Never Again

I looked around. Charlotte, my roommate, was stood to my left happily chatting away to some new big-shot model. To our right stood the rest of the party guests, sipping their wine and chardonnay, conversing amongst themselves. Leaning against the railings on the balcony I surveyed the people that surrounded me. All of them pretentious, each egotistic and full with snobbery. Glancing at the drink in my hand I knocked it back, feeling the metallic liquid trickle down my throat.

“Fletcher!” cried a voice. Spinning, I noticed Ross Potter approach me, obviously very drunk. He stumbled before pulling me towards him, kissing both of my cheeks twice. “How on earth are you? I’ve not seen you for months!”

“It’s lovely to see you too,” I smiled.

Ross started to laugh. He cocked his head back and looked at me, throwing me a wink. “You’re far too polite in this business, Fletcher!” He called, “You’ve got to let others know what you’re thinking!”

“Okay.” I said. “I think you’re an awful drunk.”

He flapped his arms, unceremoniously dropping his glass. It fell to the floor and smashed, glass splattering the ground. He took my hand and pulled me away from the roof terrace and inside to the hall. “Aren’t you drinking?” He asked, gesturing to my empty glass.

“I’ve already had one too many.”

“Which is not enough!” He cried, his British accent creeping into his intonation. Ross had been living in New York City for the past fifteen years, working for the same magazine. He was the best of the best. Yet his ability to hold his liqueur failed miserably. “What are you drinking? Champers?”

“I’m fine. Really.” I insisted, pulling out of his grip so suddenly that he stumbled yet again. The drinks didn’t help. “I’m driving tonight.”

He tittered. “No one drives in New York City! Get a cab!”

“Yes, well.” I fumbled, trying to find some excuse to leave. It was Ross’s party, and as one of his ’favourite girls’ he’d politely put me and a friend on the guest list. Charlotte was currently making her rounds. Before the party she told me she planned on leaving with as many numbers as she could. I spotted her talking to a handsome male at the bar. When Charlotte was on the prowl she moved fast.

“You’ve been here a year!” Rose said, brandishing a full glass of champagne. He set it in my hand, “Let’s celebrate!”

My smile faded. It had been one entire year since I’d moved to New York City. At first I’d hoped to start my degree all over but after thinking back over all I’d accomplished, I’d sought out someone to help me further my designs - and Ross was the very man. He helped me get myself started, giving me an office and even the letting for a small boutique five blocks south of Times Square. My dresses were selling - we were on back order. Ross had even featured me in his magazine twice - a model wearing one of my dresses on the front cover. It was all the publicity I had needed.

And with me being pinned as ‘Joe Jonas’ ex-fiancé’ well… that helped too.

As I caught myself wandering back to the past I quickly gulped down my alcohol. It burned my throat and made my head spin. I couldn’t remember how many I’d downed - six? Seven?

“You’ll be getting a cab tonight!” Ross chortled, swinging an arm around my shoulders. I smiled and blinked. Charlotte was now approaching a tall blonde.

“I best be going.” I set the glass flute down and walked away to Ross’s protest. Heading towards Charlotte I pulled her back as she successfully snagged the male’s number. “Char! C’mon, can we go, please!”

As we walked away she frowned. “I thought you lived for these kind of things.”

“I do!” I gestured to my poor feet. “But these heels are killing me. There is no way in hell I’m walking back to Chelsea in these.” I thought of the forty blocks we’d have to walk.

She rolled her eyes. “We can get the subway.” She said simply. “Have you got 2$ on you?”

I waved my purse in her face. “Of course,” I said, “let’s just go now before I die and have huge blisters on my feet.”

“Sure. Most of these guys are boring, rich, gorgeous people anyway.” She answered. Turning to me, she grinned excitedly. “Can we please go to another one?”

In my drunken state I nodded. “Let’s just get home.”

And we left the party, stumbling into the elevator, ready to make our way home.

XXX

“I am never drinking again.” I groaned the following morning, walking into the small, cramped apartment. We were paying a bomb for this place. In NYC you had to shed $3000 per month for an apartment the size of a closet. Walking into the living room I collapsed next to Charlotte on the sofa. “Ever again.”

She laughed. “And this is why I don’t drink.” She reminded me with a playful smirk.

I nestled back into the sofa. The TV was flickering. “It’s like eight-am, what are you watching?”

“E! News,” she said simply, listening to some scandal that involved Ashton Kutcher and his family. I yawned and covered my mouth with my hand when I heard it. I knew that voice. My eyes found the television and I watched as he spoke, a smile playing on his face. Beside him stood a pretty blonde - some Disney pop princess. They beamed.

“..and I’m really happy. Everything’s going to work. It’s incredibly different from last time. I’m in a really good place right now with the band and with my life. Taylor and I are really happy to announce our engagement,” said a smiling Joe Jonas to the camera.

And in the next shot, a close-up of Taylor Swift’s hand, I spotted it. A large, glittering diamond. I would recognise that ring anywhere, for I had worn it only twelve months prior - it was the ring Joe had given me.