Confessions From the Dark

by T. B. Markinson

  “Get me something sexy.” She kissed my cheek.

  “Nothing can be sexier than you,” I called after her. She rounded, and flashed me a bawdy grin that suggested my compliment would be repaid later in the evening.

  Smiling, I headed for the bar, slipping in line behind a metrosexual dude who looked like a cleaned-up version of Ryan Gosling, along with a beefy bodyguard type a step behind, canvassing the crowd. One quick glance assured me the man was not the actor. He may have been famous though, I suspected, or he wanted people to think that.

  Meghan Trainor’s “All About That Bass” boomed over the speakers and the gay boys on the dance floor squealed. I snooped over my shoulder, and sure enough, Kat was wiggling her ass in a seat, arms overhead—she’d been blasting this song in the house lately. Right then, Sam and Lucy appeared at the entrance. I waved to them and pointed to where Kat was seated. Lucy headed in Kat’s direction while Sam joined me in line.

  “Jesus, it’s fucking cold out.” She blew into her cupped hands.

  “Hey, no complaining.” I stabbed her shoulder with a finger. “This was all your idea. I had other things in mind for this evening.”

  Sam’s eyes grazed over Kat’s outfit. “No doubt.” Then she looked me up and down and shook her head. “Jeans and a T-shirt when your wife dresses like that.”

  “Hey, she knew what she was getting into when she married me. At least I ironed my shirt. Besides, you’re wearing jeans and a T-shirt.”

  “You ironed it?” She folded her arms across her chest and leaned to meet my eyes.

  “I set up the board and plugged the iron in.”

  “That’s what I thought. And, I’d like to point out, Lucy is also in jeans and a T-shirt.”

  I shrugged. “I doubt Lucy owns a dress like Kat’s.”

  “Ha. I think the number of women who can pull off Kat’s look is less than one percent.”

  “What can I get you?” asked the burly bartender. He looked more like a cast member from Sons of Anarchy than a man pouring drinks in a gay bar.

  “What’s your sexiest drink?” I asked.

  He stroked his beard. “Not sure about the sexy factor, but I can fix you A Piece of Ass.”

  I put my hands on the edge of the sleek black bar and hunched over to hear. “What’s in it?”

  “Amaretto, Southern Comfort, and sour mix.”

  I nodded. “One of those and three beers.”

  “Actually two Pieces of Ass and two beers,” Sam corrected.

  Burly politely bobbed his head and mixed the drinks.

  “Is the Ass for you or Lucy?”

  “Lucy.”

  I kinked my eyebrows up. “Damage control?”

  “You could call it that.”

  I inched closer. “How’s the Inez situation?”

  Sam’s attention was elsewhere, and I followed her gaze to Harold, who had one arm flung around Amber and the other around Simone. I’d yet to meet the infamous Simone, but the confidence dripping off Harold made her identity clear. Harold, dressed in a black zoot suit and a black porkpie hat with a white band cocked to the side, surveyed the room like a 1940s Harlem gangster. Where in the world did he find that outfit? A costume shop?

  Simone’s fierce look suggested she wouldn’t be relegated to costar status. Her plunging black dress was the very definition of risqué. She was the blond version of Elvira, minus the heavy makeup.

  “Jesus. Her dress doesn’t leave much to the imagination.” Sam’s eyes boggled.

  “That it doesn’t.”

  Amber, surprisingly, wasn’t in her typical baggy sweater and flowing skirt. Her form-fitting, mid-thigh regal purple dress suited her, but compared to Simone she was the equivalent of a boiled potato next to potato au gratin.

  “Is Amber wearing contacts?” I asked.

  Sam squinted. “Either that or she got Lasik.”

  Harold whispered something in Elvira’s—or rather Simone’s ear. He may have thought he was in charge, but Simone apprized the crowd like royalty surrounded by doting servants.

  Kat inserted two fingers in her mouth and whistled. Harold nodded, cool as Mr. Kool, and escorted the women to the table, drawing bewildered stares from half the people in the club.

  I paid for the drinks, and Sam grabbed the girlie drinks, leaving me with the beers.

