How to Murder Your Life: A Memoir by Cat Marnell

Author:Cat Marnell [Marnell, Cat]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2017-01-31T05:00:00+00:00

* * *

And now it was October, and Marco was calling all of the time, wanting to catch up and check out my new place. I hadn’t seen him since before I left for rehab.

“You can’t come over yet,” I told him on the phone. “I’m still getting to know my roommates.” He was too wild. Also, I didn’t need him leading me into temptation. I was Cat 2.0, remember? Well, sort of.

“I’ll have a margarita,” I told the waiter at a packed Mexican restaurant on Jane Street. I was at dinner with my new roommate, Becky, who was blond, cute, and from Chicago. We talked about guys and about our jobs; I told her nothing about my past. I felt so healthy sitting there eating an enchilada with a girlfriend! So when Becky ordered a drink, I didn’t hesitate to order one, too. This is how normal people live, I thought, swirling my straw in the glass. Then I took my first sip of alcohol in over two months, and it didn’t feel like a “relapse” at all.

By ten o’clock, I was sloshed after just a few drinks. Shitfaced! That was unusual for me. It was probably because my tolerance was low after rehab, but back then, I blamed this on being pill free. When I took Adderall, I figured—as I stumbled home—I could down vodka all night and still be bright-eyed at four in the morning when the clubs closed! But without it, I was a messy drunk. That wasn’t going to do.

On the evening of October sixth, my magazine celebrated the publication of The Lucky Guide to Mastering Any Style at the Bowery Hotel. Like many of my coworkers, I was even in the book (not by choice), wearing a French ingenue–meets–rock ’n’ roll getup: a boatneck striped top and Daryl K rubber leggings. Yes, rubber leggings.

My book party outfit was much better. I borrowed a violet silk slip dress from the fashion closet. The editorial assistants had been allowed to duck out of work early and go downtown together, before the bosses. When we arrived at the hotel, the fete had barely started. There was an open bar. Two of them! I went to the one in the back, where no one would be able to see me before I saw them, and started drinking.

By eight o’clock, the party was bumping. I saw everyone arrive: JGJ walked in with Kim and Andrea Linett, Lucky’s creative director (it was she who had styled me in the rubber pants). Charlotte was there, since she’d written the book. Charlotte’s mom was there. I’d never met her. Gee, didn’t they look—

“MISS!” Suddenly someone was upon me—whipping my back and head! “YOU’RE ON FIRE! YOU’RE ON FIRE!”

“WHAT?” I shrieked, twisting to see. “AAAAUGH!”

My hair was on fire! And a bartender was beating me with a dishrag. Then, just as fast, it was out. Oh my God.

I looked around wildly. Jean Godfrey-June and Kim France hadn’t seen. They were all on the other side of the room! No one had seen, actually.

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