Chapter 18 - Nadia

One of the problems with being an overworked, underpaid resident of New York City was that I never had a consistent sleep cycle. Working two jobs plus my show rehearsals left me bone-tired all day, every day. I drank one cup of coffee in the morning and two in the afternoon to help stave off that exhaustion, but then I was too wired at night to go right to sleep. Alcohol at night, either during my shift at the bar or when I got home, helped me wind-down.
Stimulants during the day. Depressants at night. It was a vicious cycle that was difficult to break out of.
I was hoping that by staying at the townhouse, and getting extra sleep by not needing to commute into the city, I could get the extra rest I needed and fall into a normal sleep rhythm.
My new roommates had other ideas.
I walked into the brownstone with my key—I had my own key!—and heard laughter and groans from the dining room. I found them all gathered around the table, playing a drinking game.
“There she is!” Dorian said, jumping up and rushing to the kitchen counter. A huge bottle of rum and various mixers filled the entire counter. “What can I get you to drink, darling?”
Andy smiled sheepishly at me from behind his glasses, while Braden beamed openly. Ryan gave me a curious look behind the wavy red hair that covered half his face, but then returned to studying the glass of alcohol in front of him.
I immediately tossed out my plan of getting to bed early without drinking. I wanted to get to know all of them more, and I didn’t want to seem like a stick in the mud right off the bat.
“What’s your specialty?” I asked Dorian.
He scoffed loudly to the sky. “As if I am merely proficient at one drink. Darling, I can make whatever you want.”
Feeling sly, I thought of an obscure drink. “I’d love a Manitoba Mule.”
I tried not to grin and spoil the joke. But Dorian surprised me by wincing.
“We’re all out of heavy cream. Second choice?”
Shocked that he knew how to make one, I dug deeper in the drink cellar of my brain and came up with the most obscure drink I could think of.
“Treasure island tea?”
The puzzled look on his face told me that I’d won. At least, until he asked, “Is a lime wedge acceptable instead of lemon?”
“Um, sure?”
Dorian snapped his fingers. “Coming right up!”
I watched with dismay as he gathered the requisite rum, bitters, and favored liquor and mixed them in a shaker before pouring over ice. A slice of lime went on the rim, and then he extended the stemmed glass in my direction.
“A lovely drink for a lovely lady.” I took the glass, and he added, “I’ll grab fresh ice from downstairs.”
I turned my amazed expression on the others at the table. They all looked like they knew I’d been stumped.
“It’s his party trick,” Ryan said with a smirk. “He’s got a photographic memory for drinks. You can name anything in the world and he’ll list the ingredients.”
“He wins a lot of bar bets,” Braden added. “Be glad he didn’t hustle you into making it interesting.”
“He won $20 off me the first time I met him,” Ryan said, scooting over and patting the chair cater-corner to him. I accepted the seat with a smile.
“Honestly, I’m impressed. As a bartender who prides herself on such things, I’m not used to being around someone who knows more than I do.”
Ryan raised his glass. “To subverted expectations.”
I clinked my glass, then took a sip. I didn’t actually like treasure island tea, but it was very good. The right proposition of alcohol and mixers, and he hadn’t even measured.
“Well?” Dorian demanded when he returned with ice. “Is it the best drink you’ve had in your life, or the bestest drink in your life?”
“Are those my only two options?”
“Only if you want to tell the truth!” Dorian said gleefully while making a drink for himself.
I took another testing sip. “It’s really good. I can’t deny it, as much as I would like to.” I looked sideways at Ryan. “I’m just glad you didn’t try to hustle me with your drink knowledge.”
“Don’t you worry,” Dorian assured while pouring ice into a mixer. “I never hustle pretty girls. Only insufferable douchebags.”
“Hey!” Ryan growled while whirling around in his seat, which sent the rest of us into a collective fit of laughter. The buff redhead stood up and pointed a massive fist in Dorian’s direction, every muscle in his arm pulling taut with muscle. Dorian held up his hands and pretended to surrender, and then Ryan handed him his empty glass.
“Another drink and I’ll forgive you,” Ryan said.
“Already?” Dorian asked, all serious now. “That bad, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s that fucking bad.”
Andy cleared his throat. “We do not yet know the extent of Director Atkins’ anger.”
“Don’t see how you figure that,” Ryan muttered back, defeated. “I’ve never seen him so angry.”
“Ah, but he did not fire us on the spot,” Andy insisted. “I expected it.”
“That’s ‘cause he was too busy trying to calm the diva. By tomorrow morning I’ll be in the line at the temp agency with Dorian.”
“And Nadia,” Dorian said. “She joined me today.”
“Great. Then the three of us can be unemployed musketeers together.”
“I bear as much of the responsibility as you,” Andy said, frowning. “If anything, he would fire us both.”
Ryan accepted his new drink—a whiskey sour—from Dorian, then gestured with it. “You’ll keep your job because you’re going to blame me.”
Andy blinked rapidly, like he was staring at a bright light. “What? Ryan, I would never throw you under the bus.”
“But you should,” Ryan insisted. “Because I’m going to tell him it was all my fault.”
“I… pardon?”
“Dude,” Braden said to Ryan. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not? It’s bullshit that we’re both going to lose our jobs tomorrow. I can lean into it and save yours. You can pay me back by buying me lunch sometime.”
