Knocked Up By the Russian Boss by Bella King
Chapter 4
IVORY
Astream of beer hits the back of my throat as I suck it down from the hole stabbed into the can. I don’t like beer much, but Courtney and Tommy wanted a picture of us all shotgunning beers from a company that his dad owns. I’m just a good friend, that’s all.
I carefully wipe the excess beer from my lips, conscious not to smear my lipstick. It’s been long enough into the night that I recognize the familiar sensation of my body asking nicely for some nicotine. I know that the longer I wait to have a cigarette, the more demanding the need will be.
A sliding glass door off the living room leads to a patio, concealed by lush trees and plants surrounding a hot tub off to the side of the space. I reach into my purse and find my cigarettes, picking one out of the box and lighting it absentmindedly.
I’m a bit tipsy at this point, and the warmth of the few drinks I’ve had is making its way through my bloodstream quickly. I take a long drag of the cigarette, allowing its taste to mentally take me back to the elite prep school that I attended the year I started smoking.
“Ivory!”
I nearly jump out of my skin. I had been so lost in my own thoughts that I nearly forgot where I was.
When I turn around, I see an unfamiliar face, yet features that I would recognize anywhere. A meticulously pressed shirt and shorts with boat shoes and a shit-eating grin. This type of person is somebody I should have resigned myself to being around for my whole life given my parents' obscene wealth, but I’ll never get used to the immaturity and entitlement in nearly sociopathic quantities.
“Hi, have we met?” I reply, standing tall in my heels and wearing an expression of disinterest.
He nearly falls over at the very idea that I don’t know who he is. “Uh, don’t you know about Germaine Aviation?” he replies in disbelief.
“Um, yes?” I say, already bored to death of talking to him. How did he even know my name?
“My name is Chad Germaine,” he replies smugly. “My dad owns the company.” He crosses his arms in an aggressively self-satisfied manner, indicating to me that he is going to make himself my worst nightmare if I don’t humor him with praise or adoration of some kind in the limited time we speak.
“Okay, very cool,” I say as I nod mechanically.
Before Chad has a chance to talk about himself again, Courtney nearly crashes through the glass sliding door as she makes her way outside. Three or four drinks deep in an hour and a half has brought out my least favorite version of her: the dramatic, loud, volatile version.
“Guys! We’re all going to, uhh, to the bat caves,” she slurs, momentarily making a puke-face. I step back from her in anticipation of vomit ejecting from her mouth like a hose.
“What’s at the bat caves?” I ask, genuinely confused as to why an uptown city girl like Courtney would want to be anywhere near trees or nature.
“It’s like, the best spot to smoke weed in town,” she replies, her tone agitated that I was unaware of a place she’s gone without me and has never told me about.
Tommy follows closely behind, also moderately toasted. “We can take my car again, then the cops won’t follow us,” he adds, his clothes drenched from sweat. He’s clearly on something else, but I’m too unfamiliar with drugs to know what.
Knowing how unpredictable my friends can be, I know it’s a better idea for me to follow them wherever they go so that I can both keep tabs on them as well as not lose my ride home. They’ve left me places before, and I can’t let that happen again.
And besides, I never have the opportunity to do anything fun. School has completely consumed my life, and my friends all think I’m a lame shut-in.
I follow the others to Tommy’s car, and it’s basically a repeat of the trip over here. Everyone is crammed in close, but the difference now is that the car reeks of alcoholic breath and sweat.
As we drive to this new location, I listen to Peyton rant about some kid he got into a fight with in high school, which is how he lost his scholarship.
Not like it matters because his parents still pay every cent of his tuition, rent, and living expenses. He had obtained the scholarship through sports anyways, not through merit. My friends live in a vacuum where everybody has New England money and can buy themselves in or out of any situation.
A few minutes of breakneck driving speeds, and we’re all climbing back out of the car to walk up to our new party location. I don’t see why we had to leave the house in the first place.
The bat caves are much more secluded than I was expecting. The skyline of the city seems to span forever, and the clusters of lights in parks and buildings look like a galaxy in and of itself. I really don’t understand why anybody needed to come here to smoke weed. There was a huge bong at the party, and a bunch of white college students at a penthouse party run very little risk of getting in trouble.
When we walk closer, that’s when I get it.
Half of the party has gathered here, and there seems to be an endless array of drinks available. Any of these kids could have hosted an after-party at their house, but I think that we all like to pretend we’re poor kids in high school periodically. None of us ever had to sneak out because our parents were either completely absent or lenient. This is how we scratch the rebellion itch.
“Ivory, take a pic with me!”
Before I can protest, Courtney has me in a death grip, posing in selfie-mode as she pretends to have any degree of spontaneity in her. I know before she even snaps the picture that it’s going straight to Instagram, just so her ex will see it and show up to fight Tommy. This is the essence of Drunk Courtney.
And to be honest, the only way I’m going to put up with Courtney is by getting to her level. A few shots ought to do the trick. I’m a lightweight, even with the tolerance I’ve developed.
Within an hour, my steps become wobbly, and my vision starts to betray me. I see a familiar black vehicle pull up to the party, one that I can’t quite place in my memory, but nobody gets out. I’d prefer not to be close if it’s some kind of undercover cop, so I wander away from it, getting deeper into the party like a fish hiding in the crowd for fear of sharks.
