The other people in the room became visible to me as I tore my attention away from the scene, which was making me nauseous. Everyone looked to be having a great time.
Matt, who had managed to pry his mouth free, was now watching me. “Want one?” He held up a bottle of tequila.
I flipped him off and walked toward the stairs, but he was behind me in an instant. “How was your date with Pornsake?”
I didn’t even turn around. “It wasn’t a date. It was just dinner.”
“Okay, Grace. Whatever you say.”
I whirled around in anger at the top of the landing. “What if I told you that I had sex with him?”
“I’d say you’re a liar.” He had been drinking a lot. I could tell. Nothing was holding him back.
“He bought me a bow for my cello, so I sucked him off in the bathroom at the Thai place.”
His lips flattened as he searched my eyes. “Oh yeah? Then why don’t you come and hang out in the lounge with my buddies? You can never have too many girls around who like giving blow jobs.”
“Okay, let’s go.” I walked past him and down three steps. He remained rooted on the stairs, looking puzzled for a few moments before catching up with me.
In the lounge, I grabbed the bottle of tequila and took a couple of swigs, then went up to a tall blond guy with long hair. “I’m Grace.” I stuck my hand out.
“Hey, Grace,” he said, shaking my hand delicately. “You Matt’s Grace?”
I huffed. “I’m nobody’s Grace.” I held the bottle out to him and looked over to find Matt back on the couch, except this time he was alone, watching me.
An hour of drinking and getting high went by. I was feeling really out of it. Rachel from Friends was back, and my blond buddy was inching closer and closer to me the longer we talked. Still, Matt hadn’t taken his eyes off of me.
“You want to go to my room?” my blond friend asked.
“Sure.”
He pulled me away from the lounge toward the stairs. We got to the first landing when he pushed me against the wall and tried to kiss me. I turned my head. “No.”
He laughed. “What did you think we were gonna do in my room?”
“Hang out?” I said, flushing pink.
He jerked his head back. “So you’re just a little tease?”
“That’s enough.” Matt gripped the back of the blond guy’s neck in a somewhat friendly way but clearly wanting to make a point. “She’s fuckin’ wasted, man. You really want to have sex with that? Dude, she’s a mess.”
I scowled.
Blond guy looked over to him. “You’re right.” He rolled his eyes at me and then took off down the stairs and back into the lounge.
I fell into Matt’s arms and crumbled from exhaustion. I just wanted everything to be normal with us. I wanted Matt to tell me everything and be my best friend again, but I worried something had changed between us in the span of a day. He held me close and whispered near my ear, “What are you doing, baby?”
I started to cry. I’ll admit that crying was really lame, but the alcohol, pot, and my stupid behavior was wreaking havoc on my emotions. “Do I disgust you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said to that guy, ‘Do you really want to have sex with that?’ What was that supposed to mean?”
“Grace, your eyes are, like, almost all the way closed. You’re super stoned and drunk. I know that guy and he probably wouldn’t have cared if you passed out on him; he still would have taken advantage of you.”
I planted my face in my hands and started to cry even more. The small amount of mascara I was wearing ran steadily down my face.
“Come on. Let’s forget this shit.” He pulled me up the stairs.
Inside of my room, I dropped the keys on my desk and stumbled toward the bathroom. I heard Matt put a U2 CD on the stereo.
When it was just the two of us together, it was like everything was okay and we could be Grace and Matt. There was no need for discussion. But out there in the real world. . . .
I came out of the bathroom to find him tinkering with the thermostat.
“I’m roasting. What the fuck is the deal with the heater?” he said.
“Daria put in a work order. I asked her yesterday.” The furnace in our hall was on the fritz and wouldn’t work for three days straight, then it would suddenly start working but wouldn’t stop. That’s what you get when you live in an old building in New York City.
I started to shimmy out of my tights. “Turn around,” I commanded, but he continued to watch me. “Turn around, I’m gonna change.” He finally did. Begrudgingly. I threw on a summery flower dress that was sitting in a pile of clothes on my bed, then I sat down on the floor and watched as Matt kicked off his shoes. He slid across the hardwood in his socks and tried to pry open the window. “It’ll get cold in here really fast if you open that.”
He turned and eyed me, wearing next to nothing in my tiny spaghetti-strap dress. And then he took his shirt off. My breath hitched every time I saw him shirtless. His shoulders were broad but his waist was narrow, and he wore his jeans low on his hips, sometimes with boxers, sometimes without. That night he was sans boxers and wearing the shoelace belt I’d made for him.
“Whatchya lookin’ at?” He walked toward me, smirking.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I was looking at your cool belt.”