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“No need.” There’s a voice from thestaircase, and a balding guy in a pinstripe suit arrives. It’s oneof Brent’s old college friends. Paxton, I think.
I’ve never liked him. He’s from old money,the kind Brent is always trying to impress. Whenever we’ve hung outtogether, Paxton always drinks too much and gropes thewaitresses—and the way he looks at me makes my skin crawl.
He comes over to greet us, shaking Brent’shand and then kissing me on both cheeks. His hands linger on mywaist too long. I try not to shrink away.
“Are you ready?” he asks, a gleam in hiseyes.
“She will be,” Brent answers for me, beforeI can get a word out. “I can’t wait to look around. See if thisplace lives up to the hype.”
The receptionist passes us some legal formsto sign. Brent scribbles without a glance, but I try to read thesmall print.
The Underground will not be held liable fordamage or injury.... you hereby waive all rights to legalaction....
“What is this place again?” I ask, my heartbeating faster.
Brent fixes me with a look. “Don’t worryabout it.”
Still, I hesitate. He sighs. “Are you goingto be a fucking pussy again?” he whispers, an edge to his voicenow. He glances to where Paxton is trying to flirt with thereceptionist. “Don’t fuck this up for me, OK? I need him to investin my new big idea.”
Brent gets a new big idea every week. Andeach time, he swears, this is the one: the company that will launchhim back to his former glory.
I sign the waiver with a shaking hand. Iwish I hadn’t come out tonight, but Brent insisted. Ever since helost his money, he’s been living at my apartment: driving my car,using my credit cards. He loses his temper all the time now,ranting about his ‘bad luck’ and all the people who’ve conspired tobring him down. I miss the way he used to be, but I know he’s stilla good man under all that frustration.
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