Post by Lucille Grace Astor on Mar 10, 2017 19:55:11 GMT -5
Things had been weird since Brad’s death at the masquerade. Talk of accidental death was an easy first assumption due to the alcohol and drugs at the party, but rumors soon began to swirl of possible suicide after Brad’s friends and family stated that drug use was out of character for him. Lucy felt sad; Tiffany’s death was unfortunate, but was Brad that upset over her that he just couldn’t continue going through day to day life? Or was Brad haunted by the same threatening messages the rest of them were getting? She couldn’t make assumptions in either direction. Lately her own assumptions had led to a bit of a rough time with herself and Sebastian. Lucy hadn’t been able to shake Brad from her mind, frustrated that it was caused by something so meaningless. She’d seen her own best friend struggle with addiction and just couldn’t understand what people were getting out of recreational drug use. She’d been upset when she accused Sebastian of being the one who had sold the drugs that had caused Brad’s death, blaming him for the tragic event. It’s not my business what people do after they pay for the goods, Sebastian had said angrily. It’s not my job to judge whether they’re stable people. If they aren’t getting it from me, they’ll just get it elsewhere. Lucy remembered being so outraged, don’t you feel bad? Someone died tonight, and all you can say is that it isn’t your problem? Sebastian had only shrugged, I never sold to Brad. Lucy and Sebastian had been on the outs ever since, Sebastian butt hurt over her accusation and Lucy too proud to apologize for harshly judging him based on assumption.
It was however, enough to cause her brother to stop dealing drugs altogether. She realized he was no longer in business by the lack of calls and texts he received in a day, the way he no longer left class or the house abruptly at odd times, and he was beginning to care about trivial things again; his history assignment on prohibition, what the cool new drinks were at the bars, and where the guys from school were hanging out. Teenage stuff, essentially. Except that he was always busy doing something. Lucy tried to spend time with him, to smooth things over, but he’d tell her he was busy working on something. When she asked him what he was working on, he couldn’t seem to give her a straight answer. At least with the drug dealing, she knew why he was sneaking around, but now Lucy was just in the dark. Just so long as he wasn’t illegally selling drugs though, right? Then she could turn a blind eye and let him do whatever it was he was so invested in. Maybe that was it though: an investment. He’d needed the drug money for something, but what? Something he didn’t want their parents, or her, or anyone to know about. What the hell was he up to? It was driving her crazy.
As if she didn’t have other things to worry about. Like getting ready for college, and keeping Belle together in one piece. Also, she tried really hard to pretend like she didn’t care whatsoever what Ian was doing in his life. She thought maybe the worst part of any of it was the lying to Belle. She hadn’t told her about hooking up with Ian, or the things Ian had told her at the party. Lucy wanted to tell her, it was just finding a good time and a way to tell her that wasn’t going to make her more worried. Whoever was sending them threats may be the person who was blackmailing Belle’s step-father. Someone who knew about the affair and someone who was pissed that they’d all lied about Tiffany’s death. Lucy thought maybe it was better they didn’t know who it was and let it blow over. Maybe if none of them spoke up it would all just eventually melt away.
Lucy stepped off of the elevator in the foyer. Anya was gone for the day, and Lucy’s father was at work. Her mother was still in Paris; Lucy casually wondered if her mother would ever come back to the city. For the sake of appearances her parents remained married. Lucy thought it was a useless illusion to carry on. It wasn’t like they had ever fought or had differences, they were just both so absorbed in their work. She wondered if distance, literal and figurative, had caused them to fall out of love; if being in the same place for longer than a weekend and forced to spend time alone together would make them realize that the love was still there, they just didn’t know what to do with it. It was so still in the penthouse apartment that Lucy made the assumption Sebastian was out as well. Lucy slipped her shoes off and picked them up to bring those upstairs, stopping when she saw a small jewelry box on the glass foyer table and a note card, along with a larger box. Logically, Lucy flipped open the note card first and read one short sentence; I don’t want to lie to you anymore. It was her brother’s hand writing. Intrigued, Lucy picked up the box and opened it to find an intricate skeleton key. The top was delicately entwined with an image that looked like a clock maybe, and engraved along the length of the key was St. Marks Alley, 1st and A. Lucy didn’t need to google St. Mark’s Place; it was the East Village’s most famous street, (an anomaly among the rest of the neighborhood for its remnants of both the old money that used to be there and the hippies,) which ran for three blocks between Astor Place, their namesake, and Tompkins Square Park. Lucy knew it well enough, not St. Mark’s Alley though, that wasn’t a thing. At least she didn’t think so. She pulled the lid off the bigger box, surprised to find a dress inside. It was a Jenny Packham and it was beautiful. She would worry later about why her brother was sending her dresses to wear, but right now she was distracted by the shimmer and the silky hand.
