Enamel

by Tim Sabados

  Enamel

  TIM SABADOS

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, business establishments, events, locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Tim Sabados

  EPUB Edition

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

  For Mary, Mackenzie and Zoe

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Excerpt from The Chain of Salt and Water

  About Tim Sabados

  1

  The unrelenting dog bark punched through the thick night air, slid amongst the maze of darkened alleys and rolled over the pungent stench that festered from the grime-coated streets. It was the same kind of disgusting stink that had burrowed into the walls of Aryssa’s apartment. No matter the scent of the candle, the type of air freshener, or how much she scrubbed, the acrid odor always managed to out-muscle her efforts.

  The bark clung to the air—air as searing as a demon’s oven-like breath—and rose the several stories into the once-calm nocturnal sky, only to slip past the tiny window above Aryssa’s kitchen sink.

  An elbow on the kitchen table, her hand lethargically braced her head. Aryssa halfheartedly tapped the pestle against the rim of the marble mortar, then blew the strand of blonde hair that had been obnoxiously rubbing against her forehead. It flew to the side, only to creep back to its rightful spot and tempt her to try to shoo it away once again.

  Two thirty-six struggled to light up on the stove’s clock, except the six looked more like a five. The lower left red hash that made a digital six look like a six, or for that matter an eight like an eight or a two a two had long ago stopped working. The torn curtain that hung from a rod speckled with the sores of rust silently fluttered. Aryssa hoped the breeze would survive the short journey across the kitchen to where she sat. She yearned for its cool touch to ripple across her skin, whisk away the glaze of sweat that coated her body and relieve the monotony that was caked like gelled lotion inside her head. It never came. Instead, the apartment’s stagnant atmosphere coiled around the draft of her desire and devoured it.

  Above her the ceiling fan with its dust-coated blades strained to spin, even though the switch was on max. Aryssa slowly exhaled and rubbed her ear, hoping to soothe the persistent ring, a ring as relentless as the slow descent of nails on a chalkboard. Once again the speakers closest to the stage had been turned up past their limits. How many times had she bitched about it to Ariek? A dismissive flick of her hand. It never did any good. She had chosen to stay quiet because…well, she hadn’t been in the mood to hear the same empty rhetoric. It comes with the territory. The needs of the customers come first. And on and on and…

  A tiny bead of sweat broke away from Aryssa’s neck and dribbled down her chest. She swiped it away with her finger before it could pass the border to her breasts. There was a similar kind of dew coating her glass of bourbon. She took another swig only to realize there was no burn down her throat. It didn’t matter though because it wasn’t helping. It wasn’t enough to appease the predator inside her head, push away that unquenchable lust as it seductively circled its tongue around the clit of her prudence and insistently urged her to drink more. Not enough to pacify the orgasmic fix her body craved. Not enough to shut up that damn dog, stop the dripping faucet, dial down the heat, soak up the humidity, obliterate the memory of work and appease the sandman so she could finally succumb to the gentle rhythms of a deep slumber. A frustrated grunt. There was something that possibly could and it was lying on the table right in front of her.

  She grabbed the purple Crown Royal bag and fingered the stuff inside. Were there three, or maybe four of them? Whatever the number, it was the last of her stash. The smaller, less potent ones. The ones that were constantly shoved aside for those that were slightly better, and now those last few were all that remained.

  Another sigh. Aryssa needed to find more. It was still dark outside, which meant there was plenty of time before sunrise. The night’s take was balled into a loose wad next to the bottle of Elijah Craig. It would be enough. At least she didn’t have to turn a…

  Vrrrr. Her cell vibrated. She glanced at the caller ID. Huffed. What does he want now?

  “Yeah,” she said sharply.

  “Glad to hear from you too,” Sammy responded. “Is that any way to greet your number-one fan?”

  “Greet?” Aryssa glanced at the stove’s clock. “It’s only been a couple of hours.”

  “Does it matter? I wanted to make sure you made it home in one piece.”

  Aryssa rolled her eyes. “As you can see, I did.”

  “How was I supposed to know? It’s not like you called.”

  “Didn’t know I was obligated to do so.”

  “You aren’t,” Sammy responded. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be concerned.”

  Who’s he trying to kid? “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  “Damn. Who suddenly pissed on your parade? You weren’t anything like this earlier.”

  What had gotten into her? A twinge of remorse injected itself into her discretion. Aryssa mustered the strength to say it. “Sorry.” She sank back into her chair, looked up at the ceiling and exhaled the waste of her discontentment. “It’s been a long night, and I’m beat.”

  “I believe it,” Sammy said in an optimistic tone. “With the way you were moving, you had the whole place in an uproar.”

