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Jack shrugs. “It just feels like you’re always stressed out about work. I’ve been here for a month, and we haven’t done anything together.”
“What? You want to go see the Statue of Liberty?” I ask sarcastically. I immediately regret it. Why do I have to be such an asshole? Every time I open my mouth, my father talks out of it.
“Okay, look,” I say. “It really has been a uniquely trying time at work lately.” Evie flashes through my mind once again. She’d dressed down today for casual Friday, a tradition everyone in the office takes part in except for me. She’d worn a white shirt and a tight pair of jeans, black boots and a black leather jacket. She’d look good enough to eat.
I push past the image. “When things slow down we can do something.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “Yeah, somehow I don’t think things ever ‘slow down’ around there.”
He’s not wrong. I sigh. “Okay then what? You want to do something?” I check my watch. It’s 8 o’clock and it’s looking like I’m not going to get anything more done today. I was going to sit around the apartment with a glass of Scotch and think about my (Evie) problems before going to bed, but I suppose I could give that time to Jack instead.
His eyes light up. “Wait, are you serious?” he asks. The excitement on his face actually makes me feel a little bad. I’ve made the kid’s week just because I’m throwing him a little attention. I’m glad that I’m not having kids. If this trial run is any indication, I’d be a terrible parent.
“Yeah,” I say with a small smile. “Whatever you want. Lay it on me.”
“Have you heard of a club called Naked City?”
I would strangle this kid if there weren’t so many goddamn witnesses.
I’m standing on the street outside of a four-story building in the East Village surrounded by rich douchebags and my very excited younger brother.
Oh and about eight of his equally excited friends. All of whom are rich douchebags.
I knew just from the name that Naked City would not be my scene, but I agreed in the apartment because it was literally the very least I could do. Why not? In the name of brotherly bonding time I could put up with bad music and overpriced drinks for a couple hours.
But once we got to the place, it quickly became apparent that I’d fallen for a ruse.
We got out of my private car in front of the doors, and I was just taking in the sea of trendy designer clothing and enough diamond-studded chains to strangle a yak when Jack said, “Oh, by the way, a couple of my friends might join us.”
Before I could even process the information, we were accosted by a mob of kids all of whom looked under the age of twenty. The guys had the disdainful, haughty look of rich kids with their hip haircuts and top-of-the-line shoes. The girls sported long, bleached hair and tans. Immediately upon seeing me they started to toss their manes and give me flirty looks.
I looked straight over their heads and wished I were anywhere but here.
The feeling hasn’t dissipated.
“Broooo, I was telling these guys you wouldn’t come through.” One of the guys catches Jack’s hand and then slaps him on the back. He turns to me, looking me up and down, and says, “What’s up, Nick. I’m Chip. How’s it hanging?”
I stare in disbelief at this boy who’s laboring under the mistaken belief that we are anywhere close to a first-name basis.
Then I look at Jack. You’ve got to be kidding me, my glare says.
He grins back, half sheepish, half gloating at having pulled one over on me. To be honest, it’s something I would have done at his age and I’d be impressed if I weren’t so fucking annoyed. At least when I was his age I knew better than to hang out with morons like these.
I gesture for him to come here, and he reluctantly breaks away from the safety of his friend group to join me off to the side.
“Look—” he starts.
I cut him off with a raised hand. “Don’t. Don’t even try,” I say.
“I’m sorry,” he tries anyway.
“I don’t forgive you,” I say flatly. “You don’t think I have better things to do than hang out with your friends tonight? Why am I even here?”
“I thought you might want to meet them,” he says.
I give him a look. “Bullshit,” I say. “Come on. Spit it out.”
Jack looks over his shoulder and then at the pavement. “Fine,” he says. “Look, this place is really exclusive. We’ve been trying to get in for weeks. But you need to be really famous or really rich to skip the line. So I thought that…”
