Delia Suits Up

by Amanda Aksel

  I just want my body back.

  With lungs full of hopeful air, I blow out my cheeks and the flame disappears. Enthusiastic cheers and clinking glasses follow. Even Frankie mimes a shot. “Happy birthday!” We shoot back the liquid and Brian cringes. “Oh, God, that tastes like a drunk cupcake.”

  Turns out a drunk cupcake isn’t as tasty as a Brooklyn blackout, but it gets the job done. Shannon comes at me with her thumb and gently wipes the edge of my lip. “You have a little whipped cream.” The temptress holds my gaze, and I want so badly to tell her it’s her friend Delia in here.

  “All right!” Regina shouts, slamming her empty glass on the bar top. “Let’s hit the dance floor!”

  Shannon yanks me by the lapel, and for a moment, I’m sure she’s gonna slip me some tongue. “C’mon. I’ll introduce you to my friends.” Releasing her grip, she grabs my hand again.

  Whew! False alarm.

  We make our way through the mass, letting the music carry us closer to the dance floor. Shannon cranes her neck from side to side then waves ahead. “There they are!” I peer over the crowd looking for a single familiar face and spot none. Out on the floor, her peeps circle around her like she’s the It Girl. “You guys,” she shouts, “this is my friend Richard!”

  “What’s up, Richard!” a few of them say in drunken laughter.

  “Hey!” I wave, but feel myself curl inward and glance around for my friends. Regina’s busting out booty moves and backin’ up her dump truck. With a big-ass smile, Brian waves it into position. He shoots me a nod as if to say, Look at this juicy thang! Regina’s not the only bootylicious babe. Frankie’s making his ass clap and taking up more space than anyone else.

  The DJ starts up one of those popular radio tunes that’s been badly remixed into something barely recognizable.

  “Whoo! I love this song!” Shannon whoops.

  Right on cue, the rest of us let out a high-pitched “Whoooooo!” and I throw my head back in a laugh. Whoos are contagious to women. And apparently, even women in male bodies. All you need is one whoo to set off the entire place. Pretty soon lady-whoos are bouncing around the dance floor.

  As the music flows through the speakers, I feel the birthday shot circulating through my body, heightening my senses and dulling my inhibitions. I move to the music in classic Delia fashion but it doesn’t exactly feel the same with the restrictive sports coat and my Gucci slung across my body. I loosen my tie and sway my shoulders as if testing out the fabric’s flexibility. My girl Shannon swivels her hips, running her hands down her body. If Eric thinks I’m a sexy dancer, he can thank Shannon for showing me the moves. The freckled vixen whips around, slapping her locks in my face, then pops her butt into my crotch. The friction sends a signal to you-know-who.

  “Whoa, okay,” I say, though she can’t hear me. I can barely hear myself.

  I don’t think so, you little troublemaker.

  My thing throbs for a couple of beats as if it’s saying, Yo! Nobody puts Little Dickie in a corner!

  I retreat half a step back and use my briefcase as a barrier between me and her buh-dunka-dunk. The last thing any single woman in this city wants is mixed signals. We’re just here to shake it off.

  A familiar rhythm overlies the last, morphing into an oldie but goodie. Ahh, yeah! With a smile swiped across my face I holler, “Oh, shit. This is my song!” Regina and Frankie know it too and close in on me as I unbutton my salmon shirt at the neck.

  Regina gives me that go-time look. “Oh! Whatchu got, Queen D?”

  The music penetrates my body, pulsing through my veins. Shoulders bouncing, head rocking, hips swaying, hands in the air like it’s a par-tay. Queen D’s in the house, y’all! Feelin’ myself, I pop it like it’s hot.

  Pop, goes my booty. Pop, pop.

  “Whoo! There you go!” Shannon plays along. Who knows what it looks like, but it sure as hell feels good.

  Regina undulates in a full-on body roll with the beat, and Frankie and I emulate her moves until we’re perfectly in sync. Even though I’m restricted with this suit and the jewels between my thighs, I feel as free as I did as an eighteen-year-old, shaking my ass at the Miami clubs in miniskirts and midriff tops. Nothing matters except me and this song.

