by Karen Glista
“I.D.,” he said with eyes that didn’t blink.
Donja gave him her license as a red light scanned her head to toe.
“You’re not rostered,” he said.
“She’s with me, number 208572,” Makayla screamed over the stentorian blast of music. “She’s good.”
The doorman glanced to a computer screen then handed Donja her license. He grasped her left hand and before she could blink, pressed a wet, rubber stamp firm to her skin, midway of the knuckles and wrist. Moving forward while he checked Heather, Donja raised her hand and saw a red female eye with long thick lashes.
Makayla leaned in to her ear. “It’s to verify age.”
“What?” she asked leaning closer, the music so loud she couldn’t hear her own voice.
“They scan each customer for age and store it on a computer register.”
“No way!”
“Way,” she smiled, it’s all done by infra-red scanners. Like I said, this is an exclusive club. Heather’s father got us in the first time by way of his business associates from Alaska. Oil men, big bucks.”
So, Heather’s lived her whole life in money. Poor girl, that’s probably why she’s uppity.
Heather joined them, eyes on the crowd. “It also scans if you’re a virgin, so that any male who might find you acceptable can make a move on you, get you pregnant and leave you high and dry.”
“Heather, please.” Makayla frowned.
“Sorry,” Heather said with downcast eyes, “guess I’m in bitch mode. Comes with the raging hormones I’m sure.”
“No, I think you’re hurting,” Makayla contradicted.
“Sorry that you have to see this side of me, Donja,” Heather said leaning into her ear. “I guess I am…hurting that is.”
“What does roster mean?” Donja asked to change the subject.
“Just your club number and the stamps are for ordering drinks,” Makayla answered.
“You mean alcohol?”
“Yeah. If your stamped eye is red, no alcohol, blue you’re good to go.”
“Let’s find a table,” Makayla shouted and led the way.
Donja followed behind with the music from the D.J., who was seated in an open cubicle, ten feet off the floor vibrating in her chest. She scanned the room, which was unlike anything she had ever seen, and it occurred to her that this was indeed a different world, an obvious playground for the rich.
Moving in the tightly packed disco where men sipped drinks, with beautiful girls in tow, Donja noticed the bar which was ornately sculptured, stained black and topped with gold countertops. The intricately designed bar stools, occupied by single girls were packed to capacity. Track lights behind the bar reflected upon glass shelves stocked with crystal steins and every liquor known to man.
Finding a table next to carpeted stairs leading to a raised seating section with fancy red leather half-moon booths, Donja climbed up onto one of three bar stools which must have been four feet tall and sat her purse on the round glass table. “There’s a booth on the upper floor that’s empty,” Donja said pointing to the raised section.
Makayla took her seat and crossed her legs, strobe lights reflecting off her red mini. “That’s a V.I.P. section!” she said leaning across the table to be heard over the music. “Those people are so damn rich they could buy and sell Heather’s father ten times over and he’s a millionaire. Get my drift…we can’t sit up there!”
“Oh!” Donja said as she scanned the V.I.P. section which astonishingly was occupied by men—young men, not a woman in sight. She turned and gazed at the dance floor where smoke machines, belching a silver fog, cloaked a sea of writhing bodies.
Noticing that Makayla’s stamp was blue, and not red, Donja leaned in to her ear. “If the stamp is your age, why is yours blue?”
Makayla looked as if she had seen a ghost and then replied, “He must have made a mistake.”
“What can I get you?” a voice drew Donja’s attention as she turned, brushing cheek to cheek with a waitress dressed in about as little as one can wear and not claim nudity.
“She’ll have a non-alcoholic ginger spritzer!” Makayla shouted as she grasped the waitress by the arm leaning closer. “Actually, make it three of them.”
“Wow, it really is busy!” Heather proclaimed with a near shout.
“Yeah,” Makala said, “there must be a lot of outa-towners,” she smiled but as her gaze trailed behind Heather to the crowd, her smile faded. She leaned across the table. “Don’t look now, but Matt’s behind you and he does not look happy.”
“Shit, he’s probably pissed that I’m here, afraid that I’m drinking with the pregnancy and all.”
