Your outfit,” Attica explained. “Either you made no effort at all, or you made every effort to satirize the rest of us. Both are cool.”
She was with four friends dressed like Cirque du Soleil backup dancers. I was transfixed by Attica, who wore needlepoint heels, sheer black tights, and a body-hugging black silk minidress embroidered with silver skulls. Her blond hair was shaved on one side and hung down in a shoulder-length cascade on the other. Her arms were covered in sleeve tattoos of flower vines woven between ornate skulls. She exuded confidence, and the impish glint in her eye told me she had a wicked sense of humor.
“Do we have to wait?” one of the guys in her entourage asked. “Walter said we should go right in.”
I took note of the use of my target’s name. Target? Like I was an assassin.
“I’m just mingling,” Attica replied. “Keeping it real.”
“Reality sucks,” the guy shot back. “Let’s live the fantasy.”
He and the others left the line and made for the entrance. I felt the chill of disappointment as Attica followed.
“Coming?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
I smiled like a lottery winner as I hurried to catch up with her, relieved the difficult years hadn’t totally killed my game. I was soft around the edges, but in this dim light I might still pass for handsome.
“I’m Peyton. Peyton Collard,” I said, offering her my hand.
She looked confused before she took it awkwardly while we were walking.
“Attica Douglas.”
I’ve spent a long time thinking about life. There isn’t much else to do in prison, and even after I got out and spent months swimming around a beer glass of self-pity or praying for forgiveness on the mountain overlooking Joseph Persico’s house. I don’t say this to brag or to set myself above anyone, because I’m the lowest you can get. I’m a killer. A taker of lives. I mention my hard thinking hours because I want you to know the amount of time I’ve devoted to such things. I may not have the right answers, but at least you know my wrongthink has been carefully considered.
Take Attica, for example. I lusted after her from the moment I saw her. I was charged with excitement as we walked side by side. You know that feeling? The promise of a thousand new tomorrows, because that’s what a fresh relationship represents. It isn’t just a connection to a person; it’s a fork in the road of life, a chance to reinvent ourselves, to live as different people.
Attica didn’t know Peyton Collard the drunk ex-con without a cent to his name. She knew Peyton Collard the Silicon Valley billionaire, music producer, or heart surgeon. I wasn’t going to lie to her, but such was the energy I felt, I truly believed I could have become any of those things if it would have put me in bed with her.
Her friends said something to one of the greeters and we were waved inside.
I still think about stepping through the dark entrance, a near innocent with no idea I was about to be given a glimpse of heaven on my way down to hell.