"Sorry. You might think I'm someone else," I told him. Fuck, did he know who I was? Why was I so popular with bartenders?
"Nate?" he asked. "Hulopoe suite? You're here from LA?" I nodded slowly.
Clearly, this guy knew who I was. I tried, I really did, to remember this guy, but I couldn't. I was hungover when I'd woken up, so I had been drinking, apparently here, but this guy? Couldn't pick him out of a lineup. He had black hair that was cropped really close to his scalp. We could have been the same age. Hawai'ian. Pretty strong accent.
"What'd you put in that Fireball last night?" I asked jokingly.
"Are you okay? I had to cut you off last night when you wouldn't leave. You closed the bar down."
"Hey, whatever I did, I'm sorry. I was blacked out. I don't remember anything."
"I can see that," he said, laughing. "I'm Keno.”
“Do I have to write someone a check? Did I fight someone?”
“No, you were just very thirsty. Hey, sorry about your ex-wife.” I cringed. I had told him about Kirsten? Oh God. Had I started crying or something? Fuck, I couldn’t believe it.
“Listen, whatever I said, let’s just call it drunken ramblings and start over,” I offered hopefully.
“You want it stricken from the record, consider it gone,” Keno said with an easy smile. “How’s your head?”
“Pounding.”
“You really put it away last night. I practically had to carry you back to the suite.”
“You took me upstairs? God, I hope you bought me dinner first,” I joked. He laughed. He seemed like a cool guy. I could deal with a blackout. At least no one was suing me.
“Have you eaten yet?”
“Not yet. I’m trying to get rid of this hangover. I feel like shit.”
“Here, try some of this,” he said. He poured a cloudy liquid into a glass and topped it off with something clear. He slid it over to me.
“What is it?”
“Hangover cure.” I picked up the glass and brought it cautiously to my mouth. It smelled sweet. I took a sip. There was coconut in there and something acidic, but I couldn’t place it.
“Drink, drink. All of it,” he urged. I frowned and downed the liquid. It burned slightly, making me think there might have been a little alcohol in there. I finished it and put the glass down.
“You’ll be good as new in no time,” he told me.
“Thanks. I’ll see you around,” I said, leaving before I started drinking and we had a repeat of the night before. I still hadn’t found anywhere to eat. I walked back to the main building, actually feeling a little better. Whatever island potion Keno gave me worked, I thought. I thought vaguely about going back to the suite and just ordering in-room again.
“Oh, Mr. Stone,” I heard someone say, stopping me in my tracks. In front of me was the front desk girl. What was her name? Abby.
“Hey,” I said.
“How is everything? How was your morning?” she asked. My morning? I slept through it because I had gotten blackout drunk the night before. Oh, and then I’d gotten up and shot heroin in my veins.
“Fine,” I said to her.
“Is everything okay?” she asked. My headache was finally gone, but no, everything was pretty fucked up. Standing there with her looking at me I felt like she knew somehow, and it felt like shit. I nodded and turned my back to her, heading for the elevator to take me up to my room.
Once I got inside, I went straight for the bed where I had my kit. I picked it up, suddenly torn about shooting up again. I was in such an awesome hotel; this place was way too nice to come and do shit like this. The staff seemed like really good people. They deserved guests who weren’t coming here to get high.
I started opening it up before I stopped and dropped it on the bed again. I left the room. If it was far away from me, I wouldn’t feel like using. I tried to look for that menu to make a food order to the room. I felt like the drugs were loud in the other room. I could feel them in there.
I shut my eyes, knowing I’d already lost. I was flat on my back on the bed with a needle in my arm before I even made my food order.