The Nightworld - Jack Blaine [6]
“I think you better call again.”
The guy’s having none of me. “I’ve already confirmed with the lady.”
“Well.” I take out my cell phone. “Either you can call her, or I will.” I wait, hoping there is no way he can know that I don’t even have Lara’s number. He doesn’t budge, so I start tapping on the screen of my phone.
“Very well.” He snarls the words, and turns back to his phone, stabbing in numbers. “Ms. Hanover. Yes. The person you indicated had approval . . . yes, that Nick person. He is insisting that his friend must be on the list as well. What? Well, one moment.” He turns back to me and gestures toward Charlie. “What’s his name?”
“Charlie.”
He turns back, and we can hear him say Charlie’s name. After a few seconds he hangs up the phone. I steel myself, because as much as I want to go to Lara’s party, if she doesn’t let Charlie in, I don’t know what I’ll do.
The guy looks at us with that same disgusted expression. But I can tell we won by the peeved expression on his face. He doesn’t even bother to tell us we got the okay, just shrugs in annoyance and motions for us to go on up. “Number 1201,” he says.
I give him an exaggerated military salute and snap my heels together. “See you later.”
We head for the bank of elevators. When we get inside, Charlie looks at the buttons and his eyes get all wide, like he’s seeing God or something. “She’s all the way at the top. Wonder if it’s the penthouse.”
I look too, and sure enough, there are only twelve floors. “Top floor doesn’t mean it’s a penthouse. I bet there are lots of apartments on twelve.”
But when the doors whoosh open, we spill out into a small landing with a table, a small sofa, and one door with the number 1201 on it.
“Penthouse,” breathes Charlie, like he’s seeing a starlet in person.
I reach up to lift the knocker, a brass lion, no less, and the door whips opens before I can even touch the lion’s mane. Radiohead blares out, along with cigarette smoke and laughter. It looks like there’s quite a crowd already here. Some guy I don’t recognize looms in the doorway.
“Damn, I wore the wrong shirt,” mumbles Charlie, looking down at his Death Cab for Cutie. He has the largest collection of band T-shirts in the known universe. I know just the Radiohead shirt he’s thinking of because I’ve seen him wear it a million times.
“You Nick?” The guy is older than us—he looks like he must be in college. I think I recognize him from Lara’s Facebook photos, but I’m not sure.
“That’s me.” I wonder if he’s Lara’s boyfriend. I bet. I bet she just invited me to the party out of pity or something.
“Nick!” Lara bounces up, laughing, and puts her arm around the guy’s waist. “So glad you could come!” She looks amazing. I mean, she always looks amazing, but there’s something different about her tonight. She’s dressed up, sure, but cool and relaxed too. There’s an easiness to her smile and an amused look in her eye, like she just heard a joke. She’s on her home turf now, and it makes her more beautiful than ever.
“Charlie, you too! Glad you’re here. Is Brian acting like the bouncer again?” She mock-punches the guy in the side. He grabs her and messes up her hair. And—another reason I think she is the coolest chick ever—she doesn’t care.
Lara smiles at me and Charlie. “Brian doesn’t bite. He just likes to act all big-brother-y when he’s home from college.” She wrinkles her nose. “Come on in.”
He’s her brother! I hear angels singing somewhere. We follow her into a room with one wall made entirely of windows. There’s a huge flat screen mounted on the opposite wall, flashing music videos. A couch and some chairs furnish the room, but they’re not like the furniture in my living room. Clearly we’re looking at a different level of couch and chairs, from a different level of store, if they even came from a store. I bet they got delivered from some designer place. After they got picked