Find Me Gone by Sarah Meuleman

Author:Sarah Meuleman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-10-22T16:00:00+00:00

Boom Boom Room

New York, 2014

Everyone loves the Boom Boom Room with its golden ceilings, endless windows, and killer views of nighttime New York. Not to mention the private hot tubs, to which you can retire with as many people as you want for as long as you want. Boom boom till your body turns flaccid and your fingertips scrunch into numb water wrinkles. The bubbles in those tubs have borne witness to the most unlikely trysts: Bon Jovi and Lil’ Kim, Lindsay Lohan and Corpus J.

This is where Leonardo DiCaprio swung from a vine at a jungle party and Jennifer Lopez cartwheeled across the gilded bar. An amusement park for the rich and famous with rides the plebs down below can only dream of. Hannah dished half the dirt and maintained a discreet silence about the rest. After ten years she could gauge the sleaze threshold of her gossip-grazing readers to perfection. No running mascara, punctured arms, or celebrity slapstick. No slithering across toilet floors slick with vomit or slipping on pills discarded next to the shagged-out jacuzzi. They want Timberlake as he struts through the door in his crisp suit and his dicky bow. They want the It girls flaunting their designer dresses in mint condition, before they are mauled by hands too important to refuse.

The club is invitation only but Bashful can bring anyone he wants, including Hannah, under duress. They are sitting in an alcove on mocha leather sofas and he is following the showbiz party code to perfection: drinks ordered by the table and extravagance designed to boost the credibility of your star rating at all times.

God, he looks delectable in his immaculate white shirt, and jeans that are molded to his slender hips. Hard to believe he’s the same shabby soul she met slumped on a beaten-up Chesterfield in a Bushwick bar. Tonight the grimy beer glasses have been exchanged for champagne flutes. The more he drinks, the less bashful he gets. He is playing Harvey James, as seen on TV. And she is not playing along.

Harvey is attracting an audience: A bevy of shiny young things beat a path to his wide-open door. “Say, aren’t you . . . ?” You bet your sweet ass I am and what are you drinking? She had hoped to lean on him this evening, snuggle up to him and watch the world go by. She wanted to let the empty chatter ripple past her like water, to emerge into the night unsullied. But now there are three adolescent girls, a faux-lesbian couple and an off-duty waitress between her and him. “Did you know my girlfriend once dated George Clooney?” Hannah orders something strong, sweet, and fast. Wait, make that a double.

He insisted that she come out with him, that arriving home to find her waiting every evening was getting him down. The domestic sex slave routine was wearing thin. His words broke the spell. Some relationships only exist as long as they are undefined. Label them and they are no longer viable.

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