  We set them on the table. “How are you?” I asked, hugging Harold dude-style.

  “You have no idea. No idea.” His voice was deeper, but the façade more than likely wouldn’t last and the Harold I’d learned to love and respect would make an appearance before the end of the night. “I’d like you to meet Simone.” He waved his arm like a game show host.

  The blonde she-devil shook hands with everyone, except for Kat, who was already acquainted with her from The Smut Patrol club. Simone nodded dispassionately at Kat, who did a slight curtsy that made me laugh.

  “What’s your poison?” I clapped my hands together.

  Simone gestured to the drink Kat was sipping. “What’s that?”

  “A Piece of Ass.”

  “Cori, is that what you call me in public?” Kat smugly chided.

  “In public, never. In bed, yes.” Kat rewarded me with a smooch on the cheek, and she slung her arms around my neck. Was Kat marking her territory?

  Simone wasn’t amused. From her perpetually pursed lips, I gathered she was extremely hard to please. Poor Harold.

  “A cosmo, then.” She shook her head like a movie starlet in front of photographers. I swear his woman was ticking every box of stuck-up bitch.

  “Amber?” I spun to Harold’s girlfriend and gave her shoulder a one-armed squeeze.

  Amber smiled wickedly. “A Piece of Ass.”

  “Thatta girl.” Lucy raised her glass.

  Harold pinched Amber’s ass, and they shared a giggle. When he put his hand behind Simone, she pirouetted and ended up behind me. All of us pretended not to notice—even Sam. I wondered whether she was feeling like a jerk yet for her role in the Simone spectacle. I could practically see letters spelling S.O.S in neon lights over Harold’s head.

  “And for the master of the house?” I bowed to Harold as if he were a knight returning from battle.

  “Uh, surprise me.” Harold wasn’t much of a drinker.

  Sam and I returned to the bar.

  “She’s a piece of work,” Sam said as soon as we were out of earshot.

  “Seems that way. Promise me you won’t go above and beyond to humiliate Harold tonight.” I pinned her with a determined look.

  Her eyes shone with guilt. “I won’t now.” She stood closer. “Simone scares me.”

  “And Harold’s our friend. Remember?”

  She saluted me. “Yes, boss.”

  I gave Burly our order, and Sam and I stepped to the side.

  “So, Inez?” I entered the fray once again.

  “Totally over.” Sam pretended like she was squashing a bug on the bar.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “How far”—I moved my mouth to her ear—“did you take it?”

  “Coffee after class,” Sam whispered into my ear. “It was weird.”

  “How so?”

  “It was like a date—a very boring date. The kind your mom sets you up on. Turns out we have nothing in common.” She shrugged.

  “That’s good though, right? Crisis averted.”

  Sam bolted ramrod straight. “Absolutely. Now I just need to figure out a way to confess to Lucy and find a romantic way to propose.”

  Burly got my attention, and Sam and I whisked the drinks to the throuple before I got a chance to probe her statement. Did she plan on confessing and proposing all at once? How unromantic and idiotic. I was all for honesty, but… did having coffee with a crush equate to cheating?

  Harold suspiciously eyed the glass I’d handed him full of clear, bubbly liquid with a slice of cucumber floating at the top. “What is this?�
�

  “Gin and tonic. If you’re going to London, you better start drinking one of their staples.” I raised my beer and he tapped his G&T against my pint glass.

  “London.” Harold put a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, I can’t wait!” he squealed. That was more like Harold.

  “Can’t wait to see how our travels affect your series? Mom reported the meeting with her publisher went well.”

  He nodded, too excited to speak.

  I maneuvered closer. “London won’t cause problems, will it?” I motioned to Amber and Simone, whispering to each other off to the side.

  “No way!” His eyes didn’t mirror his exuberance.

  “You sure. We can set you up remotely.”

  “Don’t you want me to go?” His voice was shrill.

  “Of course I do—”

  He knifed the air with a palm. “Good because I’d never miss the chance. Never.”

  Kat yanked me to the floor by my hand.

  I barely had time to thrust my drink into his hand. “Hold that thought, Harold,” I shouted over my shoulder.

