Page 37 of Rent: Paid in Full
He stops walking, turning me to face him with a gentle hand on my left shoulder. He holds me like that, half frozen for a second or more. Then he cocks his head and breaks into a smile so perfect and pristine, I swear to God, I hear angels cry.
“‘Cause you’ll be with me.”
Sounds of hilarity and alcohol abuse spill onto the street as he opens the door to The Pardon. I stiffen and try to backpedal. He slings an arm over my shoulder and nudges me in.
The Pardon is dimly lit, with most of the light coming from backlights illuminating the drinks behind the bar. Multicolored bottles glow like stained glass in a cathedral. Lighting up and refracting, giving the place a strange, almost religious ambiance. A pious undertone that’s in sharp juxtaposition with the fact there’s a girl on her back, draped over a table, as a guy does a shot out of her navel.
“Mac. A. Voy. Mac. A. Voy,” chant Trip, Dean, and a bunch of others I know by face but not by name when they see Miller.
Much fist-bumping, high-fiving, and slinging the wordyoaround ensues. Miller does a lap of the room, introducing me to people and handing me the drink someone gives him. He keeps the arm he has around my neck so firmly in place it starts to feel more like a chokehold than a casual embrace. I squirm out of it when we sit down, moving as far away from him as the limited space in the booth allows.
“Ryan,” says Sienna, sidling up to my side of the booth and giving me a knowing look. “This is my friend, Lori.”
“Oh my God,” says Lori, patting her bangs down and tugging at the bobbed hair at her neck. “I can’t believe it. It reallyisyou.”
Lori seems mightily surprised that service staff venture out to bars, and frankly, she looks a little nervous about it. To set her at ease, I curl my middle, ring, and pinkie fingers back to my palms and give her my best gun-hand impression. “Long Island Iced Tea, huh?”
Oh Jesus.
It’s things like this that remind me why I like the library so much. I’m so much better when talking to people is frowned upon.
“Oh. My. God,” screeches Lori. “You remembered. No way.”
I only remember because Long Island Iced Teas were one of my least favorite drinks to mix. Eight ingredients, not including the ice? Not my idea of a good time. And seriously, who thought mixing lemon juice, coke, and five spirits would be a good idea? Ew.
Still, it works. She smiles and laughs loudly, reassured that although a staff member is on the loose and appears to have infiltrated their group, I don’t pose an immediate threat. Sienna pulls up a couple of chairs for them and is forced to ask a barrage of questions to keep the conversation going.
I drift in and out of their conversation and the one Miller has struck up with Dean and Trip. Neither is riveting and though the fist has quietened, it’s still making its presence known.
When I was younger, I had a thing about walking on cracks in the pavement. I hated it. I avoided it wherever I could as I had a bad feeling that if I stepped on a crack wrong, the earth would open up and swallow me whole. I haven’t thought about it for years, but as I sit there, straddling two conversations that make me uncomfortable, I feel like I used to about walking on cracks when I was a kid. Except now, I’ve done it. I stepped on the crack, and while it hasn’t swallowed me whole, it has openeda big fault in the earth, forcing me to sit here trying to act like a normal person while every instinct in my body is yelling at me to run for safety.
At last, the door opens and Emily blows in. That’s what she does. She doesn’t arrive like regular people. She blows in, windswept, hair in her face and tugging at a top that’s inevitably falling off one of her shoulders, no matter the weather outside.
Her face lights up when she sees me. The fist releases. I get to my feet and weave my way toward her. It’s not till I set her down on her feet from a big, relieved hug that I realize Miller is at my side.
“Hey, Em.” He smiles, leaning in and kissing her cheek. “Why don’t you grab a seat? We’re all sitting over there. Ryan and I’ll get you a drink. What are you having?”
I follow him to the bar, feeling more than a little annoyed. The plan was for me to meet up with Emily and for him to meet up with his dickish friends. I’d never have come out if I’d known I’d be spending the whole night hanging out with these people.
“You’re buying,” he says with one of those smiles that creases his cheeks but doesn’t come close to affecting his eyes. If anything, it makes them look harder.
He watches lazily as I take the money he gave me out of my front pocket. I can tell he wants me to feel something—shame, humiliation, gratitude—I’m not entirely sure what. I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, but I definitely feel something. I feel his eyes on my hands. The money he gave me, and the fact that we both know what it bought, burns my skin as I hand it to the bartender once I’ve ordered our drinks.
I leave a big but not obnoxious tip.
He smiles and nods as if he’s privy to a joke I know nothing about, raising a shoulder at Emily and his friends. “You have girls dripping off you like sweat, you know that?”
God, he’s exhausting.
“What? You jealous?”
“Yes, I’m jealous.” He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Of course I’m jealous. I told you. You’re mine.”
I’m not even going to touch that. I honestly don’t know where to start. I take a long sip of my beer, and Miller does the same. “I don’t have girls dripping off me like sweat. Wish I did, but I don’t.”
“Are you seriously telling me you can’t feel the way they’re looking at you?”
I dip my head, horrified that he’s noticed, “I know, but, but that’s not why they do it.”