The Wild One (23 page)

 

CHAPTER
26

After a couple of hours in a very crowded Potstill, speed-drinking Joe's best concoctions, I'm feeling ohhhhhh so much better about everything.

“Everything okay, Coco?” asks Joe for the eighth time. The bar is unexpectedly busy tonight, and I should probably offer to work. But I don't want to work. I only want to drink.

“Is everything okay?” I repeat. “That's a great question, Joe.”

My sister is in the hospital because she's abusing prescription drugs. I crashed a party and tried to kiss Topher. Topher has a girlfriend, and everyone else I idolized in high school is weird and boring. Joe just wants to use me for sex and I was stupid to ever think anything else was possible. I get everything wrong. I am such a
dick.

“No, everything is not okay.”

Joe frowns at me. “I thought you were sick?”

“Give me another Whiskey Smash. Smash me!”

At that moment there's the sound of a guitar from the other side of the bar. I look over, squinting one eye to help me focus. Spector is setting up. Madeleine is checking the microphone, Amy is tuning her guitar, and there's a new drummer, who is adjusting her stool to be just the right height.

I hiccup. “Fuck, yeah! Maddy!”

“You're so cute when you swear,” a blond woman next to me at the bar says. I look over. She grins at me flirtatiously.

“Wrong tree, wrong dog barking, my friend,” I say. “Wait. That's not what I … never mind. I didn't know Spector was playing tonight!”

“It's a surprise set,” says the woman. “Just for friends, and friends of friends.”

I look around the bar and suddenly realize that every single person in here, apart from Joe, is female. And young. And hot. And gay.

“Well, at least I'm not going to go home with some random guy and get pregnant, am I right?” I say.

“Damn straight,” says the blond girl next to me, reaching over for a high five.

I take out my phone and text Angie.

At Potstill. Come down! Madeleine is playing a gig!

Then I add some emoticons: the woman in the red dress, the octopus, and a flag. Just because I think they're funny and I'm drunk.

“I'm drunk!” I say to Joe.

“I know, honey,” he says.

“I'm not your honey.”

“You will be later.”

I roll my eyes and turn back to the stage. Maddy is talking intensely with Amy, the pink-haired punk guitar player, and there's something about the way they're talking—faces real close together, half smiling at each other—that strikes me as unusual for band mates. Then Maddy throws her head back, bursting into laughter. I've never seen her so relaxed and happy.

Amy leans over and whispers something, and Maddy looks at her with this funny glint in her eye, and smiles, it's like—I mean, it's like …

Oh. I get it.

Madeleine is gay.

“Well, that makes sense,” I say to no one in particular.

Moments later, the band starts, the lights go out, and spotlights—since when do we have spotlights in Potstill? Joe must have done it—light up the entire band.

Then, with a big drumroll intro, Spector starts playing a cover of “I Saw Her Standing There” by The Beatles.

And the entire bar is suddenly a dance floor. Everyone is going crazy. I shimmy along from my barstool, cheering and whooping for Madeleine.

“Okay, my friends. Go grab shots for the next song!” shouts Madeleine. “They're on the house!”

Joe must have been primed, because there are fifty shot glasses lined up on the bar, and he's pouring out a lethal-looking mixture from a huge mixing jug.

“What's in that?” I ask.

“Rye whiskey, Peychaud's bitters, sugar, lemon peel, and a smidge of absinthe.”

“A smidge?” I repeat.

“A smidge.”

“How can we afford to give out free booze? We're broke, remember?”

Joe shakes his head. “Everyone here for the gig paid twenty dollars to get in. We can afford it.”

“Why didn't Maddy tell me about this gig?” I ask. “I was supposed to be working, you know, I would have found out…”

“I was going to send you home before the gig started,” Joe admits after a moment of deliberation. “Maddy asked me not to tell you.”

Why would she do that? I'm her friend!

The crowd charges the bar to get shots, and I don't want to miss out, so I take two and down them in quick succession.

Then two things happen.

The absinthe hits my brain.

