“Relax, it’s G,” Halimi said, measuring the liquid into a large glass and then adding Diet Coke.
“What, you mean GHB—that date-rape drug?” I asked anxiously. “I’ve never tried it.”
“Look, it’s not a roofie, but it’s true that if you mix it with alcohol, it can have lethal effects,” Halimi said, sipping from the glass, his face slightly contorted. “That’s why you’ll stick close to me.”
“I dunno …” I began, but Halimi smiled and sat down next to me. “What’s up? Are you scared I’m going to take advantage?” His hand stroked my thigh through my pantyhose again, and I tingled.
“A little,” I said. “God knows what you’ll do to me if I’m helpless.”
“Look, you don’t have to, of course,” Halimi began, his long fingers climbing up my shins. “But it’s a fun drug, if you follow the rules. Don’t you want to fly with me?”
I looked at him and found it all a bit hard to believe—but yeah, I wanted very much to fly with him, and I wanted to fly high.
The G hit us when we got to the gate of the Block around 2:00 a.m. The tall, bald doorman recognized Halimi, nodded at him, and smiled at me good-naturedly. As soon as we entered, Halimi bought two bottles of water and gave me one. “This doesn’t leave your hand, you hear me?” he instructed. “If you need to go to the restroom, let me know, and I’ll come with you.”
I felt as if I were walking a few inches above the ground and my hair was floating around my head, as though I were underwater. My entire body was itching to dance, and for a moment I imagined myself taking my shirt off and dancing topless near the DJ.
Halimi’s eyes flashed with a foreign spark. I panicked for a moment, and he sensed it. He gave me a bear hug, the kind of hug friends giveeach other after a long separation. I looked him up and down, and when our eyes met, I felt sure we’d met in a past life—I saw scenes of us in various strange situations before my eyes. We began dancing. The place was full, but not packed. The DJ was great—the hottest star in the whole cold universe.
I couldn’t stop dancing, not even for a moment. From time to time, people approached Halimi, but I couldn’t work out what they were saying. Someone cracked a joke, a few of them stared at me; I could not have cared less. Afterward, he pulled me into the lounge, and we sighed contentedly into one of the couches. I drank from the still-chilly bottle of water in my hand. I felt the cold liquid diluting the blood in my veins and stroking my muscles.
“Halimi!” a girl called out—smooth black bob, thick eyeliner, flaming red lipstick. She sat down heavily on a nearby couch. “It’s been so long, where have you been?” Halimi cast me a glance, and I reacted with a sheepish smile, eyes wide, feigning innocence. “Really, where did you disappear to?” I said, “I haven’t seen you for a long time either.”
The girl studied us for a few seconds. “So, were you abroad?”
“Yep, I went to Lapland,” Halimi replied, his knee rising and falling to the jumpy rhythm. “What about you?” he asked politely. I guessed the last time they met, he’d been less polite and more sociable, because her face fell and she said, “Fine,” and walked off abruptly.
“So, is this how it’s going to be?” I asked, moving my lips close to his ear. “A different girl at every stop?”
He laughed and said, “Could be. Is that a problem?”
“Not yet,” I said, and it was true. It turned me on, to tell the truth, and I figured that by the time it began to bother me, we’d have already exhausted whatever was between us.
We danced and then did some more G in the bathroom with a friend of Halimi’s. The guy seemed distracted, but I felt amazing—the effect was powerful, but not crippling, like being very drunk minus thedizziness, or the urge to throw up, or the lack of control (which is precisely why I didn’t like drinking). I still felt this sensation of floating above the ground, like if I stomped my feet hard enough, I might push up into the air and fly away. I smoked cigarettes that burned out a second after I lit them; I danced until I was breathless and my legs shook. Halimi dragged me off to the bathroom again, and I laughed and said, “I don’t want any more, I’m good.”
He pinned me to the wall of the toilet stall with his body. “We finished everything,” he said, “but I wanted to ask you a really important question.” His normally meticulous diction was slurred, his voice a few octaves lower than normal.
