Vivid Memories: The Daiquiri Formerly Known as Prince

“People were created to be loved. Things were created to be used. The reason why the world is in chaos is because things are being loved and people are being used.” ~John Green, Looking for Alaska

Sometimes the memories are so vivid.

December 1, 2017 began as any other night out would. My roommate and best friend, Kaylen, and I were getting ready for a roomie’s night out. We were both wearing loosely fitted black dresses with straightened blonde hair, and a dark lipstick with our eyes done up to according to own personality and style. This meant mine was a thick liner and layers of mascara with a brown smoky eye. Hers had a lighter aesthetic with more hues of pinks and color in her eyeshadow and her liner was thin and perfect. We listened to some pop as we got ready and ate dinner. We then probably watched an episode of New Girl or I Love Lucy before we headed out and had at least one glass of wine as well.

We headed out into the crisp rather warm weather for a December in Chicago. There was some cloud coverage earlier in the day, but it was dark out now and the clouds made no difference. Our first stop was a friend’s birthday celebration. We got there socially on time (so technically late) and still were some of the first people there. We awkwardly sat there as we talked to each other and had a drink until more people arrived. As people we barely knew arrived, we engaged in conversation and laughed together. After about an hour or so, Kaylen and I decided to finish the drinks we just got and head to our next destination just a few blocks away- a rooftop bar downtown.

Entering on the south side of the building off Lake Street, we paid only $10 since it was ladies’ night. The last time we went here we had paid $20 since it was a Saturday. We were both giddy to experience The Wit again. The last time we had come they had dancers dancing on platforms in the middle of a room beyond the bar where they also had those tables you could buy for an insane amount of money. I remember pretending that it was my 21st (I was turning 22), so I could get more free drinks from strangers. And of course, it worked! I met a guy who was there for his actual 21st, and his family had bought a table and was encouraging him to meet girls and invite them over. So naturally my friends and I went over and had some drinks with them. I danced and conversed with him for most of the night. He went to the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign and had come back to celebrate his birthday with his family. I don’t remember what he was studying, but it was something smart and super attractive, so we made out for a little bit before my friends and I headed back home.

This particular night, the back room with the dancers was not open, perhaps because it was no longer nice outside or because it was the slow season, in any case we went to the bar, and ordered our drinks. I ordered a drink called The Daiquiri Formerly Known as Prince. This drink contains Bacardi Maestro de Ron, St. Germaine, Violet Sugar, Lemon and obviously Purple Rain. It was very translucent and light lavender in color and had a white and purple orchid flower in it for decoration. Kaylen had a glass of Miraval, a rosé from Provence, France.

We stood by the window -which was just the entire wall- consuming our beverages and chatting about school and life, laughing, and admiring the beautiful city we lived in. We then took a seat and hung out some more before being invited over to a table by a man in his late 30’s or early 40’s. I do not recall much else about him except that he was a bigger guy and confident. He was clearly there to find a girl to take home with him. This was nothing new to us, and we knew how to handle it. How to get free drinks, enjoy ourselves and then leave when we wanted with whom we wanted or in this case did not want.

We were given a shot of jack, and then one of his buddies ordered us each the rosé Kaylen had been drinking. We all were sitting on the same couch. He sat turned to face us then sat Kaylen in the middle and then me. I could not hear anything. I tried to be a part of the conversation, but it just kind of failed. I talked to someone across from me, but that was futile as well. So, I just ended up sitting there on my phone for a little while.

Then a girl hurriedly came our way. She had long wavy black hair and tighter fitting black dress and was just about the same height as Kaylen. The look she carried was of concern and urgency. I wasn’t sure if she was worried about us or herself; I assumed the former since she had glanced in the direction of the man we were sitting with. I looked at Kaylen and gestured to her to come.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know, the bathroom? She seems concerned or something…”

“Uhh. Okay.”

“Girls gotta stick together. Let’s hear her out.”

She led us to biggest stall, the one that included a little counter and sink, and closed the door behind us. She began to talk in casual general terms about something, and then she pulled that something out. The pieces started fitting together, she did say something about cocaine at some point. She continued to talk as she created 3 lines. She just kept talking. Strategically not allowing us a moment to speak or leave. Social norms and lowered inhibitions made this so. She did ask us if we had ever done it. But after we said no, she promptly began to tell us about the experience- what to expect, how to properly take a line, etc. I was nodding and just going with it. I was drunk, still coherent and aware, but also very susceptible to suggestion. I am not sure when, but at some point, Kaylen and I exchanged some words, and she said we were going to leave, and I somehow interpreted that as I was to tell the girl we are declining the offer, so as not to appear rude by simply leaving.

