Butterfly of Venus

by Susan F. MacKay

  Jayce leaned against the wall outside Clinton’s and lit a cigarette. He’d been trying to cut down and was now smoking three a day. Fuck it. That was good enough. He flicked his butt to the curb just as Eddie arrived, delivering Elizabeth in a Lincoln Town Car.

  Jayce held the door open for her and kissed her cheek. “Fizzy, Miss Lizzie. Good to see you.”

  She always smelled so good, not heavy, cloying scents that rammed your nostrils, but light, delicate fragrances that made you want to follow her.

  “Hi, Jayce. Glad you made it.”

  “Let’s go hear your boy.”

  Her boy? Is that what Declan was? She knew Jayce was speaking in the vernacular and shrugged it off. She was excited for him to hear Declan. If all went well, this could be the beginning of Declan’s ascendancy to fame and fortune. If it didn’t . . . she wasn’t going to even consider the possibility. Declan was a professional, hungry for his music to reach the world. He would do whatever it took to be successful. She was sure of it.

  Inside, the small club was fairly full. Its stage was bathed in a warm red light that lent the room a cheery glow. Elizabeth noticed, with some surprise, that a cello, a violin and a stand-up bass were onstage along with Declan’s regular set-up of keyboard, guitar and drums. He’d obviously decided to add value to his show by bringing in extra players. Good. She was satisfied. She couldn’t wait for him to show up.

  Jayce bought Elizabeth a drink, and the two settled into a corner booth. As more people streamed in, Elizabeth became increasingly anxious. Where was Declan? This performance had the potential to be a life-changing event. He should be here by now.

  The band ambled to the stage and launched into a jam that pumped up the audience and set hips swaying. Elizabeth couldn’t sit still a minute longer. She needed to let off some nervous energy. She grabbed Jayce’s hand. “C’mon. Let’s dance.”

  She pulled Jayce onto a small dance floor. Even without being led by a great partner, she could rock. Several enthusiastic dancers joined them.

  Jayce seemed bemused. “Good golly, Elizabeth, I had no idea you could move like this.”

  Elizabeth writhed and shimmied to the infectious beat. Several more couples joined in. The dance floor was jammed. As she twirled, waving her hands in the air, a massive force of bodyweight suddenly careened into her. Elizabeth went flying. Had it not been for Jayce’s muscular arms reaching out to catch her, Elizabeth would have ended up face down on the floor.

  “What the hell?” Elizabeth spun angrily around, fully expecting an apology from whoever had crashed into her. She was not expecting it to be Declan. She definitely was not expecting it to be a completely wasted Declan. In one hand, he waved a half-empty bottle of tequila. His other arm, draped around Natasha, was all that prevented him from sliding to the floor. He lurched away from Natasha and grabbed Elizabeth’s hair, attempting to plant a kiss on her lips. His electric blue eyes were hooded and dimmed. Teetering wildly, he tried to focus on her, but he was clearly in another dimension, not responsible for his actions.

  Horrified, she stepped deftly to one side as Declan crashed to the floor. He lay there, mumbling nonsense, then, attempting to drink from the bottle, poured it down his shirt instead. His perfect mouth did not appear to be following directions from his addled brain. “Hey, baby,” he slurred to no one in particular. “C’mere and give me a kiss.”

  Horrified, Elizabeth looked at Jayce. “C’mon, Jayce. Let’s go. Declan Thomas is a no-show.” Elizabeth glared at Natasha and received a smirk in return.

  Clearly drunk as well, Natasha attempted the perfect pronunciation of the inebriated. “Did ya get the pierced tongue treatment yet? Guess who taught it to him.” Natasha stuck out a pink tongue, pierced with a silver ball, and waggled it at her. “Did ya also get the Venus butterfly? You know, two holes, one tongue? That’s his signature move.” Natasha leered at Elizabeth. “And how ’bout those little fantasies, huh? Get you all tied up, did he? Tell him your dirty thoughts? Like being a slave?”

  Elizabeth felt as if she were involved in a bloody car accident. She was in shock.