  Aryssa curled her knees to her chest and rubbed her shin. The soreness along her bone wrinkled under her touch. “I didn’t do anything different from any other night.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Sammy replied. “Your sets were out of this world. Hands above the others.”

  A flame of pride flickered inside Aryssa. It grew warmer. Glowed brighter. “Thanks.” She was good. Dancing was in her blood, and she used it as a way to escape the drabness that had infected her life. “I had to find some way to help me tune out the speakers. Ariek had them blasting again.”

  A brief moment of silence. “Now that you mention it, it was kind of loud.”

  “Kind of?” Aryssa questioned incredulous
ly. “I’m surprised my ears are still attached to my head.”

  Sammy chuckled. “Everything was fine from where I was sitting.”

  “That’s because you spent all of your time way over at the bar. There’s nothing there but TVs.”

  “Doesn’t mean I didn’t hear the music,” Sammy retorted. “Besides, I didn’t spend all my time at the bar.”

  “You what…broke away to go upstairs.”

  “Isn’t that what you ladies are there for?” Sammy said. “It just so happens that I enjoy it.” A pause. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

  “Of what?” She couldn’t hide the annoyance in her voice.

  “You not being there and providing it for me.”

  Aryssa scoffed. “Not at all.”

  “I think you are,” Sammy said with an air of confidence.

  “We’ve been over this,” Aryssa reiterated. “I’m not giving you a lap dance.”

  “Why not?” Sammy asked. “You do it for other guys.”

  “It’s how I make money.”

  “And I’m not a paying customer?”

  Aryssa tightly squeezed her hand into a fist. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  She slowly exhaled, hoping to smooth the sharp edges of her frustration. “You and I both know that you’d expect more.”

  “What makes you say that?” Sammy was trying his best to sound naïve.

  “Oh come on,” Aryssa countered in a tone that dripped with contempt. “I can’t believe you would ask me something like that.”

  “I’ve never placed any expectations on you.”

  “So you say,” Aryssa replied. “It doesn’t matter, because things are different.”

  “All because of that one night?” Sammy asked in a way that implied it shouldn’t matter. “You can’t tell me you didn’t like it…’cause I know you did.”

  Aryssa bit her tongue to stave off the impending barrage against Sammy’s smugness. She silently expelled a breath, trying to relieve the pent-up aggravation that was building inside her. Yes, it was all because of that one night. The one night she wished she could delete from her memory. Try as she might, she couldn’t. No amount of liquor or the long shower where she relentlessly scrubbed every inch of her body had helped. Neither had snorting that extra crush.

  That night she had been in a mood. God only knows what had put her in that mood, but something inside her made her bust loose. Had it been stress? Boredom? Some strange desire to shake things up? Whatever it was, Aryssa would never fully understand it. She did know it had been lurking. Stalking. Patiently hiding on the fringes of her awareness. Waiting for the right time to seduce and take control.

  It started off as one of those nights when she had somehow chosen to break one of her cardinal rules. A rule she rarely breached, but on this particular night she did. She allowed a customer to buy her a drink. The Tanqueray and tonic was the spark. One led to two, which turned into two more and then several after that. Her mind went blissfully numb. The thin layer of inhibition that covered her desire had evaporated and left her discretion free to do as it pleased.

  The music had been hypnotic. It had tantalized her carnal appetite. The rhythm deviously slipped through her flesh and grabbed her hips. Her pelvis gyrated. Flirted with the fiendish beat. The fire of lust burned in her groin, spread upward into her chest, passionately caressed her breasts and made her heart flutter with passion.

  That night she had danced her heart out. She lit up the stage with hips that thrust and contracted with unrestrained vigor. She enthusiastically twirled around the brass pole. Courted the catcalls. Eagerly took on the privates and ground into those patrons for that little extra. The money came, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted something more. Needed a way to squelch the inferno that burned between her legs. Appease the juices that had lubricated the quivering walls of her lips.

  Sammy happened to be there. There was something about him that had made him especially good-looking. Was it the charming twinkle that swam in the clear blue lake of his eyes? The teeth that were as white as a snow-capped mountain? Maybe the masculine stubble that covered his face? Or the way his confidence propped his undaunted demeanor? Maybe it was a combination of it all? It didn’t matter, because she had been in a mood. He said the right things, smiled in the right way and most importantly flashed a wad of cash.

  It wasn’t the first time she had given him a lap dance, but that time it had been different. She hungered to be touched. To be grabbed by a pair of thick, muscular hands—his hands. She had urged him with the subtle movements of her body. He responded by stroking her back and then running his fingers over the curves of her ass. He had grabbed her cheeks and pulled her close. Instead of resisting she had plunged her chest into his face. Ground into him even harder which made him thrust back. The moment was ripe. Her sensuality was a fleshy fruit bursting with the warm liquid of desire. Sammy suggested it and she readily agreed. A race to his place and then…

  “It was decent,” Aryssa said. “Nothing to get overly excited about.”

