God. I must stop thinking about him, I tell myself, and fast.
So I sit down on the bed, breathe deeply, and try out a yoga technique.
I visualise his name, Carson, in huge white letters. And I push them down a stream, until they join the sea and I can see them no more.
I open my eyes and catch sight once again of my tattoo in the mirror.
I love it. I love the girl who is taking shape before me in the mirror. But the transformation still isn’t complete just yet. There’s one more thing that I’ve been dying to do …
§
“Oh my God, your hair!” Jonathan exclaims.
I smile. My little visit to the hairdresser this afternoon is obviously causing quite a stir!
“What do you mean?” I ask, pretend-coyly. “Do you like it or not?”
“Like it?” he replies. “I love it! You look so vamp, so modern. You look like Lorde or something! All that blonde hair was so two-thousand-fourteen. This is perfect.”
“Thanks,” I blush.
“To the new Melissa,” he says, raising his mojito.
“To the new me,” I reply, raising mine in return and clinking glasses.
Just a little earlier this afternoon, I’d dropped into the High Horse salon in Williamsburg. It was so cool — done out like a Wild West saloon.
I’d asked to have my hair dyed dark. Not totally raven-black, I know that wouldn’t quite work with my skin tone, but a deep dark chocolately brown. I’ve always wanted to go brunette, and I’m so pleased that I finally have.
My hairdresser was this amazing girl, too. She had hundreds of piercings and was absolutely covered in tattoos. But the best design was on her right arm — it was a huge stag’s head, intricately drawn. It was strong and powerful, yet sexy at the same time.
And I nervously lifted the hem of my shirt to show her my new tattoo. I felt proud as she admired the work. She said my tattooist had done a really good job.
From someone as stylish as her, it was a real compliment.
And when she said, “Any change to the cut of your hair, or just a trim?” I didn’t hesitate to reply: “I want bangs, just like yours.”
“So, what’s this new look in aid of?” Jonathan asks, busting me out of my thoughts as he leans in across our little table at the back of Maison Premiere, this cute little cocktail bar on Bedford Avenue. “No, no, don’t tell me,” he says, his eyes flickering with mischievous glee, before I can even begin to answer. “It’s for more internet dating, isn’t it? How are you getting on?”
“Actually?” I reply. “I’m through with that.”
“What?!” he says, almost spitting out his mojito.
“Let’s just say, I got what I needed out of it,” I say, hoping it sounds as sassy and enigmatic out loud as it does in my head.
“Woah. That was fast!” he replies, his grin getting bigger and his eyebrows wiggling.
“Say, what are you doing later tonight?” I ask him, wanting to change the subject. I can tell Jonathan wants to ask more questions about my internet dating experiences, and I don’t want to lie to him. But I’m worried that if I have to talk about Carson, my words will betray my true feelings which certainly don’t feel sassy and enigmatic ... Not when it comes to him, anyway.
“I’m doing nothing tonight,” he replies. “Why?”
“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath, “now, don’t laugh at me but there’s something I’ve always wanted to do. You know how much I love vintage fashion, right? Well, I’ve always wanted to go to a …”
I can feel myself beginning to blush, but I force myself to say the words anyway.
“To a … burlesque show. I don’t suppose you know of anywhere cool do you?”
“Oh, Honey,” Jonathan laughs warmly. “I thought you’d never ask!”
I laugh, glad that I feel so comfortable with Jonathan so quickly.
“Shut up,” he says, his eye catching something over my shoulder and waving excitedly. “No way!”
I feel confused, turning to look behind me. And there, strutting over to our table, are two cool, hipster-looking girls, both smiling and waving.
“Cami! Rita! This is my cousin!” Jonathan says when they reach our table. “Melissa, meet two of my oldest friends from college!”
Despite being intimidatingly dressed, super-cool hipster chicks, the girls both smile at me, and they both actually look pretty warm and genuine.
“Hey, join us for cocktails!” Jonathan says. “It’s happy hour!”
