by Fox, Nicole
“Hey girrrl! The fun has arrived!”
I force a smile as my cousin Tamara bounces into my hotel suite at the Mondrian Hotel in Los Angeles.
Everything about Tamara screams “socialite party girl.” She’s wearing a black leather mini skirt and an oversized white linen blouse that hangs carelessly off one shoulder. It’s very Cali, very fashion-forward.
Classic Tam-Tam.
She pauses suddenly once she registers my glum face.
“Seriously?” she asks, pouting a little. “Is that the welcome you give your favorite cousin?”
“What makes you think you’re my favorite cousin?” I tease.
She wrinkles her nose and flicks her long, straightened black hair off her shoulder. “First of all, duh. And secondly, um, yeah, this is most definitely not the welcome you give your favorite cousin. I’m gonna go back outside and we can try this a second time, kay? Kay.”
I snort a laugh and shake my head at my ditzy cousin. Tamara is definitely a good time and I love when we get to hang out, but I’m just not in a very social mood today.
Not after what happened just before we left Mexico.
I’d planned on spending this whole trip cooped up in the hotel room. Still, a part of me is glad not to be alone.
I stand and give Tamara the hug she’s been waiting for. To my surprise, even when I try to pull away, she holds on to me, prolonging the hug a little.
“You okay, chica?” she asks as she releases me.
I frown. It isn’t like Tamara to get all serious right off the bat.
“I’m fine,” I reply with a shrug, even though I feel anything but fine.
Tamara’s voice drops low. “Has he been awful lately?”
She doesn’t have to say my father’s name for me to know who she’s talking about.
But I hesitate anyways. “Why do you ask?”
“Because of this.” She traces the bruise along my jaw tenderly with her fingers. Her eyes are wide with sympathy.
“Oh.” I’d forgot all about the slap. “It’s not a big deal.”
I can feel Tamara’s eyes on me for a moment before she opens the large, trendy leather bag she’s carrying. Her blonde highlights glint under the sunlight as she rummages through her bag.
When she comes up for air, she’s got a makeup kit in hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask, confused.
“I’m gonna fix your face.”
“My face is fine,” I argue. “You can barely see the bruise anymore.”
“I beg to differ. Trust me, you don’t want that thing exposed when we’re hitting the clubs later.”
I laugh bitterly. “I hate to burst your bubble, but we won’t be hitting anything tonight except for an early bedtime.”
Tamara rolls her eyes and starts pulling out a range of different concealers and some blush.
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“Tamara…”
“Hush up, girl, unless you wanna get stabbed in the eye with mascara,” she says absent-mindedly.
She forces me to sit down on the white sofa facing the window and gets to work on my face.
I concede defeat and let her do what she wants to. It’s easier than arguing.
My thoughts float aimlessly as I stare out at the LA skyline.
I can imagine Papa’s voice in my ear. Sit in your cage and be quiet, little bird. Sit and smile. It doesn’t matter if you’re happy or not. Just keep smiling.
“Earth to Esme! Where’s your head at, girl?”
I blink and focus on Tamara. “Doesn’t matter,” I mumble. “How about we head to the spa now? I’d really love to get out of this room.”
She doesn’t argue. We get our bags and head down to the spa with two of my new guards in tow.
I notice Tamara checking out Ansel. He’s the taller of the two guards and he’s got a pair of tattoos on his face, which contribute to how dangerous he looks. I’m willing to bet anything that’s a large part of why she’s attracted to him.
“I wouldn’t go there,” I mutter to her as we enter the spa, leaving my guards stationed at the entrance. “Matter of fact, I wouldn’t get involved with anyone who works for my father.”
Tamara snorts. “What makes you think I want to get involved with him?” she asks. “I’m just interested in fucking him.”
She says it casually, but it leaves me reeling. Maybe because it’s just such a foreign idea.
What must it be like to do something just because you can? Just because you feel like it?
The spa has exactly two tones, pearly greys and muted ivories. I know it’s meant to promote calm and healing, but to me, it feels lackluster, completely devoid of personality or life.
We’re greeted by a petite blonde woman who is as pale as her surroundings.
She leads us to a private room, which is, surprise surprise, as white and dull as the rest of the spa.
“Please make yourselves comfortable,” she says with a smile. “I’ll be back with some refreshments for you both.”
The moment the door is closed, I turn to Tamara, feeling the immense need to unburden myself. “He’s trying to marry me off, you know. My father.”
Tamara’s eyes grow wide. “You’re only twenty-two!”
“Apparently, that doesn’t matter,” I say. “Nothing I want matters. And I don’t think it ever will.”
“You need to get out of here.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “That’s exactly what I need to do. But I can’t see a way out of this life.”
“No,” Tamara says, shaking her head, “I mean, out of this spa. What you need is to take control of your life, and it starts with baby steps.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s an elaborate plan to get yourself to a club tonight.”
Tamara puts a manicured hand on my leg. “Okay, forget about me. What do you want to do today?”
“Does it matter?”
Tamara squeals in delight and claps her hands together excitedly. “Then it sounds like my plan is the winner!”