She looks up after perfecting the lines, and sees that Kaylen had left, and says, “well it’ll just be us then.” She hands me a rolled up 5-dollar bill, and I ask her if I could do half a line since it was my first time. She kindly and without hesitation said yes and created a new line while reviewing the method to snort it. I took it, and she then corrected my technique to be sure to not waste any for the next time.  She told me she was going to go get her girls, and that I was responsible for giving them the 5-dollar bill and making sure they did one line, and then swiftly left. She came back with 5-10 girls, and 2 or 3 came into the stall. Not long after the girls came in, a security guard knocked on the stall door. One of the girls quickly covered the cocaine, while the other dropped her panties and went to the toilet saying that she was putting a tampon in. I rushed to her side saying, “I am trying to help her. It’s her first time!” The guard peeped in and saw this and left.

We resumed where we were, and the original girl came in and said something about how that was close, and how we did well. She looked at me, and I gave the bill to a girl who did a line. I began to create a new line when the guard came back pounding on the door. I looked at the girl in charge as she ducked down behind me and the door while the other girls ran to the toilet. I felt a hand grab my arm, and panic sweep through my body. As I was being pulled away, I noticed the bill in my hand being held as if it were a cigarette, and I tossed it in the sink. I looked up and realized that it was Kaylen who had me, and the guard was right behind her to get everyone else.

Kaylen put me in the middle of the open floor as she grabbed our stuff, and then grabbed me and asked if I was okay.

“I did cocaine!” I giggled and whispered.

“I know. We are going home.” Kaylen was short and stern in her response.

“Okay. They are gonna get in trouble.” The cocaine had already started taking effect.

As Kaylen guided me out the door, I saw the man we were sitting with earlier look at us with a smirk that was both victorious and disappointed.

We didn’t have to wait long for the train. We got on and I continued to be mad at Kaylen for making me leave. I told her that I was having fun, and she should have just left me. To which she rebutted that I would’ve gotten arrested.

“You never should’ve gotten the security guard. She was a nice girl. She was teaching us, and let me do less than I wanted.”

“She was manipulating you. And using you.”

“No, she wasn’t. She was nice and becoming my friend!”

“She is not nice or your friend! She is mean.”

Kaylen began crying, and I was laughing. This argument went on for a little bit. I remember looking up at one point and seeing the that the train was packed with people, and saw a middle-aged woman looking at us with concern and amusement. But then she turned her attention to Kaylen, and knew we were okay.

We sat in silence for the rest of the ride. An hour later we arrived at the apartment, and Kaylen told me to sit on the couch, stay there and not take out Chester. She was going to change quickly and grab me a drink or something. Naturally, I took Chester out, unlocked the apartment door, and then sat in the hallway petting Chester. Kaylen came out, shook her head, and dragged me back in. This is when I blacked out.

The next morning, I surprisingly woke up not hungover, drunk, or high. Kaylen asked if I remembered what happened. I did and told her I was not happy with myself. That I didn’t want to do cocaine again. We exchanged details and stories. Hers was more coherent. She told me that upon getting in bed I had a panic attack, and that she spooned me and talked about Chester. When I was on my phone and she was talking to the man she recalled him saying that she could be his for the year. And he continued to imply things about sex and being a sugar daddy, except in a more non-consensual way. She told me about how she thought I was behind her when she left and had gotten the security guard. After his first visit to the bathroom she had to convince him of what was happening.

I realized how scary this was after more conversation and Kaylen sharing everything she heard while in conversations. I saw how that girl was using basic psychology to manipulate me and suggest things to get me to do things for her. I recalled her saying, “So to repay me you will help me out.” And then explained my task of ushering and supervising the cocaine. As my memories were being jogged not even 12 hours later, I remembered that she mentioned how I could have more and help later to repay them as well and even join them.

I began to realize that this girl wasn’t just offering me drugs. She was working with the guy, and the other girls were part of their drug and sex trafficking or prostitution circle. The guy wasn’t a sugar daddy, he was their pimp.

If Kaylen wasn’t there, was drunk, and hadn’t pressed the security guard…I don’t believe I’d be here today. I would be a part of the circle. I don’t know what scares me more: the fact that I am so susceptible to suggestion and easily controlled or that this was the second time something like this has happened.

Thank you, Kaylen. Thank you, God.

Love and Faith,

Melanie J. Lofgren