  “Need to dance, my dear?” I twirled Kat as we reached the middle of the floor.

  “Needed to get away. Simone is unbearable. She hasn’t said a word to anyone and won’t let Amber out of her grip.” She ground against my ass and all verbal communication stopped.

  Kat and I had always loved to dance, and dammit, we looked good together when we did. David Guetta’s “Bang My Head” was playing, and Kat shimmied with her hands in the air.

  Sam and Lucy joined us. Sam’s dancing lessons had paid off, and the extra ass wiggle proved her desire to show off some new moves. Lucy—God bless her—was about as rigid as Herman Munster, but I gave the uptight novelist credit for hitting the floor with her partner, the former cheerleader.

  The four of us danced as a group, and Lucy cunningly moved into the center, shielding herself from catty gay men who loved to supply a running commentary on anything and everything under the sun. Most of the time, they didn’t have to speak; their expressions and finger pointing spoke volumes.

  Sam suddenly swung around, away from the group, and it took a couple of seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim lights and strobe flashes. Through the rainbow-tinted haze, I spied Inez. She was wearing skinny jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and red suede heels, and she was gyrating with Sam. Over my ass, I thought. Had Sam picked this club knowing Inez would make an appearance?

  Kat questioned me with a glance, and I tossed my hands up, gesturing I don’t know. She studied my face through narrowed eyes, clueing me in that she smelled a rat. We closed ranks around Lucy and did the only thing we could do: danced our butts off.

  The next song started, and someone latched onto my hand and promenaded me around.

  Inez.

  She leaned close and shouted into my right ear, “Cori Tisdale!”

  I responded with, “Inez Gonzales.”

  She hugged me. Kat watched intently on the periphery of the dance floor. It wasn’t often that I had my arms wrapped around a woman who was the spitting image of Sofía Vergara. To make matters worse, Inez had her arms wrapped around me, too, and she was kissing both of my cheeks. Of course I reciprocated. It’d be rude not to.

  “Shall we show them how it’s done? You were my best student,” she said.

  “By all means!”

  We squared off on opposite sides of the floor. Inez clapped her hands, and the deejay nodded. Within a minute, tango music streamed overhead. Everyone on the floor, including Kat, parted. Inez smiled like Moses separating the Red Sea. She hadn’t changed one bit. Back when I was a teen, the dance instructor had exuded confidence, fun, and oooh-fucking-la-la.

  The tango was one of the few types of dance the self-taught Kat didn’t know, so I hadn’t done it in years, but it came back to me in a rush. Truth be told, Inez was an excellent partner. We whirled, spun, and stomped back and forth, our bodies pressed against each other. At one point, while Inez ran a hand down my front, I glided my leg up to her midsection. It was nearly impossible to tango without looking like you were making love to your dance partner.

  Halfway through, I caught Kat’s eye and winked. She seemed entranced—in a good way, which was a relief.

  At the end, Inez dipped me, and I did my best to bend myself in half. The crowd whooped. Kat applauded. This time, I shepherded Inez off the floor.

  “I thought you’d moved,” I said.

  “Went to New York for a few years, but I’m back now.” Her face glistened.

  Kat slipped her hand in mine.

  “Inez, I’d like you to meet my beautiful wife, Kat.”

  They shook hands.

  “Kat, this is one of my dance instructors from when I was in high school.”

  “So I have you to thank.” Kat leaned forward and whispered something into Inez’s ear.

  The eyebrows on my former teacher shot up before she burst into a loud guffaw. “If that’s true, Cori is my greatest success story,” she said in a thick Spanish accent, slapping me on the back.

  “How do you know Sam?” Kat asked.

  Luckily, Sam had hustled Lucy back onto the dance floor for a slow number as soon as Inez and I finished.

  Inez covered her mouth and said, “Top secret.” She was trying to be sly, but Kat’s frown screamed her displeasure.

  “Sam’s been taking tango lessons to surprise Lucy for their trip to Argentina,” I said in an attempt to bury my guilt for not telling Kat everything.