“Awesome!” Rita says. “We’ve got a dinner reservation, but we can stay for one drink!”
And as she takes the seat next to me, I feel her quickly looking me up and down, a curious smile curling at the corners of her thin lips.
I wonder if she’s into girls, I think.
And then another strange thought flashes into my head: I wonder if I’m into girls, too?
But before I can even consider this any further, the other girl, Cami says something from across the table that I just can’t quite believe.
“Hey Jonathan! Have you read that blog I forwarded you yet? Girl After Dark?”
I almost choke on my cocktail.
Wait, what?!
“Not yet,” he replies. “What’s it about?”
“It’s this single girl,” Cami explains, as I try to fight back the blush that I can feel creeping across my face, “who’s just moved to the city. She’s out on this voyage of discovery, but it’s really well-written. You feel like she’s your best friend already …”
“It’s so hot, too!” Rita joins in. “It’s all about her exploring her fantasies. There’s this one post with this guy in a hotel room? He’s like a dream come true. Just what you always wanted Jonathan! You’ll love it.”
“Well, I could always do with a little more hotness in my life,” Jonathan laughs. “I’ll check it out!”
As I slowly get over the shock that they’re talking about my blog, I begin to realise that this is actually a pretty good thing, right?
Because it means that my blog is getting popular. Like, really popular. And not just that but that my readers are people like these guys: people I’d actually like to hang out with, people I’d like to be friends with.
As the conversation moves on to gossip about one of their old college friends, I sit back and smile, listening to these new friends of mine talking and laughing.
And inside, I feel happy and warm and proud.
I can’t wait for them to find out what Girl After Dark is going to do next ...
The club Jonathan takes me to is called The Vortex. A candlelit cabaret club, it’s styled like the old Victorian music halls in London that I loved so much. There’s a hint of faded glamour, but the martini glasses are gleaming and the red velvet curtains and upholstery are plush, and the excited murmur of voices that fills my ears from the moment we set foot in the place suggests we’re in for something special tonight …
Jonathan told me that The Vortex was the place to go for alternative, queer-friendly, but very sexy burlesque and cabaret.
And here we are, slipping into our seats just as the already-dim lights go down another notch or two and the music swells.
A tall, striking woman elegantly sashays onto the stage, dressed in what looks like a vintage Yves Saint Laurent Le Smoking suit. Wow! She looks absolutely incredible. Her lips are blood red, her skin is milk-pale her hair is jet black and pulled tightly into a top knot, all the better to accentuate her razor-sharp cheek bones.
“Ladies and gentlemen, damen und herren, mesdames et messieurs,” she purrs, slowly and deliberately, “welcome to The Vortex. I’m Mistress Helena, your hostess for the evening. Some of you know me a little … Some of you know me very well … and as for the rest of you?”
At this her gleaming emerald eyes swoop the audience for a delicious second, sending a shiver up my spine when they latch onto mine.
“We’re about to get acquainted.”
The band suddenly strike up agai
n — a slow sexy number — and Mistress Helena begins to sing, her deep sonorous voice rising up from within her in the most magnificent way, purring past her full lips like cigar smoke.
She controls the band with the slightest of gestures, the crook of a finger, a knowing glance. She’s fully in command of the room as she slowly and playfully begins to prowl the stage, and she knows it.
With one fluid gesture, she slowly removes her jacket and the audience gasps.
Jonathan leans into me. “She’s such a tease,” he whispers. “You’ll never see anything more than that.”
She’s so cool, so collected, so composed, that I feel like I’d give anything right now to see a little more of her body.
The band die down again and Mistress Helena stops at the front of the stage, lifting the microphone once more to her full, glossy lips. “And now, dear children,” she says, “our first act. So please give the warmest of warm welcomes to … Miss Scarlet … O’ … Harlot.”
