Ice Burns
Page 1
Ice Burns
Dedicated to Kitty without whom
it would never have been written
Amber
She walks in beauty like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies
…
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,—
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent
~ Lord Byron
Aiden
When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
~ Imagine Dragons, Demons
~ 1 ~
*AMBER*
Phil Collins’ “It’s just another day in paradise” filters sarcastically through my mind as I trudge down a typically British street on a typically British day. I’m dodging puddles in one heel, wet to the bone after the wind bent my umbrella into submission. The other heel is in my hand, while the boot it’s meant to be attached to struggles to keep up with its more successful partner. I’d take my boots off, but it’s so cold I can’t bear the thought of making the mile-long walk from the train station home barefoot. Then I’d probably get sick and that would just give Mr Marks more fodder, I’m sure. He’s already being a total pain in the ass, insisting I have to work till 5pm the day before Christmas break or take a half day unpaid leave. No favouritism, he says, despite all the extra hours I put in for him. Scrooge. Hot Scrooge. Sexy Scrooge. Damn it.
I bet neither Mr Marks or “Elizabeth”, the date he’s hooking up with tonight, are hobbling a mile home. It’s really distracting being so attracted to your boss, especially when you’re the one who has to book all his reservations, send flowers to all his “friends” and make sure he dodges all the calls once he’s ready to move on.
Which is at best two days later. It also doesn’t help that I kind of hate him because he’s a consummate jerk.
Urgh. What’s worse is that he knows, too. He knows he’s hot, and that women think he’s hot, and he is very aware that I’m a woman. And thanks to the Christmas party where I arrived without a date, he also knows that it’s been a while since I’ve…well, it’s all been a while. He knew it when he leaned in, his lips grazing my ear and whispered “How can you come without a date, Amber?” My face did a good job of blending with the red dress I’d worn for the festive occasion. He did a lot of lip licking every time he saw me that night, and he’s made a point of tormenting me since. It’s driving me crazy. He might only be joking, but he is also right.
Whatever. He should know better. It’s probably really unprofessional. I’d report him to Human Resources but I’m pretty sure the diamond bracelet he had me send to Annabelle a few weeks ago happens to be the one Anna from HR is suddenly sporting. And the fact that he gets under my skin just annoys me more because I don’t actually like him. The man-whore type has never appealed to me. But that didn’t stop my knees from squeezing together when he took a really personal call right behind my desk today. In his private office, yes, but with the door open, standing where he knew I could hear every word.
A shiver runs down my spine and there’s a tingling feeling a little south of my belly button. I guess I know what I’ll be doing tonight, and it’s not dancing at the exclusive 3-day Ice Bar Ball I was dying to get tickets to.
As I round the corner where my car is parked, I notice the back wheels are just inside the disabled bay next to my regular spot, and I’m still thinking that I must shift it a little forward when I see the yellow plastic square on the windshield. Sonofabitch. A parking fine.
So then, that’s new shoes and a parking fine with a half day less pay. Super.
Paradise indeed.
*AIDEN*
“I saw a movie once, where a woman had a divorce party to celebrate the end of her marriage. Her husband had left her for a younger woman, so of course he was off nailing a college grad while she was going through all these feelings and emotions and shit. Then she has the party and meets a younger guy and… I don’t remember… it’s all sunshine and fucking daisies for her in the end though.”
“Okay. So you want a divorce party?” Jamie sounds sceptical and a little worried.
“No, mate, I don’t want a divorce party. I just get it. I mean, I’m relieved, you know? It’s over. I never have to see her cheating face again.” I’m reply somewhere between a laugh and sigh.
“Well, I don’t think it was her face that did the cheating”, his voice hitches in such a way that I can imagine Jamie shrugging his shoulder. “You did say she hated giving head!”
“Fuck you, Jamie.”
“Sorry man, just saying!” Jamie laughed. “I’m glad it’s over too - I’m sick of your bitching like a girl over her stupid ass. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a longer divorce. It’s definitely time for you to get back out there.”
“I don’t know, man. A year together and three years separated. I feel like an old man. I wouldn’t even know where to start”
“You start by putting on clean clothes and coming down town to meet me for a drink, Aid. Seriously. We have a couple of beers, we head to the Ice Ball, use your comp tickets, you bob your head to the music, and see what happens. Seriously, I feel like a chick, talking about this shit. You’ve still got your balls. Get them played with, maybe sucked a little, you’ll feel better.”
”Fuck Jamie. Do you think of anything else?” If my dick hadn’t actually twitched as the image runs through my head my protest would be a lot more convincing.
“Not really man. I’ll see you at Spirit at 8. We’ll have a couple then go to the Ice Bar together. Turn up. Don’t be a douche.”
