Opening the freezer, I pull out the rest of the pastitsio and pack it in an insulated grocery sack. Unfortunately, there’s only two little squares left.
I need to go to the grocery store, but I can’t. Salinger’s going to be ticked off if I don’t show up back at his penthouse, but he’s also going to be pissed come Monday when I don’t have his usual lunch.
Can I stop by Trader Joe’s and be in and out quick enough that he won’t flip out?I wonder as I head into the bathroom to grab my travel-toiletries bag. Why am I evenentertaining his demands? I shouldn’t go to his penthouse. It’s complete lunacy.
I trip over an extension cord, which triggers a chain reaction and causes the stack of bottles and beauty products to clatter into the filthy sink.
“Lauren!” I scream at my sister. “You can’t just trash my bathroom!”
“I didn’t know when you were coming back.”
“There’s dried face mud all over the sink. You need to clean it up. You can’t stay here and destroy my place.”
“You’re always nagging me.”
My phone rings. I ignore it. I’m not letting this go.
“Lauren, you’re going to have to grow up and realize that the world isn’t just going to hand you a maid and an American Express black card on a silver platter. You need to take responsibility for your life.”
“You’re being boring,” my sister argues. “Besides, you’re abandoning me for a man. I know you were with Salinger last night. I need my big sister.” Lauren throws herself in my arms.
I suddenly feel guilty, even though I know that’s what the whole performance is about.
The phone’s ringing again. I bet it’s him. “Hi, Salinger. You need a what? Okay, hold on.” I text his pilot.
“You’re not going to convince him to marry you if you talk to him like that,” Lauren says.
“I’m not trying to get him—I’m trying to go grocery shopping.”
“What? It’s Friday night, and you want to grocery shopping? We’re going out. I want a drink. Girls night! I’ll clean the apartment if you come out with me.”
“Doubtful.”
“Look.” Lauren sticks her phone in my face. “This bar is right next to Trader Joe’s. Sister time?”
“Fine,” I relent. “One drink.”
“Just a shot, then you can leave. This will be good for you!” Lauren throws dresses out of my microscopic closet onto the bed. “You’ll get your flirt on, lighten up, make out with a not-so-hot bartender.” She wrinkles her nose. “You’re going to have to change, though.”
I’m just notsure where I’m going to cook his food,I fret as I park in a shadowy lot.
I have to go to his penthouse, but I don’t want to cook it there. Maybe there’s a chef’s kitchen? A lot of those luxury residential towers have one in case residents want to host a fancy event.
“This must be a popular spot,” I say. “There’s a line to get in. I’ll just go to Trader Joe’s. I don’t want to be here all night.”
“You promised,” Lauren wheedles. She’s wearing what I think is a little much for a neighborhood bar—glittery stilettos, long gold earrings, a short black cocktail dress.
I’m not much better. I changed into one of the microscopic dresses Lauren insisted I wear, with one long zipper up the front of it. Definitely put on fresh panties and did some grooming. Lauren practically vomited when I sat down in the dress and she claimed she saw a pubic hair.
As we stand in line with girls who look like they’re going to the club, I’m surprised I still haven’t heard from Salinger wondering where I am, considering how long it took me to clean everything up down there.
The doors open. Pounding music blasts out. A large, muscular man in a tight black T-shirt and sunglasses gestures to several of the girls.
“You said this was a chill bar, Lauren.”
My sister tosses her hair. “Thisischill. It’s not even eleven o’clock. The real clubs don’t open ’til then. Sister time!”
“We’re not even going to be able to hear ourselves talk in there.”