The room erupts into applause, and I hold my breath, weirdly nervous as I wait for this girl, whoever she is, to step out onto the stage. I can feel my heart drumming in my chest as the lights dim once more, the curtains at the back of the stage part, the drums roll, and at first, because of the dazzling stage lights shining down on her, all I can see is her silhouette.
And then the band strikes up, and I recognize the song immediately, those familiar opening notes of ‘Fever’. And as the song begins — “Never know how much I love you …” — and the lights go up, I see the girl on stage properly for the first time.
The stage is bare, except for the single chair she’s sitting on. Her bright red hair is pulled into a bun, a little white blouse, a grey blazer and pencil skirt, and she’s wearing seamed stockings and amazing 1940’s heels.
Her legs are crossed and she taps one dangling foot in time to the beat.
All of a sudden, she shifts on her chair, uncrossing the recrossing her legs the other way.
She’s so in control. It’s incredible. Every movement she makes is fluid and sexy and confident.
Still in time with the beat, her eyes staring out at the crowd, she begins to slowly unbutton her blazer, slipping it elegantly off her shoulders, holding it out in front of her for a moment before dropping it to the floor.
Next to go is the blouse, unbuttoned one tantalizing button at a time before it slips off her shoulders, revealing her milky white skin beneath. Then her skirt, unzipped with expert precision.
And then she’s standing there in just her underwear.
As her eyes scan the audience, it’s obvious just how much she’s loving this. She’s really feeding off our gaze.
I too feel my heart quicken — I wasn’t even sure I’d be into this, but it turns out I am. I really, really am. I take a shaky little sip of my drink then cross then recross my own legs beneath the table, trying to play it casual, like I go to things like this all the time, but secretly embarrassed to feel that I’m getting pretty wet.
I feel myself blush.
Is it obvious just how turned on I’m getting? I wonder, shooting a nervous glance at Jonathan. But luckily he - along with everyone else in this club - only has eyes for Scarlet.
She reaches behind her back, unclasps her bra, then teases us for a moment, holding the cups to her sumptuous breasts before eventually letting them slip free — to reveal sparkling silver nipple tassels.
The applause is rapturous, and Scarlet leaves the stage with a final wave, leaving us — leaving me — wanting a whole lot more.
I can feel the blood pounding around my veins — I feel so totally alive.
Just then Miss Helena steps back onto the stage, tapping the mic with a glossy black fingernail.
The room falls silent.
“The dazzling Scarlet O’Harlot,” she purrs. “Who else is a little hot under the collar? Ladies and gentlemen, this is my favourite part of the evening. In the audience tonight, we could have a future burlesque superstar. Yes, prepare to experience some raw new talent. Because it’s our Open Stage section of the evening. And I want you to give a very, very warm Vortex welcome to tonight’s newcomer … Amy? … Amy, come on up to the stage.”
I hear a chair scrape behind me, and I turn around to see a girl stand up and nervously head towards the stage.
She’s about my own age, maybe a little older. She’s not glamorous-looking like Scarlet. She’s petite and curvy with long blonde hair.
She takes the stage, the band strikes up, she begins to dance, and suddenly she’s not nervous anymore.
And as I watch this unconventional beauty lap up the whoops and cheers from the crowd, I think: I could do that.
§
“So, did you enjoy it?” Jonathan says with a smile when the lights finally come up, once the very last act has left the stage.
“I loved it,” I smile back honestly, both of us standing up to put on our coats, the room suddenly dazzlingly bright after all that darkness.
“You know, you’d be great on that stage,” he says with a cheeky grin. “Little Miss Innocent getting her kicks? People would love it.”
“No way!” I say, a little too enthusiastically, hoping he can’t somehow read exactly what I’ve been thinking for the last half hour. “I could never do something like that!”
“Well, if I had your figure Honey,” he says with a sigh, “I’d be all over that stage! Anyway, would you excuse me for a moment? I’ve got to visit the little boy’s room …”
As Jonathan heads off in the direction of the bathrooms, out of the corner of my eye I catch the unmistakable slim figure of Mistress Helena, walking towards a door marked ‘Dressing Rooms’.