*AMBER*
It’s Friday night and while I wouldn’t normally drink alone, the day I’ve had makes me want wine. I draw a hot bath - it’s mostly hot, anyway, since my boiler is tiny and just about gives me a half a bath of hot water. The bubbles are plentiful however and if I lie flat with my head under the water, it’s deep enough that just my nipples break the surface. I want to drink though, so no lying down just now.
A sip of wine, and a deep breath, inhaling the essence from the ‘Everlasting Love’ candle and Leonard Cohen’s A Thousand Kisses Deep croons through the quiet of my house. My fingers are tracing slow circles on my thigh, moving a little inwards with each pass, as snippets of the conversation I was fully intended to overhear play through my memory.
“Hmmm… I can just imagine your skirt riding up as you step up the ladder… reach up for me, nice and high, to the furthest book you can … don’t worry about the lad, you’re making his day… spread your legs a little… now imagine I’m running my hand up your thigh, how does that feel. He’s moved closer? Can you put your free hand down the front of your skirt?”
Merciful lord, what kind of a librarian is Elizabeth.
A ding ding from my phone interrupts Leonard, so I reach over, shaking droplets of water onto the bathmat as I try to steady my breathing. The bright light blinds me for a moment, but as the screen comes into focus, I’m immediately excited.
Sarah: Hey kiddo! What you up to tonight? Steve caught a bug and can’t go to the Ice Ball anymore. Wondered if you want his ticket? Don’t make me go alone :( :( :)
Amber: Steve? What happened to Jason?
Seriously? That’s the bit I’m focusing on? Sarah might be my best friend, but she goes through men like I do cups of coffee.
Amber: Tell me later, YES! I want the ticket
Sarah: Jason is in the he-who-shall-not-be-named category. Steve is a new guy in IT. You didn’t noti
ce? Although with what you have to look at all day, I’m not surprised ;)
Amber: Urgh. Don’t go there. What time are you heading over?
Switching the playlist on my phone from “Get in the Mood” to “Up the mood”, I submerge myself fully - almost fully - in the water, feeling the cool air on my nipples while the rest of me luxuriates in the warmth. Time to wash up, have a quick shave, and get my party shoes on.
*AIDEN*
I’m seriously considering being a douche. I’m not overly sure what exactly that would look like, but Jamie’s insistence on not being one suggests it's not something you really want to be. But it’s tough to get back on a dead horse, and right now, mine’s drawing flies.
It’s been so long since I’ve had anything more than just a couple of drinks at the bar with the guys after work, that I’m totally unsure of myself. Fucking Jamie is right. I’ve practically grown a vagina. Which would in fact be pretty cool, if anatomically inconvenient when viewed alongside the rest of me.
Shit. If these are the extent of my thoughts, I’m in for a long night.
One bonus of a crazy ex-wife and a messy divorce is that the gym sees a lot of action, so I’m in good shape. Not like a body builder, but not scrawny either. Let’s just say I don’t look like I work behind a computer desk all day. I pull out a casual suit and spike my sandy blonde hair up with my finger tips. Another thing I haven’t done in a long time, because Lizzy said it made me look like a frat boy. Fuck her. I am going to buy gel so I can do it more. I might super glue it so it can just be that way without even trying. Bitch.
I don’t know if it was ever love, in retrospect, but when my girlfriend of 10 months turned up pregnant and with our future planned out, I decided to do the right thing, and marry her. We were both in university still, but my folks had offered us amazing support, and money wasn’t going to be a problem, which helps. We were a good fit for each other, at least in bed, and we had a kid coming. It seemed like a workable idea at the time.
Jamie’s right, I think. Even if I just prop up the bar for a while, it’ll be nice to get out, see how the world’s carried on without me.
*AMBER*
Fifteen minutes later I’m standing in front of my less-than-designer wardrobe trying to decide what you wear to an Ice Ball. Part of me is thinking ski suit, gloves and scarves, with maybe a balaclava for my face, but I’m guessing that’s not the regular dress code. Instead I opt for a sensible, but pretty pencil skirt and sparkly singlet, but when I remember that the only boots that match this outfit are now in three parts, I spend more time staring into the black hole called my closet.
I’m still feeling a little wound up from Mr Marks and his teasing comments, ahem, and my memories of it, so in a moment of independent female ferocity, I reach to a dress at the back of the wardrobe. I’ve only ever worn it once - to an ex-boyfriend’s friend’s pimps and prostitutes party, and I didn’t go as a pimp. I’ll have to go bra-less with this one, with low slung panties because it has no back, but it’s pretty, it sparkles and I know it accentuates my hourglass figure - it looks good on me. Not really like a prostitute. More, high-class escort. Cause that’s much better.
