...with a splash of Kay, page 4
“So, is this your scene?” Adam asked as he casually took the bar stool next to me and slid it between his legs. He squared his body toward mine, his legs remaining open.
Before I could answer, the bartender approached. “We’re done with food service. You two just want drinks?”
“Hey man, yeah, that’d be great. Can I get a Henry’s martini straight up?” Adam ordered.
“I’ll take a pinot noir,” I added before turning to Adam. “So, you like Henry’s? Always drink gin?” Ironic choice.
“No, actually, not usually,” Adam said. “It really depends on my mood.” I tried to ignite more of a conversation, but he wasn’t giving me much to work with. Was it my outfit or the restaurant choice after all?
The bartender came back with my red wine and a silver shaker full of Henry’s gin. He added ice and vermouth before vigorously shaking and pouring it into a martini glass. His white button-down and maroon tie added to the sophistication of his performance. I made a mental note for the Henry’s pitch next week.
“Do you want to start a tab?” The bow-tied bartender asked.
“Yup, here.” Adam handed over his credit card without hesitation. He turned toward me with his martini in hand. “So, what’s your story?”
“Well, you waste no time,” I replied. “What do you want to know?”
“When was your last relationship?”
“You’re really not one for small talk.”
“Nope.” Adam wasn’t overtly playful but came across genuinely curious. As composed as I wanted to be in our conversation, this moment brought me back to when I was under the DJ booth, exposed, and underneath his eye.
“Oh, about a year ago,” I said, referencing Noah, the Lola’s investor. “I was in over my head… and, well, he was practical,” I trailed off, unsure whether I was accurately describing our situationship or if I wanted to share more. Adam was quiet, anticipating what I’d say next. Not wanting to let him down, I indulged further. “Well, we were both pursuing our careers, meeting new people, and I don’t think he was ready to commit.”
“And you were?” Adam asked.
“I don’t know. I guess so.” I shrugged and sipped my pinot noir.
Adam gave me a look like, And…? Nimbly, I continued to blab. I explained why I moved to New York and about my passion for sales, media, and vibrant cities. In return, he opened up a bit. I learned he was in his early thirties and recently quit his job to pursue his budding DJ career. As he shared more, I became spellbound by his charisma. The kind that comes with a sure sense of self.
When he asked about my job, I found it hard to be honest. How could I tell him that, up until a couple of years ago, I spent my nights passing out whiskey shots at a night lounge? That I could hardly afford my apartment if it weren’t for saving cash tips? I wanted him to think of me as his equal. No, actually, unattainable. So, I kept it high level and only spoke to the things I thought he’d be impressed by, like my potential account with Henry’s.
“Henry’s, huh? Does that mean I should have let you buy my drink?”
“Not just yet!” I pointed my finger. “I’ll let you know after my meeting next week.”
“Guess that means I’ll see you again.” I blushed and took another sip of my wine, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Then, Adam pulled something from his pocket.
“What’s that?”
“They’re some new gummies I got. Low strain but really nice. You want one?”
“Are you dealing me drugs on our first date?” I joked.
“Oh, so this is a date?” He gave me a side-eye and popped one in his mouth. I then stuck my hand out to accept one of his foreign treats.
“It’s potent,” he warned. I must have looked alarmed because he assured me, “It’s just a small edible and will give you a nice buzz.” Oh great, he probably thinks I’m uptight.
“I’ve had cocaine and tried ecstasy a few times in college.” I attempted to sound like a professional drug enthusiast. Instead, I almost certainly sounded like a teeny bopper. He laughed, hopefully not at me. Geez, Kay, stop trying so hard.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” Adam suggested. He signed the check, and we left. It stopped raining, but the temperature dropped. Not enough to need a warm jacket, but enough that a warm embrace would be comforting.
“Come, let’s go this way.” Adam walked me a couple of blocks to a stairwell that led to a small bar. “I know them here. Let’s see if we can get a seat.” Sure enough, when we walked in, a couple got up from the far end of the bar, leaving us with two seats.
