She's Nothing But Trouble III

I didn't even bother making up a reason for my early exit. Just grabbed my jacket and told Martha, our assistant, that I'd see her tomorrow. She barely looked up. I wasn't the only one who who hated this place.

Once I was on the street I pulled a smoke out of my jacket and fired one up. I should quit. It's been three years since my last drink so it's not like I still need the cigs as a crutch. I guess they were my last act of rebellion. I know. Some rebel. A guy with a cushy high paying job doesn't exactly conjure up images of Marlon Brando in "The Wild One."

But I still hung onto some fantasy that I was this tough-guy dark writer. That's what I've pretended to be my whole life. I've just taken the act out of the bar and into the rooms. I used to spend my nights drinking at the Dublin House until four in the morning while jotting down poems and stories thinking it would lure girls. Hardly ever worked. I gave off a vibe that said "stay away."

I looked at my watch. It was 4:15. I could head down to the village and catch the second half of the 4 p.m. meeting at Perry and race back up here to meet Audrey when she left and then go back downtown again. That seemed kind of dumb. I could grab a bite and walk over to Ninth Avenue for awhile. My head was spinning with choices. We aren't used to choices. We're used to doing the same thing over and over again, expecting the results to be different. This is what's been beaten into my head and yet I was having a hard time with it today.

I walked up the street and sat down in front of Black Rock, home of CBS. The building was standing up to the test of time even if the network wasn't. Or at least it was on the outside. Last time I was inside it looked like it could've used some new carpets. Of course, it didn't help that I'd thrown up on them once when I had a few dozen too many at their holiday party. I was smart enough to hide behind a curtain when it happened and the next day offered my list of suspects to Dan McClinton, their public relations guy. Maybe one day I'd confess.

"No smoking here."

I looked up into the face of a security guard who seemed thrilled to finally have something to do.

"Sorry," I said. Then I took a long last drag and flicked the butt into the street and turned to walk off.

Just then I saw Audrey coming out of the building. She didn't have a jacket on so maybe she was just getting another coffee or something. For some reason I decided to follow her. This clearly wasn't sober behavior but I didn't care. If my femme fatale was cheating on my imaginary relationship with her I needed to know.

Audrey walked briskly down the street, her four-inch heels not slowing her down at all. She was headed towards Fifth Avenue. I kept a good distance back. She turned the corner and walked up to 55th and then ducked into the Peninsula. This was getting interesting.

I waited a few minutes and then walked into the lobby. I tried to think of what lie I would use if she saw me. She was probably just meeting someone about a job. Audrey was only consulting at the Institute of Media after getting bounced out of a high-profile PR gig for sleeping with a reporter. It happens all the time, but not usually at an industry party in the bathroom. Like I said, she likes her drink. That happened awhile ago, but that's a hard one to overcome especially since the reporter was married with kids. His marriage survived and he became a folk hero. She was the one who took the hit. Not fair, but that's life sometimes.

She sat down at the bar and ordered what looked like scotch. Of course she'd drink scotch. I found a spot out of her sight and pulled out a newspaper. A few minutes later a guy in jeans and leather jacket came in and sat down next to her. As they made small talk she took her purse off the back of her chair and started to go through it, or at least pretended to anyway. Once it was open the guy dropped a small envelope into it and took a big one out. You have to be kidding me. Only Audrey would do a drug deal at the Peninsula bar. Everyone always made things so complicated. The guy could've come up to the office and no one would have said a thing or she could've met him on the street. Instead she meets him at a posh bar where who knows how many undercover cops there are not to mention the occasional observant doorman or waitress to conduct her business. Whatever. It seemed to work. A few minutes later he leaned in and kissed her cheek and headed out the door. She sat back, looked around and took a big swig from her scotch and didn't notice me come up from behind her.

"You gonna share some of that with me?'

She turned quickly and spit out what scotch was left in her mouth onto my shirt.

"Gee, thanks. I'm more of a whisky guy but I appreciate your sharing."

"You fucking followed me?," she asked.

"Actually yeah, but just because I was bored."

"Oh god. What do you want from me."

"Relax, I don't want anything. Or at least anything that I haven't already made abundantly clear to you."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind. How much did you get?"

She looked down and then smiled.

"Eight ball."

"All for you?"

"Maybe," she said in that little girly voice.

I knew this was a bad scene. Audrey didn't know I was straight. I looked down at her crossed legs and the heel dangling off her foot and then into her eyes. She winked at me. She was willing to sleep with me to keep her secrets. That's all this was. I begin to wonder if it would be worth it. I already knew the answer and I tried to play the tape out as to how this would end. It wasn't going to be pretty.

I picked up her drink, chugged it down, took her hand and led her out of the bar.