The second time Antonio awoke, he still had no idea where he was. Without opening his eyes he could see the red glow from a sunny window, and could feel that whatever he was lying on was much softer than the air mattress in his loft back home. He wiggled his toes, confirming that his shoes were missing. What on earth had happened after he finished that drink?

Just as Antonio was working up the nerve to peer out into the room through his lashes, he heard a door open and a set of footsteps creep into the room. He clamped his eyes shut again, holding his breath.

"Well?" a woman hissed, "Who is he?"

"A customer," said a second voice - this one Antonio thought he recognized.

"And you brought him upstairs?"

"Listen, he was obviously uncomfortable last night so I gave him a shot of tequila on the house. Next thing I know it's closing time and he's staggering around asking everyone if he missed the last PATH train. There was no way he was going to make it back to New Jersey in a state like that!"

Antonio fought the impulse to cringe. So he had embarrassed himself the night before in front of that sweet bartender, and she had felt so sorry for him that he had somehow ended up passed out on her couch. Incredible.

He was never going to drink anything but wine again.

"Well, you better get him out of here or you know what'll happen. You're supposed to be the good one in the family!"

"I know! I'm working on it!"

Footsteps again, and the closing of the door.

Antonio exhaled at last, covering his face with his hands. What if he just sneaked out now without encountering anyone? He would certainly never go to that particular bar again, so it's not like he would ever have to explain himself. Maybe he would avoid midtown altogether! That would be the end of it.

"Good morning, Wall Street."

Antonio froze again, but it was too late: only one of the women had left the room a moment ago.

He peered out through a crack between two fingers. There she was. The bartender from last night was leaning against a wall, her arms crossed and a knowing smile on her face. He golden hair was still disheveled from sleep and secured in a messy knot. He dragged his hands down the length of his face and groaned.

"Don't sit up too fast," she warned, but Antonio was not smart enough to listen. That throbbing headache came surging back the minute he was upright.

He had been stretched across a faded old couch in what must have been a living room, though it was an uncomfortably narrow space. Besides the couch, the only furniture in the room was an ancient-looking television was perched on top of a dresser that was missing one drawer. A wrinkled Aloysia poster was stuck to one wall with painter's tape.

"Did I get you in trouble?" Antonio rasped. He tried to clear his throat, but the noise threatened to break open his skull.

The bartender laughed, dropping into the seat beside him and patting his knee. "That right there is the bathroom," she said, pointing to a door. "There's aspirin in the cabinet mirror. Take two, or four if you're desperate. I'll have a glass of water ready when you're done, but then I'm afraid you're going to have to hit the road."

"Thank you," said Antonio meekly. He forced himself to stand and use the door she had indicated.

The bathroom was even more cramped than the living room, and was set up in such a way that you would practically have to climb over the toilet in order to use the shower. Antonio rolled his eyes at his gaunt reflection in the mirror. Not only were his shoes missing, but his tie and belt had been removed too, and his shirt was hopelessly wrinkled. His trip back to Jersey was going to look like a walk of shame. Antonio had never had to take a walk of shame before.

He splashed water on his face and combed through his hair with his fingers. The shirt was beyond hope of straightening, but at least he looked somewhat presentable from the neck up. He found the aspirin and went ahead and took four, swallowing them dry, then faced his reflection again.

He looked only slightly less terrible than he felt. It occurred to him that this would be quite a story to tell Lorenzo on Monday at work - that is, if Lorenzo was still speaking to him after last night. He hadn't been that terrible to Stephanie, had he? She had probably been too busy making eyes at Lorenzo to notice Antonio's mood, anyway. And it wasn't like they had ever actually been friends before. Lorenzo was the only person at the office that Antonio could tolerate for more than a few minutes of conversation, but things had been tense between them ever the incident at the food cart a month ago. The whole Stephanie thing wasn't helping either.

Without warning, the door to the bathroom opened. Antonio spun around, clutched the sink with one hand for balance, and found himself facing a middle-aged woman with a look of horror etched into her face. "Who the hell are you?"

"I- I'm sorry-"

But then the woman lunged at him, seizing his ear and dragging him out of the bathroom. "Girls!" she bellowed.

The living room door opened, and in filed the young blonde who had broken a glass the night before, a tall brunette, and the bartender who had been kind to him. She had a glass of water clutched in one hand and a look of chagrin on her face.

"Who-?" asked the woman who had him by the ear. She was too apoplectic to even put her question to words. "Josie?"

The brunette huffed. "Wasn't me, mom. Not this time."

"Sophie, surely you didn't-"

The tiny blonde shook her head mutely.

The mother's grip on Antonio's ear tightened, and he had to swallow back a yelp. "Constance?"

"I'm sorry, mom!"

"Ma'am, if you could just-"

"I have one rule, Constance! One rule!"

"It's not like that! I don't even know his name!"

If the strength of her grip on Antonio's ear was an indicator of the mother's mood, it was safe to say that that was not what she wanted to hear.

"Ma'am, I promise I was on my way out. If you'd release me-"

She finally did, but not before giving that poor ear a final twist. "Get him out!" the mother snapped. "Josie, you work the bar for the rest of the month. You and Sophie will split the tips. Constance will stay home."

"Sweet," the tall sister said, winking at the tiny blonde. "Thanks, Constance."

"Oh, shut up," said the bartender.

