The Pacer

Issue date: 3/6/07 Section: Arts & Entertainment

Outten

The train ride back into New York was short - Anna slept most of it anyway, napping on her armrest, her head falling onto my shoulder at least once. She had said we were going to a Manhattan party, but I wondered how she was going to last the night when she couldn't last the train ride into the city.

As the train groaned to a stop, Anna shook off her sleepiness. "Where are we?" she mumbled.

"Grand Central."

"Oh. I need to find a drug store, okay?"

I nodded. I hadn't been home all day, and while Anna's story was interesting, I was hungry. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder why I was so interested in her story at all. Perhaps it was the way she told it, or the way she looked at me as she told it. . .

I told Anna that I needed to visit the restroom, and that I'd meet her out front. She smiled and vanished into the store. A few minutes passed, so I went on in to buy a candy bar. Anna's back was turned to me as she took a drink and threw her head back. She turned and saw me, smiling with a devilish grin. "Never leave home without 'em." She was holding two packs of energy pills. "Now I'm going to show you a good time, Ethan."
She hailed a cab, ordering it to take us to a trendy club in Manhattan.

Apparently the guy at the door knew her, so he let us both in without any argument. The club had three floors, the first being a bar with a stage for bands to play, the second flashing brilliant lights over our heads as the bass boomed to the sounds of pop and rap remixes, and the third -

The VIP lounge, decorated in a 1940s motif, hosting some of the most beautiful people I've ever seen. Red leather couches and colorful Neapolitan drinks and celebrities with entourages - it might as well have been a spread in Vogue.
Anna sent me to the bar to order our drinks, but when I turned around, she had vanished. I think I bumped into a woman who looked dangerously like the daughter of a hotel icon, but I couldn't be sure; the room was dim, and there were quite a few people, each person looking as botoxed as the next.

When I finally did find Anna, she was sitting in a corner booth with a few friends, her head doubled over the table, a neat line of white powder lined before her. She looked up and smiled at me, calling me over.

I took a sip from my drink, deciding that I would enjoy the evening, with or without Anna Monroe.

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