“Excuse me?” I call after her, my voice escaping my lips before I’ve even really thought about what I’m doing.
“Yes?” she says, turning back to face me, one sleek black eyebrow raising.
“Next week,” I say timidly, “I want to try out … The Open Stage, I mean.”
She looks me up and down then smiles, her bright green eyes piercing me for a moment.
“Well of course, my darling,” she says softly. “What name should I put you down as?”
“Honey,” I reply.
“Well, Honey,” she says, her voice just a low sexy purr, “I’ll see you next week.”
§
A few days later, Katy and I finally manage to coordinate our diaries for a Skype chat. As the distinctive dial tone plays out and I wait for Katy to answer, I feel like I’ve got so much to tell her, but also so much I’m not sure quite how to explain.
When she connects to the call, my heart leaps when my laptops screen fills with that familiar face — her thick unruly brown hair, her dimpled cheeks, and her kind hazel eyes — but suddenly the friendly smile turns into open-mouthed shock.
“Oh my God,” she exclaims, her eyes widening as she looks at me.
“What? What?” I say, worried, totally clueless as to what could make her react that way.
“Your hair!” she gasps.
“Oh, sorry!” I laugh. “I should have warned you. There might have been a few changes around here … Do you like it?” I add, meekly.
Her face breaks out once more into a smile.
“Of course I do. I love it. God, I wish I had hair like yours. I can’t do anything with mine. So, what else is new?”
“Well …” I say, as I grab the hem of my t-shirt, about to lift it up to show Katy my tattoo …
But then something stops me, I don’t know why.
It’s not like Katy’s judgmental, and I’ve always been able to tell her everything in the past — even really really embarrassing things … I guess the difference with this is, it’s so much about my new quest, my search for a new identity, and that this search is somehow private. I guess perhaps because I’ve no idea where I’m going to end up yet?
“Oh, nothing much,” I say instead.
“So?” Katy persists. “Have you met any cute guys?”
At this question, Carson
’s intense green-grey eyes flash through my mind for the millionth time this week.
But again, I feel I need to keep this info to myself for some reason.
I know Katy would have some really great advice right now about not getting into another relationship so soon, but I feel like a girly heart-to-heart just wouldn’t be the same over Skype.
Instead I reply, “Well, for one thing we’re related and for another he’s not into girls, but it turns out my cousin Jonathan is really cool. We’ve been hanging out loads. He was such a geek when we were younger, but now he’s super stylish!”
“That’s awesome,” Katy smiles. “I’m glad you’re making friends. And how about your dad? What’s it like living at home again? I think that would drive me crazy!”
“Turns out he broke up with Gretchen,” I explain with a sigh, “like a year ago. I think he’s been denying it to himself. He didn’t even tell me at first. But it was obvious that something had happened. The apartment was an absolute pigsty when I first got here. I’m kind of worried about him, to tell you the truth. He doesn’t seen depressed or anything, just distracted all the time. I wish I could think of something to cheer him up.”
“Well, looking at you now,” Katy smiles, “it’s obvious, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.
“Your makeover! You look great! Different, but still you. And you look happy. Why don’t you take your dad shopping, too? I’ll bet he hasn’t bought any new clothes since Gretchen left.”
“Oh my God,” I say, “you’re so right! What would I do without you!”
“Anytime,” Katy laughs. “Listen, I’ve gotta head off. Just as I was leaving the office, my boss handed me a manuscript, and he wants my thoughts on it by tomorrow morning. So if I don’t get reading pronto, I’m not going to get any sleep tonight.”
We hang up the call, and I sit back on my bed, the room suddenly feeling so lonely.
Skyping Katy has made me miss her even more, and I feel bad that I didn’t tell her the whole truth — about my tattoo, about Carson.
It was silly not to tell her.
Girl After Dark Page 8