I wait at the bar for what feels like an eternity for the pitcher of beer and eventually return to the table.

"You've been gone so long." Yoona scolds me. "Where were you?"

"I was in line for the restroom."

Taeyeon and Sooyoung are having some heated debate about our local art gallery. Taeyeon pauses in her tirade to pour us all beers, and I take a long sip.

"Yoona, I think I'd better step outside and get some fresh air."

"Fany unnie, you are such a lightweight."

"I'll be five minutes."

I make my way through the crowd again. I am beginning to feel nauseous, my head is spinning uncomfortably, and I'm a little unsteady on my feet. More unsteady than usual.

Drinking in the cool evening air in the parking lot makes me realize how drunk I am.

My vision has been affected, and I'm really seeing double of everything like in old re-runs of Tom and Jerry Cartoons. I think I'm going to be sick. Why did I let myself get this messed up?

"Fany," Taeyeon has joined me. "You okay?"

"I think I've just had a bit too much to drink." I smile weakly at her.

"Me too," she murmurs, and her dark eyes are watching me intently. "Do you need a hand?" she asks and steps closer, putting her arm around me.

"Daedae I'm okay. I've got this." I try and push her away rather feebly.

"Fany, please," she whispers, and now she's holding me in her arms, pulling me close.

"Daedae, what you doing?"

"You know I like you Fany, please." She has one hand at the small of my back holding me against her, the other at my chin tipping back my head. Holy f**k... she's going to kiss me. "No Taeyeon, stop - no." I push her, but she's like a wall of hard muscle, and I cannot shift her.

Her hand has slipped into my hair, and she's holding my head in place.

"Please, Fany, " she whispers against my lips. Her breath is soft and smells too sweet - of margarita and beer. She gently trails kisses along my jaw up to the side of my mouth. I feel panicky, drunk, and out of control. The feeling is suffocating.

"Daedae, no," I plead. I don't want this. You are my friend, and I think I'm going to throw up. "I think the lady said no." A voice in the dark says quietly. Holy ! Jessica Jung, she's here. How? Taeyeon releases me.

"Jessica," she says tersely. I glance anxiously up at Jessica. She's glowering at Taeyeon, and she's furious. Crap. My stomach heaves, and I double over, my body no longer able to tolerate the alcohol, and I vomit spectacularly on to the ground.

"Ugh, Fany!" Taeyeon jumps back in disgust. Jessica grabs my hair and pulls it out of the firing line and gently leads me over to a raised flowerbed on the edge of the parking lot. I note, with deep gratitude, that it's in relative darkness.

"If you're going to throw up again, do it here. I'll hold you." She has one arm around my shoulders - the other is holding my hair in a makeshift ponytail down my back so it's off my face. I try awkwardly to push her away, but I vomit again... and again. Oh ...how long is this going to last? Even when my stomach's empty and nothing is coming up, horrible dry heaves wrack my body. I vow silently that I'll never ever drink again. This is just too appalling for words. Finally, it stops.

My hands are resting on the brick wall of the flowerbed, barely holding me up - vomiting profusely is exhausting. Jessica takes her hands off me and passes me a handkerchief.

Only she would have a monogrammed, freshly laundered, linen handkerchief. JJSY. I didn't know you could still buy these. Vaguely I wonder what the SY stands for as I wipe my mouth. I cannot bring myself to look at her. I'm swamped with shame, disgusted with myself. I want to be swallowed up by the azaleas in the flowerbed and be anywhere but here. Taeyeon is still hovering by the entrance to the bar, watching us. I groan and put my head in my hands. This has to be the single worst moment of my life. My head is still swimming as I try to remember a worse one - and I can only come up with Jessica's rejection - and this is so, so many shades darker in terms of humiliation. I risk a peek at her. She's staring down at me, her face composed, giving nothing away. Turning, I glance at Taeyeon who looks pretty shamefaced herself and, like me, intimidated by Jessica. I glare at her. I have a few choice words for my so-called friend, none of which I can repeat in front of Jessica Jung CEO. Fany who are you kidding, she's just seen you hurl all over the ground and into the local flora. There's no disguising your lack of ladylike behaviour.

"I'll err... see you inside," Taeyeon mutters, but we both ignore her, and she slinks off back into the building. I'm on my own with Jessica. Double crap. What should I say to her?

Apologize for the phone call.

"I'm sorry," I mutter, staring at the handkerchief which I am furiously worrying with my fingers. It's so soft.

"What are you sorry for Tiffany?"

Oh crap, she wants her damned pound of flesh.

"The phone call mainly, being sick. Oh, the list is endless," I murmur, feeling my skin coloring up. Please, please can I die now?

"We've all been here, perhaps not quite as dramatically as you," she says dryly. "It's about knowing your limits, Tiffany. I mean, I'm all for pushing limits, but really this is beyond the pale. Do you make a habit of this kind of behaviour?"

My head buzzes with excess alcohol and irritation. What the hell has it got to do with her? I didn't invite her here. She sounds like a middle-aged woman scolding me like an errant child. Part of me wants to say, if I want to get drunk every night like this, then it's my decision and nothing to do with her - but I'm not brave enough. Not now that I've thrown up in front of her. Why is she still standing there?

"No," I say contritely. "I've never been drunk before and right now I have no desire to ever be again."

