“Great, so we’re gonna—”
“Myself!” I declare. “You know, I’m pretty fucking good company when I’m not acting like a bitch.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Wrigley says. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to stop pretending like I owe her something. We’re not together anymore.” I stand up. “Why am I wasting my fucking time when I could be out there, having fun and I’ve really got to sit down.”
I sit back down and Wrigley gives me a polite round of applause.
“That was great,” she says. “I’ve never actually been in the room when someone made an inspiring speech to themselves.”
“Glad I could be of help,” I tell her.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just stood up too quickly,” I tell her and then stand again (this time, much more slowly.) “Mark the day,” I start again. Couldn’t tell you why, but the over-dramatization seems to be helping. “Tonight is the first night of the rest of my fucking life!”
“Eh,” Wrigley says with a shrug. “A bit cliché there at the end, but I can get behind it.”
“First thing’s first, though,” I say.
“Yeah?” she asks. “What’s that?”
“We’re going to need more alcohol.”
* * *
Wrigley and I make a quick trip to the liquor store, and we crack open the bottle once we’re outside.
I haven’t paper-bagged it for years, and damn it, tonight is my throwback to the dynamic son of a bitch I was before I met Leila. Tonight’s going to be a fucking good night.
“What now?” Wrigley asks, wiping the vodka from the sides of her mouth.
“Now,” I tell her, “we’re going to do something that’s not only stupid, but absolutely brilliant.”
“What’s that?” she asks.
“I have absolutely no idea,” I tell her. “I’ll come up with something.”
She laughs and hands me the bottle. I take a swig and hand it back.
“Are you open to suggestions?” she asks.
“I’m open to pretty much anything right now,” I tell her, wondering whether I’m really ready to jump back in bed with her.
“All right,” she says. “I’ve got an idea, but we’re going to have to take a little trip to get there.”
“All right,” I tell her. “We’re young, we’re drunk, let’s fucking do it!”
“Okay,” she says, “you’re going to need to work on your inside voice, though. Otherwise, we’re not going to be able to pull it off without getting arrested.”
“Something that could get us arrested,” I say. “Now you’re talking.”
She smiles and hails a cab in her usual style.
While it may not be the most dignified technique, that shit works. We’re in a cab less than a minute later.
“Where are we going?” I whisper.
“Why are you whispering?” she whispers back.
“You told me to work on my inside voice,” I tell her.
She grins. “You can talk normally until we get there,” she says.
“Okay. Where are we going?” I ask in my normal tone.
She finishes taking a pull before answering, “We’re going swimming.”
“Ooh,” I mock. “Now that’s living on the edge.”
“It’s a little more than that,” she says. “You’ll see when we get there. First, though, we’re going to need to stop by my place to pick up my briefcase.”
“Your briefcase?” I ask.
“Just trust me,” she says.
We pull up to her building and I wait in the car while she runs up. She’s back a few minutes later, briefcase in hand.
“All right,” she tells the cabbie as she’s getting in, then she gives an address that I’m completely unfamiliar with.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“I told you to trust me,” she says.
We eventually pull up to a building downtown. It’s late, so the building is mostly dark, but there are security guards in the lobby.
“Okay, so what are we doing here?” I ask. “I don’t think this is the pool.”
“Oh,” she says, “they have one. Just let me do all the talking.”
“All right,” I tell her.
“And chew one of these,” she says, pulling a tin of mints from her pocket. “We’re not going to get very far if they know we’ve been drinking.”
I take a mint and we walk through the front door.
“Good evening, Mrs. Bliley,” the guards say in near unison, standing.
I’m not entirely sure I want to know how they know her this well.
“Hey guys,” Wrigley says. “This is Tom Durant, he’s my new assistant, and I’m showing him what it’s like to work late. Is Phil in?”
“He’s out for the night,” one of the guards answers.
“That’s a shame,” she says. “Oh well, I guess it’s just the two of us, then. They haven’t locked up already, have they?”
“Nope, the floor’s open.”
“Great. You guys have a good night,” she says.
“You too, Miss Bliley,” the guards say and we walk to the elevators.
Barely moving her mouth, Wrigley whispers, “Not a word until we’re on the elevator. Until we get where we’re going, you and I are simply professionals acting professionally, got it?”
I nod.
The elevator door opens and we get on. She presses the button for the thirty-sixth floor, and we stand quietly as we wait.
The doors open again and we get out. I trail half a step behind her because I haven’t the slightest clue where the hell we’re going.
We pass a man in a suit, standing outside one of the bathrooms and I try to figure out whether I’m walking “professionally” enough.
In a voice so soft I can barely hear it, she says, “Some companies like to keep exercise rooms and that sort of thing in the building so their employees spend more time in the office. I don’t know if it actually works or not, but that really doesn’t matter.”
“Do you work here?” I ask.
“No.” What?
“Then why do they know your name?” I ask.
“You know, it’s kind of disconcerting that even after knowing each other a couple of months, you still don’t know my last name.”
“You don’t know my last name, either.”
“Dane Paulson,” she says. “It helps if you pay attention. Quiet. We’re almost there.”
We pass another man, but he doesn’t give us a second look.
We turn a corner and there’s a glass door at the end of the hall. The lights are on, and I can see a few ripples in the water.
“I think someone’s in there,” I tell her.
“I know someone is,” she says. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Why not?” I ask. “Didn’t you say something about how we could get arrested?”
“We’re good,” she says.
“How do you know that?”
We stop at the door and she looks up at me. “Because Phil’s gone home for the night.”
She opens the door, and the sound of people laughing and splashing fills the hallway.
“Come in,” she says. “I’d like to introduce you to some people.”
This just got weird.
I walk through the door and, while I’ve known Wrigley long enough to expect this sort of thing, I am wholly unprepared for what I see in front of me.
“Welcome to skinny swimming night,” she says and sets her briefcase on a table. She opens it up and pulls out the bottle. “Don’t worry,” she says, “there’s always plenty to go around.”
“Hey there, Bliley!” a naked man in his fifties, but easily in better shape than me says. “We didn’t think you were coming.”
“You know me,” she answers as we walk over to a table holding about twenty different bottles, “swimming naked with you degenerates reminds me not to take life too seriously.”
I’m not quite sure what she means, but I’m far too absorbed with the whole scene to ask about it.
“Don’t stare,” she says. “That’ll get you kicked out.”
“What happens if someone walks in here?” I ask.
“It’s the middle of the night,” she says, placing our bottle on the table and immediately picking up a different one. “That, and we’ve got a couple of guys on watch.”