  Now this is a shake-it-off!

  When the song breaks, someone pushes past Shannon, sending her right into my chest. I catch her in my arms and she grabs on to my biceps, squeezing it with her skinny fingers. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine!” she says, hardly able to focus. She can’t be that tipsy.

  “Did you eat anything tonight?”

  “Nope.” She snickers and shakes her head. “You wanna get out of here?”

  Uh-oh, I know what that means.

  “Nah, let’s stay and dance,” I shout over the music. “I’ll get you some water.”

  “See.” She points at me, clicking her tongue. “I knew you’d keep an eye on me. You get me some water. I’m going to the ladies’.” With that, she pushes herself out of my arms and heads into the sea of clubbers.

  I catch Regina’s eye and she shimmies over. “Hey, can you check on Shannon in the bathroom?”

  Regina cringes. “Aw man, is she sick? Why is she always pushing her limits? Then we’re the ones stuck spending half the night holding her hair back. That’s why we stopped going out with her. We’re not twenty-two anymore.”

  “I think she’s fine. But can you go in there just in case?”

  She folds her arms and rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

  “Thank you.”

  By now the line at the bar is twice as long as it was when we got here. Shannon’s water’s gonna be a minute. I’m bopping my head while I wait my turn when Regina taps my shoulder.

  “You’re right. She’s not sick drunk, she’s sext tipsy.”

  “Did you say sext tipsy?”

  “Yeah, your girl’s in there sending out booty calls.”

  Typical. She may not drink and drive but she shouldn’t drink and text either.

  “Well, I better get her out of here before one of the guys she’s texting shows up and she regrets it in the morning.”

  “What?” she whines. “But it’s your birthday.”

  “Trust me, I’ve had plenty of fun today.” Enough excitement to last me until next year.

  Frankie makes his way over. “What’s happening?”

  “Delia’s gonna make sure Shannon gets home.”

  “Yeah, I think I’ll head home soon too. This has been a helluva day.” The three of us trade knowing glances.

  Regina looks past my shoulder. “Oh, here she comes. Good luck!”

  “Don’t stay out too late,” Father Frankie says as they inch away.

  “You talking to me or the suit?” I joke, and he signals that he’s got his eye on me.

  “Boo!” Shannon pops up next to my ear. She’s holding two full shot glasses and hands one over to me.

  “How did you get this? I’m still waiting to order your water.”

  She sends a dismissive wave. “I’ll hydrate later. Let’s party!” She shoots the liquor back like she doesn’t have shit to do tomorrow. But I do. So I hand mine to some stranger standing next to me. Shannon squeezes her eyes shut and smacks her mouth. “You ready to get back out there?”

  I stuff my hands in my pockets. “Actually, it’s getting late. Why don’t I get you home?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Wrangling Shannon out of the club is no easy feat. A quick farewell to her friends turns into one last dance, which becomes two last dances. Her intoxication grows more apparent as she moves on the dance floor. When we finally make it out, Shannon stumbles along toward the curb, holding her phone with both hands like it’s an old-school BlackBerry.

  “I got it!” Shannon flings her arm in the air then flashes the screen of her booked Uber ride. “Four m
inutes.” With another step, she wobbles in her heels like she’s going down. I catch her, keeping her upright like the Statue of Liberty.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  A goofy grin spreads across her face. “I am uh-mazing. Aren’t you?”

  I can’t help but let out a little laugh. “I’m good.” Or at least I will be when I can finally get home tonight.

  Shannon rolls her head back, gazing at the sky and holding her arms out as if welcoming the fresh-ish air. “This is what I love about New York. One minute you’re riding the subway like any old day and the next you’re partying with friends you haven’t seen in forever! Anything can happen. Don’t you love it?”

  After today, I’m not sure if I completely love it, but it makes for an interesting life.

  The Uber arrives and I start toward the car. When I open the door, the driver confirms the ride and I motion for Shannon to stop hugging the city so she can slide in first.

