes up. But I’m feeling homicidal after coming home to two of Carla’s friends doing it in my bed yesterday. Mybed!”I smack my chest dramatically.
“I’d burn those sheets.” She eyes my dress. “Where are you off to with this epic glow-up?”
“Please,” I move over to the mirror, putting on some lipstick. “My glow-up is that I washed my hair and it’s not in a ponytail.”
“Still, you look really pretty,” she says approvingly.
“Thanks. Doris in Cardiology is having a little get together for her birthday. It’s fancy, a private room at a club called Heaven and Hell, have you heard of it?”
“Very bougie,” she says, “I hope it’s an open bar. You are wearing the hell out of that dress; it really brings out the blue in your eyes. And look! You have breasts! There’s cleavage!”
“Stop it!” I awkwardly cross my arms over said breasts. “The girls haven’t been making an appearance because my main item of clothing is scrubs.”
“Go drink too much and make out with someone hot and dangerous,” she says, sending me a wink as I leave the locker room.
***
Priya is right. Heaven and Hellisbougie.
Fortunately, I don't have to stand in line because there's a private room booked for the party, so I get to feel a bit like a VIP as they escort me back. The main dance floor is flashy and shiny, filled with chrome and lights and expensively dressed bodies, dancing, and drinking. But the back hallway is thickly carpeted, with dark gray walls and a more rarified atmosphere. I don't know what they do to soundproof these rooms, but only the faint thud of the bass comes through from the main dance floor.
The hostess opens the door and smiles at me, intoning, “Enjoy your night!" before closing it behind her.
It's not a party.
There's no balloons, no cake. No slightly inebriated party-goers.
There's only fucking Kevin, leaning against a table with a glass of scotch in his hand.
That son of abitch.
“Okay, goodbye," I say, turning to the door.
“Wait! Wait, hang on," he says, hastily putting his shoulder against the door. He's too close now, and blocking the door is creepy and aggressive, not like his usual slimy rich boy antics. “This is the only way I could get you to talk to me.” His eyes are wide and attempting to radiate sincerity.
“I don't want to talk to you," I say calmly. "It seems like that message should have gotten across to you by now. Get the fuck out of my way."
"You owe me a minute, just hear me out!" he blusters. “That day on the ICU floor, I don't know what you thought you saw but-"
"Are you serious right now?” I put my hands on my hips, better there than punching him right in his stupid face. “How many times have we had this conversation? You'restilltrying to tell me I didn't catch that nurse giving you a blow job in the supply room? I can't decide if you think I'm a fucking idiot or you're one."
"You don't understand," he says earnestly. “I was afraid. I was confused and saw the end of my single days coming, and-"
