Over the next few days, I texted a bunch of my girlfriends to come to the party at Project Miami, but none of them could. I didn’t want to invite any of the models or actresses I knew because I still wanted to keep my pickup life and my regular life separate. Also, I wasn’t sure what to expect at a party with a bunch of pickup artists. I didn’t want to expose girls who were my friends to guys who might end up just being weird, introverted and trying to fuck anything that moved. A couple days before the party, Brady and I started getting nervous because we didn’t have any girls to bring.
“We cannot show up there without girls,” Brady told me while we were talking over the phone. “They’ll think we’re AFCs.”
“AFCs?” I said. “Do these people speak fucking English? Brady, when you talk to me, talk to me like a human being. I don’t get the lingo.”
“It’s all in the back of The Game, in the glossary,” he said. “You should look it up.”
“I don’t want to talk like that.”
“If you want to be a master, you should learn this.”
But I was satisfied with my life. My computer stores were doing well to the point that I was able to help my parents financially, and I profited from selling my house. I really had no interest in devoting my life to being a pickup artist.
Brady and I texted all the girls’ numbers that we had accumulated from going out sarging over the past couple weeks without any luck. We ended up going out on the Friday before the party and each of us picked up two girls that said would come with us. So that Sunday, we headed to Project Miami.
I drove Brady and the four girls in my Jag. During the drive over, I kept picturing this super dope party with tons of women. The house turned out to be pretty hard to find. The address didn’t show up on my car’s navigation. It was located in the middle of nowhere, right by Coconut Grove near a super ghetto area. We had to wend our way around a maze of streets lined with old, run down houses with groups of guys sitting on porches drinking forty-ounce bottles of beer and smoking weed. Then we crossed over into another neighborhood where we found all these mansions.
We finally reach this really huge, modern-built house, architecture-wise. I just thought, ‘Wow, there really is a business in this.’ I thought all the guys must all be millionaires and had it made. The place reminded me a little of my parent’s house from before they lost everything. And my anticipation reached its peak now that we were about to party with the characters I had just read about a couple weeks ago. I quickly hopped out of the car and walked up the stairs to the front door while Brady and the girls were slowly making their way out. On the porch there was this little area with an outdoor sofa, chairs and little table in the middle. I could hear soft, ambient noise coming from the inside, but I didn’t hear any people. Then I noticed there weren’t any cars in the driveway, so now I’m not sure if this is even the right place. I knocked on the large red door. After a moment, Lovedrop answered. He looked like shit. I couldn’t tell if he just woke up or hadn’t slept in days. He was also noticeably thinner than when I met him four days ago. His pupils were dilated, he was wearing a pair of New Rocks, which a lot of pickup-artists wore in the early 2000s, and made him several inches taller. Mystery also wore New Rocks for peacocking purposes, and they also made him about 6’8’’ tall.
“Oh, hey, did you bring girls?” Lovedrop asked me in a low-energy, snakish voice.
“Yeah they’re coming up now,” I said.
His demeanor instantly became much more enthusiastic.
“Oh, awesome,” he said.
Brady and the girls walked up the stairs and we all walked in together. The house was beautifully furnished. To the left there was the living room, which had a projector sitting on the table for television and video games, a white futuristic-looking L-shaped couch, a lap desk and a really sick white shag carpet. To the right was a pool table and a staircase that descended to another floor. The kitchen was huge, with an island in the middle and more futuristic-looking furniture. The dining room was set up as an office. These guys had obviously spent a fuck-ton of money on all this furniture. There weren’t very many people at this party though. It was just Mystery, Matador, Lovedrop, another pickup artist named Moxie, a fashion designer named J.J. Velasquez, and only one girl. She had this wholesome, cutie-pie look, with her light brown eyes, brown hair. She just looked fucking hot. I found out later her name was Cassandra. Everyone was hanging in the kitchen.
Mystery was wearing a t-shirt that said “Mystery,” and looked a little scruffy with his facial hair and he had no shoes on. Matador was sitting in the living room talking to this fat ugly girl. I was surprised, because he’s supposed to be this awesome pickup artist and that’s the girl he’s gaming at his party. There was also this little rocker-skater kid that came with the two girls and a tall, pretty good looking young kid named Dustin, that I found out later was their personal assistant. I had no idea what was about to unfold that night.