So, what, she was just supposed to put on this dress and go to this mystery location? Right now? Tonight? Lucy glanced again at the key. Maybe the top part was a clock after all. If that were the case, the little hands would be saying 9 o’clock. She turned it over in her hand, seeing the back side was engraved with small script, Admits one, Tell no one. That ruled out bringing Belle along, though Lucy knew she was having a family dinner tonight and was busy. She sighed, looked like she was doing this little adventure alone.
Later that evening, hair done and donning the dress from the box, Lucy stood on St. Marks between 1st and Ave. A. East ways, she could see the park, the outer edge in view lit by the street lamps’ glow. What alley was he talking about? There were only technically two options, the alley south of the street or north of it. Lucy looked again at the map on her phone, changing it to satellite view. There did seem to be an opening to the north alley on the park side. Lucy walked the length of the street, keeping her trench coat wrapped tightly around her body. Ahead she saw a couple, wearing similarly over-sophisticated clothing for the East Village. Lucy followed from a little ways back. They turned the corner just as she planned to. As she rounded the corner, she didn’t see them, but saw the opening to the alley way beside a trendy bar called Lucy’s. Ironic. Lucy peeked into the alley, not seeing the couple anywhere. She walked quietly and cautiously; one did not just go into alleys, but she knew her brother wouldn’t send her anywhere that was unsafe. As she reached the center of the alley, she heard a psst over the sound of the trees rustling in the yards. She spun around, seeing a bright red door with a little viewing door, which was now open with a hand reaching out of it. “Your key.” Lucy scrambled to open her clutch and place the key into personless hand. The slat slid shut and she waited a moment, and then the door swung open, “Come on, in you get.” In the dark interior she could see someone standing there at the top of a staircase that descended into what was a basement of one of the buildings on St. Marks. It was dimly lit except for track lighting along the steps and, as suggested, in she went. She heard the person mutter behind her as she got further away, in an unmistakably gay voice, “Just stunning, so unfair.”
The lower she descended Lucy could feel the bass before she heard it, and then suddenly as she pushed open a door at the bottom, she was engulfed by the sounds of sultry jazz, something by Amy Winehouse. The band was live, the lighting cool and low, and the place was abuzz with young people like herself mingling, drinking, dancing, conversing with one another in deep thought; all dressed to the nines like a… high class vintage club. “Oh good grief, I’m in a speakeasy,” Lucy muttered, unsure of what she should do now that she was here. At the very least, she decided she would get a drink because at this point she downright needed one. Lucy approached the bar, signaling the bartender. She opened her mouth to order, but he held up a finger, and then turned away before mixing up a drink. Lucy stood and waited patiently, unsure if she should be irritated that he wouldn’t take her order or intrigued that he was now setting the drink down in front of her, a Manhattan, as if he already knew what she wanted. “Oh, thank you,” she said as she pulled her credit card out of her clutch and offered it to him, but he put up a hand to refuse, “On the house.” Lucy started, “But I-“ though she was quickly but gently interrupted, “I know who you are.” “I- okay…” “Let me see if I get this description right,” he said, leaning his forearms casually on the bar as he got closer to her. “Tall, slender, milky complexion, dark hair. Stunning.” He watched her for a moment as she blushed slightly. “Seems like I’ve got the right girl.” He wasn’t checking her out per say, there was a certain level of professionalism that he somehow maintained; it was more like he was studying her, reading her. He was being a bartender. He was very serious, though she felt his eyes were smiling. They were a beautiful sparkling blue, so softly juxtaposed against the sleek way his long wavy hair was brushed back into a bun. For a trendy, East Village bartender type, he was very, very beautiful. “Your brother is over there,” he added, gesturing across the bar to one of many alcoves with oversized comfy seating.
