“Sure, sure. I’ll let you believe that.”
We set off down the walkway and down to the street to see if we could flag a taxi, not that it was going to be difficult. This was Brooklyn. Taxis ruled the road.
Sterling stopped and I almost ran into him. He stared at me, and I stared back, growing incredibly uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by. “What?”
“What the hell are you wearing?”
I swallowed hard and tried to pretend I didn’t understand, narrowing my eyes at him. “What do you mean?”
“You know galas are usually black-tie, right?” Sterling gestured to himself and I noticed for the first time he was decked out in a black suit. No wonder he’d blended so well with the shadows back there. “And what you’re wearing is… not black-tie.”
“Was I supposed to wear my prom suit? Or the outfit I wore to a funeral?”
“You don’t just like, have good clothes lying around?”
“Do you?”
He burst out laughing. “No way! I make the same amount of money you do, Kade. This is a rental. I’m counting on the lighting being low so no one will see how cheap it actually is. At least I match, though.”
I pushed his shoulder. “Don’t screw with me like that. Hey, maybe I’ll start some sort of fashion trend?”
“Teenage awkwardness meets grieving family member? I guess worse things have been thought of.” Sterling shrugged.
I flipped him the bird and he laughed. We resumed watching for a taxi together, scanning the busy streets as cars crawled by. I felt much better than I had after joking around with Sterling. He always knew what to say in situations like this.
A taxi appeared down at the end of the street, coming in our direction. Sterling flagged the driver and we both hopped into the back. Sterling gave the address and then sat back in his seat, glancing at his phone.
I leaned over and snuck a peek at his phone to check the time. Before I could see anything, he snatched it away and shoved it into his pocket again.
“Are you hiding something?” I asked. “You’ve been a little off for days now.”
“I have? Damn. I was trying to keep it a secret. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Even though I had no idea what he was talking about, my pulse quickened. I knew bad news when I heard it.
“What’s going on, Sterling?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, twirled his fingers nervously in his hair. The sleeves of his rented suit were a little too short, the light from street lamps glowing on his pale wrists. “I knew I was going to have to tell you, but I didn’t want you to drop out of going to the event. I want you to have fun.”
“I’m sure I will. You said it yourself. Free food.”
He smiled nervously. “Yeah, I said that, didn’t I? I also said I’d be hanging out with you.”
“You aren’t?” I frowned, my stomach tingling. I had no idea how to act or what to do and he was going to leave me hanging? “You’re going though, aren’t you?”
“I’ll be there! It’s just that I have a date now.”
“A date? You mean you’re going to leave early?”
“Not exactly. Someone asked me to be their date tonight. It’s no big deal. I just didn’t tell you because you were already so committed to coming. I’d feel like a dick if I ruined your plans of going out.” Sterling still seemed restless, even after telling me the truth. I figured he must be riled up about his date.
The situation kind of sucked, since Sterling was going to ditch me no matter what. I wished he would have told me sooner so I could have backed out and not had to worry about all this. I was only going for him. This wouldn’t have been part of my plans otherwise.
Irritation lodged up in my throat. I looked out the window, staring at the neon lights and glowing storefronts without really seeing them. My vision blurred.
“You’re mad at me. I’m sorry, Kade. I should have been honest with you.”
I didn’t say anything and kept watching the outside, colorful lights clashing together at impossible angles, cutting through the darkness of night. Brighter lights shone in the distance, a halo whose glow slashed up out from behind buildings. The taxi turned to head closer to that misplaced star in the night. Misplaced, but not mistaken, because the source of the vast illumination could only belong to the gala building. Long and ornate, the front was composed of alternating arched windows and Tuscan columns. Massive banners in deep purple and gold and royal blue hung between columns, apparently the colors of the Limitless Foundation that was hosting the gala. People crowded the steps leading up to the grand front entrance, flanked on either side by statues of crouched lions, maws open in silent roars. Men and women alike, the bright stage lights caught on their features, shadows lurking behind every curve. I didn’t recognize any faces, not that I would have even if the lights weren’t so powerful. I didn’t belong here among all those men in suits and women in flowing, queenly dresses.