“I thought he wanted you to get rid of it?”
“He can’t make up his mind,” Heather said, then spun her bar stool and raised a suddenly tremulous hand to comb back her hair.
Seeing her distress, Donja cast her eyes to a blonde haired blue-eyed man, perhaps five-foot six, dressed in a white partially unbuttoned silk shirt with a black suede jacket and matching slacks. He was older and powerful, nigh on as broad as he was tall. He approached with an air of superiority, reached out his massive hand which slid behind Heather’s neck and pulled her lips to his own. The kiss lingered and then he pulled back. His eyes narrowed as if sizing her up and all the while, Heather just sat there without a word, locked on his face. His square jaw tightened and then he turned to walk away, but after perhaps six steps, he glanced back and nodded his head before he disappeared in the crowd. Heather, who looked all but hypnotized, slid from her bar stool, grabbed her purse and met Makayla’s gaze. “I’m sorry to bail on my last night, but I have to try and save this relationship.”
“You be careful,” Makayla said, rising to her feet. They hugged and though it was but a moment in time, it felt as if it lasted forever. “Good luck,” Makayla mused, tears welling. “Call me when you get to London.”
“Donja,” Heather said with a look that reeked of nervous despair. “Nice meeting you and please, take care of this girl,” she said with her eyes trailing to Makayla. “She’s got a heart of gold.”
“Good luck,” Donja mouthed, caught off guard by her sentiment.
Wow, perhaps I misjudged her.
Heather spun then disappeared in the crowd.
Donja glanced to Makayla, but held her tongue as the waitress served their drinks. Makayla paid, dabbed at her moist eyes, then sipped her drink before meeting Donja’s inquisitive stare.
“That was Matt,” she said, “the baby daddy.”
Donja scooted her stool closer.
“I gathered as much, but he’s older than I expected. How old is Heather?”
“She’s seventeen and he’s about thirty-five, filthy rich, and arrogant as hell, but what’s worse, he’s married.”
“Married?”
“Yeah, he promised Heather the moon, gonna leave his wife, gonna marry her. Seems the only thing he’s given her is a bun in the oven. I hate him, but I don’t say it. She loves him, though I don’t know why.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Only if you get caught.”
“And I thought I had problems,” Donja said sipping her drink.
Rh Null
Observers was crazy wild, unlike anything Donja had ever witnessed. The night wore on, the music reverberating. She danced twice with two different men but neither held her interest and she turned them down flat on the second offer. Most of the men were at least thirty, or older and it felt creepy. One of the men came back a second time and asked her to dance but she politely declined. He was easy on the eyes, but arrogant as hell. He walked away from their table and left his drink. Makayla sniffed it then took a sip and offered it to Donja. She tasted it, hesitantly but it was straight whiskey and it burned, all the way down. “That’s disgusting!” she shouted.
“Yeah, I hate whiskey. Tequila Sunrise is my fav, but I don’t really care for liquor.”
From the crowd, a tall muscled guy with shoulder len
gth blond hair, dressed in a dark, three-piece suit eased up behind Makayla and slid his arms around her waist. Makayla’s face lit up as she spun to meet his striking blue eyes. He planted a tender kiss on her lips, pulling her tight, his hands, which were obviously familiar with her body, cupping her hips. He pulled back and their eyes met. “You didn’t call me back,” he said with a thick French accent.
Donja stared, she couldn’t help it, he was a looker, but he was nowhere near seventeen, maybe twenty?
Makayla raised a hand to her hair. “I intended to call, but we were busy putting some pictures online.”
He cocked his head, blond locks hanging to his shoulders. “You best not be looking for another man.”
Donja watched him intently, his accent was so sexy.
“I’m not looking for a man,” Makayla simpered, “it’s some old wedding pictures. Hey, I want you to meet my sister, Donja,” she said flashing her pearly whites. “Donja, this is my on again, off again boyfriend, Gage LeBlanc.”
“Nice to meet you, Donja, and don’t listen to her,” he winked, “it’s always on,” he said with a dazzling smile that put you at ease.