  “Hey, Shannon!” a voice calls from down the way. Some guy dressed in a tightly tailored blue button-down and a Hemsworth haircut advances toward us with his chest puffed up. “Where’re you going with this guy?”

  “Oh, hey, Josh, what are you doing here?” she calls out playfully.

  Josh knits his brow. “You asked me to meet you here.” I give him a once-over. So this is her fuckboy.

  “Oops!” She covers her mouth with a coy expression. If she genuinely forgot about him, it wouldn’t be the first time.

  He summons her with a wave of his hand as he closes in. “C’mon, honey, let’s go back inside.”

  Her eyes shift my way.

  “Shannon, get in the car,” I say, gesturing toward our ride.

  With clenched fists, the guy comes for Shannon as she climbs in the back seat. “Wait a minute! I came all the way up here, and you’re just gonna leave me hangin’ like that?”

  I block him with a firm hand on his chest, guarding my friend. “That’s enough, dude.”

  He shoots a glaring glance between Shannon and me like he wants some action. One way or another. “And who the fuck are you with your pussy-ass pink shirt?”

  Oh, no, he didn’t.

  “It’s salmon, you asshole. And I’m the one who’s taking her home.” My heart pounds in my ears as I take him back a full step, not blinking an eyelash.

  He scoffs with a menacing leer. “Is that what you think?”

  “Hey!” Shannon’s UFC bouncer buddy calls, marching toward us. “Is there a problem here?”

  Josh turns and yells back, leaving me to slip into the Uber. I slam the door shut, and with a jolt the car escapes the scene, leaving that douchebag in the dust.

  Adrenaline drives through my body as we head up First. Shannon flips around, staring out the back window. “Whoo, he looked pissed.” Her wide eyes match mine. “Someone really needs to lock up my phone when I’ve been drinking.”

  “Good idea.” I snatch her sidekick but she yanks it away, gripping it close to her heart.

  “No, I need this. We gotta keep the party going!”

  “Did you say party?” the driver calls back.

  “Yeah!”

  The driver holds up a tiny remote and with a click of his thumb, colorful rope lights strobe along the roof. Splashes of purple, blue, red, and green illuminate Shannon’s freckles in the dark car. What kind of Uber is this? “Here, crack these.” He passes back a couple of plastic glow sticks, and Shannon bends them in half until their pink fluorescence radiates. How’d he know our color?

  An electronic beat pumps through the speakers and our driver-slash-DJ cranks it up. “Oooh!” Shannon whoops. “This is my jam!” The bass drops and Shannon waves the glow sticks around her face like it’s a wild rave.

  Why didn’t I take that last shot?

  “Come on, Richard! This goes with your outfit.” She hands me her party favor and grabs my wrist, waving my arm back and forth like hey, ho! With Shannon, the party never stops.

  Another hot song later, we’re heading uptown on FDR along the East River. With the city lights reflecting off the water, the river is as lit as this ride. Shannon freezes for a second and gasps. “I have an idea.” Whatever it is, nothing good can come of it. “Let’s get Taco Bell!” Her wide-awake expression is totally serious. And she’s probably starving. I can’t count how many late-night crunchy tacos we ate on the 1 train back to our dorms. Is she still doing it after all this time?

  I catch her tapping away on her phone. “Who are you texting now?”

  “What, are you jealous?” She looks up with a teasing smirk but I don’t play back. “I’m not texting anyone. I’m ordering some tacos.” She pronounces tacos like she just returned from spring break in Cancún. “Delivery in thirty minutes!”

  I pop my head in between the front seats. “How do you stand drunks on your ride when you’re stark sober?”

  He shoots me a side glance. “Who says I’m sober?” Uh-oh. “I’m kidding, man. Your girl’s just trying to have a good time. She’s cute. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  I lean back in my seat, rest my hands on my Gucci, and watch Shannon bounce around for the next fifteen minutes.

  After what feels like the longest car ride ever, we pull up to Shannon’s apartment building on the Upper East Side. I follow her upstairs, trying to ignore the fact that she’s swaying her hips for me. Or for Richard. What she doesn’t realize is she’s so tipsy it looks more like she’s just wobbling around on a swaying cruise ship. Her apartment door swings open, and I get a waft of something citrus—like the leftover scent of an orange and bergamot candle.

