Neither me nor Lala had ever gone there with heroin. It became a hard limit. Lala played with other stuff and I never asked much. I tried a few things, weed – I found okay, amphetamines – tried twice, stopped after that, cocaine – makes people idiots, me included, but I liked control. Maybe the incident in the dorm room affected me more than we knew, maybe it was something I inherited from our father. I hadn’t taken anything for five years or more.
“How’s it going, Jay?” Monty gave me the smile that changed his looks from broody to cute. “Not seen you for time.”
He was too pretty to be real. Twenty-something with that bad boy, sexy-AF sheen, I knew no-one who could say no to him.
“Good. I’m here for a few months. Get some relaxing in before New York.” I picked up the cocktail menu. Lala talked about my studies; she was proud of what I’d done, maybe more so than our parents.
Monty took the menu from me. “We should hang out when you’re in New York. I’m living there now.”
“Lala mentioned it.”
My sister was now sat on the knee of one of the others, her finger tracing the bridge of his nose.
“What’s she taken?”
Monty shook his head. “She did a line before.”
I rolled my eyes. “She’s your problem, then.”
He just laughed and poured more water from the carafe. Monty didn’t do anything other than clean living and cigarettes.
And women.
Don’t forget about the women.
Heathcliffe Montgomery-Webster was a womaniser and had been since he was fourteen and talked himself into bed with his French tutor. To be fair to her, he’d looked seventeen and was silver-tongued.
His French massively improved, and nobody mentioned the extra-curricular activities, not even his parents, who were probably too drunk or high to notice. His family were even older than mine, neither parent working other than their ‘charity work’. Monty didn’t touch alcohol, or mess with anything harder than nicotine and pussy.
His words.
“Your sister’s come downs are never painful. By the time it’s worn off she’ll be high on life.” He lit a cigarette. “She was immense this morning. Why the fuck doesn’t she do this more often? Modelling I mean.”
Lara was engrossed in a conversation with one of the other pretty boys and his friend, practically sitting on his lap. She was happy, giddy. Being in front of a camera did that too her.
“She really seems to love it.” Monty stared at her like she was chocolate. “She makes it easy.”
“She makes a lot of things easy, but I think if she modelled seriously she’d hate it. She hates anything that someone makes her do.” A shadow blocked my light.
Tommy stood there, broad and thickly muscled, his jaw unshaven. He wasn’t smiling, but there was no scowl either. “What can I get you?”
He looked directly at me, but it was as if he didn’t recognise me at all.
“Acòctel.” It was handwritten on the menu at the very bottom, no description, just the price. Ten euros.
He nodded, collected an empty glass. “And everyone else?”
Monty turned to him. “Thank you. Could we have the same again? I’d like an espresso as well, if you’re still serving them.” His tone was well-mannered; other than his beautifully rich accent no one would be able to taint him with being privileged.
“Coffee’s on all day.” Tommy nodded. “Any requirements for yourcòctel?”
His gaze felt heavy on me, as if I was stuck under it and wouldn’t be able to leave until he let me. I wanted to squirm and to push him away somehow. “Whatever you want it to be.”
“Good answer.”
He walked off and the stream of light was released.
Monty squinted at me. “He’s not the sort of person you mess with, is he?”
