Like I said, everyone was drunk. They had been drinking since we last saw them. What’s his name, Iago? That’s what I’m going to call him – he’s the one whose sister was pulled up onto the stage at that one dirty ass, industrial strip club we went to (The Devil’s Lair) – he came up behind me and started rubbing his dick against my asshole.
I don’t really like him right now. He has not been the best to Musette. He and Trisha both are on some sort of midfield position in Musette’s kitchen, where they feel they don’t have to do very much work and get to boss everyone around.
We have gotten along fine in the past, but Musette’s dislike for him, coupled with the stories she tells me and the way she tells them, makes me dislike him. He must not understand. How could he?
He comes up to me, while I am standing behind Musette at the bar. He just stands there, staring at me and wobbling around, dancing drunkenly, smiling. Poor kid.
Musette keeps looking back at me, telling me to check my coat, and I kept telling her I am not going to do that. There is a special menu for people from chef’s week. All the drinks are free. There are free Grey Goose shots, and Cherry Noire. That’s what I’m getting, a Grey Goose, because I’ve never had it before; I did, however, break an entire case of it once.