“Hey, you!” A female bartender flirtatiously greeted Adam, exposing her cleavage when she bent over the bar to wipe the countertop.
“Heyyy, how are you, Jill?” She and Adam shared pleasantries I couldn’t follow. I just noticed how big her boobs were. Shit, I’m high.
“What?” Adam asked me.
Did I just say that out loud?
“What do you want to drink?” Jill followed up.
“Oh, um… hm, a pinot noir.”
“And for you?” She asked Adam, tilting her head down but lifting her eyes up. I was sure they’d slept together before.
“Henry’s martini.”
“Another martini?” I questioned.
“Only because I’m having fun.”
I wondered if he’d DJ’d at this bar before and if that’s how he knew the bartender. But I didn’t ask. Even in my high, it was obvious how little he felt the need to engage with dead-end questions.
My giving up initiating conversation surprisingly led Adam to be his most talkative yet. He told me about his music, how DJing introduces him to interesting people, and that he never wanted a boss again. I was finally getting to know him when my gummy kicked in. Really kicked in. I could no longer follow his sentences. With every word he spoke, I only noticed his lips moving in slow motion as his head shifted from side to side.
“I think I’m too high for this,” I blurted.
“Oh yeah? How do you feel?”
“Um, good but, like, high. Really high.” The bartender came back to ask if we wanted food, but all I could focus on was my head, which felt like it was spinning and melting at the same time. “I think that gummy was more potent than I expected.”
“The way you took it, I thought you did them often. Probably should have started with a half there.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Is Kay okay?”
“I think I need to leave.” As much as I wanted to stay, I couldn’t keep my head up without struggling.
“Yeah, of course. No problem,” he said before paying the tab. At least I didn’t have to worry about the bill. “Let’s get out of here so I can get you a cab.” As we waited outside, Adam rubbed my upper arm. “Will you be all right getting home?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Already feeling better,” I lied. I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t okay. I was embarrassed by my vulnerability but thankful he wasn’t someone who would take advantage of me.
A light rain picked up again as we waited for my driver. Only a drizzle, each raindrop felt heavy and cold as it hit my skin, and the sensations intensified by my high. Adam noticed. He swung his arm around my back to pull me closer to him. All night I questioned if he felt an attraction to me. Now I knew. I felt safe in his arms, the rain slowly dripping on us.
“Your car will be here any second.” Adam leaned out from our embrace to look down into my eyes. He tapped my lips with his before pulling away to assess my reaction. I smiled, welcoming him to kiss me again. And he did, slowly, the sensation only intensified by my high.
I pulled away when I saw my vehicle pull up.
“I think that’s your ride,” he whispered softly. He turned his head toward the street, his arms still wrapped around me.
I kissed him again. “Thank you,” I mustered after his lips left mine.
On my way home, the lights flickered through my cab’s windows, and the rain clinked heavily on its rooftop. I wasn’t sure what to make of the evening or of Adam, but it didn’t stop me from replaying our kiss over and over until I fell asleep.
Rosé
* * *
The sound of sirens woke me up, my eyes heavy as I peered them open. I was surprised to be in my own bed, my sheets scattered like I fought myself in the night. I lay there trying to recall how I got here.
A shame hangover hit as I replayed some of my awkward conversation and inability to handle an edible. I contemplated the extent I embarrassed myself, with someone out of my league no less. I shook my head in an attempt to erase the memories.
It was eleven in the morning, way past my weekday wake-up time. How could I have slept so long? Lazily, I walked to the kitchen and saw I hadn’t set up my coffee machine on delay brew like usual. I wasn’t sure I brushed my teeth either.
I leaned against my counter, waiting for the hot coffee to finish brewing. Sunlight beamed on my arm. Its rays stretched across my apartment, warming the room. A breeze flowed through my cracked window, reminding me of when I first moved here.