  Kat placed a hand on my lower back and gave me a pinch under my shirt. Just in case I didn’t get her message, she whispered in my ear, “I thought you said it was an innocent crush.” Kat could ferret out a stab of dishonesty with one glance. I’d learned my lesson years ago about the dangers of keeping things hush-hush around Kat, and I had a feeling I was in for a lecture to refresh my memory.

  “Ah, you know about that?” Inez eyed Sam and Lucy on the floor.

  Sam had kicked into Operation Save Relationship, so she was kissing Lucy passionately. Inez smiled, no traces of jealousy or displeasure. Maybe their flirtation had been merely that—on Inez’s end, at least.

  Harold bumped my elbow. “Wow, Cori. That was awesome.”

  He was alone, and I followed his forlorn eyes. Amber and Simone were slow dancing, looking like they didn’t want Harold to intrude in any way. Simone laughed and brushed some hair off Amber’s cheek with a tenderness I didn’t think the she-devil possessed. I’d hoped Simone hadn’t entered the throuple merely to gain Amber’s affection and steal her away from Mr. Zoot Suit. But seeing her with Amber annihilated any glimmer of that hope to smithereens. Did Harold suspect he’d been conned? His sagging shoulders said yes.

  Noticing his pitiful expression, Kat bustled him off to the dance floor.

  “I have a feeling he’s in love with someone who doesn’t love him back,” Inez said, following my stare.

  “It’s a tad more complicated. You see those two.” I jutted my chin toward Simone and Amber. “The mousier one is Harold’s girlfriend. The vixen moved in and convinced everyone to… share, I guess. Except no one is really sharing with Harold.”

  “Poor Harold.” She studied the two women.

  “Poor Harold, indeed.”

  “The blonde is very attractive.” Inez seemed captivated by Simone.

  “And conniving,” I said through clenched teeth. “Harold’s my friend.”

  “Ah, I see.” She clasped my shoulder. “So, you want this Simone to leave?” She bobbed her head as if calculating a chess move.

  The slow song ended.

  “That would be a start.”

  Inez winked seductively. “Let’s see what I can do.” She marched toward Simone and started dancing with her—not an innocent dance at all. An I want to fuck you dance. Simone responded, which I found odd. Inez was the exact opposite of bookish Amber, but she was Inez: a dancing goddess who could tempt even the most committed. S
am was proof of that. I’d bet she could get a church-going soccer mom of five to jump into her bed.

  Sam and Lucy joined me on the sidelines.

  “Holy shit, that woman can move,” Lucy said.

  “Tell me about it,” Sam and I said in unison.

  Sam’s eyes overflowed with panic, but Lucy was transfixed on Inez, and I didn’t think she’d paid heed to Sam’s dreamy tone.

  “I need to pee.” Lucy tottered off toward the back.

  After studying Inez dancing with Simone for an entire song, Sam muttered under her breath, “I can’t believe it.”

  “What?”

  “She dances like that with everyone.” Sam’s cheeks burned.

  “Do I detect jealousy?”

  “More like anger. She’s a tease. A dangerous tease.”

  “Always has been. Back in the day I think everyone I knew who had lessons with her thought she was in love with them. And I’m pretty sure Inez likes it that way. Probably helps business. And her confidence.”

  “But it’s not nice to toy with people’s emotions like that.” Sam cracked all her knuckles on her left hand.

  “Hey now. She poured on the charm—you’re practically married, or want to be.” I waggled a finger in her face. “You didn’t have to fall for her act. You wanted to.”

  She put a palm up. “I know. I know.”

  “Know what?” Lucy threaded an arm around Sam’s shoulder. Lucy was trying, really trying to show more affection. Did Sam notice?

  Sam gave her a peck on the cheek as an answer. This wouldn’t have worked on Kat, but Lucy accepted it. Or maybe she was the type to pounce later in private.

  Kat returned with a round of drinks. I’d been so focused on Sam and Simone, I’d missed Kat getting Harold and Amber to dance. They looked happy, but if I were Harold, I’d be questioning Amber’s dedication right about now.

  “Guess who I bumped into.”

  I took the last pint off Kat’s tray, and she set it on the table. “Who?”

  “My painting buddy.”

  “Gertrude?”