Lucy turned away from the bar, Manhattan in hand, and headed across the room through the loosely gathered crowds, turning back briefly to see that the bartender was still watching her. She did find her brother in an alcove with a few people around him. Sebastian smiled when she approached, standing up and took her drink to set it down before wrapping her in a hug, “You found us.” “I did,” she nodded, looking around at the others. “This is my sister Lucy,” he explained, “Luce, this is Elena and Gus, that’s-“ “Mon copain, Roland,” Lucy heard a familiar and nasally voice as she turned to see who had approached, “Remy!” Her mother’s former assistant Remy, stood with open arms which she gladly moved in for a hug. “Mon beau petit chaton,” he said warmly, “You are more beautiful every day. So glad you found us.” Lucy laughed as she took a seat beside Sebastian, “It took me a moment but it was fairly self explanatory. What is this place?” “It’s ours,” Remy said proudly with a smile, and Sebastian continued, “We own it.” Lucy looked at them surprised, “Okay,” she smirked, “I’m beginning to understand…” why you needed the drug money, she wanted to add, though one look at Sebastian and he knew she understood now. “Mom and dad would have never gone for it, but we just had this idea and… here we are.” “Sebastian runs the business side of things, but I’m the creative brain,” Remy said, “The idea was to create a space so exclusive that it constantly keeps patrons wondering. When will I be invited back? Will I ever be invited back?” “You literally have to be invited?” “Exactly. You get a key, but it admits one, and one time only.” Sebastian took a long drink of whatever was in his glass, “We have sets of keys. They’re numbered so we know when someone doesn’t show up. You can’t use your key from one night for a different night.” “The guest list is carefully curated by me,” Remy clarified. Lucy mused, “How do you pick people?”
“They have to fit a certain criteria; wealth, status, a certain level of intrigue. But it goes beyond that; each group of attendees is selected based on how they mesh with the rest of the group. I got the idea watching some MTV show about scientifically matched couples. I just thought; if you go to the bar with the same group of friends every weekend, you’re likely to have the same experience. If you’re put in a room with a stranger whom you’ve secretly been matched with who shares your interests, interests maybe you don’t normally share with others, a chance meeting with said stranger could be life changing. And so we’ve created a safe space for ideas and really opening up to people. People can feel safe to step out of their box. And in similar fight club fashion, what goes on here stays here. You don’t talk about here after you’ve gone,” Remy explained. “What exactly is here called?” He smiled slyly, “Oh you don’t know it, you just experience it.” Lucy smirked, “Essentially, you’ve created an exclusive social experiment.”
Sebastian shook his head, “Maybe for Remy, but for me it’s also just a place to disengage from the outside world. You leave your worries and your cell phone at the door; have a drink, converse with new people. It’s an escape from reality.” “And the dress code is to die for,” Remy added with a wink. Lucy glanced down at her own dress, “I was sort of wondering…” Sebastian frowned as if to say ‘yeah right’ “No, that was Remy," he insisted. Lucy laughed, “Well, Remy, j’aime ca, merci.”
Sometime later, the others had left to go dance and Lucy sat with Sebastian, another Manhattan gone. “Bash, I’m sorry about what I said.” Sebastian shrugged, “Same. I don’t do that stuff anymore. Can we be onto bigger and better things?” “Of course,” Lucy replied, clinking her glass against his and took a sip. “So you hand pick people who are invited that mesh well… sorry but what the hell does that mean?” Sebastian laughed, “I know it sounds really weird. Here’s an easy example. Elena’s neighbors have been dating for 3 years, and the boyfriend is cheating on her with their interior decorator. Remy invited all three of them last weekend, separately.” “Oh my gosh, what happened?” “Well they all showed up one by one, not knowing the others would be there. Of course the boyfriend and the decorator showed up. They thought it was some secret fate meeting where they could be together. I guess it was, for a little while. It was interesting to see just how far things go when you think no one is paying attention. Then the girlfriend showed up.” “Was she pissed, was there a cat fight?” “Well alcohol was flowing, I think they ended up having a threesome, I don’t know. That’s the point though; you just don’t know how people will react to each other like that. Remy thinks he’s some sort of match maker,” Sebastian chuckled. “But really it’s just finding people with a loose connection and leaving it to chance.”