  “Decky likes to get the ladies talking,” slurred Natasha. “That’s his thing.”

  Every fibre of Elizabeth’s being was screaming at her to get away, to run like hell. But she was paralyzed.

  Natasha’s mouth took on an ugly sneer. She pushed her face so close to Elizabeth’s that Elizabeth could smell the sour odour of booze. Natasha was on a vicious roll. Her spiteful words continued to pour out. “You think he’s yours, but he isn’t. He’s just using you to get what he wants. He’s just giving head to get ahead. You’re a ladder he can climb up. That’s all.” Natasha laughed loudly at her own joke as she lurched away.

  The hurt and anger churning within Elizabeth reached a boiling point, then overflowed. She was so overcome with rage she could hardly see straight. A primitive anger suffused her, rendering her out of control. With a mighty cry, she launched herself at Natasha, grabbing her hair and yanking her to the floor. Natasha fell like a stone. “You’re such a bitch!” screamed Elizabeth.

  Natasha focused on her from the floor. Her face twisted into a smug smile. “And you’re old.”

  Sweat froze on Elizabeth’s body. She was shaking. She felt limp and exhausted. She wished more than anything she could simply vanish into the air. Jayce took her by the elbow and steered her towards the door. As they exited the club, Elizabeth took a final incredulous look back. Natasha, attempting to help Declan up, ended up falling on top of him. The two lay across the dance floor, on the verge of passing out.

  As far as Elizabeth was concerned, Declan Thomas and Natasha could go to hell. His career, and their relationship, were over. She said to Jayce, “I’m extremely sorry. This is unforgivable.”

  “Did your boy know I was coming?”

  “Yes.”

  Jayce shrugged. “I’ve seen it happen before. The pressure’s too much, so they self-destruct. Sign of immaturity, that’s all.”

  Elizabeth felt the sting of Natasha’s cruelty as physically as if she’d been lashed with a whip. A slave? Why would Natasha say that, of all things? There was only one possible answer. Declan must have told that viperous sexpot. It was beyond thinking about. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to kill both of them.

  Declan was right about love. It was dangerous—no, lethal.

  Jayce lit a cigarette. Elizabeth indicated that she wanted a puff. She needed to numb the horror she felt. She inhaled and handed the cigarette back to Jayce. Nicotine roared through her brain receptors, constricting her blood vessels. She felt instantly dizzy. She sat heavily on a nearby wall, watching the ground spin beneath her feet. “It’s all Declan ever wanted,” she murmured. “He lives and breathes music.”

  “Shit happens,” said Jayce. “I won’t write him off yet. Everyone deserves a second chance. Only next time, he won’t know I’m coming.”

  Elizabeth wasn’t sure there would be a next time, but she was immensely grateful for Jayce’s understanding.

  “Hey, if I wrote off every punk kid who got nervous and drank too much, there wouldn’t be an industry.”

  Jayce hailed a cab, offering to drop Elizabeth off.

  “Lord, you ladies sure are mean fighters. Who was that girl you decked?”

  “Declan’s girlfriend.” As she said the words, Elizabeth felt the anger drain from her body, replaced by humiliation. It was true. Natasha was Declan’s girlfriend, and she had been a complete and utter fool.

  Jayce put his arm around her and gave her a bear hug. “It’s been quite a night. C’mon, Fizzy Lizzie. Let’s get you home.”

  * * *

  Feeling worse than she ever had in her life, Elizabeth crawled into bed. Just a few days ago, she’d shared that bed with Declan. What had seemed the most wonderful, exciting sexual experience had disintegrated into a cruel and tawdry joke. She’d shared her fant
asies with him, and the fact that he’d laughed about them with Natasha was beyond humiliating. She was a fool, a vain and stupid fool.

  She told herself she deserved this comeuppance. The whole idea that a man fifteen years her junior would be interested in her was laughable. Her ability to influence his career was the only reason he’d pursued her. Elizabeth cried, then got angry, then cried some more.

