Wild Nights

The thing I love about Texas is that you can’t strip the wild from the taste of the air. 

I stand on the front steps of my home, the colonial columns meticulously polished and gleaming in the bright light of the moon. The darkened porch, shaded from the prying white eye of the moon yawns into the sticky night. My satin black dress begins at my low back and drapes down the two porch stairs like a tongue slithering from the maw of a beast. The thick air quickly forms droplets on my back and pricks under the nest of braids nestled at the base of my neck. Taking a deep breath of the humid, cedar air, I carefully bunch the satin in my left hand and step down carefully toward the purring air-conditioned car. I slide gently into the backseat, the driver shutting the door behind me with the practiced ease of a lifelong professional. The car begins to crunch along the gravel and out from under the outstretched oaks and I slide my phone out of my small bag. 

A small bag signals I am in need of a husband, doesn’t it? No one's keys or cigarettes to hold for them so their suit pockets don’t bulge? Twenty-nine and no husband just screams I’m headed for a life of career bitch doesn’t it? I chew at a piece of skin on the edge of my manicured thumbnail, the fresh acetone stinging the end of my tongue. 

The car glides in tasteful silence over the bridge and I glance out to the East and toward my favorite view. Austin sits suffocating beneath low clouds that seem to press the August heat in even closer and the cool dark of the Colorado River snakes toward the city buildings jutting up in the distance like sparkling jagged stones into the night sky.

I think humans must’ve been created to build cities and run empires. There is no feeling like the awe of a skyline, is there? As much as I hated growing up in the dirty, urine-tinged chaos of Queens, nothing compared to the quiet power of the Manhattan skyline. As a child, I loved to watch the endless stretch of city buildings light up, and although I could only see the famous skyline if I stood in that one front corner of my apartment living room, it felt like a glimpse into another world. So many nights I spent standing on my tiptoes, waiting to see what color the Empire State Building would be that night when it realized the sun was gone and it must carry the torch into the sleepless night. 

Yet no skyline has ever felt quite like home the way Austin’s has. The city all hugged together in one bunch, looking out over the distant blue hills and endless expanse of land as far as the eye could see. The stark contrast between Texas’ expanse of grassy flats dotted with cattle, and the little pocket of rolling hills, twisted oaks, and raw deep emerald green of Austin, just makes this capital city feel like it was born from a hero’s bargain of an ancient myth. 

I guess the magic of a city is often that it’s not the one that raised you. I can’t even count the amount of people I’ve met that get wide-eyed when they ask where I’m from, and the amount of times I’ve heard Oh yes, I do hear the New York accent now! You want a cup of cawfee, right? Hey as long as you’re not Californian.. you’re welcome here!  New York had made me aware, but paranoid; tough and cultured, but so very tired. And the gentle and proud nature of Texans, the friendliness of every transplant here looking to create a new life, and the wild quiet of the land has been a relieving exhale for me. This is where I built my business, built my home, and built myself. 

The car slows as it pulls up to the venue. Spotlights throw warm light up the massive walls of the building and a sea of toned, expensive bodies draped in black and white mingle with each other and saunter through the front doors. I take a deep breath and tuck a nonexistent loose hair behind my ear as my driver opens the door. The sounds of excited chatter and tongues already loosening up from alcohol rush toward me.

I stifle my smile at the event’s success. I’ve learned by now that having money means a life of nothing you haven’t seen, and boredom is the facial expression of the rich. I stifle the shaking in my hand and grip my bag close to my waist

Everything needs to go perfectly tonight. 

_____________________________________________________________________

I step elegantly up the concrete stairs in no perceived rush. The woman shrewdly checking off names at the door gives me a nod of recognition, as I slide into the building. The lobby is filled with people absentmindedly stirring olives on silver toothpicks into their cloudy martinis, men looking over their shoulder at women far younger than them, women pretending not to see their men doing so, and the distant thrumming of soft jazz coming from inside the ballroom. An amazing turnout… I mean the room is absolutely packed. Servers in perfectly ironed black outfits snake through the crowd with small shot glasses, silently pushing the purpose of tonight’s event upon the crowd, an Austin tequila made with blue agave grown just below the city limits where the earth lies flatter, dustier, and wilder. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the alcohol industry in Texas, is if it’s not born and bottled here, it won’t last long on the market. The ceilings arc high overhead into a medieval point but are elegantly contrasted by the modernized floor-to-ceiling windows displaying uninterrupted views of downtown glittering across the black river. The height of elegance in the 21st Century is to perfectly execute the perception that you are in a century from far before, and this party has delivered. 