I found this space after they hired me at LaToulle. At the time, I wanted to move from a two-bedroom split apartment to my own studio, even if it cost more and I made less in my LaToulle paycheck than cash tips from Lola’s. But searching for an apartment in New York was grueling, with new listings typically lasting a week. More deflating, any decent listing was almost always out of my price range.
After viewing a dozen vacant spaces and meeting just as many sketchy realtors, I stumbled on my studio. It was the only one with a closet, had enough space to walk more than six steps in one direction, and, importantly, had sunlight. Birds chirped outside the bathroom window, similar to today.
Although my new rent ate up half my monthly income, I bet on my career in public relations that it’d lead me down a lucrative road over time. Hopefully, it’ll even make me more money than bartending one day.
Ha. I laughed at the irony of it all. That I took my apartment as motivation to climb the corporate ladder, only to be back at Lola’s anyway.
After coffee, I underwent my morning routine—washed my face, made my bed, and applied basic makeup—all while trying to push out the thoughts from the night before. I couldn’t imagine Adam would want to see me again, and I didn’t want to care more than I already did.
I took the rest of the day for myself, visiting a museum and binge-watching familiar TV shows. Just as I rid myself of the guilt from last night, I received a text—Adam, after all. I hesitated to open it out of the fear his message would confirm I was, in fact, an embarrassment. I toyed for a few seconds, which felt like minutes, until I gave in.
Adam: I had a great time with you and want to see you again. Are you free this week?
Seriously? I was shocked but undeniably elated. As strange as our night was, I liked his spontaneity and charm, and it was also alluring that someone like him would be interested in someone like me. I think I’m into a DJ. Damn it.
Unpolished
* * *
Friday felt like a distant memory when I walked into LaToulle on Monday. It always baffled me how we could spend so much time at work, yet none of us knew much about one another outside of it. It’s as if we all emerged from our personal world to enter our work world as toned-down, more professional versions of ourselves.
“Good morning! How was your weekend?” Our receptionist broke my thought when he greeted me overenthusiastically on the twenty-seventh floor. I didn’t want to engage in small talk but felt compelled to be polite.
“Great, got to see the new exhibit at the Whitney. How was yours?” I only disclosed the tamest, most office-appropriate part of my weekend.
“Nice! Mine was great too. Really enjoying the warmer weather.” The weather? How typical.
After several cups of coffee and a cold shower yesterday, I reviewed the brief and practiced my pitch countless times. I was confident about the content but nervous about how Samantha would perceive me.
At our desks, Andre was with a woman my age, brunette and tan. She wore a flashy floral skirt and a white ruffled top. Her chunky gold bangles and oversized earrings dangled from her wrists and ears. She was beautiful, thin, and sitting in my chair. As I approached my desk, she gave Andre a courteous half-hug.
“Thanks, Andre! You’re the best!” She smiled before bouncing off to Samantha’s office.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“That’s Samantha’s daughter, Karole. She’s taking the semester off from school because her social media presence is thriving, as she puts it.”
“Hmm, must be nice.” I had a pinch of envy imagining how easy her life must be. “So, I don’t know if you have some time this morning or if you mind, but we have our team meeting coming up, and I’d love to get your advi—” Before I could finish, Andre looked up from his desk and interrupted.
“You want me to listen to your pitch?” I nodded, wondering how he knew. “I saw the agenda on Samantha’s calendar. Come, darling. Let’s go to the conference room to review.” He slanted his head and peeked his eyes above his glasses. “And darling,” he paused, “you don’t have to be so shy. If you need help, just ask.”
—
“Is that espresso?” I asked Andre, noticing he wasn’t drinking tea like usual.
“Mhm! I came in extra early today. And good thing. I saw a lot of interesting emails come through.” Andre raised his voice and sipped his espresso. I knew he wanted me to ask more.
