Today's Reading
This earned a nod. "Oh, nice, I should say hi." I, too, nodded, thinking I was happy to help, happy to be here. He smiled and extended a hand. "Archer Crofton."
I stared at his hand, forgetting all social cues. "I know," I said, then regretted it, because of course he didn't remember me. "I mean, sorry, yes, I'm Etta's friend. Ren?" As I said my name, I sort of swallowed it, making a face as if gulping a vitamin.
He nodded again in that vague way, implying either faint recognition or a really good front, and I wanted to die a little when he said, "I thought you looked familiar."
Even though it was probably a lie, I smiled, but before I had the opportunity to respond, to insert myself in the conversation and ask, "What have you been up to? It's been a minute, right?" or attempt to sketch a convincing image of a shared world, one that found each of us as equals at the same party, his gaze slipped from mine and that was when I saw he was grinning at a woman with straight black hair lounging on a cognac leather sofa.
"Sorry, one second," he said, already walking off, but I knew better. I wouldn't be seeing him again.
I watched as Archer kissed the woman on the cheek, slid his hand down her back, this interaction between them so obviously comfortable and familiar. She was wearing a silk black shirtdress and platform sandals, sipping a pale-colored drink from a coupe glass with a sprig of something floating along the surface, rosemary or thyme or even dill, I had no idea.
I hung around for another twenty minutes, like some listless creature, waiting for Etta. When she returned, she'd say something like, "Shit, sorry, I hope I wasn't gone too long?" and I'd say, "Oh, no, not at all," and then we'd share a cab back to Manhattan and she'd tell me all about the DJ and his "avoidant attachment style," and I'd listen dutifully, grateful she hadn't forgotten about me.
But ten minutes after midnight, there was still no sign of her. When Sam reappeared in the kitchen, all slack-jawed and glassy-eyed and resembling, I realized, a hammerhead shark, I asked, "Have you seen Etta by any chance?"
He looked at me as if I'd spoken another language and reintroduced himself.
"Hi," I said. "I'm Ren. Etta's friend?"
He nodded. He didn't remember.
"Yeah, sorry, have you seen her, actually?" A pause—was I not making sense? "She's been missing for a while," I said. "I'm kind of worried."
"Oh," he said, breaking into a lazy grin, showing off the crooked keyboard of his teeth. "They left."
"They...what? Sorry, who's they?"
"Etta and Rex."
Rex. Of course that would be his name.
"Sorry, I've been standing here the whole time. Wouldn't I have seen them leave?"
"You're the babysitter?" he asked.
He was trying to be funny, I knew, but I had nothing left to give.
He pointed toward the windows on the other side of the loft, to the hall I imagined led to a slew of bedrooms or bathrooms or somewhere more private. "There's another elevator back there," he said, like this bit of information should have been obvious. Then he retrieved a glass from a cabinet and joined his friends across the room.
I chugged the rest of my drink. Archer's arm was still draped across the shoulders of the woman he had kissed hello, both of them visibly captivated by their conversation. Everyone had since gravitated to the far side of the apartment, and the music had become synthesized beats with no lyrics. The only other straggler in the kitchen was busy rummaging through a mostly empty refrigerator, thrilled by a discovery of animal crackers underneath the sink, so I was invisible as I slipped out the front.
Outside, I texted Etta: Hey, everything ok? I called twice, left a voice mail, sent another message accessorized with five question marks. Should I just go home? But this last message wasn't delivered and I guessed her phone must have died.
...
