Asylum

Chapter 35: Be Careful with That

It seemed Dusty was the only bartender to beat me to Asylum, but he was always the first one there. The tall, bearded, ponytailed California native was built like he could have been one of the club's bouncers, but he clearly considered himself to be management material and had been looking to impress Stefano ever since he started at Asylum. I thought he was doing a pretty good job – though he'd only worked here for about four months, he was already one of only three bartenders (the others being Bruno and I myself) who worked every night at the club, and his station was second from the front door.

He looked up briefly from his prep work when a blast of cold air announced my entrance.

"That's gotta be a first," he commented, nodding his head at my cello case. "Decided to give up bartending and start busking?"

"Thought about it," I quipped evasively, wiping my wet Nikes on the doormats, "but the atmosphere here is so much better than a street corner, especially at this time of year."

"So what's that for?" Dusty asked, refusing to be put off. He had now abandoned his paring knife and pile of limes and was giving me his undivided, and obviously flirtatious, attention.

Damn. "Late night string quartet rehearsal," I improvised, not slowing my stride to the break room as I passed him. "Only two months 'til the Met Gala and our Schoenberg isn't even close to smooth enough," I tossed over my shoulder. Hopefully that explanation contained at least one too many unfamiliar and off-putting references for him to follow up on. At least it shut him up for the moment.

Dusty was not the only one to beat me to the club – Glory was seated on the sofa in the break room, staring at her shoes, leaning forward onto her elbows as though hoping that the weight of her head would pull her into a standing position. She turned her head the fraction of a rotation necessary to see who'd just barged in, then collapsed back into the cushions, eyes closed, when she saw it was me.

"Rough night?" I asked, surprised that she was there, too. I looked around for a place to tuck the cello, hoping to avoid more questions.

"You could say that," my friend agreed. "I broke up with Shane."

I paused with my coat half off. "For reals?"

"Real reals," Glory confirmed. "Although, he might have kinda broken up with me first, though not in so many words." She opened her eyes to check that she had my attention. "He spent the night at that skank's apartment last night."

"What?! The receptionist from the dealership? How do you know? Did he tell you?"

"Of course not, 'cause he's a complete chicken shit in addition to a cheating, heartless asshole. He told me he was working late, but I guess he forgot that I can use Find My to see where his phone is.

"So when I was heading out of the club last night, I checked to see if he was still at the dealership or already back home, but he was in Queens."

"I don't suppose it's possible that he had some kind of legitimate business in Queens?" I asked hopefully.

"Ha! At 4:40 in the morning? All I could see on the app was the intersection, which I looked up on Google Maps and it showed an apartment building, and I started freaking out, and then ..." she trailed off.

"Then ...?" I prompted.

"Well, Sterling walked out after I did and saw that I was freaking and asked me what was wrong and I told him and he asked if Shane knew anyone in the building and I said I didn't know and he offered to find out who lived there and I gave him my phone and he did a bunch of stuff on it with, like, thumbs flying and after a few minutes he handed it back and there was a list with some names on it and he asked me if any of them looked familiar and her name was fucking on it!"