The winter chill hit my cheeks, and I realized my jacket was still warming a barstool inside, but my senses had been too numbed by alcohol to truly register the cold. I leaned against a brick wall next to the bar and shut my eyes for just a moment as Jordan lit his cigarette. I sensed him watching me, and opened them.
He blew a cloud of smoke out of his mouth away from me as he shook his head. “You’re drunk, Skip.”
The wail of a siren grew louder, and Jordan’s face strobed with the red flashing lights for a moment before all evidence of emergency faded up Madison Avenue and it was quiet again.
“You are,” I retorted, not caring that I sounded childish.
He looked at me. “I’m allowed to be drunk. My wife used the d-word yesterday.” He was almost whispering.
I felt my jaw slacken and searched his eyes, hoping he was making a bad joke. He wasn’t.
“Shit. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” His shoulders slumped.
“Does Matt know?”
“Of course he knows. Matt’s my first phone call.”
“What does that even mean?”
Jordan smirked. “It means that at some point or another, everybody wakes up in the driver’s seat of a crashed car, next to a dead hooker, with no recollection of how he got there. Hypothetically, of course,” he added. “You gotta have someone to call in that situation.” He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. “Who would you call?”
I stared back up at the night sky and opened my mouth to answer.
“You’re an idiot if you say somebody you’re sleeping with. Or used to sleep with. Or want to,” he challenged. I closed my mouth and tried to think, my angst growing with each moment that my mental Rolodex came up blank.
How was it possible that I didn’t have anybody to call? I could call my mom. Or my dad. Who was I kidding? No, I couldn’t. They’d never done anything wrong in their lives. My mother once wrote “It won’t happen again” with a smiley face in the memo line of the check paying a parking ticket. I should have a friend to call. Not Sam. I was sleeping with him. But also, he’d judge me. A friend. Carmen would be good to call. She could probably talk her way out of anything. But I didn’t really trust her.
I watched Jordan for a moment as it dawned on me that I’d actually call him. He was composed, brilliant, and always available. But it seemed too weird to tell him that.
“I think I’m just not the kind of person who would be in that situation,” I said, shrugging.
“That’s your problem.” Jordan pointed at me with one eye closed, sharp-shooting in my direction with his index finger.
“What is? That I’m a good person?” My voice came out at a higher pitch than I’d intended.
“That you’re self-righteous.”
My throat caught, and I looked at him. He wasn’t being cruel, or at least not intentionally so.
“I wanna be on your call list,” I said, pouting.
“You have to earn that spot, Skippy. But you’re getting there.” He sucked in the cold air. “You know, Carmen is really doing an amazing job on our deals since we got back from Miami. She’s really going for it.”
I felt the vein on my temple filling, but I refused to exhibit the outward sign of jealousy he was probably trying to inspire. “Carmen’s great. She’s really smart,” I said, my tone even.
“So, I heard you’re working for Peter a lot lately,” he said, changing the subject. “When you’re still junior, it’s good to work for different partners. But you should be careful there. You’ll have to choose a side eventually.”
“What do you mean? Don’t you need to prove yourself to as many partners as possible?”
“Not Peter and Matt. They never share senior associates. But you have a few years before you have to choose.”
I stared at him. “Why don’t they?”
“Honestly, they just don’t like each other. It goes way back. They were at Yale together for law school. I think Matt sort of resents the fact that he worked hard and was smart and Peter just . . . married a Fitch.”
“Peter just what?”
“His wife is a Fitch. As in Klasko & Fitch,” Jordan explained. “Didn’t you know?” I shook my head. “Well, Matt and I hope you join the light side with us. Carmen is working on a deal for me now that closes in three days. She’s good. But she’s not as good as you. Peter can have Carmen. We want you.”
I knew I should have taken it as a compliment, but I couldn’t contain the rush of jealousy that she and Jordan were now working so closely. I suddenly felt the alcohol circle back on my brain and felt an urgent need to change the subject.
“Do you get drunk linearly? I get drunk like this,” I said, sticking out my index finger and bouncing it up and down.
He just smiled at me.
“What the fuck is the word? Jesus. My brain isn’t . . . oscillating!” I yelled. Jordan let out a grunt of laughter. “You don’t get it!”
“I get it, I get it,” he assured me. “I get drunk like this.” He stuck out his pointer finger and traced a steady horizontal line followed by a steep upward curve. “Not for seven drinks, and then it hits me all at once.”
“Exponentially.” I suddenly found the word incredibly hilarious, doubling over laughing, then catching my breath as somberness overtook me. “I used to think people fell in love the way that you get drunk.” I swept my finger slowly through the cool night air before scooping it skyward. “Now I think they fall in love the way I do,” I continued, bouncing my finger. A pang of guilt that Sam was home alone and I’d left my phone inside the bar had started to nag at me.
“Let’s go back in, Skip, and grab your stuff, okay?” Jordan said gently. “I’ll grab you a cab or an Uber.”
Before I knew it, the word was out of my mouth. “Up!” I demanded.
Jordan shook his head. “Let’s call it a night.”
“But I need to get it together before I go home and talk to Sam!”
“Just a tiny bit, Skip,” he said, relenting. “And only because I don’t feel like listening to you bitch and moan.” He backed up behind the bouncer at the door and pushed his back against the wall. I moved closer to him as he took a vial out of the breast pocket of his suit and spilled a small mound of powder onto the back of his hand.
I dipped my head and put one finger to my nostril and snorted in with the other, then put my head back. As I did, I felt the tip of my nose tingle and then go completely numb. I felt the coke much more immediately and powerfully this time. A metallic sludge dripped down my throat and attacked the base of my tongue, but I swallowed it back down. A euphoric detachment spread over my body, and I understood in that moment how people could become addicted to this. My mind felt sober and clear and my body more responsive to my will.
“Jesus, Skip.” He rolled his eyes, watching my demeanor change.
“How many have you had?” I asked, trying to sound serious. “Drinks!” I clarified.
“Six,” he said.
“One more, then!” I announced.
Jordan laughed and gestured for me to lead him back inside. “Carmen is hot, by the way,” he said into my back. I whipped around. “Just saying,” he laughed, holding up his palms.