And Spector starts playing a fast, dirty amped-up version of “Wild Thing.”

“I LOVE THIS SONG!” I scream.

No one pays attention. So I do another shot and scream it louder. Then one more. And then …

Blackout.

 

CHAPTER
27

I wake up looking into a bucket that shows signs of having contained vomit very recently. My head pounds. My stomach aches. I'm lying across my bed, my head and right arm hanging over the side …

I look down.

There's vomit on the floor too.

I try to groan, but no sound comes out.

Oh, God.

“Are you awake? Jesus, finally, I was about to call the paramedics.”

Joe.

Joe is lying next to me. Naked. Then I realize I'm naked too. And nothing is covering my ass.

I grab the sheet with one arm to cover myself, but the movement gives me immediate motion sickness, so I lean over and retch into the bucket. Nothing comes up. My stomach cramps with empty pain.

“Drink.” Joe hands me a coconut water.

I choke down the coconut water, shaking slightly with the effort, and then two seconds after I've finished it, I vomit it all right back up into the bucket. Some of the puke dribbles down my chin.

I collapse onto my pillow, feeling tingly with nausea.

“Poor little bunny…” Joe takes a Kleenex from my nightstand and wipes my vomit-strewn mouth. “What am I going to do with you, huh?”

Why didn't I remember that I'm not good at drinking? Why do I ever drink at all? What made me think that was a good idea? Why does anyone ever drink when this is what happens?

“I hate alcohol.” My voice is barely a whisper. “I'm never drinking again.”

“Heard that before.”

“I mean it.” I close my eyes. The effort of talking is too exhausting to bear. “This is hell. I am in the fiery pits of hell.”

“But Coco, you were amazing last night. The life of the party.”

“Please leave the room,” I whisper. “I need to be alone with my shame.”

Joe pulls on a pair of boxers and walks out, still laughing.

Oh, God.

Every time I close my eyes, my bed gives a terrifying lurch, without me actually moving. Like seasickness and vertigo combined.

So I keep them open, staring at my bedroom ceiling and the glow-in-the-dark stars that don't glow anymore, the same ones my mom used to look at. Oh, God, I hope she can't see me now. For the first time I hope that there is no afterlife or heaven or whatever, so she can't look down and see me and know what a pathetic moron I am.

Memories from late in the night float back in snatches, a montage of crazy.

I danced. I danced on the stage. I danced on a chair. I danced on the bar.

I smoked a cigarette.

I ordered more shots.

I made out, just briefly, with the girl who came on to me earlier and then told her that I regrettably had to stop kissing her because I am straight, and that I just—oh
God
—“really love penises,” but that I fully supported her right to sleep with and marry anyone she wanted, with or without a penis.

I made out with Joe in the bathroom (which is disgusting, seriously, that bathroom is cleaner than it used to be but still
ew
). In fact I maybe, yes, I did, I definitely did, have sex with Joe in that bathroom.

I threw a glass of Whiskey Smash on the floor and shouted, “whiskey
smash
!” and laughed so hard I fell off the barstool.

Why can't my memories stay in my blackout where they belong?

I tried to sing onstage with the band, I suddenly remember with an extra lurch of horror. I tried to play the drums. Madeleine had to force me off the stage. I bought everyone—
everyone
—drinks. I know it's stupid to regret being generous, but seriously, did I have to get nineteen rounds of cocktails and insist that Joe take my cash even when he tried to refuse?

Why, why, why did I drink so much?

Because I was upset about Julia being in the hospital.

Because she's changing from my sister into a workaholic type-A New Yorker who I don't even recognize.

Because I was embarrassed about trying to kiss Topher, the guy I liked so much that it was almost an ache, practically in front of his thin, perfect Bratz doll of a girlfriend.

Because of that one night I thought I liked Joe and he never, ever, would or could
ever
like me back.

Because no one will ever love me, and most of all, because I'm completely aware of how pathetic it is for me to think that and want to weep with self-pity.

My phone beeps.

A text from Pia:
How's your head this morning, Ace?

