I wave my hand, dismissing Holly, and he shrugs and slouches out id I close the doors behind him as mellow music plays somewhere around us, maybe the Cranberries singing "Linger," and I'm passing the antique pool table in the center of the room, running my hands along the soft green felt, moving over to the booth where Lauren's splayed out. Except for candies and the very dim, very hip lighting and the chilly hues coming from the steel bar it's almost pitch black in the lounge, but then one of the spotlights outside on the street beams through the windows, scanning the room before disappearing again, only to beam back moments later, again bathing everything around us in a harsh, metallic glow.
"My psychiatrist wears a tiara," Lauren says from beneath the patterned tablecloth. "Her name is Dr. Egan and she wears a giant diamond tiara."
I'm silent for a minute before I can say, "That's... so depressing, baby."
Lauren struggles up out of the booth and, standing unsteadily, grabs he edge of the table for support, shakes her head to clear it and then lances slowly, gracelessly with herself across the raw concrete floor over to the pool table and I reach out and touch the strand of pearls I suddenly notice draped around her neck, trying to move with her.
"What are you doing, Victor?" she asks, dreamily. "Dancing? Is that dancing?"
"Squirming. It's called squirming, baby."
"Oh, don't squirm, lovebutton," she pouts.
"I think there's quite a bit to squirm about tonight," I say tiredly. "In fact, I think lovebutton's squirming is totally justified."
"Oh god, Victor," she groans, still swaying to the music. "You were such a cute, sweet, normal guy when I first met you." A long pause. "You were so sweet."
After a minute without moving, I clear my throat. "Um, baby, I don't think I was ever any of those things." A realization. "Except for, um, cute, of course."
She stops dancing, considers this, then admits, "That's probably the first honest thing you've probably ever said."
And then I ask, "Did you mean what you said down there?" Pause, darkness again. "I mean about us." Pause. "And all that," I add.
I hand her the bottle of vodka. She takes it, starts to drink, stops, puts it on the pool table. The rays from the spotlight cross her face, illuminating it for seconds, her eyes closed, tearing, her head slightly turned; a hand is brought up to her mouth, and it's curled.
"What?" I carefully move the icy bottle of vodka off the pool table so it won't leave a damp ring on the felt. "Is this all too bummerish?"
She nods slowly and then moves her face next to mine and the sounds of horns from limos in gridlock and the relentless roar of the massive crowd outside is carried up in waves to where we're stumbling around clutching each other and I'm muttering "Dump Damien, baby" into her ear as she pushes me away when she feels how hard I am.
"It's not that simple," she says, her back to me.
"Hey babe, I get it," I say casually. "Lust never sleeps, right?"
"No, Victor." She clears her throat, walks slowly around the pool table. I follow her. "It's not that. It's just not that simple."
"You have... star quality, baby," I'm saying, grasping, sending out a vibe.
She suddenly rushes up to me and holds on, shivering.
"Don't you think everything happens for a reason?" she's asking, breathing hard, moving against me. "Don't you think everything happens for a reason, Victor?" And then, "Victor, I'm so scared. I'm so scared for you."
"The time to hesitate is through," I whisper into her hair, pushing against her, easing her slowly against the pool table. "Okay, baby?" I'm whispering while kissing her mouth, my hands reaching down below her waist, and she's whispering back "Don't" and I'm reaching underneath her dress, unable to stop myself, not caring who sees us, who walks in through the door, immediately getting lost in the moment, my fingers grazing her panties, one finger slipping inside, touching first the hair there and then a crease and beyond that an entrance that I can actually feel dampen as my finger runs over it gently at first and then more insistently until another slips inside and Lauren's pressing herself against me, her mouth locked onto mine, but I push her back because I want to see the expression her face is making and now she's sitting on the pool table with both legs spread and raised up, her hands on the back of my neck grasping me closer, her mouth on my mouth again, making desperate noises that I'm making too but suddenly she pulls back, looking past me, and when I turn around, visible in the darkness of the VIP room is a silhouette of a man standing backlit against the windows that look over Union Square.