My left eye creaked open to obscenely bright morning light. It closed fast. Excrutiatingly dry mouth. Parched, need water desperately. Head hurts. A lot. Two eyes open, but they stay squinty. Still bright out there. Shoot. Unfamiliar territory. A window and light blue sky and bright sunlight and... the Chrysler Building???
Crap.
Waves of nausea wash over me. That silvery, spiky, scalloped building is the Chrysler Building, I know it. I saw the top of it. I close both eyes to think about that a little bit more. Chrysler Building is in New York. This probably means I am, too. Unless the Chrylser Building was disassembled and moved to Greensboro, North Carolina last night, I am in a strange building in New York with a massive hangover. Alrighty then. Let's take stock of the situation, Marlene Chipley. Small apartment. Too much damn sunlight. Place needs a set of drapes in a big way. And a water fountain. Chrysler Building for sure. Crap.
I am on a foldout sofa alone. This is good. Twin beds across the room. How unfortunate... they are occupied by men. Men I don't know. Double crap and possible danger. Head really hurts and heart begins to race. Can I get out of here without waking them up? And if I do, where will I go? Who the hell ARE they? I must be here for a reason. Yes, think of the reason. Calm down. Retrace steps. Plot escape plan. Calm down. I lift the covers and take a look. Fully clothed. This is excellent! Move head a little to the right and spot my purse, apparently intact. This too, is excellent. If these men were unscrupulous killers and/or rapists, surely my clothing would be in disarray, the contents of my purse scattered or missing altogether. And if these same men were sleezy criminals, they probably wouldn't have an apartment in Manhattan with this view, either. Breathing slows to normal rate again. I have obviously been kidnapped by Men with Money. Worse things could happen to a single girl.
Flash! The Back Porch! Thirty-third and Third. Gran Marnier. Lots of it. After a long, elaborate dinner with a bottomless bottle of Chianti. Very good Chianti. With my sister. My sister! Where the hell is my sister?! Did she leave me here? Did we lose her? Am I so much cuter and so much more fun to party with that these people only stole me?
Breakthrough! I think I am supposed to be in Manhattan! Fucking A! Breathing goes back to normal. Heart rate slows. Head still hurts really bad. Mouth tastes like it's lined with newspaper. Dirty newspaper, at that. Since I have determined that these men are not going to kill me right away, perhaps a little nap is in order. After all, I will need to be strong and alert when I attempt my escape. Eyes close.
I hear noises. People moving around quietly, and I smell coffee. Killers don't make coffe first and move around quietly to avoid waking their victim. I pretend to be asleep still and peek out. Recognize one of the men! I shall leave all names out of this to protect the not so innocent. But it's L____! And that other guy is S____! They're friends of my sister's friend! But where are my sister and her friend? That little mystery remains unsolved.
I croak out a little "Good morning." L and S greet me and ask how I am feeling. "Water" is all can manage to say in return. I sit up. Oooooh. One of the nice un-killers brings me water and offers coffee. "NO, thank you." Stomach churns at the very thought of it.
Unkillers: We have to go to work now, so lock up when you leave.
Me: Where am I? And where is my sister, and our friend M____?
Unkillers: They are at her place. It's a 5th floor walkup and there was no way they could get a hundred pound sack of pudding up the stairs, so they had to leave you here. (Me: I was just referred to as a sack of pudding. I no longer like the Men with Money. And yes, I did weigh 100 pounds in 1981.) M___'s number is here by the phone. You can walk to her apartment from here. Nice meeting you.
Me: Walk? In Manhattan? Alone, and in this condition? I'll never make it.
I pull myself together enough to make a phone call and wake up the girls. There is much moaning and groaning. (Aha! I am not the only one!) I get directions and begin the slow, hot, humid walk to M___'s place. I actually have to step over a man who is passed out on the sidewalk. He obviously does not have a sister in his life who knows Men with Money. I feel sorry for the dirty man on the sidewalk and appreciate the Men with Money again. I even forgive my sister for leaving the "sack of pudding" in a strange place. I trudge up five flights of stairs to greet two women still green around the gills from last night's festivities.
I drink a LOT of water, and I have perked up considerably. I am ready to Take Manhattan.
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