Page 34 of Paparazzi

I throw down a generous swig of tequila, trying to wash away the nervousness Albert stirs up, when in fact, this was a perfect day. I’ve never had such a wonderful afternoon just staying in the house talking to a guy. Albert’s words threaten to destroy the bubble I’ve built around myself to keep away the lies that try to crush me. I want to nip that negativity in the bud, drown it with so much alcohol it can never resurface.

“Indulge him. Otherwise, he won’t give up.”

“If what I say tonight leaves this room, you two are dead. No matter who talks. Do you understand me?”

“Who do you think we’re going to tell? We’re all drunk! Tomorrow morning, we won’t remember this conversation. We’ll only have a big headache to remind us of this night,” Emily mumbles as she pours another drink.

“Okay. Let me see... Well, he’s not from New York but a small town around here whose name I don’t know.”

“Really?” Emily is wide-eyed.

“That’s not news. Everyone suspected this because no schools in New York City remember them. Without the name of the town, it’s not even information, it’s a random guess,” Albert complains as the blood begins to boil in my veins.

“You want names? His mother’s name is Susan and his father Arthur,” I snap, annoyed, as a half-smile appears on his lips.

“Now, this is what I want. Start talking.” He leans on my shoulder and hands me the bottle of tequila after smelling it and wrinkling his nose without touching it.

I drink again, feeling my throat and stomach burning like I’ve swallowed lava. I pass the bottle to Emily, who takes a sip and makes a disgusted face. It’s not our favorite alcohol, but it’s doing the job—driving away that feeling of heaviness brought on by Albert’s insistence.

“Anything else you want to confess to Uncle Albert?” he jokes.

Emily passes me the bottle of tequila again, and I take another sip. The evening took a strange turn: I feel my head spin, and I have to squeeze my eyes a couple of times to focus on Albert. On the other hand, the lightness filling my chest feels good.

“Come on, spill some more secrets while I go get the salt. Tequila alone sucks.” Emily crawls off the bed and drags herself to the kitchen cabinet to grab the blue container I keep on the top shelf.

“He doesn’t have a car…” I realize I’m slurring, and Albert’s smile is getting blurry.

“What the hell kind of information is that? Most people who live in this city don’t have a car,” he groans, and I’d like to punch him.

“I don’t think he even has a driver’s license, because he said he didn’t need one where he spent his teenage years.”

“Really? A kid in a small town who doesn’t have a driver’s license? They make you get it when you go to high school. You don’t even have to leave the building to take the class!”

I take another sip from the bottle, and Emily sticks a slice of lime in my mouth after smearing my lips with salt. I almost throw up and take another drink of the tequila to rinse my mouth of the horrible taste of salt.

“Where did he go to high school?” Albert pushes.

“I don’t think he went because he told me he didn’t have many friends his age.”

The words come out drowsy, and my eyes close until Emily gives me a shove to wake me up. I study her, and her face is blank, without expressions. For a moment, it seems to me that she doesn’t even have eyes.

Albert is talking to me, but I respond with difficulty, slowly, like I have a potato in my mouth and can’t form the words properly. Sometimes I nod with my head, sometimes I don’t. Albert gets close to my face and doesn’t stop asking questions. Then I close my eyes, and even his voice slowly disappears into oblivion.

The cat begins to meow, and my head throbs with every sound from his throat.

“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to choke you,” I whisper to Dexter, who’s at my feet and whining, disappointed because he knows his breakfast is delayed this morning.

I open an eye to see what time it is. My mouth feels like sandpaper, and my head starts to throb so hard I almost throw up. And then I do. Clinging to any surface that can support me, I barely make it to the bathroom. How much did I drink last night?

When I get up and grip the sink to brush my teeth and wash my face, I find a note from Emily attached to the mirror.

‘I had to go to class. I have no idea where Albert is. Maybe Dexter killed him and buried the body. Let’s pretend nothing happened.’

I laugh and immediately regret it. The pain hammering my head is unbearable. When I finally get out of the bathroom, I run into an agonized Dexter lying on the ground and emitting an excruciating lament.

“Stop looking at me like I killed someone. I know it’s late, but meowing like this won’t make me go any faster.” Dexter jumps on the table and stares at me like I’m a murderer. Sooner or later, I’m sure, he’ll kill me in my sleep. When I pour his food and he doesn’t even come near the bowl, I give him the stink eye. Is he trying to make me pay for drinking last night?

While I prepare coffee, I look around, searching for my laptop, and, after a moment of panic, I find it sticking out from under one of the pillows. I open it and approach the table to charge it. When I open my email, I notice that some messages dated last night have been opened. I try to recollect what happened and a series of confusing images of a bottle of tequila and some heated conversation with Albert come back to my memory, but that’s all.

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