Did I even see Pia last night?

Then I see a lot of texts that I don't even remember sending.

To Pia:
Maddy is GAY! And I might be too. Not really. I love Topher! Come party! xxxxxx

To Angie:
I'M DRUNK! It's sooo fnnnn xxxxx

To Pia:
I dancin ON THE BAR xxooxxooxx

To Joe:
Meet me in bthrrrom for SEX xxxx

To Pia:
I want you to call me Ace from now on okay?????

To Angie:
Call me ACE!

To Topher:
How's yr night?

To Topher:
I hope it SUCKS. Kidding!! Ace xoxoxox

To Topher:
You should date MEEEEEEEEEE

To Topher:
I didn't really try to kiss you I was just kidding

To Topher:
But if you want to kiss me that would be fine oxoxoxoxox

Oh, no.

OhJesusGodpleasenowhywhywhy …

I outed Maddy to everyone. I had sex with Joe in the bathroom of Potstill. And Topher—I can't even bear to think about what Topher must think of me. He must think I am such a loser.

And none of them even replied. Like, not a single text.

Unless I deleted their replies?

I can't remember.

Joe returns and I quickly hide my phone under the pillow.

“Well, I have to go to Potstill,” he says, pulling on his clothes. “I need to prep the bar for the band.” He kisses me quickly on the forehead. “You okay?”

“I'm so embarrassed,” I say. “I was such an idiot.”

“Of course you weren't! It's healthy to go a little wild sometimes.”

After he leaves, I stare at the ceiling again. I am too hungover—and frankly, too full of shame—to move. Then there's a knock at my door. It's Julia, carrying a huge bottle of ice-cold Coke.

“Thought you might need this,” she says. “I ran into Joe on his way out. He told me you partied hard last night.”

“Thank you, oh Ju-ju, thank you…” I almost drop the bottle in my haste to get it to my lips. “When did you get back from the hospital?”

“Last night. I told you, it was nothing.”

Julia puts one hand on her hip and watches me as I guzzle half the bottle and then let out a guttural belch. Normally, burping is practically a sport with her, but today she doesn't even crack a smile.

“I think it's time you grew up, Coco.”

“Excuse me?” I whisper.

“This whole wild child act is just so not you. You need to calm down.”

I can't respond for a second. Is she
serious
?

Then I find my tongue. “Don't tell me who I am. And don't tell me to calm down. You're the one who ended up in the hospital last night.”

“That was because of
work
, Coco,” snaps Julia.

“You can't keep working so hard!” My voice is still nothing more than an angry rasp. “It's not healthy!”

I never tell Julia what to do. Her eyes widen with surprise and annoyance. “Well, you can't keep working in a dead-end bar and sleeping with your loser boss.”

“Joe is not a loser.” I'm hot with fury. “How dare you call him that?”

“Because he is a loser! Why the hell won't you just go out with Topher? He's so much better for you.”

“Topher has a girlfriend. And that doesn't even matter, because who do you think you are, telling me who to date? Why do you think you know it all? Look at you and Peter. He's the nicest guy in the world, and you were going to dump him.”

“Fuck off, Coco.” Julia offers a disparaging laugh, her attempt to get the upper hand.

“No,
you
fuck off,” I say. “I am so sick of you telling me what to do! You're not in charge of my life.” I make my voice as loud and strong as I can. “Fuck. Off.”

I've never said
fuck off
to anyone before, ever, and now I'm saying it to my sister, the person I love more than anyone. Nothing makes sense anymore.

Julia is red with anger. “I'm going to work. Because that's what grown-ups do.”

“Have fun snorting Adderall on your way there.”

“Have fun staying home like the petulant boozy loser baby that you are?”

I throw myself back on my pillow and close my eyes so Julia can't see the tears that are almost overflowing, and thank God, a moment later, she leaves, slamming the door behind her.

 

CHAPTER
28

“Nice texts last night, ladybitch,” says Pia.

Angie looks at me and cracks up.

For a moment, I almost feel better. Being around Angie and Pia always makes me smile.