Free The Washingtonienne by Jessica Cutler Page A

vigorous, but the technique went out the window when you were high. And the more people involved, the sloppier it got. Laura kept shunting me aside and climbing on top of Sean, forcing all of his attention on her.
    Why did girls have to make everything a competition like this? I assumed it was just the coke that made her act so greedy, but few people were having more fun than us that night, naked, in bed with a hot guy with a tight ass, and high out of our minds.
    Then the sun came up.
    “I want to get the fuck out of here,” Laura whispered when Sean left the room to pee. “Where is my bra?”
    “I don’t know,” I said, shielding my eyes from the daylight with the very bra she was looking for.
    “They should make a chick flick called
Dude, Where’s My Bra?
” I said, laughing.
    Laura snatched her bra away from me, and I pulled the bed sheet over my head.
    “I’m serious. I want to get out of here,” she said, scrambling to get up. “Are you coming or not?”
    “Not,” I grunted.
    I didn’t have to be anywhere until Monday. I rolled over, turning my back to her.
    Laura crept out of the room and down the stairs before Sean came out of the bathroom.
    “Did your friend go home?” he asked, pulling down the shades to block out the sunlight.
    “Yeah,” I answered, sitting up.
    “Don’t get up, pretty girl,” he said, climbing back into the bed with me. “I want you to stay.”
    Again, the sex wasn’t very good, but his body made up for it. The boy had
back
from riding his bike all day. And he had tattoos on his arms, on his neck, and on his calves. I hadn’t fucked a guy with tats in years, but it was fun to go slumming every once in a while.
    “You know, you were the primary interest,” he told me afterward. “I didn’t really like your friend that much.”
    Of course he liked me more than my friend: That’s what guys were supposed to say to the girl who ended up staying when the threesome was over.
    I gave him my number and he promised to call, but whatever: Call me, don’t call me. Sean was hot, but I could never bring him home to Mother.
    I TRIED CALLING HOME again when I got back to my apartment. Again, no answer. I was beginning to feel neglected, which was ridiculous since I was a grown woman. But the only man a girl could count on in this world was her daddy, and if even
he
was dodging my calls, I knew that something was very wrong at home. I had no way of finding out until someone felt like picking up the telephone and telling me what was going on.
    In the meantime, I had plenty of ways to keep myself distracted.
    April came home shortly after I did, her hair disheveled and her eyeliner smudged.
    “Why does my makeup always look better the morning
after
I put it on?” she asked, dousing a cotton ball with my Caswell-Massey Sweet Almond Oil. “Do you know if Laura is going to work today?”
    “I doubt it,” I told her.
    “Shit! That means it’s my turn to go into the office.”
    “You’re going to work today?”
    “Well, we
both
can’t call in sick on the same day, and I called in
last
Thursday.”
    “Do you need any of this?” I asked, showing her the nice parting gift that Sean had given me: a vial of coke, street value of $300.
    “Where did you get that?” she wanted to know.
    “Laura and I had a threesome with a drug dealer-slash-bike messenger.”
    April’s green eyes widened.
    “Are you serious?” she asked. “Did she eat you out?”
    “No! We didn’t do anything with each other,” I explained. “Laura is really pretty bad at threesomes—don’t tell her I said that.”
    “Don’t worry, I won’t,” April said, doing a bump of coke off her finger.
    “So what happened with the vice president?” I asked her.
    It turned out the guy who April left the club with was the vice president of a small
country,
not a bank—which explained the limousine and the bodyguard.
    “He was such a freak. Do you know what he wanted to do?” she asked. “I’m warning you,