We don’t say a word to each other, just walk down the hall to the elevator and out to the awaiting car.
Bile rises in my throat as we drive, the movement of the car making me sick. I wish I had some ginger ale, or a bucket, or sleeping pills. Anything to ease my encumbering ailment.
Ugh . . . this is going to be a long fucking night.
It’s cold and snowy in the city, but the inside of the beautifully decorated room is warm with candlelight, crystal accents, and red roses. I suppose if one was celebrating Valentine’s Day, this is the ideal set up.
I watch Regina flutter around the room like she owns it. I’ll give it to the woman, she knows how to work a crowd. And she’s a showstopper in her long, sparkly champagne dress that makes her look like a movie star. Sometimes I think she missed her calling. A dramatic bitch like her belongs in Hollywood.
I catch sight of my reflection in the window, a translucent silhouette of my flowy blonde hair and floor-length red dress with provocative slit up the side. To the unknowing eye, I’m just another guest at the party. But for Regina, I’m extra muscle. She likes to bring along a quiet entourage when she steps out in public. Bedsides Kruger looking menacingly out of place in the corner, her driver and mine are both in attendance and both packing heat.
“Champagne?” A server offers as he passes by. I go to grab a glass then stop myself. That fucking pregnancy test is burning a hole in my purse.
I politely decline.
Scanning the room, I search Regina out. She’s laughing and flirting with a handsome man in a tux who I assume is her next play thing.
This party is a complete bore, so I have no reservations slipping away for a little while to take care of some personal business.
I search out a bathroom with some privacy, finding a communal one far away from the party back by the kitchen.
I lock myself in the farthest stall, pull the pregnancy test out of my bag, and rip it open with my pulse pounding in my head.
I sit on the toilet and pee on the stick, my hand shaking the entire time.
I breathe deeply, attempting to stay calm as I stare at the little window for what feels like hours. Blue writing finally starts to appear, and my heartbeat picks up, thumping so fast I fear I might pass out. Then it’s clear as day. The results.
Pregnant.
The word stares back at me boldly, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry as my emotions just completely split in two. I’m elated, and at the exact same time, friggin’ scared to death, because once again, my life has taken a dramatic, unforeseen turn.
I sit in the bathroom stall just processing. I want this baby. I want it so much I will do anything to keep it.Anything.
I guess I have more of Baz than just a song after all. I touch my tummy lightly and smile.
The realization of my new reality rolls in like a tide as I stand up and prepare to go back to the party. I’ve been gone a while, and I know G is going to notice.
Placing the pregnancy test in my purse, I check myself out in the mirror one last time before I exit the bathroom.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” I hear someone yell down the hallway.
Regina?I follow the sound of heavy footsteps and a foul-mouthed woman.
“Asshole. You’re fucking dead!”
That’s definitely Regina. I pick up the pace. Just as I round a corner, I catch the slow shut of a service entrance door. I barrel through the exit just in time to find Regina being forced into the back seat of a white Yukon with blacked-out windows.
“Hey!” I shout, catching the attention of Regina and the guy trying to shove her into the car.
“Stevie.” The relief on G’s face is prominent. “You’re in a world of shit now,” she says smugly to the goon, who I recognize as the guy she was flirting with earlier. I step closer to them, reaching into my clutch.
“Let go of her now.” I give him one chance.
He doesn’t take it.
“G, remember when Benny ruined your brand-new Louis Vuitton pumps? What did you do to him?” I ask as I continue to stalk toward them.
Recognition flashes across her face right before she pulls the guy’s hair barbarically and then stabs him in the calf with her stiletto heel. You don’t fuck with that woman and her shoes.