  “This is it,” she announces and flips the hallway switch. Light spills into her studio apartment—revealing her velvety emerald sofa and fish-scale-patterned divider screen behind it. I set my Gucci down on the narrow entryway shelf next to a vase of silk magnolias. Must be nice to comfortably afford her own place.

  She pushes at the heels of her pumps, leaving them toppled on the wood floor. “Why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable?”

  “Do you have any aspirin?” I step into the six-foot galley kitchen and peek inside the five cabinet doors, hunting for a water glass.

  Found one.

  She pouts. “Oh, no. Do you have a headache?”

  “No,” I say, filling a glass from the water pitcher on her counter. “It’s for you.”

  “But I feel fine.”

  “You won’t in the morning.” I return to the hall and reach inside my Gucci for a tiny travel bottle of whatever painkiller I’ve got and sprinkle two pills in my hand. “Here,” I say, holding my hand out. “Take this, then go to bed, and don’t forget to set your alarm, okay?”

  Her fingers tickle my palm as she takes the meds. I better get out of here before she gets any more ideas. “I’ll see you later,” I say and turn back toward the door, but she pinches my jacket and pulls me back.

  “Wait. You’re leaving?”

  “Yeah, girl, it’s late.”

  She sets her water down and waves a dismissive hand. “Pff! The night is young and so are we. Plus, I wanted to give you a little birthday present.” She grabs my belt and tugs me close. So close her boobs press against my chest. She slides them down my body, lowering herself to her knees.

  Is this girl for real right now?

  “Whoa. What are you doing?”

  “Don’t you want to show me your little Richard?”

  I shake my head, jerking back. “Nope. Nope.” I knew she was assertive, but damn!

  She relents, rising to her feet, and whispers in my ear, “What’s the matter? Are you shy?”

  Flinching at the feel of her breath on my neck, I can’t help but giggle. “Shannon, come on.”

  “Let’s not play games.” She slides her hand down my tie. “My body wants you. And I know your body wants me. I felt it on the dance floor. What’
s the big deal if we hook up?” My old college pal wraps her arm around my neck and pulls me in, parting her mouth against mine.

  I twist my lips and turn away. “Shannon, stop! We can’t do this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m Delia!” I blurt out.

  “What?” Horror blackens her eyes while the color drains from her flushed cheeks. “Delia?”

  “Yeah.” I gulp hard, wishing I could swallow the truth too.

  She gags and slaps a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no, I think I had too many cocktails.” Shoving me out of the way, she bolts to the bathroom. The sound of her retching echoes into the hallway.

  This is a mess.

  Knock, knock.

  “Seriously? What now?” I open the front door half expecting it to be Jerk-Off Josh, but it’s the takeout guy with Shannon’s tacos.

  “Delivery for Shannon?” he asks, holding up the plastic bag. The smell of spiced beef and melted cheese seeps into the apartment.

  Shannon yaks again, and the splash of vomit sloshing in the toilet is clearer than Mr. Delivery and I would prefer. He cringes. “I’m guessing she’s not hungry anymore.”

  I grimace and take the carryout bag. “Thanks.”

  He waves, flashing me a sympathetic look, and I’m tempted to follow him wherever he’s going if only to avoid what’s next.

  “Shannon! Are you okay?” I call, setting the food down while making the short journey to her bathroom.

  Shannon’s long red hair drapes around her face as she reaches for the handle, flushing her mess. If it weren’t for my dick, it’d be just like college. She tears some toilet paper from the roll and wipes her mouth.

  “Better?” I ask.

  With her legs curled in, she pushes herself up and leans back against the tub. I brace myself for the million questions that are about to spew from her mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in love with Delia?”

  Huh? “In love with Delia?”

  “Yeah, that’s what you said, isn’t it?”

  It is now.

  I clear my throat; time for some more make-believe. “I didn’t tell you because I haven’t told her yet.”