“Nice to meet you, Gage,” Donja smiled and it was easy to see why Makayla liked him, if that was the correct word because the way she was looking at him, it seemed like so much more. Donja caught his eye as he cast a look scanning her head to toe. He turned back to Makayla. “She’s a lovely girl, but as best I can tell, she’s Rh and you’re O positive so she couldn’t be your sister.”
“Gage!” Makayla exclaimed as she slammed his chest with her hand. “She just got here a few days ago and I haven’t even told her about you.”
“Told me what?” Donja queried.
Makayla cast a blunted gaze and they locked eyes, Donja waiting for an answer that didn’t come. Finally, completely baffled, Donja cocked her head. “Well, come on, what’s the big secret?”
Makayla flashed her eyes to Gage, then back to Donja. “No secret,” she stammered, “just that he’s…a…practical joker,” she explained with an innocent smile which didn’t match her guilty eyes.
“Yes,” Gage gushed, jumping to her defense, “excuse me, Donja,” he said with his blue eyes sparkling, “my attempt at humor, which you can see is poor, often gets me into trouble. Welcome to the Soo.”
“Thanks,” Donja smiled, perplexed.
“You’re welcome and you’ll get used to my practical jokes. I’m not a bad guy and I love this gal madly,” he said with an adoring glance to Makayla. “Shall we dance, love?” he asked as he planted a kiss on her check.
Makayla looked to Donja.
“Go ahead,” Donja said, “I need to find the little girls’ room.”
Makayla took off, Gage half dragging her as she pointed beyond the bar where Donja saw a sign that read, ‘The Throne Room.’
She slid off the bar stool.
What was that all about? Secrets, hmmm why didn’t you ever mention him? Better yet, are you sleeping with him?
She chuckled.
No, surely not, you said you were a virgin.
“Whatever,” she mumbled navigating a throng of hundreds, yapping and drinking in tight circles, tables packed, laughter, music and the boisterous D.J., utterly mindboggling. She maneuvered among them moving with fluidity which was near impossible then suddenly her stride faltered and out of the cacophony she heard Gage’s words echoing.
A lovely girl, but she’s Rh and you’re O positive, she can’t be your sister.
Something cold washed over her.
How could he possibly have known that I’m Rh?
She paused, mid stride as a petite waitress in a skimpy outfit rushed past, drinks in hand and climbed the stairs to the V.I.P. section. Her eyes trailed to the upper level and she noticed several of the men seated in the red booths flash her a look, a couple with hungry eyes, but she once more set her stride, walking. She stopped near the stairs as the waitress sashayed past her. She glanced back to the V.I.P. section as a tall guy in the front booth stood up. His companions joined him as he raised his stein. They shared a toast, with celebratory cheers, steins clinking. Donja watched them and as the group of strangers sat down, one of them who was tall dark and critically handsome glanced to her. Caught up in laughter, he looked away, then immediately looked back, his smile gone, his face dead serious. Donja averted her gaze, and realized her pulse was bounding. She weaved through the crowd with an intense feeling that she was being watched.
Wow. He was beautiful, too beautiful to be real.
Down a wide hallway, Donja all but fought for passage through the crowd which seemed oblivious to their surroundings. Finding the ladies room, she waited in line for a stall. Done, she washed and dried her hands. In the lighted mirrors, she checked her makeup which was flawless and tussled her long dark locks that fell in torrential layers of shimmering light. She applied fresh gloss over her painted lips and then stood back as distorted images of the old Donja, fluctuating in the lighted mirrors, forced a gasp. She reached out and with her finger touched the image half expecting her hand to pass through, for it didn’t seem real. She felt the cold glass and with such met the dark eyes staring back at her, a teardrop on her cheek. She heaved a breath and in the back of her mind, she somehow knew that the scared kid who had been hiding beneath a mask was not only fading, but would eventually cease to exist.
I’m okay with that, I don’t have to hide anymore, I have Makayla, my shield.
She smiled and straightened her posture, shoulders back with pride.
I can be goth, glam or gothiglam, they’re all beautiful in their own way.
“Just be yourself,” she said to her reflection with eyes exuding confidence.
Noticing the girl beside her staring intently, she forced a smile, tussled her locks, then winked. “One drink too many.”