But, at this point, I no longer had a choice about where I belonged or not. The taxi pulled up on the side of the road. “We are here,” the driver announced, voice bored and expectant all at once.
Sterling paid the fee. While he was occupied, I opened the door of the taxi and stepped out into the night. The air was still unpleasantly warm, which I kept forgetting because of the wonders of air-conditioning. Loud, unidentifiable music poured out from behind the walls of the gala building. The decorative nature of the glass windows kept me from seeing much about what was going on inside. I could guess, though. Arguing, pacing, mingling and bragging. All the things I had no patience for.
Sterling stepped out behind me and the taxi drove away, leaving us stranded. An older couple, alpha and omega in matching navy suits, walked past us, laughing with their heads together. They crossed the street and were met immediately at the other side by a small group of acquaintances or friends, and were absorbed into the crowd.
“Come on,” Sterling urged. “I know you’re mad at me, but we’ve got some time to spend together before I have to meet my date. I know some other referees are going to be here, some friends from college. Let’s go see if we can find them.”
“So you can clear your conscience before dumping me?” I joked. I knew it was a bad joke the moment I started talking, but I couldn’t make myself stop.
Luckily, he didn’t seem to care very much, no doubt occupied by thoughts of his date. We crossed the street together, weaving our way between fancy cars and taxis. The building loomed even taller, the sheer quantity of steps a challenge in and of itself. God, so many people, and talking so loud, discussing business matters right out in the open. Nearly everyone seemed to be holding a cup or bottle of some kind, the scent of alcohol mixed with perfume and smoke.
We reached the entrance, where a mass of people had formed. Three doors, each one guarded by young, buff men in black clothing. My heart quickened and I instantly wanted to be on my best behavior, even though I wasn’t doing anything wrong in the first place. Authority had that effect on me, especially in a setting of important people like this. Sterling seemed unaffected however, and casually offered up the invitation he’d received at the rec center. He was cleared without a second glance, and the guard gestured for me to come up next.
My hands shook a little as I handed over my invitation. The paper was crumpled, nervous sweat staining one edge.
He’s going to take one look at me and ask me to step out of the line. He’ll see I’m not like the others. I’m a fraud. I’ve volunteered four times and these people have dedicated years to doing their best for the disabled.
“Have a good time tonight, sir,” the guard said. “Bar goes on tab at eight.”
I had to wait almost an hour to get a free drink? Oh, screw that. I was going straight to that bar now for some liquid courage.
“Next,” the guard said.
That was my signal to get out of the way. I hurried in through the door and looked around for Sterling. I didn’t see him right away, although that wasn
’t a cause for panic so much as it was an honest observation. I had been kidding myself when I thought there were a lot of people outside. It seemed like the entire state had come to the gala, people packed so close in the large hall they were almost standing on top of each other. The crowd spilled through doorways, into other rooms, some of which were lit with the signature lights of the Limitless Foundation. Gold, blue, purple, sometimes flashing and strobing, showing snapshot bursts of guests in motion. Dancing, talking, gesturing, countless voices adding to the beat of the music, which was much louder inside than out. I could hardly hear myself think.
“Excuse me,” someone said from behind me.
I jumped and spun, startled. A woman in a shimmering red dress pushed by, waving her arm to catch someone’s attention. More people came behind her, filtering in from the lines.
I stepped away from the door to get out of the way and looked around, scanning the throng for any sign of my friend. I couldn’t see him still, and I was becoming more convinced by the second that no one actually knew who they were talking to. Faces melded together, smears of light and dark. Everything was fuzzy and dreamlike, difficult to focus on. My eyes kept adjusting and re-adjusting.