“So why am I here?” Lucy mused, wondering if she was part of some social experiment too. “Well, we haven’t really hung out lately.” “Oh so it wasn’t to set me up with a perfectly matched stranger?” “Oh Remy tried,” Sebastian nodded. “Don’t you have your eye on someone?” “No, I don’t have my eye on anyone.” Sebastian stared at her, trying to see if she was bluffing, “So you’re not pretending to not care about Ian?” “Ian?” she questioned sassily, “That’s the best you’ve got?” Her brother ran a hand over his hair and leaned back against the sofa, his arm draped lazy behind Lucy, “I’m just saying, you could at least go for a guy that appreciates you. Or does so publicly.” “Like who, your bartender?” Lucy smirked. “He’s a nice guy.” Nice to look at, she would agree with that. And maybe a little intriguing. Lucy sighed, her head tipped slightly, “This was your peace offering.” “I don’t like when we fight,” Sebastian concluded, observing the patrons in the club.
“Those two guys over there,” Sebastian pointed to the bar, “One is a writer. He’s writing a novel about a soldier suffering from PTSD. I’m sure there’s more to the plot. Anyways, the other guy he’s talking to? He’s a veteran who can relate to that particular struggle. Never met each other before tonight.” He glanced around some more, nodding toward a young couple tightly embraced on the dance floor, swaying slowly to the soft sounds of some Nina Simone song. “One works at a coffee shop near the NYU campus; the other gets coffee there every day.” He sighed a bit, “I don’t know much about people, but the ones that come here seem to like it. Something about it makes people feel like they could do just about anything.” Everyone out in the club looked so happy, talking about life and ideas, enjoying the company. Like they really were detached from their daily life stressors. “Do you think that Brad was suicidal?” “Brad? No. He was pissed, not suicidal. Homicidal, maybe,” he joked. “Don’t say that, not with the weird texts we’ve all been getting.” “Are you still getting those?” Lucy sighed. She didn’t want to talk about it further, not when she was letting her hair down for the night.
Later that evening Lucy walked arm and arm with her brother along St. Mark’s, leaning into him a little. She’d maybe had one too many Manhattans, though Lucy would argue she could never have enough of Manhattan. “So, the question remains; will I be invited back?” she said with a smirk. Sebastian smiled, “Eh, I think it’s safe to safe you have an open invitation. You just say the word.” “Is Remy gonna match me up with someone,” she joked, still finding it all a little silly, yet she was curious what it would be like to meet someone like that, someone you had an instant connection with. “Nah, I think you’ve peaked with the bartender.” Lucy shook her head, realizing after they’d crossed 3rd Ave, they were standing in the center of Astor Place. The Astor twins, standing in the center the one place in the city that held almost all of their family’s history. “I vote we get a car, go home, and make hot chocolate with the gross little marshmallows, not the gourmet kind,” Lucy stated, shifting in her heels a little. “I vote,” Sebastian countered quickly, “We get street food from that truck right there, and then we take the 6 all the way home.” Lucy stared at him, “The 6? I haven’t ridden train since like…” “You don’t even remember the last time you rode the train, which means you’re due for a train ride.” Lucy laughed. Maybe he was right. Maybe she wasn’t quite ready to get back to reality so soon. She could hang for a little while longer, eat street food, catch the 6 in the middle of the night; be just an average New Yorker for a little while longer.
It was however, enough to cause her brother to stop dealing drugs altogether. She realized he was no longer in business by the lack of calls and texts he received in a day, the way he no longer left class or the house abruptly at odd times, and he was beginning to care about trivial things again; his history assignment on prohibition, what the cool new drinks were at the bars, and where the guys from school were hanging out. Teenage stuff, essentially. Except that he was always busy doing something. Lucy tried to spend time with him, to smooth things over, but he’d tell her he was busy working on something. When she asked him what he was working on, he couldn’t seem to give her a straight answer. At least with the drug dealing, she knew why he was sneaking around, but now Lucy was just in the dark. Just so long as he wasn’t illegally selling drugs though, right? Then she could turn a blind eye and let him do whatever it was he was so invested in. Maybe that was it though: an investment. He’d needed the drug money for something, but what? Something he didn’t want their parents, or her, or anyone to know about. What the hell was he up to? It was driving her crazy.
As if she didn’t have other things to worry about. Like getting ready for college, and keeping Belle together in one piece. Also, she tried really hard to pretend like she didn’t care whatsoever what Ian was doing in his life. She thought maybe the worst part of any of it was the lying to Belle. She hadn’t told her about hooking up with Ian, or the things Ian had told her at the party. Lucy wanted to tell her, it was just finding a good time and a way to tell her that wasn’t going to make her more worried. Whoever was sending them threats may be the person who was blackmailing Belle’s step-father. Someone who knew about the affair and someone who was pissed that they’d all lied about Tiffany’s death. Lucy thought maybe it was better they didn’t know who it was and let it blow over. Maybe if none of them spoke up it would all just eventually melt away.