The girl laughed.
Finding the bathroom door with a smile that still lingered from that strange encounter, she stepped aside as two girls, one of which was crying all but knocked her down to get inside. Just as the swinging door closed, a man built like a bull came barreling for the door, his face twisted in rage. “Rachel!” He growled as he pushed past Donja, headed inside the women’s bathroom. Screams penetrated the walls and caught by the events which were startling, Donja backed up as two burly bouncers came plowing through the crowd. People scattered in fear and a guy slammed into her so hard that she lost her balance. A scream escaped her lips and she literally felt herself falling, certain that she would soon be trampled. Just as she was about to have an up close and personal encounter with the floor, she felt someone grab her waist and with incredible speed, move her safely away from the stampeding mob.
Clutching her rescuer, blinded by her hair which had been cast upon her face, she felt him lower her to her feet, back to the wall. “Are you hurt?” A strong masculine voice resonated, shielding her with his massive body as the crowd went ballistic.
“I don’t think so,” she mumbled, pushing at her hair. The first thing she saw was soft blond hair on his chest, visible beneath his open, silk shirt. She rocked her head back and looked up, his massive frame towering over her. Her eyes narrowed. He reeked of masculinity with a thick brow ridge and broad nose. His cheek bones were prominent with a square jaw and though his lips were moving she didn’t hear for her eyes were hypnotically drawn to a scar that ran from his cheek to his right ear.
“It’s from the war. Afghanistan,” he said robbing her of thoughts.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” Donja said meeting his intense blue eyes.
He raised his hand and gently removed a lock of her hair, stuck to her lip gloss. “I’m, used to it,” he smiled with perfect white teeth, but what I’m not use to, is finding someone as beautiful as you, inches from my face.”
She again met his eyes, which were mystical, yet overtly possessive. She felt a shiver which raced up her spine, and as she stared into his eyes, it came again, something she couldn’t touch or see, but she felt
it. She dropped her head briefly then once more met his gaze. They shared a brief tether and amidst the look, a deepening disquiet gripped her soul. She dropped her eyes.
“Well, I had best get back to my party,” she mumbled weakened by his presence.
“Could I join you?” he breathed with a slight accent, inches from her cheek “and perhaps buy you a drink?”
“No, I…thank you for your help,” she stumbled over her words, “but I’m with my sister and, no thanks.” She ducked under one of his massive arms stretched to the wall on both sides of her head and walked away. She paused as the bouncers dragged the intruder from the women’s bathroom and side by side, escorted him away. She glanced back and the man who saved her, the strange man with a scar on his face, was watching her. She caught at her breath, my God he was huge, well over six feet, towering over the crowd with a physique more like a super hero than a normal man. She spun, making her way through the mass of bodies, suddenly nervous for there was something about him, something—sinister.
Finding their table where Makayla and Gage sat waiting, eye to eye, like two star struck lovers, she plopped down her purse and climbed onto her stool.
“What happened back there?” Makayla asked.
“A lover’s quarrel gone bad, and I might have been trampled had some knight in shining armor not rescued me.”
“We’ll have another round of the same,” Gage said as the waitress stopped at the table.
Donja flipped her hair to one side and rubbed the back of her neck thick with tension. She crossed her legs. Suddenly, feeling as if someone was breathing on her exposed neck she spun, and a gasp escaped her. There, inches from her face, she gazed into pitch black eyes, shimmering beneath the darkest thick lashes she had ever seen on a man. She just stared and then with a breath caught in throat, exhaled. Her eyes found his lips, so close, so thick and inviting that her gaze lingered, and they were unbelievable, surely made for thing and one thing only. She raised her eyes, as if in a trance and once more met his penetrating stare. He was the same critically handsome guy she had seen in the V.I.P. section. She tried to pull her eyes from his, tried desperately but by some unseen power, he held her captive. Then with her heart pounding against her ribs so hard, she feared it might burst, he leaned into her ear with his thin manicured mustache brushing her cheek. She caught his intoxicating scent as his breath warmed her skin, and he was close, so dangerously close that she froze, and her heart stopped. “Don’t leave with that man. He’s a killer!” he said over the deafening music.