“Sterling?” I said. I didn’t even hear myself. Raising my voice, I called, “Sterling?”
A few people glanced in my direction without responding.
Oh-kay. Clearly, I was on my own.
I headed deeper into the middle of the room, pushing myself through groups and around couples. Laughter echoed in my ears, almost mocking in its joviality, as if everyone laughed at me instead of at their own drunken jokes. The heat was stifling from the suffocating press of bodies all around, worse even than being outside.
Spotting an omega with a margarita in hand, I went up to him. He tilted his head and squinted, clearly trying to figure out if he knew me. His face lit up and he shouted, “Hey! How are you? Where’s Ted?”
I didn’t know a Ted. I didn’t think I’d ever even met a Ted in my entire life. Instead of saying that, I hollered back, “We’re great. Where’s the bar?”
The omega pointed with his margarita, blue alcohol sloshing in the glass. “Tell Kimberly I said happy birthday!”
I would if I could, buddy.
I left the case of mistaken identity behind me and went where I was directed, through an arched opening in the wall, surrounded by a border of decorative spirals. The room beyond was filled with steady purple light, making it impossible to see anyone’s features. I was aware of only clothes and skin and texture, geometric patterns on dresses and silky gowns with slits up the thigh, and neat bows nestled against throats.
Small tables and chairs filled the bar area, all of them occupied with a similar crowd. If I’d been hoping to get away from the clamor and chaos, I was to be sorely disappointed. The music was coming from the adjoining dance room, thundering against the walls and shaking the décor. Customers weren’t just shouting but screaming, screaming conversations and screaming with the kind of unhinged laughter known only to bars and asylums.
I forced my way up to the bar and grabbed a seat as soon as I saw one, throwing myself onto the stool from several feet away.
“What’s on tap?” I asked the bartender when he turned in my direction.
He faced me and said something. I didn’t hear him, nodded anyway. Didn’t matter. Booze was booze. I just wanted something to lubricate my thoughts, relax me.
The bartender brought over a bottle of beer. I grabbed it up and tossed back a mouthful, felt the slight burn slide down my throat and warm my stomach. The background chaos dropped down to a loud, droning hum. I drank more, hardly tasting the beer, and before I knew it, I’d finished the entire thing.
Before I could ask for another, the bartender came back over to me. Instead of a beer, he held a blue margarita much like that omega out in the main room had been drinking. A slice of orange and a maraschino cherry adorned the rim.
“I didn’t order this.”
“The gentleman at table six sent it,” he said, and pointed.
I leaned around and tried to see who he was talking about, but there were a lot of gentlemen in that direction and none of them were looking at me. I bit my lip, thinking quickly. Sterling was gone. I doubted he’d look for me and soon he’d be on his date, and wouldn’t answer his phone. I was on my own.
I didn’t want to be on my own.
This anonymous guy gave me a way to have some fun. I was going to take it.
“Can I see a menu?” I asked.
I examined the selection and immediately, a certain item caught my eye. I tapped my finger on it and said, “Send this back to him.”
Sipping my margarita, the alcohol relaxing me, making everything seem better, I waited. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.
5
Harrison
I made sure to remind myself of the details of my date Aaron had given me, since it seemed like we were still good to go. Curly brown hair, brown eyes. Slender. Athletic. Mid-twenties. The more I thought about it, the more certain I was that my date was the referee from the game. The more certain I became, the more nervous I got, all my past ponderings and doubts rising from their graves to haunt me. Had I been too pushy, or not pushy enough, and would I have been any smoother with him had I dated since the accident? Why had I thought getting a date now, after all this time, would be a good idea?
Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this, I thought, staring into the mirror above my bathroom sink. An old man with a crooked smile and a crooked back looked out at me, wearing an expensive suit that would have had more impact if it wasn’t overshadowed by the blocky, rectangular back of the wheelchair. I had other chairs, of course, but black-tie wheelchairs weren’t exactly a demand someone had decided to supply yet. They were all going to be intrusive and terrible, a sign of my weakness and inability.