I just sigh. “Have you forgotten the two armed guards waiting outside this spa for us?”
She rolls her eyes dismissively. “Please, girl. I’ve been sneaking out since I was thirteen years old,” she says. “Those two don’t scare me. If they happen to catch us… well, they’ll just have punish us, won’t they?” She winks flirtatiously.
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re insane.”
“Come on. Let’s go,” Tamara says enthusiastically. “Pretty please?”
I realize how much I actually want to go.
A night out with my cousin—who has never even heard of the concept of having something to worry about—sounds like the perfect antidote to all my despair.
But then I think of Miguel.
The image of him beaten and bloodied on that chair has haunted me for days now.
What happened to him was my fault.
“I don’t know,” I say nervously. “Let’s just enjoy our spa appointments, okay? We don’t have to do anything reckless right now.”
Tamara sighs noisily but I ignore her and swap my clothes out for the soft robes that were left for us.
I settle on the spa table and try to relax, but I realize how tense my body is. No matter how much I try to breathe, I can never get enough air into my lungs.
This is what my life is going to be for the next several decades.
Perfect.
Pampered.
And completely horrible.
Endless spa appointments, private piano performances for Papa’s colleagues, eventually a nightmare of a wedding to some pig of a man.
I’ll be a living, breathing doll with no voice and no freedom. Forever trapped in my colorless world, counting regrets like other people count money.
I sit up suddenly, get off the table, and reach for my clothes.
Tamara looks at me in alarm. “Chica, what’s going on?”
“New plan. Let’s get out of here right this second,�
�� I say, before I can change my mind.
“What?”
“Let’s go,” I say.
A dazzling smile lights up Tamara’s face. “Now we’re fucking talking. Follow my lead.”
* * *
Esme
I follow Tamara back through the spa, towards the entrance. The doors are closed, but I know my guards will still be at their posts just outside.
“How do you plan on doing this without being seen?” I ask.
Tamara throws me a pitying look. “Oh, sweet, innocent Esme,” she murmurs. “Do you really think there’s only one way in and out of here?”
“You’re heading for the entrance,” I point out.
“You really don’t pay attention, do you?” Tamara asks. “There was a door to the left as we walked in. Staff quarters. There’ll be an exit through there.”
Tam is a psycho, but she’s a fun psycho. Life always works out for people like her.
And, true to form, it works perfectly and smoothly. The staff quarters are empty, with an exit door at the far side of the room like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
We’re about three steps away from freedom—when the door opens and one of the spa therapists comes in.
She too is decked out in an all-beige ensemble, but she’s not the woman who greeted us when we entered. At least, I don’t think she is. Everyone who works here looks the same, though, so I can’t say for sure.
“May I help you?” she asks politely.
“Sorry, we got a little turned around,” Tamara says, flashing a smile. “We’ll head back into the spa now.”
Tamara grabs my hand and pulls me towards another door off to the side.
“Um, ma’am, that door will take you back into the hotel,” the therapist says in confusion.
“Same difference!” Tamara chirps. She pulls me through the door before the woman can say anything.
The moment we step out of the blinding whiteness of the spa and into the color of the hotel, we both start running. We probably don’t even need to, but it feels good.
We rush through the massive lobby to the grand golden doors of the hotel. Then we burst outside into the perfect L.A. sunshine.
As Tamara hails a cab, a laugh bursts from my lips. She looks at me for a moment, a smile settling over her face, but she doesn’t say anything.
The cab drops us off outside of Tam’s building, a huge, pink building with a lattice of roses up the front. We race upstairs, still cackling like maniacs, and into her chic two-bedroom apartment.
The moment Tamara closes the door behind us, I breathe a sigh of relief and throw my bag down on the glass coffee table.
“I can’t believe it,” I laugh. “We did it!”
“Well, I did it,” Tamara reminds me with a friendly nudge in the ribs. “You just tagged along.”
“Fair enough,” I smile. “You can have all the credit.”
She grins. “Aren’t you glad you decided to listen to me?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t get a big head about it.”
But we both know I’m lying. I would’ve never done something this reckless on my own. And truth be told, I’m not stupid enough to think I’ve gotten away with anything just yet.
No doubt there’ll be hell to pay if my father finds out.
But that’s a problem for future Esme. If there are any consequences, I’ll deal with them later.
My life is closing in on me even faster than I’ve always feared. I want to live a little—while I still can.
“Come on. Let me doll you up. You can borrow something from my wardrobe for tonight,” Tamara says, leading me into her bedroom.
I raise my eyebrows as I walk in. Tamara’s room is complete and utter chaos. Clothes piled everywhere, makeup littering the top of her vanity, half-eaten snacks lying on the bedside table.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. The maid’s coming tomorrow,” she sasses as she flings open her wardrobe and starts riffling through it.
I stand in the doorway, scared to go any further for fear of triggering a hidden landmine or something, as she throws clothing items over her shoulder without looking.
“Ah ha!” She re-emerges, holding something up triumphantly. “Here. This little number will suit you perfectly.”
I stare in disbelief at the dress she’s picked out for me. “You cannot possibly be serious.”