The mother leveled a finger at her. "You have three minutes. Get. Him. Out."

And with that, she ushered the other two sisters out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

The bartender - Constance - set the glass of water down on top of the television and pointed to a bundle in the corner. "That's your stuff," she muttered.

Antonio sifted through the little pile, putting his shoes, belt, and tie back on as quickly as he could with a relentless headache and a sulking woman in the corner. When he was ready, she grabbed him by one hand and dragged him out of the apartment and into a narrow staircase that smelled overwhelmingly like cigarettes.

As soon as the door was closed, to his surprise, Constance burst into a fit of giggles. "Your ear!"

Relieved, Antonio bit back a smile. Thank goodness she wasn't as embarrassed as he was. "So, your mom seems nice," he said, and that got her laughing even harder. She had an infectious laugh.

"Are you okay?" she asked at length, taking long, slow breaths to keep herself breaking into hysterics again.

"I guess. It was a strange way to start the weekend. I didn't, um, undress in front of you, did I?" he ventured. "Last night?"

"You were barely conscious by the time I got you up the stairs," said Constance. "As soon as I got you onto the couch you were passed out."

A mortifying image of the lovely bartender removing his belt while he snored drunkenly formed in Antonio's mind. "Oh, God."

Constance swatted at his arm. "Come on, before my mom comes out here to check on me. How's your head?"

"You mean the pain from all the alcohol I consumed last night, or the pain from your mother's Mike Tyson death grip?" Antonio asked, smiling to himself when he got her to laugh again.

"Listen, there's a Starbucks on the corner," she said, motioning toward the stairs. "I'll come too. You'll have to buy your own coffee, though, Wall Street."

"Let me pay for yours as well. For your kindness."

"Sounds good to me," Constance said, leading him down the dirty staircase.


It wasn't until Monday morning when Antonio smacked his briefcase against the sensor next to the door and the light didn't change color that he realized that his keycard had gone missing at some point during the weekend. He had to use the external phone to dial Lorenzo's desk, the only extension he knew off the top of his head besides his own, and wait by the elevators until his colleague came to open the door for him.

Thankfully Lorenzo no longer looked like a lovesick teenager when he came to the door. He was staring at Antonio with a quizzical concentration that was surprisingly off-putting.

"Thanks," Antonio said, brushing past him. "I must have lost my keycard at that karaoke bar."

Lorenzo didn't say anything, but trailed behind him as Antonio went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. He leaned against the fridge with his arms crossed, staring.

"Okay, what is it?" Antonio demanded.

"There was someone in your office," said Lorenzo. "A woman."

"In my office? When?"

"This morning."

Antonio grabbed his coffee and hurried around the corner to see for himself.

He had been with the agency for about a year and a half now, yet his office still looked almost exactly the way it had when he had first been hired. His name was misspelled on door, "Saller" instead of "Salieri" for some awful reason, and the only decoration was one of those plastic daisies that waves its leaves up and down in direct sunlight. Joe had gotten them for all his employees on National Boss's Day last year. Antonio had drawn a frown onto his and placed it right at the edge of his desk where it could glower motionlessly at anyone walking by on their way to the water cooler. No one ever noticed, but it amused him anyway.

There were a few new files and unopened envelopes dropped into his inbox, but other than that Antonio's office looked just like he had left it on Friday afternoon. It wasn't until he pulled his chair away from his desk that he found his keycard resting conspicuously in the seat. How could he have left it here without realizing? Antonio picked it up and was about to put it back into his wallet when he saw one of his post-it notes stuck to the back.

iFound this between the couch cushions,/i the note said, and beneath that was a phone number with a New York area code.

"Who was she?"

Antonio started: he hadn't heard Lorenzo approach. "Who?"

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. "The woman. Who is she? How did she get in?"

"How was your weekend?" Antonio asked, sticking the post-it to the back of his cell phone and dropping it into his briefcase. "Did you and John get home okay?"

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Lorenzo snapped.

"I have work to do," said Antonio, rolling his chair up to his desk.

Lorenzo spun on his heel and stormed away.

About a half an hour later, Antonio's desk phone rang. "Marketing," he said blandly as he answered, "Antonio Salieri speaking." If customer service had sent him another telemarketer he was going to march right down there himself and chuck his desk phone at someone's head.

"So that really is your name," said a familiar voice. "I thought you had made something up to throw me off your scent."

A grin spread across his face. Constance. "And who is this, please?"

"The president of Italy," she said. "Your country needs you."

"I'm afraid I have a very important job on Wall Street to deal with."

"You don't even work on Wall Street and you know it! You're on Varick! I've never been so disillusioned in my life! What will my mother say when I tell her?"

"Probably 'get him out'," said Antonio. "Make sure you're not without pinching distance when you tell her."

"Hey, I gave you my number so you would call it," Constance said.

"Well I didn't give you my number at all!"

"I know. I took one of your business cards off your desk."

Antonio leaned back in his chair. "You're stalking me," he teased.

"Yep. Want to meet for lunch?"

"Sure."

"Your treat," she said. "You still owe me a night's worth of couch rent and two weeks' worth of tips from the bar."

"I'll make it up to you," Antonio promised.

"You might have to buy me lunch every day this week."

"If that's what it takes."

"It's a start. See you at noon."

Antonio returned the phone to its cradle, unable to force the smile off his face. For once, he wasn't even sure he wanted to.