Love and Chaos Read Online Free

NakedinahotelroomIamnakedinahotelroom.
    Okay, breathe, Angie, breathe …
    On the nightstand there’s a little notepad with SOHO GRAND printed on it. I know that hotel. It’s in downtown Manhattan. And the clock says it’s 10:00 A.M.
    Fuck.
    What am I doing here?
    I try to remember last night.
    We hung out in the bar with no name for a while, drank more, then we met some friends of his—an Italian guy? And was the chick Croatian? Something like that. Then we were in some new bar on Lafayette, or maybe it was Hudson? Or did we get a cab uptown?
    Nothing. I remember nothing.
    With a sick thud somewhere deep inside me, I see the indent of a head in the other pillow. I didn’t sleep here alone.
    Maybe the pillow just does that. Or maybe I started the night sleeping on that side.
    I head to the bathroom to pee. The wallpaper has cool little cartoon drawings of birds. Nice. It’d make a cute fabric print actually.
    Then, with an even sicker thud than before, I see something in the bottom of the toilet bowl.
    A discarded condom.
    Stef, probably. We’ve had sex before. It was years ago, at a house party in Boston, and it was not pleasant, but shit happens. At least we used a condom.
    Goddamnit. I always end up sleeping with my male friends. A couple of drinks, I think maybe I have feelings for them, they give me that look and then … boom. It’s totally wrong, I know. But I always seem to do it. I always think that this time it’ll be different. I’m a sexual optimist.
    I quickly shower, lathering soap all over my body to obliterate the sticky drunk-sex-morning-after feeling, and use the hotel shampoo and conditioner. My hair is pale blond, almost white, and very long, and it responds well to almost any hair product. As does my liver with almost any booze. Ha.
    I wish I had a toothbrush. I look like shit, but I can make a quasi–smoky eye by rubbing yesterday’s mascara and eyeliner around my eyelid. Part panda, part rock groupie. Fine.
    It’s when I’m getting dressed that I notice it, right over on the TV cabinet.
    My cell phone, propped carefully over a Soho Grand envelope with “A xx” written on the front.
    First I pick up my phone. Two missed calls and a text from Pia wondering where I am. She didn’t even bother to get in touch until this morning. Thanks a lot, ladybitch. If she left the house drunk and upset, I’d sure as hell chase her. Though she wouldn’t do that, of course. Not anymore.
    Then I open the envelope.
    It’s full of hundred-dollar bills. Thirty of them.
    Three thousand fucking dollars.
    I count it again quickly, my skin burning strangely at the sight of so much cash. It’s such a tiny stack of notes, but just imagine what I could buy with it.… Holy shit, that’s a lot of money. That’s more than Cornelia gave me every month. When she remembered.
    Three thousand dollars.
    I pause, looking out the hotel window over SoHo. I can see over the downtown rooftops, some with those funny Manhattan water thingies on top, and a bit of West Broadway, and people walking and shopping and going to Felix for brunch and leading ordinary days that probably didn’t start naked, alone, and confused in a hotel room.
    Why would Stef give me three thousand dollars?
    Then my phone buzzes again.
    It’s Stef.
    Hey kitten! Great night. Sorry for bailing, but hope you two had fun.…;-) Heading to a party in Turks tomorrow if you want to come. xoxo
    What does he mean “hope you two had fun”? Two who? Who two? And he bailed? So I didn’t sleep with him? And the money isn’t from him? Who is it from? Who the fuck did I sleep with?
    I turn the envelope over again. No signature. Nothing else.
    I feel sick.
    I don’t want to think about it, so I quickly throw my white dress back on, tie my wet hair into a tight little knot and secure it with the Soho Grand pencil, put the “A xx” envelope in my fur/army coat, and leave the room. I hope I don’t see Mani. He used to hang out in the lobby here a lot. He was