Lucy stepped off of the elevator in the foyer. Anya was gone for the day, and Lucy’s father was at work. Her mother was still in Paris; Lucy casually wondered if her mother would ever come back to the city. For the sake of appearances her parents remained married. Lucy thought it was a useless illusion to carry on. It wasn’t like they had ever fought or had differences, they were just both so absorbed in their work. She wondered if distance, literal and figurative, had caused them to fall out of love; if being in the same place for longer than a weekend and forced to spend time alone together would make them realize that the love was still there, they just didn’t know what to do with it. It was so still in the penthouse apartment that Lucy made the assumption Sebastian was out as well. Lucy slipped her shoes off and picked them up to bring those upstairs, stopping when she saw a small jewelry box on the glass foyer table and a note card, along with a larger box. Logically, Lucy flipped open the note card first and read one short sentence; I don’t want to lie to you anymore. It was her brother’s hand writing. Intrigued, Lucy picked up the box and opened it to find an intricate skeleton key. The top was delicately entwined with an image that looked like a clock maybe, and engraved along the length of the key was St. Marks Alley, 1st and A. Lucy didn’t need to google St. Mark’s Place; it was the East Village’s most famous street, (an anomaly among the rest of the neighborhood for its remnants of both the old money that used to be there and the hippies,) which ran for three blocks between Astor Place, their namesake, and Tompkins Square Park. Lucy knew it well enough, not St. Mark’s Alley though, that wasn’t a thing. At least she didn’t think so. She pulled the lid off the bigger box, surprised to find a dress inside. It was a Jenny Packham and it was beautiful. She would worry later about why her brother was sending her dresses to wear, but right now she was distracted by the shimmer and the silky hand.
So, what, she was just supposed to put on this dress and go to this mystery location? Right now? Tonight? Lucy glanced again at the key. Maybe the top part was a clock after all. If that were the case, the little hands would be saying 9 o’clock. She turned it over in her hand, seeing the back side was engraved with small script, Admits one, Tell no one. That ruled out bringing Belle along, though Lucy knew she was having a family dinner tonight and was busy. She sighed, looked like she was doing this little adventure alone.
Later that evening, hair done and donning the dress from the box, Lucy stood on St. Marks between 1st and Ave. A. East ways, she could see the park, the outer edge in view lit by the street lamps’ glow. What alley was he talking about? There were only technically two options, the alley south of the street or north of it. Lucy looked again at the map on her phone, changing it to satellite view. There did seem to be an opening to the north alley on the park side. Lucy walked the length of the street, keeping her trench coat wrapped tightly around her body. Ahead she saw a couple, wearing similarly over-sophisticated clothing for the East Village. Lucy followed from a little ways back. They turned the corner just as she planned to. As she rounded the corner, she didn’t see them, but saw the opening to the alley way beside a trendy bar called Lucy’s. Ironic. Lucy peeked into the alley, not seeing the couple anywhere. She walked quietly and cautiously; one did not just go into alleys, but she knew her brother wouldn’t send her anywhere that was unsafe. As she reached the center of the alley, she heard a psst over the sound of the trees rustling in the yards. She spun around, seeing a bright red door with a little viewing door, which was now open with a hand reaching out of it. “Your key.” Lucy scrambled to open her clutch and place the key into personless hand. The slat slid shut and she waited a moment, and then the door swung open, “Come on, in you get.” In the dark interior she could see someone standing there at the top of a staircase that descended into what was a basement of one of the buildings on St. Marks. It was dimly lit except for track lighting along the steps and, as suggested, in she went. She heard the person mutter behind her as she got further away, in an unmistakably gay voice, “Just stunning, so unfair.”