Tamara frowns. “What? Too much?”
I laugh. The dress is made of what looks like sheer chainmail. The neckline seems explicitly designed to reveal my boobs to the world and a thigh slit that rises up to show everything else.
“It would have to be invisible to be any more revealing,” I drawl.
Tamara laughs. “Don’t be a drama queen.”
“Can you even wear underwear with it?” I ask. I’m genuinely curious.
“The point is to show off your underwear,” Tamara tells me with a wink.
I shake my head. “Pass. I think I’ll choose something myself for tonight.”
Tamara sighs dramatically, but she moves over to make room for me.
We spend the next couple of hours playing dress up and laughing. At some point, Tamara pours us each a huge glass of red wine—full enough that mine sloshes over the rim a bit when she hands it to me—and we start drinking.
In the end, the dress I choose is a simple, black mini, but the cut is really sexy. It has thin straps and a bustier that emphasizes my cleavage while still keeping the look classy. The hemline is short, ending just a couple of inches below my butt, but the structure is figure-hugging and flattering, highlighting my curves and making me look sophisticated and a little more mature.
I slip on a pair of strappy silver stilettos and let Tammy go to work on me with some lipstick, eyeliner, and rouge.
“Nothing too dramatic,” she reassures me. “Just enough to make your natural features pop a little more.”
So she says. I’m not in an arguing mood. I’m mostly happy to sip on my wine and let Tam take control of the night. She knows better than I do how to live it up.
We go back and forth about what to do with my hair. Ultimately, I just pull it free from its messy top knot and leave it hanging down my shoulders.
Tam laughs. “Like a fierce lioness! Rawr!”
But then she smiles and gives me a mushy kiss on the cheek and I know that it’s a good look for me.
I stare at myself in the mirror, almost in disbelief. Papa never allowed me to dress too sexy. Claimed it would make me look like a “whore.”
But as I cast a critical eye over my look, I feel strong and confident.
Fuck what Papa thinks.
“Damn, girl!” Tamara exclaims as she turns me around to take one final look. “You look hot as hell.”
I smile. “Thanks. So do you.”
She really does. She’s wearing a red halter with a low neckline and a black leather skirt that’s even shorter than mine.
“Please,” Tamara snorts dismissively, “no one’s gonna be looking at me with you in the room.”
The sun set at some point while we were drinking and laughing. The L.A. day has turned into a warm and bustling L.A. night.
I’m feeling really good as we head to one of Tamara’s favorite haunts in the city: an upscale club called The Siren.
As we pay for our ride and hop out of the taxi, I can see how popular it is by the huge line extending out of its doors.
“Oh, jeez. How are we gonna get in?” I ask nervously.
“Um, have you seen yourself?” she chuckles. “Have you seen me? It’s no problema. Come on, baby cousin, let me show you how it’s done.”
Tamara ignores the line of people completely as she heads for the bouncer at the entrance to the club.
Some of the women queued up there shoot us angry glances.
The men, on the other hand, yell compliments that oscillate between flattering and creepy.
I ignore them all and follow Tamara. I expect her to take the lead, but the moment we g
et to the bouncer, Tamara grabs my hand and pushes me forward in front of her.
The bouncer, a tall, handsome guy in a black leather jacket, takes one slow look up and down at each of us, then flashes a dazzling smile.
I shiver. Is everyone in Los Angeles this good looking?
“You girls have fun in there.” He unhooks the velvet rope and ushers us in through the VIP entrance.
I laugh as we tumble inside, feeling a strange sense of euphoria settle over me.
Tomorrow, I have to go back to my claustrophobic, Papa-controlled world.
But for tonight, I’m in control of the next few hours.
I’m going to make them count.
Tamara is still holding my hand as we emerge from the darkened VIP hallway into the main area of the club.
It’s a booming, overwhelming maze of sweaty bodies and bright lights. The music is so loud I can’t hear myself think. I’m sweating already, too.
Tamara screams something in my ear, but I can’t make out what she said.
“What?” I scream back.
“I said, let’s get someone to buy us shots!”
I give her a thumbs up and a hesitant smile. I’m just overwhelmed, that’s all.
But if I stop to try and gather my thoughts, the image of Miguel beaten and slumped over in that tiny room flashes in front of my eyes.
I shudder.
Can’t be doing that. Look at Tammy—she’s dancing already, having fun, arms in the air and not a care in the world.
I try to smile and mimic her.
But I can’t help feeling like I’m being watched.
I tap Tam on the shoulder. “Does it feel like someone’s staring at us?” I yell.
She makes me repeat it a few times, but eventually she gets it.
When she does, she laughs out loud. “Of course we’re being watched!” she yells back. “We’re the hottest girls in the club!”
I feign another smile and try to breathe. Follow Tamara’s lead.
But I still can’t shake that feeling of being watched.
And when I turn around, I realize why.
Someone’s staring right at me from a small, innocuous doorway along one wall. He’s got dark hair raked back carelessly from his forehead. Tattoos trace over his brawny forearms, and more peek out from beneath the open collar of his henley shirt.