And now Claudia Castro thought she could fuck with him, too. As she crossed Fiftieth Street he wondered, Should I just tackle her?

Times Square was so bright it felt like noon. Fat tourists clogged the sidewalks, staring up, recording videos of the lights. People performed for spare change in filthy costumes. Would that be him someday? So desperate for money he’d do anything? Beg? When Jeremy won that contest, Lars had allowed himself to think that his brother’s success would be his safety net. Jeremy and Rock would record a hit record and there would be more than enough money to go around. He and his brother would go in on a bar, maybe something like the Hard Rock but owned by an actual musician. Claudia Castro stole that. She stole his brother’s future and with it his future; she stole any chance his dad had at a comfortable retirement. And for what? She got drunk and got fucked like a million other girls, but this bitch thought she was special.

Lars kept walking behind her, hoping an opportunity would present itself. She took the stairs down at Forty-Second Street, but instead of swiping into the subway she followed the passageway toward Port Authority. Underground the energy was darker. It was oddly quiet; people dragged their luggage slowly and drank paper-bag beers alone. Claudia went to a kiosk and bought a ticket, though Lars couldn’t see to where. He was standing ten feet behind her. She looked up to the timetable and then turned around. His heart dropped. But her eyes moved right past him to the restaurant behind. TGI Fridays. The Knicks game was on.

She sat down at the bar and put her bag on the stool next to her. The fucking feminists made such a big deal of “manspreading” that the MTA did a whole ad campaign with his tax dollars. He needed to come up with a catchy phrase to describe the way women piled all their shit around them in bars. He could make up a mug that read: “JUST SAY NO TO BITCHES’ BAGGAGE.” It didn’t exactly flow.

Lars sat down on the stool next to her duffle. The bag was zipped shut.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked Claudia.

“Double vodka and soda, please,” she said. Her voice was soft. Lars had Googled her after Jeremy told him they hooked up last fall. Online, Claudia Castro seemed like someone he’d want to fuck, too. Petite, long dark hair, nice tits, big smile. But the girl at the bar looked nothing like the girl he’d seen online. The girl at the bar looked brittle, like a little witch.

“And you?”

The bartender was talking to him.

“Uh, Budweiser, bottle.”