“Oooh, anything interesting?” I exaggerated my intrigue.
“Well, since you asked.” He sipped his espresso again. “The head of marketing at Henry’s arrived early from Europe and wants to meet this week for the pitch instead of next.” I shoved any reaction I wanted to make back inside. I didn’t want Andre to shut off from sharing more. “So, today’s meeting is pretty important. That client lead spot is open, you know.” He took another sip of his espresso and widened his eyes. I knew what he was insisting. I just wondered if I was worthy of the role, especially with Natasha having been here longer than me. Before I could spiral, Andre continued, “You need to show her what you got. Stop letting Natasha tell you otherwise.”
“What do you mean?” His comment caught me off guard.
“Oh, please. It’s so obvious that girl is jealous of you.” Was it that obvious? “If you’re not going to stick up for yourself, at least show off your work. Now let’s go, sweetie. I don’t have all day here.” I recited my pitch, but in the back of my mind, I remained flawed. Someone else noticed what I had all along. Natasha is competing with me.
—
An hour later and my Outlook calendar alerted me it was time for our meeting with Samantha. I grabbed my laptop and headed to the boardroom. I quickly checked my phone to see if Adam had texted me back—nothing. I had let him know I wanted to see him again too. Guess he’s just busy with work, I rationalized.
I turned my attention toward my pitch. Albeit nervous, I was ready to show Samantha and my colleagues what I, maybe, was made of.
Entering the boardroom, my chest tightened, and my breathing sped up. I always got this way before presenting. No matter how many times I’ve done it, I still put immense pressure on myself, knowing a room of people got a free ticket to judge me, my looks, and my ideas.
I took a seat in the corner of the table toward the back of the room. I wasn’t bold enough to sit dab in the center or the front. I watched my colleagues walk in. My hands felt clammy as I held them in my lap. I was relieved when Natasha sat two seats over from me. This way, she couldn’t look directly at me while I presented.
Andre set up the projector as another colleague dialed into a conference line. “Can you hear us?” he asked.
“Yes, we’re all here!”
“Okay, great. Just waiting for Samantha.” Without missing a beat, she arrived, taking a seat at the head of the table. Knowing the client would be here this week instead of next, I was surprised she didn’t appear more stressed. She didn’t even mention it. But this was on par with Samantha, who had a knack for keeping matters close to the chest.
“Okay, who wants to start with their idea?” she prompted. I should have volunteered, but my anxiety paralyzed me.
“I’ll start!” Natasha offered. As uncomfortable as she often made me, I admired the zeal Natasha brought to work.
“Henry’s Gin has a seventy-year history, which should be embraced, not erased. As band tees become a staple piece in our closet and streaming has returned nostalgia to our frontal cortex, let’s bring back gin. And—”
Before she could finish, Samantha cut her off.
“That’s all great, but gin isn’t a staple of the nineties unless you’re talking about two centuries ago. Keep the idea but rework it. Kay, what do you have?”
“But—” Natasha tried to defend herself. I also admired her courage, but when Samantha said “enough,” she meant it.
I cleared my throat. Without time to internalize my talking points or nurture my nerves, I started.
“As Natasha said, gin is a classic drink with a long history but from the 1920s. And our potential client was born out of prohibition, serving as a go-to choice for those who were ‘in the know.’ Today, Henry’s has lost its chic as a premium drink, yet the appeal of drinking premium is still there. So, how do we bring that appeal back to Henry’s?”
I expected Samantha to interrupt me like she did with Natasha, but she remained silent. I looked at Andre and nodded. He took this as his cue to project the photos I’d digitally edited. A collage of diverse, young, and middle-aged patrons at a cocktail hour filled the screen. Guests were drinking clear liquor from teal, optic coupe glasses on a city rooftop during the night. They gathered aside marble high-top tables and sat on modern, curve-shaped velvet couches colored in mustard yellow and plum purple. They dressed elegantly modern and chic.