I hated these events. I hated the excitement, the drama, the way all the attendees tended to let loose as if they were freshmen in college. What should be a celebrated, honorable gathering of kind hearts inevitably turned into a shit show as drinks flowed and personalities clashed. I was going to be out of my element. So why, why had I decided I needed a date? I hated even for people I knew to see me in a bad situation and now I had deliberately arranged for a stranger to have that viewing experience. And it was too late to cancel, too late to do anything other than accept my own stupidity. I would have to suffer through it no matter how awful things got, no matter how embarrassed or uncomfortable I was.
I placed my hands on the sink and closed my eyes, steeling my nerves as best as I could. Tonight wasn’t about me. Tonight was about others. Even drunken, the people who attended these galas were whip-smart and tended to make fantastic deals that would influence the rest of the year. The live auctions would bring in tons of money, the amount revealed right there for everyone to see and judge. My participation was integral, mandatory, required. I held everything together, rallied the separate hearts and minds toward the one unified goal of crafting a better future.
I had to do this.
I adjusted my tie one last time and pushed away from the sink, clenching my jaw. I grabbed my keys from the bowl on the coffee table and made my way out of my penthouse and down to the parking lot. I clicked myself into place behind the steering wheel and got to driving. My thoughts wanted to wander, imaginings of how tonight would go pressing to the forefront of my brain. I pushed them away and paid more attention to the road, keeping myself under strict control. No daydreaming. No worrying.
I didn’t think I was doing too great of a job, but before I knew it, I had parked my van out in the parking lot and was rolling up to the wheelchair-accessible ramp that slanted up to the front three doors of the building. One of the security guards let me through without asking to see my invite. He knew exactly who I was. I had specifically refused special treatment and VIP allowances, so he understood why I was coming in this way and not through the private side entrance. The point wasn’t to seclude my
self from everyone. The point was to join them. Talk to them. Rekindle old interests and spark new ideas.
The problem with that was that I had zero interest in talking right now. I couldn’t have held a casual conversation with a kindergartner at a playground. My throat was tight, tense, my breathing constricted and too fast. My hands kept spasming into fists, nails digging into my palms. I felt like the walls were closing in, pushing on me, crushing myself and the crowd into an area much too small. Sweat broke out on my forehead and I was sure everyone could see it glistening in the light, see the way my pulse ticked frantic at the hollow of my throat. Eyes bored into me. Dozens of eyes, burning my skin, searing me, cooking me like a damn steak.
They’ll eat me alive, I thought, and slammed my hands down onto the wheels of my chair. I pushed, the wheels squeaking with too much friction, shoving my way in shuddering jerks through the crowd. People jumped out of my way. When they could jump, that was. Others pushed their wheels, like myself, and some hobbled on canes and crutches and walkers. I should have known them. Old friends, familiar faces. Shit, it was because of me that some of these people were even alive, devoting their time and money to my cause in honor of me. Yet, I couldn’t see faces. I couldn’t identify them through the shadows and flickering lights, my vision shaking as too-loud music pounded from bass-heavy speakers. I felt as if I might explode, my own body inflating from internal pressure until I burst apart like confetti.
At long last, I reached the bar. I went over to a table at the far side and pushed a chair out of my way. A waiter paused nearby and switched direction, grabbing the back of the chair and shuffling it over to the wall.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Certainly. Can I get you anything while I’m here?”
“Martini, please.” I hesitated, decided what the hell. “Make it a double, actually.”
The waiter nodded and wove in an expert manner between tables and troublemakers to the bar. He returned in a few minutes with my martini, placing the glass on the table. The olives bobbed around inside, gin and vodka trembling with ripples from the force of the blasting soundwaves.
Sweet Emotion: East Coast Sugar Daddies: Book 1 Page 4