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amused.
    Pause.
    I start looking for Nina again. Only this time it doesn’t take me but thirty seconds to find her.
    I walk through the kitchen and into the living room and see her standing on the other side of the room.
    My sweet, sweet Nina.
    My entire body gets all warm and tingly like it does every time I’m in the same room with her, because she’s just that awesome to look at. She just has that certain way about her that makes everyone around her just shut their pie holes and take notice. She’s that electric. One of those rare people who can simply transform the energy of an entire room from the moment she steps foot inside of it.
    And tonight is no different. Tonight she’s wearing this gold satin slip dress with a pair of silver ankle boots. Her sand-brown hair is brushed to the left side, and her upper back has been left partially exposed to show off the very top of her full-back tattoo piece, which is a mural of the city of Havana, Cuba, the place she was born, done in all black and gray ink, with the portraits of Che Guevara and a young Fidel Castro overlooking it.
    Opening my beer and crossing the room, I yell, “You’re getting fat and old, baby!”
    Nina spins around. “You made it!” she shrieks, wrapping her arms around me and kissing the corner of my mouth. “I love you so much for coming!”
    â€œHappy birthday, darling.”
    â€œThank you.”
    Completely ignoring her roommate, Thomas, and that ex-boyfriend of hers, both of whom are standing only a few feet away watching me and her, I latch onto Nina’s forearms and tell her that I want to give my present to her in private.
    â€œI think there are some rooms down the back stairs,” she tells me, then pulls me in that direction. We descend that flight of stairs and cut through a hallway, and she leads me into a bedroom with a sign on the door that reads STAY THE FUCK OUT . I rip the sign off, crumple it in a ball and toss it on the floor, closing the door behind us and turning on the lights.
    Covering the walls of the room are a bunch of these boring illustrations and paintings—George W. Bush being spanked by Cheney—W. paying off voters—Bob Saget driving a garbage truck—there’s even a degree from the Art Institute hanging over the bed next to a campaign sign that says VOTE FOR REAL CHANGE AND REAL REFORM. VOTE CESAR ESTRADA .
    I roll my eyes and take a drink and go, “Fuck that communist pig.”
    â€œHere we go,” Nina groans. “I remember a time not so long ago when you used to be all about far left-wing politics.”
    â€œYeah, well, that was when I didn’t know any better. I mean, the only thing worse in this world than an artist with an agenda is a communist with tens of millions of dollars he made in the private sector, baby.”
    â€œOh god.”
    â€œBut who cares right now? I didn’t come here to talk politics. I came here to see you. And by the way, I just wanna say to your face that I can’t believe you’re hanging out with Brian again. It’s fucking stupid.”
    â€œNo, it’s not.”
    â€œIt’s fucking insanity, Nina.”
    â€œNo, it’s not!”
    â€œIt is too. You’re doing the exact same thing you’ve been doing with him since I’ve known you, and you expect something different to happen each time. That’s insanity.”
    â€œGoddamn it, James!” she shouts. “I don’t need a fucking lecture from you. I’m already getting shit from everyone else, so just drop it! He’s what I have right now, and no one else.”
    I throw my arms into the air. “What about me?” I ask.
    â€œWhat about you?”
    I step toward her, saying, “You can have me.”
    â€œI’m being serious, darling.”
    â€œI am too.” I sniff real hard and wipe my nose and grab her hands. “We could go steady or something. It would be cool. Just