  There was only one person in the world she could talk to. Effie picked up after the first ring. “Hey, hey, mamacita. You’re not getting younger, but you are getting sweeter.”

  Elizabeth burst into sobs. “You’re right, Effie. I’m not getting younger, but I’m definitely getting stupider. I just let Natasha stab me in the heart.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  Effie arrived armed with a jar of gourmet soup, homemade lasagna and a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. She let Elizabeth sob on her shoulder for several minutes, patting her on the back, not saying a word. When Elizabeth calmed down, Effie insisted she take a hot bath. Meanwhile, she bustled about the kitchen, warming up the food.

  Elizabeth sank into the soothing heat of her bath, feeling tension and anger melt away.

  Effie came into the bathroom and handed her a glass of the superb wine. “Here. I always enjoy drowning my sorrows in a good vintage.”

  Elizabeth smiled weakly and took the glass. Between sips, she poured out the story of the night’s events, recounting her pain and humiliation and how badly Declan had let her down.

  “These bastard men. They should all have their nuts cut off and used for slingshots.”

  “Bet you’re glad you don’t have to deal with them anymore.”

  “Too right. Physically and mentally, Stevie and I are on the same page. No guesswork.”

  “Do you think Stevie might have a friend?”

  Effie scoffed. “For you? No way.” Then she looked momentarily concerned. “You’re not serious?”

  “No, Eff. I’m not serious. I wish I could be.”

  Effie sighed. “Get the wine down and let’s have something to eat.”

  “I’m not really hungry.”

  “Rubbish. You’ve got to keep your strength up.”

  “For what?”

  “Revenge, of course. On Na-trash-a.”

  Despite her depleted state, Elizabeth grinned. “Good one, Eff. That’s the perfect name for her.”

  Later, sitting in the kitchen, Elizabeth told Effie how she’d fallen under Declan’s spell. Without going into details, she revealed that sex with Declan had been better than she’d ever imagined—though she privately knew her imagination had played a huge part in it.

  Effie said, “I told you. Where the pussy goes, the heart will follow.”

  When Elizabeth relayed the story of her experience at Clinton’s and the extreme cruelty of Natasha’s barb about her age, Effie winced. “Ouch. That must’ve hurt.”

  “Not as much as the yank I gave her hair.”

  Laughing, Effie said, “Good for you. What a bitch. Sounds like she deserved it.”

  “Did she really? Maybe she can see what I’ve been blind to. Maybe she did me a favour, cluing me in before I got in any deeper.”

  “Still, to blow it with Jayce Corning? Doesn’t make sense. Chances like that don’t come along every day.”

  “I know. Declan was so excited about playing for him. Fortunately, Jayce was understanding.”

  “So what now?”

  “I’m going to take a week off and rethink things.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I still believe in Declan as an artist. He’s probably the biggest talent I’ve ever signed.”

  “Surely you can distance yourself. Let Hunter or someone take over?”

  “That’s exactly what I have to do. I didn’t follow my own rules, Eff. I let myself get involved on a personal level. Serves me right.”

  Effie took on a motherly tone. “No one deserves to be hurt like you’ve been hurt, sweetie.”

  Effie offered her expansive shoulder and Elizabeth took it, grateful that her friend was giving her a comforting place to cry her heart out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Daylight flew like shards of glass into Declan’s eyes. He closed them painfully and searched his consciousness for a point of orientation. Nothing came to mind. He felt like he was drifting in a big fuzzy hole. Where was he? Was he alone? Apparently not. He felt a body shift beside him. Natasha. What was she doing here?

  “Hey, Decky,” murmured Natasha sleepily. She flung her arm across his chest and went back to sleep. Gingerly, he removed her arm, pulled on a pair of jeans and struggled to the bathroom. What he saw shocked him. His chest and back were covered in long, bloody scratches. Declan gulped a glass of water with two Aspirin. What the hell had happened? Where had he been? Why couldn’t he remember anything? He returned to his bedroom, where Natasha lay sprawled naked across the bed.

