The coats were laid out on the carpeted floor of a massive bedroom at the top of the stairway, with a dozen or so furs layered on top of each other across the bed. There were at least a hundred coats and finding mine wasn’t as simple as I thought it would be.
As I foraged through a pile of coats, Brandi walked into the room.
“Hi, J.J.,” she said. She carried two glasses of wine. “Would you like a drink?” She sounded a little drunk, which didn’t surprise me.
“No thank you.”
“Oh, come on. I brought it for you.”
I looked past her to the door. “Where’s Peter?”
“Who cares?” she said. She shut the door with her hip. “Have your drink.”
I looked at her warily. “I was just looking for my coat. I’ve got to go. My cab’s on its way.”
“And leave me here all by my lonesome?” She took a few more steps toward me. “I don’t want to be alone. C’mon, Joseph. Just drink with me. It’s Christmas.”
“I can’t,” I said.
“Can’t or won’t.”
“Both,” I said. “You’re engaged to Peter.”
“We’re not doing anything wrong.” She took a sip of her wine and smiled. “At least not yet. You can feel guilty later.”
“Peter’s my friend. He trusts me.”
“Peter’s not your friend. And why do you keep bringing him up? I don’t see him in here.” She took another step closer and set her glass on the nightstand. She dipped her finger in the other wineglass and held it up to my lips. “Try it. It’s delicious.”
“Brandi, don’t.”
She sucked the wine off her own finger. “Do you know how many men want me?”
“Millions.”
“But not you? Are you one in a million, Mr. Joseph Jacobson? You don’t want me?”
“I want Mr. Grant’s Maserati, but I’m not going to steal it.”
“You don’t have to steal it,” she said. “You can just take it for a ride.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “And you just compared me to a car.” She smiled seductively. “Are you objectifying me, Mr. J.J.?”
“I’m just saying that I don’t take what’s not mine.”
“You are objectifying me. You see me as someone’s possession.” A broad smile crossed her face. “Don’t worry, I like being objectified.” She set the second glass down on the nightstand. “I may be an object, but I’m not anyone’s possession. I am free to give myself to whomever I choose.” She pointed at me. “And, right now, I choose you.”
“Brandi, you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. If I were drunk, I would have done something really crazy, like ripped open my dress. Like this.” She grabbed the top of her dress and pulled it open, exposing her brassiere. “Then I would have just thrown myself at you. Like this.” She pulled me on top of her over a padding of fur coats. “We should do it on mink.”
“We’re not doing anything,” I said, pushing away from her.
“Yes we are.”
At that moment the door opened. “Brandi?” Peter stood in the doorway staring at us, trying to figure out what he was seeing. “What are you doing?” His words were slurred.
Brandi immediately started pushing me away. “Stop it! Get off of me!” As I stood, she looked over at Peter. “Your employee attacked me.” She pointed to her breast. “Look, he ripped my dress.”
“That’s not what happened,” I said.
Peter charged up to me, his face red with fury. “You son of a—” His fist crashed against my jaw, knocking me back.
“Peter, stop it,” I said. “She came after me.”
“Liar!” Brandi shouted. “He tried to rape me.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Don’t talk to my woman like that,” Peter shouted, swinging wildly. I didn’t fight back. Instead, I just put my arms up to protect myself. Still, he knocked me to the ground.
“Peter. I didn’t do anything.”
“You stay there,” he shouted, pointing at me with a trembling finger. “You stay there, you lying . . .” He stopped as if unable to find a suitable word to describe me.
I just looked up at him from the floor.
Brandi stood behind him, grabbing his arms and staring hatefully at me. “Thank goodness you came when you did.”
“Peter, it wasn’t me,” I said. “You know it.”
“Shut up,” Peter said. “Just shut up.”
Then I saw him wipe his eyes. He knew I was telling the truth. He had to know I was telling the truth.