The lower she descended Lucy could feel the bass before she heard it, and then suddenly as she pushed open a door at the bottom, she was engulfed by the sounds of sultry jazz, something by Amy Winehouse. The band was live, the lighting cool and low, and the place was abuzz with young people like herself mingling, drinking, dancing, conversing with one another in deep thought; all dressed to the nines like a… high class vintage club. “Oh good grief, I’m in a speakeasy,” Lucy muttered, unsure of what she should do now that she was here. At the very least, she decided she would get a drink because at this point she downright needed one. Lucy approached the bar, signaling the bartender. She opened her mouth to order, but he held up a finger, and then turned away before mixing up a drink. Lucy stood and waited patiently, unsure if she should be irritated that he wouldn’t take her order or intrigued that he was now setting the drink down in front of her, a Manhattan, as if he already knew what she wanted. “Oh, thank you,” she said as she pulled her credit card out of her clutch and offered it to him, but he put up a hand to refuse, “On the house.” Lucy started, “But I-“ though she was quickly but gently interrupted, “I know who you are.” “I- okay…” “Let me see if I get this description right,” he said, leaning his forearms casually on the bar as he got closer to her. “Tall, slender, milky complexion, dark hair. Stunning.” He watched her for a moment as she blushed slightly. “Seems like I’ve got the right girl.” He wasn’t checking her out per say, there was a certain level of professionalism that he somehow maintained; it was more like he was studying her, reading her. He was being a bartender. He was very serious, though she felt his eyes were smiling. They were a beautiful sparkling blue, so softly juxtaposed against the sleek way his long wavy hair was brushed back into a bun. For a trendy, East Village bartender type, he was very, very beautiful. “Your brother is over there,” he added, gesturing across the bar to one of many alcoves with oversized comfy seating.
Lucy turned away from the bar, Manhattan in hand, and headed across the room through the loosely gathered crowds, turning back briefly to see that the bartender was still watching her. She did find her brother in an alcove with a few people around him. Sebastian smiled when she approached, standing up and took her drink to set it down before wrapping her in a hug, “You found us.” “I did,” she nodded, looking around at the others. “This is my sister Lucy,” he explained, “Luce, this is Elena and Gus, that’s-“ “Mon copain, Roland,” Lucy heard a familiar and nasally voice as she turned to see who had approached, “Remy!” Her mother’s former assistant Remy, stood with open arms which she gladly moved in for a hug. “Mon beau petit chaton,” he said warmly, “You are more beautiful every day. So glad you found us.” Lucy laughed as she took a seat beside Sebastian, “It took me a moment but it was fairly self explanatory. What is this place?” “It’s ours,” Remy said proudly with a smile, and Sebastian continued, “We own it.” Lucy looked at them surprised, “Okay,” she smirked, “I’m beginning to understand…” why you needed the drug money, she wanted to add, though one look at Sebastian and he knew she understood now. “Mom and dad would have never gone for it, but we just had this idea and… here we are.” “Sebastian runs the business side of things, but I’m the creative brain,” Remy said, “The idea was to create a space so exclusive that it constantly keeps patrons wondering. When will I be invited back? Will I ever be invited back?” “You literally have to be invited?” “Exactly. You get a key, but it admits one, and one time only.” Sebastian took a long drink of whatever was in his glass, “We have sets of keys. They’re numbered so we know when someone doesn’t show up. You can’t use your key from one night for a different night.” “The guest list is carefully curated by me,” Remy clarified. Lucy mused, “How do you pick people?”
“They have to fit a certain criteria; wealth, status, a certain level of intrigue. But it goes beyond that; each group of attendees is selected based on how they mesh with the rest of the group. I got the idea watching some MTV show about scientifically matched couples. I just thought; if you go to the bar with the same group of friends every weekend, you’re likely to have the same experience. If you’re put in a room with a stranger whom you’ve secretly been matched with who shares your interests, interests maybe you don’t normally share with others, a chance meeting with said stranger could be life changing. And so we’ve created a safe space for ideas and really opening up to people. People can feel safe to step out of their box. And in similar fight club fashion, what goes on here stays here. You don’t talk about here after you’ve gone,” Remy explained. “What exactly is here called?” He smiled slyly, “Oh you don’t know it, you just experience it.” Lucy smirked, “Essentially, you’ve created an exclusive social experiment.”
Sebastian shook his head, “Maybe for Remy, but for me it’s also just a place to disengage from the outside world. You leave your worries and your cell phone at the door; have a drink, converse with new people. It’s an escape from reality.” “And the dress code is to die for,” Remy added with a wink. Lucy glanced down at her own dress, “I was sort of wondering…” Sebastian frowned as if to say ‘yeah right’ “No, that was Remy," he insisted. Lucy laughed, “Well, Remy, j’aime ca, merci.”