I just don't understand why she's here. I begin to feel faint. She notices my dizziness and grabs me before I fall and hoists me into her arms, holding me close to her chest like a child.

"Come on, I'll take you home," she murmurs.

"I need to tell Yoona." Holy Moses, I'm in her arms again.

"My sister can tell her."

"What?"

"My sister Krystal is talking to Miss Im."

"Oh?" I don't understand.

"She was with me when you phoned."

"In Seoul?" I'm confused.

"No, I'm staying at the Northern Lights."

Still? Why?

"How did you find me?"

"I tracked your cell phone Tiffany."

Oh, of course she did. How is that possible? Is it legal? Stalker, my subconscious whispers at me through the cloud of tequila that's still floating in my brain, but somehow, because it's her, I don't mind.

"Do you have a jacket or a purse?"

"Err... yes, I came with both. Jessica, please, I need to tell Yoona. She'll worry." presses into a hard line, and she sighs heavily.

"If you must."

She sets me down, and, taking my hand, leads me back into the bar. I feel weak, still drunk, embarrassed, exhausted, mortified, and on some strange level absolutely off the scale thrilled. She's clutching my hand - such a confusing array of emotions. I'll need at least a week to process them all.

X

It's noisy, crowded, and the music has started so there is a large crowd on the dance floor. Yoona is not at our table, and Taeyeon has disappeared. Sooyoung looks lost and forlorn on her own. "Where's Yoona?" I shout at Sooyoung above the noise. My head is beginning to pound in time to the thumping bass line of the music.

"Dancing," Sooyoung shouts, and I can tell she's mad. She's eyeing Jessica suspiciously.

I struggle into my black jacket and place my small shoulder bag over my head so it sits at my hip. I'm ready to go, once I've seen Yoona.

"She's on the dance floor," I touch Jessica's arm and lean up and shout in her ear, brushing her hair with my nose, smelling her clean, fresh smell. Oh my. All those forbidden, unfamiliar feelings that I have tried to deny surface and run amok through my drained body. I flush, and somewhere deep, deep down my muscles clench deliciously.

She rolls her eyes at me and takes my hand again and leads me to the bar. She's served immediately, no waiting for Ms. Control-Freak Jung. Does everything come so easily to her? I can't hear what she orders. She hands me a very large glass of iced water.

"Drink," she shouts her order at me.

The moving lights are twisting and turning in time to the music casting strange coloured light and shadows all over the bar and the clientele. She's alternately green, blue, white, and a demonic red. She's watching me intently. I take a tentative sip.

"All of it," she shouts.

She's so overbearing. She runs her hand through her unruly hair. She looks frustrated, angry. What is her problem? Apart from a silly drunk girl ringing her in the middle of the night so she thinks she needs rescuing. And it turns out she does from her over amorous friend. Then seeing her being violently ill at her feet. Oh Fany... are you ever going to live this down? My subconscious is figuratively tutting and glaring at me over her half-moon specs. I sway slightly, and she puts her hand on my shoulder to steady me. I do as I'm told and drink the entire glass. It makes me feel queasy. Taking the glass from me, she places it on the bar. I notice through a blur what she's wearing; a loose white linen shirt, snug jeans, black Converse sneakers, and a dark pinstriped jacket. Her shirt is ed at the top, and I see her flawless collar bone in the gap. In my groggy frame of mind, she looks yummy.

She takes my hand once more. Holy cow - she's leading me onto the dance floor. .

I do not dance. She can sense my reluctance, and under the coloured lights, I can see her amused, slightly sardonic smile. She gives my hand a sharp tug, and I'm in her arms again, and she starts to move, taking me with her. Girl, she can dance, and I can't believe that I'm following her step for step. Maybe it's because I'm drunk that I can keep up. She's holding me tight against her, her body against mine... if she wasn't clutching me so tightly, I'm sure I would swoon at her feet. In the back of my mind, my mother's often-recited warning comes to me: Never trust a woman who can dance.

She moves us through the crowded throng of dancers to the other side of the dance floor, and we are beside Yoona and Krystal, Jessica's sister. The music is pounding away, loud and leery, outside and inside my head. I gasp. Yoona is making her moves. She's dancing her off, and she only ever does that if she likes someone. Really likes someone. It means there'll be three of us for breakfast tomorrow morning. Yoona!

Jessica leans over and shouts in Krystal's ear. I cannot hear what she says. Krystal is tall with curly brown hair, and light, wickedly gleaming eyes. I can't tell the colour under the pulsating heat of the flashing lights. Krystal grins, and pulls Yoona into her arms, where she is more than happy to be... Yoona! Even in my inebriated state, I am shocked. She's only just met her. She nods at whatever Krystal says and grins at me and waves. Jessica propels us off the dance floor in double quick time.

But I never got to talk to her. Is she okay? I can see where things are heading for her and Krystal. I need to do the safe  lecture. In the back of my mind, I hope she reads one of the posters on the back of the toilet doors. My thoughts crash through my brain, fighting the drunk, fuzzy feeling. It's so warm in here, so loud, so colourful - too bright. My head begins to swim, oh no... and I can feel the floor coming up to meet my face or so it feels.

The last thing I hear before I pass out in Jessica Jung's arms is her harsh epithet.

"!"