Pg. 3
The two hop back up the stairs, SM stopping them halfway to their rooftop destination.
"No, seriously, I really hate that guy. And I'm fucking leaving after this drink."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." They pass through the umbrellas and join the fashionista crowd again; chairs have been rearranged, the two smoking seats are pushed to the far end of the table.
She starts texting the anonymous. "These people are boring. Thanks for today, though. Maybe one day americans will be ready for good car commercials." This specific anon., for one reason or another, gets fully-spelled-out text messages, a sort of tribute to how not-American she is, or perhaps it's more along the lines of a "I'm-really-smart" text message. It's idiotic, really. Shameful, really.
The waiter returns, she, half-drunk on cheap tequila and too much sugar, requests 2 more margaritas, one for herself and one for SM in order to ensure his cooperation in later festivities.
The tacos arrive, conversations continue. Boys, bras, bunnies, and bumpkins are discussed as the group decides that the best course of action, before hitting a club, would be to buy a bottle and have some drinks at SM's place. The boredom subsides as the alcohol seeps into her bloodstream, and fun replaces the insecurity, the out-of-placeness.
They all take off down the stairs, she nervously grips the railing as she has always felt as though she would fall down the stairs to her untimely death. Silly, indeed. Why worry about falling down the stairs, even while she is precariously perched on her patent leather heels? She forgets all about the teetering hell of the stairwell while arms are interlocked and schoolgirl giggling begins.
They all tumble out the door, chatting away while two cabs are hailed, four people in each car. Streaks of yellow, black, and white whiz by as the girls continue talking shit about boys, about New Yorkers, about one of the girl's impending wedding. This girl is the belle of the dating ball at this point, young but taken, beautiful but taken. The other girls are envious, but not so much our heroine. She just wants to find the next drink, the continued high. This will be the third of five cabs taken that night.
2005-05-25 | 5:08 p.m.