Sometime later, the others had left to go dance and Lucy sat with Sebastian, another Manhattan gone. “Bash, I’m sorry about what I said.” Sebastian shrugged, “Same. I don’t do that stuff anymore. Can we be onto bigger and better things?” “Of course,” Lucy replied, clinking her glass against his and took a sip. “So you hand pick people who are invited that mesh well… sorry but what the hell does that mean?” Sebastian laughed, “I know it sounds really weird. Here’s an easy example. Elena’s neighbors have been dating for 3 years, and the boyfriend is cheating on her with their interior decorator. Remy invited all three of them last weekend, separately.” “Oh my gosh, what happened?” “Well they all showed up one by one, not knowing the others would be there. Of course the boyfriend and the decorator showed up. They thought it was some secret fate meeting where they could be together. I guess it was, for a little while. It was interesting to see just how far things go when you think no one is paying attention. Then the girlfriend showed up.” “Was she pissed, was there a cat fight?” “Well alcohol was flowing, I think they ended up having a threesome, I don’t know. That’s the point though; you just don’t know how people will react to each other like that. Remy thinks he’s some sort of match maker,” Sebastian chuckled. “But really it’s just finding people with a loose connection and leaving it to chance.”
“So why am I here?” Lucy mused, wondering if she was part of some social experiment too. “Well, we haven’t really hung out lately.” “Oh so it wasn’t to set me up with a perfectly matched stranger?” “Oh Remy tried,” Sebastian nodded. “Don’t you have your eye on someone?” “No, I don’t have my eye on anyone.” Sebastian stared at her, trying to see if she was bluffing, “So you’re not pretending to not care about Ian?” “Ian?” she questioned sassily, “That’s the best you’ve got?” Her brother ran a hand over his hair and leaned back against the sofa, his arm draped lazy behind Lucy, “I’m just saying, you could at least go for a guy that appreciates you. Or does so publicly.” “Like who, your bartender?” Lucy smirked. “He’s a nice guy.” Nice to look at, she would agree with that. And maybe a little intriguing. Lucy sighed, her head tipped slightly, “This was your peace offering.” “I don’t like when we fight,” Sebastian concluded, observing the patrons in the club.
“Those two guys over there,” Sebastian pointed to the bar, “One is a writer. He’s writing a novel about a soldier suffering from PTSD. I’m sure there’s more to the plot. Anyways, the other guy he’s talking to? He’s a veteran who can relate to that particular struggle. Never met each other before tonight.” He glanced around some more, nodding toward a young couple tightly embraced on the dance floor, swaying slowly to the soft sounds of some Nina Simone song. “One works at a coffee shop near the NYU campus; the other gets coffee there every day.” He sighed a bit, “I don’t know much about people, but the ones that come here seem to like it. Something about it makes people feel like they could do just about anything.” Everyone out in the club looked so happy, talking about life and ideas, enjoying the company. Like they really were detached from their daily life stressors. “Do you think that Brad was suicidal?” “Brad? No. He was pissed, not suicidal. Homicidal, maybe,” he joked. “Don’t say that, not with the weird texts we’ve all been getting.” “Are you still getting those?” Lucy sighed. She didn’t want to talk about it further, not when she was letting her hair down for the night.
Later that evening Lucy walked arm and arm with her brother along St. Mark’s, leaning into him a little. She’d maybe had one too many Manhattans, though Lucy would argue she could never have enough of Manhattan. “So, the question remains; will I be invited back?” she said with a smirk. Sebastian smiled, “Eh, I think it’s safe to safe you have an open invitation. You just say the word.” “Is Remy gonna match me up with someone,” she joked, still finding it all a little silly, yet she was curious what it would be like to meet someone like that, someone you had an instant connection with. “Nah, I think you’ve peaked with the bartender.” Lucy shook her head, realizing after they’d crossed 3rd Ave, they were standing in the center of Astor Place. The Astor twins, standing in the center the one place in the city that held almost all of their family’s history. “I vote we get a car, go home, and make hot chocolate with the gross little marshmallows, not the gourmet kind,” Lucy stated, shifting in her heels a little. “I vote,” Sebastian countered quickly, “We get street food from that truck right there, and then we take the 6 all the way home.” Lucy stared at him, “The 6? I haven’t ridden train since like…” “You don’t even remember the last time you rode the train, which means you’re due for a train ride.” Lucy laughed. Maybe he was right. Maybe she wasn’t quite ready to get back to reality so soon. She could hang for a little while longer, eat street food, catch the 6 in the middle of the night; be just an average New Yorker for a little while longer.
