The Chosen One

“I can never fucking get a table there,” my best friend says. “They see my name, and they’re like, no, not her!”

“I can sometimes get a table. Not always. It actually infuriates me when I can’t get a table there.”

“Yeah, don’t they know who you are?!”

I laugh. “I mean, I did hang out there a lot back in the day. But, it’s not that. It’s what happened. With the owner.”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

“I had a bad night with him,” I respond tentatively, waiting for my words to ring a bell. She often remembers things about me that I don’t, especially since my own internal hard drive was doused in vodka and set ablaze.

“I don’t think I know this story. What do you mean a bad night?” She asks.

“Maybe I didn’t tell you,” I say. “Maybe I was too ashamed. It felt dark. And confusing. Maybe I didn’t tell anyone, actually.”

Now, I’m really trying to recollect if I’ve ever talked about this. I go on…

“So, I was there, at the restaurant with a bunch of girls that I used to run with — get drunk and high and into trouble with. You know the ones. He comes in, this super commanding presence in an expensive suit. Handsome. Major daddy vibes. I notice him notice me and it gives me a secret thrill. We’re at a big table, like ten people maybe. He knows some of the people at the table, so it’s not that weird when he squeezes in next to me, waives the waiter over, and asks me what I’m drinking.

I order a vodka soda. Well, another one. I’m sure I was already pretty tossed, you know? We had some uppers too. We’d been passing a vial around, taking solo trips, teetering off to the bathroom. It’s notorious there. You can hear sniffing while you wait in line for a stall.

I’m feeling myself in my favorite dress, heels I bought on sale at Barneys. He’s asking me questions — who am I, what do I do, that kind of thing. Of all the beautiful girls around us, he’s chosen me. We all want to be picked, you know? I play coy and ask him what he does, even though I already know exactly who he is. All of his attention is on me and I’m like, flying from it. He’s better looking than in pictures. And so grown up, so I’m trying to act sophisticated, sit up straight, sound smart. He’s staring into me, fully engaged, and I’m thinking, oh yeah, it’s on. He orders me another drink.

Suddenly, I’m in a hotel suite. I don’t know how I got there. Time is missing. I’m wearing absolutely nothing but my Barneys sale, high heels. He has me stand, naked with my shoes on, and he’s directing me, telling me how to pose. I notice there’s another man in the room.