Penthouse Not-So-Suite

Today’s Drinking Story:

Here we see Nick Antosca learning a thing or two about the fairer sex with the help of bourbon or tequila, but probably not wine.

This is a true story of something that happened to me when I was drunk. It was probably 2008. I didn’t drink from the time I was 18 until I was 25 (in early 2008). Then when I did drink, I got drunk easily. I lived in New York, and one night I was out with some friends at a bar. I don’t remember what bar, but it was in Manhattan, East Village or LES. I’m almost certain I was drinking hard liquor, probably tequila or bourbon. I almost never drink beer because I hate the taste, and I don’t really drink wine at bars because it makes me feel silly.

I wasn’t having a very good time; I don’t usually at bars. I was bored. I started talking to a woman wearing something white. I think there are angel wings on it–I remember something like that. Maybe it was just an angel-wing pattern on her clothes. I also remember that there was lace involved. She was tall and curvaceous with a tiny waist and dark hair and a femme fatale voice. She looked Peruvian. For some reason I keep thinking her name was Angela (not for some reason; because of the angel wings) but I remember that it was actually Nicole. We exchanged numbers and then my friends and I left and went to another bar, where some other friends were.

A little later at the other bar, I was extremely drunk and about to leave when I got a text from Nicole. She asked if I wanted to come over and hang out. I asked where she lived and she sent me an address in midtown, on Fifth Avenue. I took a cab. I told the doorman I was there to see Nicole, and I didn’t know her last name. I had to text her to call him to let me up.

The building was beautiful. A true luxury building. I had figured she was my age, mid-20s, but now I wondered if she was much younger and still lived with her parents. Or maybe she was in college and using their place while they were away. I don’t know. I was pretty drunk but as I rode the elevator upstairs I wondered if I was being incautious.

Immediately it was clear that her parents didn’t live in the apartment. It was a mess. It was the apartment of a messy young person with tremendous wealth. There was a huge flat screen TV on the living room wall. Through a doorway I could see another huge flatscreen TV on the kitchen wall. She had changed into a filmy robe. She asked if I wanted anything to drink. I said no. She said I should hang out on the couch for a minute because she had to change. I sat on the couch.

Something was weird. She seemed nervous–there was an air of insecurity that hadn’t been there before. She also looked different in the light. I couldn’t put my finger on it. On the coffee table (which was hidden beneath magazines and other junk) I saw a plate with little lines of residue on it. She’d clearly been doing coke off it. Also, her laptop was open and I saw seven or eight chat windows with conversations in which she seemed to be inviting men over to her apartment.

She had gone off to change, but she hadn’t closed her door. I could see her changing–from one filmy robe into another filmy robe–exposing a shapely porn-ready figure clad in white lingerie. I also saw her silhouette, and the silhouette of her Adam’s apple. That’s when I realized she was a post-op transsexual.

The story does go on, but you know, I think I’ll end it there.

Nick Antosca’s latest book is The Obese (, from Lazy Fascist Press. He is the author of the novels Midnight Picnic and Fires and the limited edition chapbook Rat Beast. He also writes for the MTV show Teen Wolf. He was born in New Orleans.

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