"If you see a girl with her hip-flesh hanging over her waistband, call her a muffin top," said Rachel.
"OK," said Will.
"And - and - if you see a girl and her pants are showing part of her butt, call her, I don't know, what's better, coin slot or business card holder?"
"Coin slot," said Will and Tim.
"I like B.C.H." said Rachel.
Will offered her glass a refill and she held it up, closer to the bottle, assenting. Daniel, walking by, mentioned that the campaign results were appearing on screen. Some of the others jumped up and chased him to the theater room. Those remaining cheersed their wine glasses and beers.

"Let's escape, let's do something ker-azy," said Ed.
"Liquid courage, eh?" said Jais.
"Get a room, you two," said Will, while trying to see, over his shoulder, the graphs and numbers on the big screen. But the theater was around a corner. He was inebriated.
"OK, without leaving the office then!" said Ed, uncharacteristically energetic. "Let's check out porn sites! Yeah!"
"Yeah, 'cause that's ker-azy," ribbed Jais.
"I don't like porn," said Rachel, yawning.
"This is absolutely, positively between us," said Tim, leaning in, "but I was a porn model through college. It paid so good. You have no idea."
"You were a porn star!" yelled Rachel, applauding the plot twist.
"Shut up," said Ed. "He just said it was a secret."
"What, what?" said Rachel, looking around. "Oh shit, you weren't kidding?"
"No," laughed Tim. "I really did. It was really good pay."

Brian appeared.
"We're going to Red," he said, his arms wide, as though to embrace them all. "The figures are amazing. Well done, team."
The second that Rachel placed her drink on the table, she was thrown over Will's shoulder, causing squeals.
"You're carrying me to the bar like this? Stop it! I'll hit you!"
"Don't squeal, muffin top," said Will.
She extracted his wallet from his back pocket and waved seventy dollars in the air, to the people following them.
"Free money, come and get it!" she said.
He dumped her outside the bar, reclaimed his money, and held the door tightly closed when she tried to enter after him, so she was shut out. She eventually got in. Her co-workers were perched on bar stools, the length of the bar. There was a spare seat next to Will, so Rachel sat there.
"Want a sip of my drink?" he said, nudging the glass to her hands.
"No, I don't want to sip it," she said. "I want to snort it."
She snorted some of the alcohol, laughed, and then held her nose between her forefinger and thumb for the next four minutes, with a pained expression on her face.
"That was a dumb idea," she said.

Rachel woke up at five in the morning, with dewy wet pants, in a park close to her house. She struggled home to have a shower and change, and noticed in the car, on the way to her parents' place, that there was caked-up dry blood in her left nostril.

Her parents were babysitting their son's three year old baby.
"Why, where's he off to today?" said Rachel.
"Golf with the partners," said her mum.
Rachel attempted to teach the youngster Madonna's "Hung Up" disco dance. He was an earnest learner and they practised lots. But Rachel's nose began bleeding.
"Why is there blood?" said Rowan, concerned.
"Because you punched me," said Rachel, as her dad walked past. Her dad halted, and spun around.
"Rowan, did you punch my daughter?"
"No John I did not punch your daughter," said the earnest one.
Rachel was already distracted, having noticed the unread message on her phone. She saw it, ignored it, and knelt before Rowan.
"Rowan, what does it mean if boys only hit on you when they're drunk?"
Rowan listened attentively. She continued.
"Does it mean you're an option only for the desperate, or that you're unapproachable at other times?"
Rowan put his hands on his hips.
"Let's have a monster party," he said.
"OK, good," said Rachel.