Snippet two...
The view on the ground was somewhat less illustrious than from the penthouse. Rain had set in overnight and the streets of the city were gritty. Or maybe that was me. I felt as if I had been hit by a truck.
I raised my hand for a cab. Even after years of brutal taxi cab rejection, I still expect one to stop immediately. Twenty minutes later I was starting to consider throwing myself in front of one of the bastards, when miraculously one stopped. A fresh looking woman emerged and looked down at me disdainfully. I threw my disheveled ass into the back seat after giving her my best "Yeah? What, bitch!?" looks. Didn't everyone wake up in a strange apartment with no memory and a hangover to end all this morning? I blurted out my address to the cabbie and leaned back against the worn seat. "Wait...what is the address here?" I asked. He looked at me with an amused expression. He was giving me judgement...really? "Just tell me the address." Shaking his head he said "509 Park Avenue. Don't you live here?" He smirked. Shamed by a NYC cabbie. "Just drive." I said sharply.
We arrived at my "less than Park Avenue" address, I tumbled out and practically crawled up the steps to the building then up the two flights to my tiny apartment. I dragged myself to my bed and collapsed.
I dreamt of beige furniture and passion.
I awoke an hour later to the buzzing of my cell phone. 23 missed calls. 15 from my editor. I listened to voicemail, made coffee and turned on the shower. As the steam filled the bathroom I called him back and listened to his tirade with the phone held 5 inches away from my ear. "I know Tom, I will be in your office in a half hour. Deadline will be met as usual. Yes I'm alive." It was almost as if he cared. The next five calls were from the girls frantic about where I went after the bar. Well, that makes six of us. What the hell was I going to tell them?
The other three calls were from an unrecognized number. No voicemail. All received this morning.
I shrugged and got into the hot shower. As I soaped my body to rid my skin of the NYC grime I attempted to piece together last night. Interview with a local politico, drinks with some colleagues, dinner and clubbing with the girls. It was after the club that was a complete blackout. Not good. OK, what was the last thing I remember? Suddenly I remembered dancing with a man. Tall, dark and handsome. Dark hair with gray temples. Physique of a marathon runner, grace on the dance floor. His hands on my hips drawing me close as the music pulsated around us. Lips I wanted to devour. Then black. Nothing until the sunrise nearly blinded me this morning in the Park Avenue penthouse.
I stood in the shower frozen. Shit....what did I do? The fact that it was a complete blank after that point shared the shit out of me. I doubt I could pick his face out in a line up. But his body....his hands on me...my imagination was going haywire.
The buzzing of my phone brought me back to the present. When I picked it up it was the mystery caller. Here we go. "Hello?"
To be continued....
We arrived at my "less than Park Avenue" address, I tumbled out and practically crawled up the steps to the building then up the two flights to my tiny apartment. I dragged myself to my bed and collapsed.
I dreamt of beige furniture and passion.
I awoke an hour later to the buzzing of my cell phone. 23 missed calls. 15 from my editor. I listened to voicemail, made coffee and turned on the shower. As the steam filled the bathroom I called him back and listened to his tirade with the phone held 5 inches away from my ear. "I know Tom, I will be in your office in a half hour. Deadline will be met as usual. Yes I'm alive." It was almost as if he cared. The next five calls were from the girls frantic about where I went after the bar. Well, that makes six of us. What the hell was I going to tell them?
The other three calls were from an unrecognized number. No voicemail. All received this morning.
I shrugged and got into the hot shower. As I soaped my body to rid my skin of the NYC grime I attempted to piece together last night. Interview with a local politico, drinks with some colleagues, dinner and clubbing with the girls. It was after the club that was a complete blackout. Not good. OK, what was the last thing I remember? Suddenly I remembered dancing with a man. Tall, dark and handsome. Dark hair with gray temples. Physique of a marathon runner, grace on the dance floor. His hands on my hips drawing me close as the music pulsated around us. Lips I wanted to devour. Then black. Nothing until the sunrise nearly blinded me this morning in the Park Avenue penthouse.
I stood in the shower frozen. Shit....what did I do? The fact that it was a complete blank after that point shared the shit out of me. I doubt I could pick his face out in a line up. But his body....his hands on me...my imagination was going haywire.
The buzzing of my phone brought me back to the present. When I picked it up it was the mystery caller. Here we go. "Hello?"
To be continued....