“What do you want to know?” I giggled, wondering whether I’d violated the G protocol.
“I want to know how wet you are from one to ten,” he said, thrusting his hand between my legs. I wasn’t wearing panties under my tights, and I trembled at his touch. “Eleven,” I said. “But seriously, here? That’s gross,” I mumbled. “Yes, it is,” he agreed, rolling my tights down to my knees and lifting up my skirt. We both came before anyone knocked on the door.
By the time we left the club, the sun was rising. Halimi told me how he loved listening to the birds’ dawn chorus. We ate spicy Eritrean injera at a tiny restaurant. Everyone there seemed to know Halimi. With a touch of regret, I said it was probably time for me to head home, but Halimi wouldn’t hear of it. So, we stopped off at my place; left a note for my roommate; and packed some clean clothes, a toothbrush, eyeglasses, a packet of daily contact lenses, and a phone charger. Then, we grabbed a taxi and went to his place, where we snuggled under a down blanket. I fell asleep almost immediately and woke up just for a moment, when I heard him coughing in the living room like a dying man.
CHAPTER 3
Richard drove from the airport in a rented car, arriving early Thursday evening. Lily didn’t really remember him from the previous summer, but he swiftly won her over. After giving Simone a hug, slapping Halimi on the back, and kissing my hand chivalrously—I responded with a curtsy—he sat down on the rug with Lily in his suit and tie and fancy shoes and showed her how to make fruit from Play-Doh by using plastic molds. Richard whipped out gift after gift—a snow globe with a candy cottage à la the Brothers Grimm, a music box with a twirling ballerina, and a wooden sword. The hilt of the sword was decorated with delicate engravings in silver and green. Lily held it tightly in her fist and refused to let go, even when she went to sleep.
Richard and Simone retired early to the guest room while we tidied up. Then, Halimi went to take a shower. He’d left early that morning to pick up the mushrooms in Tel Aviv. I had expected him back just after noon, assuming he wouldn’t pass up the chance to swing by the Minzar or Prince bar. I imagined him extolling the details of his new bourgeois life to random acquaintances (“When you grow up, kids, you’ll come to appreciate the difference between life with and without a dishwasher”).
At two o’clock, still with no sign of him, I was seething with anger, and by four I had retreated into my usual frosty mood when I can’tcope with Halimi. There was no time for cross-examination—I was bringing in the laundry when I heard him come in, and then Simone returned with a huge bouquet of flowers, rye bread, and treats from the deli. Lily was watchingRobin Hoodbut kept demanding things (“Chocolate milk!” “In the pink cup!” “Where’s my sword?” “Mommy, come sit with me!”).
When Halimi went to take a shower, I walked into the bedroom, thinking he would have undressed there. But he must have stripped in the bathroom, so I went in, pretending I needed to pee. He poked his head around the shower curtain. I made a pathetic attempt to smile, and he retreated behind the curtain without saying a word. Without moving off the toilet seat, I reached into the pocket of his pants, which were on top of the laundry basket. I pulled out his phone and dropped it into my pocket. I stood up and flushed the toilet (Halimi said, “Ouch”).
Alone in the kitchen with the despised metallic beast, I tapped in his password and began scanning the apps that usually most aroused my suspicion: Facebook, Twitter, WhatsApp, Instagram. I went through his Web history and checked whether he’d installed Tinder or some other dating app and stashed it away in a hidden folder. I went through his call log, his text messages. I tried going through his timeline on Google Maps, but he must have turned off GPS. Apart from that, everything looked innocent. A text message to Dan in the morning and then two phone calls—one to Zozo, his good friend, and another to Simone. A one-minute conversation. He’d probably asked Simone when she was coming home. I checked what time he’d made that call: 12:10 p.m.
“You won’t find anything there,” Halimi said. I was startled and jumped, and the phone fell from my hands.
“I know you hate it, but it’s a bit much to smash it on the floor,” Halimi joked. I wasn’t in the mood. With shaking hands, I picked it up; unfortunately, it had survived the fall unscathed.