I walk through the crowds and grab a small snack off of a passing hors d’oeuvres plate. Biting into the warm crust of bread layered in soft white brie and sugary blueberry jam, I walk through the main hall doors. Even after all these years, I still get a little flutter of nervousness with these events and that quiet voice inside hoping it all goes according to plan. 

I make my way to my table, prominently placed near the stage, as the rest of the guests begin to stream in slowly and find their overpriced seats. As the last of the guests find their seats, the lights dim, and Jack Dowry steps onto the stage, flashing an expensive smile and mouthing a thank you at the woman in a dusty black polo and work pants crouched down out of sight and adjusting the mic for him. 

Giving recognition and thanks to the working class when you have all the money one could ever wish for, just makes a girl swoon, doesn’t it? The woman’s cheeks blush red in the warmth of his recognition, as she gives one last tighten and scurries off the stage. 

He begins with a warm welcome, and I glance sidelong at the room and see the crowd captivated, their eyes glistening and cheeks swelled up in a smile. “…I could never have done it without the support of this community, the commitment of everyone in this company…” Jack Dowry, a celebrity to excite celebrities who nothing excites anymore.

“…And to my family who couldn’t make it here tonight.. thank you for all you’ve done to make me into the man I am…” 

I, of course, am not listening to the speech, and continue to tap tap tap my fingernail like a steady heartbeat against the untouched glass of tequila in front of me. One ice cube, perfectly salted rim, and not more than a finger of viscous liquid swirls around the bottom of the glass.

“…I never thought in a million years I would see this vision come to life…”

The security guard standing at the base of the stage checks his watch and whispers to his colleague as I lean forward to catch his whisper as it fades under the booming of Jack’s speech, “I think Mr. Dowry will have to walk around the front exit. I just tried this side door and it’s jamming.” 

Quiet anger spreads throughout my tense body. This is not how Jack is supposed to exit after his speech. Walking up through the crowd like a spectacle and exiting into the lobby? Absolutely not. 

I do not make the kind of money I do to not deliver the type of service expected at these types of events. 

“Excuse me” I smoothly whisper with a smile to the guests around me. I walk quickly along the gilded wall of the room, my black dress rippling along the fabric of shadows lining the walls. The crowd bursts into applause as Jack concludes his speech and begins to step down the stage. He gently claps the security guard on the back as he is redirected up the middle of the aisle, taking the redirection in stride and making it look as though it was planned all along. I slide out the main door as the guests’ voices begin to lift into the air again and their glasses are swiftly refilled by skilled servers. 

No. This is not how I like my events to go. Of course I can think on my feet, but I’d rather dance to a choreography. I have never had a client unhappy with an event they hired me for, and I will absolutely not start tonight.

I swiftly assess the lobby. A few servers idly chatting in the corner, wiping trays down, refilling glasses with ice and cracking open new bottles to pour. Good, no guests. 

Jack exits into the lobby and I swiftly come up beside him, looping my arm in his and steer him toward a side staircase. 

“Mr. Dowry!” I say sweetly as I guide him away from the room and out of the possible view of a guest seeing him confused and aimless in the lobby. 

“We have a car waiting for you to take you to your hotel. You’ll have just enough time to change, freshen up, and be fashionably late to the afterparty.”

“O-oh” Jack stutters out as I press my body in closer to his. “Sounds great, thank you.. Miss..?”

“And oh! So sorry!” I cut in and blush as I hand over a green bottle of fizzling water, "Here’s some chilled Pellegrino for you, sir! You must be quite thirsty after giving a speech to a room that size!” 

“Thank you doll,” He smiles as he grows quickly accustomed to the attention from a beautiful woman, who is clearly in the position to serve him and attend to every need. Something I know he is very used to. He gulps down a few swallows and looks toward the large metal door leading from the dark staircase into the street when his hand wraps around the door handle and his knuckles go white. His other hand rushes to his throat. His face shifts an ugly purple-red and his eyes widen in primal fear. I push off of him as his knees lower to the floor and he reaches out to grab for help. I quickly snatch the bottle he dropped on the floor and lift it with a black silk handkerchief, sliding it into my purse. Taking advantage of the small opening his weight has created against the door, I slip silently out into the steamy night air.