“A sandwich from the deli will hardly cover such a selfless act,” Andy said seriously.
“Two sandwiches, perhaps?” Dorian chimed in, smiling around the table. Nobody joined him.
“Bro,” Ryan said. “I’m going to tell Atkins that it was my fault, whether you want me to or not. So you might as well take advantage of the situation.”
“Let’s discuss this in the morning. When you’re of clearer mind.”
Ryan leaned back in his chair. The muscles in his shoulders rolled as he spread his arms. “Who doesn’t have a clear head? I see everything as clear as crystal.”
“What’s our new roommate think?” Braden asked.
Four sets of handsome eyes swung in my direction.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I managed to get out. “It’s a shitty situation. There’s no easy way out.”
“That’s a wishy washy answer,” Ryan said. “Tell us what you really think. What if it was you and one of your girl friends?”
I don’t have girl friends, I thought. But I had a feeling trying to change the subject with that comment wouldn’t work.
“I agree with Ryan,” I finally said.
Ryan reached across the table, grabbed my hand, and lifted it in the air like I was the boxing champion. “Aww yeah! I knew she was a keeper!”
“Care to elaborate?” Andy asked, his expression suddenly cold.
“Tatiana’s going to make a stink about this,” I said. “Her grandfather is the mysterious producer who is bankrolling the show, right? You just know she’s going to tell him all about this. It’s not the first incident—whether your fault or not. Director Atkins is going to have to make an example out of someone. Ryan’s job is probably as good as gone. But he has an opportunity to accept the full responsibility, saving one of his friends. If I had the chance to jump on a grenade for one of my best friends, I’d absolutely take it. Especially if I was already screwed.”
“I take back all my reservations about our arrangement,” Ryan declared. “You’re my new favorite roommate.”
Andy didn’t look happy about it, but I could see the gears grinding in his head. Finally, he nodded. “I suppose the logic is sound. However, I do not want you accepting blame until you have actually been fired. No preemptive sacrifices.”
Ryan slapped the table. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Enough business,” Braden said. “How about we play a game to relax, like we originally intended?”
“Who made you king of this castle?” Dorian asked. “Oh, right. You are king of the castle.”
Braden’s grin was infectious. “Damn right I am. Time to play kings.”
I didn’t know the game, but Ryan saw my confusion and leaned over to explain it to me. A deck of cards was spread out in a circle, face-down. Each player took turns drawing a card, and the card corresponded to a certain drinking activity. Two was you, meaning the player who drew got to pick someone to drink. Three was me—the player himself drank. And so on with more and more complex rules.
It was fun, and fast-paced. On my first turn I drew a nine, which was rhyme. I had to pick a word, and the others each had to think of a word that rhymed with it.
“Luck,” I said after a moment.
“Duck,” Ryan said next.
Braden: “Stuck.”
Dorian: “Struck!”
Andy: “Hmm, cluck.”
Me: “Muck.”
“Fuck,” Ryan said with a childish grin.
“I was wondering how long it would take for someone to say it,” I said, giving him a playful smack on his arm. It was like bumping against a boulder.
“Uhh,” Braden said. “Canuck?”
“That counts!” I said. “That totally counts.”
“Shit, umm,” Dorian said, reaching for a word. “I… damnit.” He accepted defeat and sipped his drink.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dorian lose at rhyming,” Braden said, winking at me. “You’ve really tied his tongue.”
“I just happened to be the odd man out once all the answers were extinguished,” Dorian said. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve said he was annoyed at losing.
“I’m surprised you bucked your chances by giving up,” I said. “And Braden’s Canuck answer should have caused you to huck one final answer into the mix: puck.”
“Oh ha ha,” Dorian said, with a fake-annoyed laugh. “I left my rhyming dictionary in my other pair of pants.”
“Yuck,” I said with an ever-increasing grin.
Ryan roared with laughter. “Yep. She’s definitely my new favorite roommate.”
One game lasted about an hour—or two of Dorian’s drinks, which were indeed so good that I had him make me a second one. Ryan wanted to play another round, but the other guys were all too tired. Ryan slumped his massive muscular frame in his chair, clearly disappointed.
“Hey,” Braden said to me. “Want to move your stuff over tomorrow?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Great. We can have brunch with my sister after.”
I cocked my head. “Just your sister? Not your parents yet?”
“Consider it a rehearsal. A little practice before the real thing.” Braden lingered for a moment like he wasn’t sure whether to shake my hand or hug me. In the end, he smiled, nodded, and left.
“Goodnight, darling,” Dorian said, wasting no time in wrapping me in a warm hug. His slender body was warm against mine. “Dream about those understudy lines we practiced today. And the ones we’ll practice next time!”
“Oh, I will.”
Andy nodded politely to me as he left. Once they were gone, I went to the counter full of drinks and mixers and began making two more drinks. Ryan twisted in his chair, surprised.
“You’re not done yet, right?” I asked.
“Not even close,” he said.
We shared a look. He had only put up a tough-guy scowl since I’d known him, but now his eyes were softer. More real, as if the lighting accident had left him too defeated to put up his defenses.
I wondered if anything would happen if the two of us stayed.
Do I want anything to happen?
“Well,” I said in an aloof tone. “I can’t let you drink alone.”
We both smiled.