Pum Pum Rock

3. Affirmative Action

"So who did she pick?" asked twenty-seven-year-old Karina Zakaryan, leaning in—more buzzed than curious. She and Nate had been friends since high school, and even back then Karina liked to get what she called, lifted.

"Mr. Brownbag." Nate studied her friend, quietly growing irked at the increasing difficulty inherent in their conversation.

"The annoying frat boy? No!" Karina screamed, slamming her hand down hard on the glass table for emphasis. She was loud and doing way too much for a Monday night.

"Girl, yes." Nate scanned the down-home Armenian restaurant, which had been donned in Halloween decor. "And please keep your voice down," she continued while locking eyes with curious customers and waitstaff. "You just got off work. How are you this lit?" Nate squeezed fresh lime into her Vodka tonic and took a sip.

She then watched Karina as she gazed across the popular Eurasian restaurant. Diners' eyes that were moments ago trained at their table were doing their best to avoid eye contact. Karina laughed hysterically, as she enjoyed the attention. Although Karina had gained a noticeable twenty-plus pounds in the last several months, Nate knew better than to mention it. Thick or thin, the woman was striking. Karina was a full-figured, first-generation Armenian-American with fair skin, dark hair and a smile that rivaled the night sky's brightest constellation. She was also intoxicated. In fact, she usually was.

"Don't get your burka in a bunch," Karina joked, poked at the ice in her cup, then gestured for a waiter.

"Yes, ma'am." The waiter approached.

"One more Vodka on the rocks for me," Karina instructed.

"And you, Miss?" The waiter asked, smiling in Nate's direction.

"Still working on this one," Nate declined the offer.

For as long as she could remember, Karina had been a functioning addict. Back in high school, her addictive personality revolved around boys, booze, and homemade sizzurp. In fact, it was no secret that for a few months during Sophomore year she sold the mixture of Codeine, grape soda, and jolly ranchers to students. She'd always been enterprising, and hustling was an easy payday. Luckily for Karina, her parents were big-money donors, so she never got into any real trouble. Even when the cops busted her for selling on school grounds, her family's lawyers were able to make the entire situation go away.

"You're so uptight tonight," said Karina. "Loosen up," she laughed tearing off a piece of lavash and tossing the traditional flatbread in Nate's direction.

"I've been working through a lot today, plus this meeting with Simon has me anxious as hell. If he likes my track and uses it for the "Brown Bag Cutie" show open, I will legit lose it."

"I've been talking you up nonstop since Simon, and I ran into each other at Runyon last week," Karina squealed, strategically omitting critical details about her relationship with Simon, which was in actuality, terribly strained. "He's a gatekeeper—if you get this right, you'll be scoring movies, TV, touring. It'll be sick, and it'll all be thanks to me!" Karina bragged.

"So you want your ten percent? That's why you hooked this meeting up?" Nate was only partially joking. She and Karina had been friends since high school, and one thing she knew for sure about her dear old friend was that Karina rarely did something for nothing. With Karina, there was always a motive.

"Stop that! You know you're my peoples. I just want to see you win," Karina maintained.

"Simon and Chad are just so connected. It's intimidating," Nate said sipping her cocktail. "Especially Simon. I still can't believe he left Masquerade Records to take over for his pops."