I figured it was my lucky night when no one carded me at the door. I couldn’t help but hesitate for a moment, waiting to be stopped, questioned or thrown out. Waiting to drop Amir’s name. But the big bouncer guy wouldn’t even look me in the eye. He just stepped aside so I could take the gut-wrenching ride up to the rooftop bar.
I emerged from the elevator and stepped into a breathtaking, high-gloss, red and yellow sitting area, next to a glistening aqua swimming pool. A perfect row of white, plastic lounge chairs topped with crisp, folded towels lined the pool, and past them, just before a spectacular view of Downtown L.A., were the red tent thingies Raven had described. I made my way over to them, assuming Amir occupied one of them. The first was piled with fake-breasted women and a tattooed white guy. Not to racially profile or anything, but I was pretty sure “Amir” wasn’t any of those people. I moved on. In the next one, a very slight Persian guy in sunglasses lounged drinking amber liquor with two younger guys.
“Amir?” I asked softly.
The guy removed his sunglasses, taking me in. “I’m Anais,” I managed. “Raven’s friend?”
“The man collects pretty girls,” he announced, to no one in particular, and smiled at me admiringly. “Come here you,” he said, patting a teeny spot on the white cushion. I perched on it, trying to smile politely. “So, you have some business for me?” he asked, returning the sunglasses to his face and leaning back against one of his boys.
I nodded. “I hope so,” I said, reaching for the Rolex box in my purse.
Amir touched my hand, stopping me. “Have a drink first,” he said, raising a bottle from a small silver tray.
I laughed nervously as he poured me a shot. I had never done a shot before. All I knew about shots is what they do to people in movies: get them embarrassingly, recklessly drunk. I held up my hand daintily in a lame attempt to politely decline, but it was no use. I could tell Amir was the type of person who’d be personally offended if I didn’t partake. And I couldn’t spoil this deal.
I took the shot glass in my hand warily. Amir raised his glass. I raised mine, too, echoing him. He drank, I drank. It felt like I swallowed fire. I clenched my stomach to foil my gag reflex. By some act of God, I managed to avoid puking. Amir smiled and exhaled, as though that poison were Sunny Delight or something. I managed a smile in return, my eyes watering.
“So,” he said. “I understand your mother has cancer.” I nodded.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
He frowned, nodding gravely. “My father died of it last year,” he said. “Pancreatic. Happened really fast.”
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured.
Amir shook his head. “The man was a shit,” he said. “Didn’t agree with my lifestyle.” He rolled his eyes. “But I wish we had forgiven each other before he went,” he added softly.
I nodded sadly, trying not to acknowledge the fact that my mom could die. That she was fighting a life and death battle and she could still lose.
Amir peered over his sunglasses, looking me in the eye suddenly, fiercely. “I want to do this deal,” he said. “To help your mother.”
I sighed, relieved. “Thank you,” I murmured.
He grinned. “Have another drink,” he encouraged, already pouring me a second shot.
I shook my head wildly. “I shouldn’t,” I managed.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” he brushed me off, handing me the shot glass, filled to the brim. He poured one for himself as I leered at the amber liquid. “Cheers,” he said, throwing it down his throat.
I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed it in one gulp. Let me just say, it was no easier the second time around. I opened my eyes, starting to feel lightheaded.
“Now,” Amir said, clapping his hands together. “Let me see that Rolex.”
I started to slide the box out of my bag and stopped, remembering Raven’s instructions. “Let me see the money,” I mustered.
Amir chuckled, reaching into his pocket. He opened a Prada wallet, revealing a stack of bills. “You ever seen Stephen Grover Cleveland on a bill before?” he asked smugly.
I remained silent.
“Those are thousands,” he said proudly.
I looked him in the eye. “I’m going to have to touch them,” I said. Amir shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
I reached into the wallet and ran my fingers over the worn texture of the bills. They were real.
I nodded. “Thanks,” I said.
I removed the Rolex box from my purse and opened it for him. He pulled a tiny flashlight and a magnifying glass out of his pocket and inspected it. I held my breath. After a long moment, he spoke.
“Raven was right,” he said, moderately impressed. “It’s virtually flawless.” I smiled, relieved.
“You know they don’t even make this model anymore,” he remarked to one of the boys who flanked him. The boy shrugged. Amir turned back to me, sighing contentedly. “10,000 it is!” he announced.
I could have hugged him, I was so thrilled. “Thank you,” I breathed, grinning.
He shrugged, flicking ten bills from his wallet. I counted them quietly. It was all there. I handed him the watch.
“Now, we drink,” he said.
This time, I had no problem swallowing the shot. It was starting to feel good. I was less terrified. Amir was getting funnier. He seemed nicer. We were having fun. My mom would not have to file for bankruptcy. She would get her surgery. Everything would be okay. I just had to go to the ladies’ room and find a safe place for the money. I stood up, teetering on my four-inch Christian Louboutins, my brain apparently lopping around in my skull. I took a few unwieldy steps, the sign for the restrooms blurring in and out of focus.
That’s when things got hazy.