  Had she given him the scratches? Surely they hadn’t . . . Maybe they had. Oh God. This was a fuck-up of major proportions.

  Sorely in need of coffee, Declan laboured slowly to the kitchen and put on a pot to drip. Was he losing his mind? C’mon, he told himself, think. What was the last thing he could remember? He stared at the Les Paul guitar on his coffee table. Where had that come from? Oh yes. Elizabeth had given it to him. Elizabeth’s beautiful face arranged itself in his memory. Missing pieces of a jigsaw memory floated through his consciousness and began to fall, slow motion, into place. A sound check, but where? He’d been with the band. Natasha had appeared at the door. A celebration. Something about a new job. Images began to form like flashbacks in a movie. Natasha laughing. A special bottle of tequila. He only had one drink because he had something important to do. Yes. He was playing for someone. Who was it? Declan picked up the Les Paul. Frustrated, he ran his fingers up and down its frets as if he could coax an answer from the guitar. He played a C chord. Corning. Clinton’s. That was it. He was supposed to play at Clinton’s for Jayce Corning, one of the most renowned producers in North America. What the fuck had happened?

  Declan sprinted upstairs and shook Natasha. When she didn’t respond, he shook harder.

  She moaned in protest. “What? What is it? Whaddya want? Lemme sleep.”

  “What happened last night? What did you do to me?”

  Natasha appeared to still be drunk. She yawned. “I didn’t do nothing to you, Decky.”

  Declan gestured to the scratches on his body. “What’s this all about?”

  Natasha half sat up. “You can’t blame a girl for tryin’. But you were too wasted to have any fun.” She flopped back down.

  “What happened to the gig, Natasha?”

  “We went to the gig, but you were too wasted for that, too.”

  “Why? What happened? I only had one drink.”

  “I told ya it was very special tequila, didn’t I?”

  “You spiked it! You put something in my drink? I don’t believe this.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, Decky. Not when it was such a big deal. Hey, what’s this?” Natasha pulled a long red hair from the pillow and let it dangle from her blood red nails. Her amber eyes narrowed with jealousy. “The hair of a certain cougar. Tsk tsk, Decky. Fucking your way to the top. That’s not like you.” With a disdainful flick of her nail, she sent the hair floating down to the floor.

  Declan stared at her in disbelief. As much as he had tried to remember images from last night, now he tried to block them out. Clinton’s pulsing yellow neon sign flashed in his brain. Horrified looks on people’s faces. His perspective from the floor. Elizabeth. Jayce Corning. A slow fade to black.

  Declan yanked Natasha up and threw her clothes at her. “Get dressed,” he yelled. “And get out.”

  “Don’t be like that, Decky.” Natasha began to rub herself against him like a cat.

  Declan grabbed
her under her chin, holding her at arm’s length. “I mean it, Natasha. Stay the fuck away from me.”

  Natasha pouted. “Whatsa matter, Decky? Aren’t I old enough for you?”

  Declan felt anger rising like steam. “For two cents I’d knock you right through that wall.”

  “You know I like it rough. Lemme get my purse to find the two cents.”

  “Get out of my life. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear from you. I don’t want you showing up at my gigs. Got it?”

  Natasha began pulling her clothes on. “Got any coffee, Decky?”

  Declan shook with rage. “I’m going for a shower. When I come out, I don’t want to find you here. You will be gone. We will be done. I never want to see you again. Ever!”

  Declan turned his back on Natasha and went into the bathroom. He turned the shower on cold and stepped in. It was freezing, but the temperature was what he needed to clear his head. He had a lot of damage to control. Could it ever be put right? He’d probably lost his chance with Jayce. Elizabeth would be furious. Would she ever forgive him? He’d been given a potentially huge break, and Natasha had ruined it. She was a complete and total black-hearted bitch. He deeply regretted his involvement with her.

  Declan stayed in the shower a good ten minutes to let the water revive him and give Natasha a chance to leave. By the time he towelled dry and put his pants back on, she was gone. Thank God for that. The girl was unhinged.