  “I beg to differ,” Sammy replied. Was there a tinge of hurt in his voice? If there was, it quickly disintegrated. “The moaning, screaming and the way you clawed me betray you.”

  The heat of embarrassment rolled through her core, up into her neck and singed her cheeks. If memory served her, she’d had him gasping. “Think what you want. It’s never going to happen again.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Sammy replied arrogantly. “Never say never.”

  “Trust me.” Aryssa reassuringly countered.

  “Suit yourself.” Sammy paused. “So be it, if you want to live in denial.”

  Aryssa sprang upright in her chair letting her feet smack the floor. “Are you kidding?”

  “I saw the way your eyes glimmered when you looked at me across the bar,” Sammy said in a voice full of certitude. “Your cute little smile spoke volumes.”

  “Is that why you’re calling me?” She shook away the wave of astonishment. “Thinking you’re going to get a piece?”

  “You say it so crudely,” Sammy answered. “I would never think of you and what we did in such a crass way.”

  “And this coming from the person who said, “‘never say never’.”

  “Ha, ha. You know what I mean.”

  “I know what you’re trying to do.” Aryssa grabbed her glass and took a swig.

  “I can easily pick you up in about twenty minutes.”

  “You don’t even know where I live.”

  “I will once you tell me.”

  Aryssa shook her head. “Not going to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s late.” She ejected her frustration with a quick breath. “I’m tired, and I’m going to bed.”

  “Are you sure?” Sammy asked with a honey-coated voice. “It sounds like you doubt yourself.”

  Aryssa nudged her slackened jaw back into place. “I don’t doubt myself at all. And trust me when I say that I’m very sure.”

  “Well then, how about dinner tomorrow night? There’s a great Italian place that just opened…”

  “Sammy,” Aryssa said pointedly. “I’m going to bed now.”

  “So it’s a yes.”

  Sammy’s overbearing ego played havoc on the circuitry of her mind. It jumbled her thoughts. She just wanted him off the phone. Needed him to go away. “Whatever you say.”

  “Good. I’ll call you later in the afternoon.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Aryssa said. Why had she ever given him her phone number?

  “Trust me; you’re going to love…”

  “Uh-huh. Talk later, bye.” Aryssa abruptly hung up then tossed the phone on the table.

  As if Sammy’s pompous conviction wasn’t enough, her ears suddenly rang louder. The thick air seemed to become heavier. The room seemed to shrink, the walls appeared to close inward and compress tighter and tighter as if a giant python had wrapped itself around h
er apartment and tried to squeeze the life from it.

  Aryssa ran her hand through her hair. Her heart thumped anxiously against the bars of its claustrophobic cage. She had to get out of here. Somehow escape the confining space and find a spot outside to simply breathe.

  She snatched the purple Crown Royal bag and held the opening over the mortar. The last three white rocks tinged then pinged inside the bowl. Definitely time to get more.

  Aryssa grabbed the pestle and mashed the rocks until the last bits were pulverized into a fine powder. Tapping the pestle on the mortar, she then lifted the glass vial from her little black box and carefully filled it with the white contents from the bowl. It filled only about two-thirds of the vial. Not as much as she’d hoped for, but still enough to be effective.

  A tingle swept through her. The predator inside her head chuckled with anticipatory pleasure. He would soon get what he craved. So too would Aryssa.

  2

  The air was still. The place hollow. From the floor to the ceiling, the stage to the speakers, the entrance to the beer taps and everything in between, it was all drained of life. A little over an hour ago the club had been crammed beyond capacity. The walls had practically buckled from the surge of customers who had packed themselves like sardines. Money flowed from one hand to another as if it were a rapidly running river. The current was aided by the thumping music, gyrating lap dances, the carnal odor of overzealous desire mixed with the musky scent of sexual yearning and the faint whiff of false hope. In the end, it wasn’t enough to stop the unfailing hands of Father Time from pushing the clock to two in the morning. Closing time always showed up, no matter how much Sammy wished it would take a night off.

  Even though Sammy wanted the party to keep going, the club had had enough. It rebelled against the mind-numbing chatter, the ear-splitting music, the dancers’ unrelenting need for drama, the spilt drinks, the liquor-soaked washcloths and the empty beer bottles that lay across the bar like fallen soldiers. It rebelled like anyone who had had too much of a good thing. It got sick. It opened its mouth to the parking lot and regurgitated the night’s excitement, leaving stillness in its wake.