As Patrick neared the party, he saw no evidence of the drug addicts, vagrants, and runaways who usually roamed this patch. Bouncers guarded every entrance, but fortunately they were his people, and one tattooed giant who was a friend of a friend handed Patrick a bright yellow wristband and let him slip through the velvet rope.
Patrick clumsily secured the band, the adhesive catching on his arm hair, as he took in the crowd. So many unfamiliar faces, except among the waiters and waitresses. He waved down the closest one. “Jarred, dude,” he said. They clasped hands by way of hello.
“Whoa, man, what are you doing here?” asked Jarred.
“Meeting someone about a job.”
“Thought you were full time at River City Bikes.”
“Too many mechanics in this town, man. The pay sucks.”
“I hear you.” Jarred gestured widely at the crowd with his free hand. “You’re in the right place if you’re looking for money. This party is flush with the tech elite. Are you pitching an app or a startup?”
Patrick laughed and shook his head. “Neither.”
“Good luck, whatever it is. Have some grub on the house.” Jarred flourished a silver tray of tiny blintzes dabbed with salmon roe.
“No,” said Patrick, looking it over. “I’m not hungry.”
“Hey, Lisa’s here. Saw her earlier. She’s looking hot tonight.”
“What do you mean Lisa’s here?” asked Patrick. He pulled his phone from his beat-up messenger bag. She hadn’t texted anything about her plans tonight and had barely responded to the photo of his tattoo. Not a great sign. He’d gotten a little high after his shift last night and had biked over to Lady Luck Tattoo. Betty and her tattoo gun were more than happy to accommodate his request for a grand, romantic gesture. After he pulled off the bandage this morning, he wasn’t so sure it had been a good idea. He glanced at his arm. The red heart peeked out from under the sleeve of his white T-shirt. He tugged on the fabric to hide it, wincing at the still tender skin.
“Saw her over by the bar a few minutes ago. The dudes have been swarming,” said Jarred with a smirk. It faded at Patrick’s scowl. “But you know Lisa, she loves you, man. This is just a gig for her.”
“She’s working the party?” asked Patrick. He felt his heart in his throat. He couldn’t believe it. She’d lied to him. Said she was done with this shit.
“Yeah.” Jarred paused awkwardly. “Well, I better get back to work. I’ll see you around, man.”
Patrick nodded and headed toward the bar. After walking through the crowded party for a few minutes, he finally caught sight of Lisa. She was wearing the gold dress he recognized from last New Year’s Eve. It had been totally inappropriate for the freezing night. He remembered how she’d laughed it off and said it was more important to be pretty than warm.
She looked plenty comfortable tonight as she flirted with some old dude in a suit jacket. What kind of asshole wears a jacket in eighty-degree weather, wondered Patrick.
Suddenly, Lisa turned as though sensing she was being watched. Her eyes met Patrick’s, and her coquettish smile instantly disappeared. She said something to the man that made him laugh, then headed toward Patrick, her thin heels sticking in the trampled grass.
“Patrick, what are you doing here?” She stood stiffly and held an empty martini glass in one hand.
He leaned down to kiss her but she quickly turned her head so his lips touched her cheek instead. “Meeting someone,” he said, trying to keep his cool.
Lisa raised an eyebrow. “You’re meeting someone at the ‘Rose City Ripe for Disruption Gala.’ Who?”
Patrick shrugged. “No one you know. And what’s wrong with my being here? I like galas.”
Lisa rolled her eyes. “You are so full of shit.” She pushed up the sleeve of his T-shirt and ran her finger lightly across his tattoo. “You really did it.”
“Do you like it?” he asked, feeling a little too eager.
“It’s sweet,” she said, though Patrick thought her voice sounded flat.
“You hate it.”
“No, I don’t. I just think it’s very permanent.” She pulled his T-shirt sleeve back down so only the bottom tip of the heart showed.
“Well, that’s what I’d like us to be. You know. Permanent.”
“Is this tattoo your way of proposing?” She placed her empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray.
“No, no. I mean, I just thought maybe we could move in together. I’m over at your apartment all the time anyway. Maybe we should find our own place. A little house with a yard. Just me and you.”
Lisa sighed and shook her head. “Patrick, I’m still in school and we don’t have the money. I’m barely covering rent as it is.”
“I’m working on that,” he said.
“What do you mean?” she asked, giving him a wary look.
“I have a new gig. Something Joe set up for me.”
“Your roommate Joe? He’s a creep.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“He’s also a drug dealer,” she said. “Don’t tell me you’re getting mixed up in that.”
“Like selling drugs is worse than what you’re doing,” he said, feeling defensive.
Lisa stared at him. “What do you mean by that?” she asked.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
She took a step away and raised her hands in frustration. “Patrick, I really don’t need this tonight.”
“Lisa, I don’t like you working these parties. I mean your job is literally to get men to hit on you.” He’d said this all before and she hadn’t listened, but he couldn’t help himself.
“I have never given you a reason not to trust me.”
“What about that guy,” he said, glaring at the man in the jacket. “Look at him staring at you like he owns you.”
“No one owns me.”
“Well, it looks like you’re for sale. Your hair, and all that makeup. It’s embarrassing.”
“Patrick,” said Lisa, stunned. She looked on the verge of tears.
He’d gone too far. Sure, he’d been thinking it ever since she and Jamie had started doing this hostess thing, but he wanted desperately to take the words back. He realized he’d heard them before, spoken by their teachers, if you could call them that, at the Academy.
“You know this is an act. You know it’s not really me,” she said, her voice breaking.
Lisa was right. He did know, and yet he’d gone right to the place that would hurt her most. He grabbed her hand. “Listen, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I need to go meet with someone, then let’s just get out of here. Please.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said, pulling away. “I’m done trying to be your perfect girlfriend. Figure out your own mess of a life.”
“Lisa, please. I’m sorry.”
“Just go. And you’re right. I hate that tattoo!” She turned abruptly and walked back to the man in the suit jacket.
The man raised his glass to Patrick. In reply, Patrick flipped him the bird and stalked off, Lisa’s words still ringing in his ears.