Slipping on the matching heels I wobble a little. The four-inches really do make a difference, and the straightened posture makes my C-cup breasts stand out a little more than I’m used to. For a moment I’m flooded by doubt, but I catch a glimpse of myself in the vertical mirror and actually, I look pretty hot. My long black hair hangs halfway down my back, and my Cookie Dough Ice Cream habit hasn’t had too bad an impact on my body. I’m tall, taller with these heals on, and shapely. Yes, I look good. Feeling buoyed and still riding the rush of energy from the music and the buzz from the wine, I finish my make-up, decide to splash out on a taxi, and head out the door.
~ 2 ~
*AMBER*
The Ice Bar Ball is a sold out event every year. When I saw the photos and videos on Facebook last year, I knew I would love it and wasn’t mistaken. The giant barn was part of a farm on the outskirts of town, once, but as the city expanded, the barn was slowly surrounded by signs of urbanisation. It must belong to someone unwilling to sell the land, because it’s still there and looks to be in great condition, so far as I know anything at all about the condition of barns.
From the outside, you’d never guess what’s happening in there, but as Sarah and I hand over our tickets to the Snow Queen at the door, we step into a different world. I have a sudden sympathy for Alice as she plummets down to Wonderland. The overwhelming noise of at least a 1000 people laughing, yelling to be heard over the thumping dance music hits me in cartoon- avalanche fashion. But that’s not the jaw-dropping thing; there are no hay bales in this barn. It is a world transformed.
The giant interior has iceberg sculptures sectioning off different zones. There are clear pathways towards the food and bar areas, outlined by ‘street lights’ of the Narnia lamp post variety. The effect is magical. Following the ravine between two large icebergs we’re corralled into the belly of the beast, opening up into the dance floor and stage area. Sarah grabs my arm so that we won’t be separated by the throng of people, which is just as well as I’m mesmerised by all there is to see.
The dance floor is in a corner, the two walls padded with some kind of crystal effect that causes the strobe and disco lights to reflect off the walls, refracting colours all around the cave-like room. A DJ is spinning from a raised platform with stalactites and stalagmites forming a cage to house him, and the stage area has dancers adorned as snow fairies with almost body length sparkly wings performing a choreographed show.
Dotted around the barn are six huge squares built into more icebergs with people flowing in and out. It takes me a moment to recognise that these are different bar and chill out areas distributed around the room to disperse the crowd and make sure service is quick enough to allow for easy spending. Inside, the icebergs seem to be walk-in refrigerator trucks, each with their own snow and ice themed décor. Sarah has spotted someone she knows, so we’re hurtling past the first bar and I let go of her and stop for just a second to appreciate the igloo inside. It’s made of what looks like ice blocks and two windows allow access to the bar inside. All around people are resting against ice block - probably perspex - tables and chairs, and colour changing lights shine up from the ground diffusing soft hues throughout. I’ve only stopped for a second to look inside, but when I turn around, there’s no sign of Sarah. She’s evaporated into the seething, gyrating, laughing mass of humanity.
I was always a good Girl Guide so I do what you’re supposed to: stay at the spot where you last saw the person you’ve lost. Fifteen minutes pass, and it dawns on me that Sarah probably wasn’t a very good Girl Guide. I’m starting to feel really self-conscious, standing in the middle of the pathway, so I move to the side, leaning against one of the Narnia-esque lamp posts. I am hardly there for a minute, when suddenly an arm snakes around my waist, pulling me me against and unfamiliar chest, practically joining us at the waist and a familiar voice breathes into my ear.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my sexy personal assistant. Come to look after me, have you?”
I immediately pull back, trying to push Mr Marks away from me, but his grip tightens around my hips and he rubs his crotch up against me.
“You do save the best outfits for when you’re not at work, don’t you? Such a shame you turn up everywhere alone.”
“Mr Marks”, I say, extricating myself ungracefully from his grip. He grabs my wrist and moves closer to me again, this time in front of me. “What are you doing here? What happened to Elizabeth?”
With the pointer finger of his other hand, he traces the neck-line of my dress as I use my free hand to try and loosen his hold on me. He rolls his eyes, only momentarily lifting them from the path his finger is tracing, and replies “Turns out librarians have early bedtimes, and she was too tired to play… but you clearly aren’t.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Marks, but this isn’t okay,” I start, w
hen the hand that was holding my wrist starts moving up my back, pulling me into him again, and sending shivers down my spine, before I manage to step away. I put a hand up to almost touch his chest, creating space between us.
“Did you enjoy the phone conversation today?” he asks, and my tummy flips. I may really dislike this man, but my body reacts to him without restraint.
“I’m going to go and find my friend now, Mr Marks. I’ll see you on Monday.” I’m trying to keep calm, but right now I just want to disappear. He clearly had other plans for tonight, and seems to think I’ll do as well as Elizabeth, so he grabs my wrist again.
“Hey, babe” comes a voice I don’t recognise from behind my right shoulder. I look over and see a gorgeous mountain of a man. Tanned skin and a beautiful body, the tall stranger is holding two steaming Styrofoam cups of what smells like mulled wine. “Sorry that took so long, they were just putting on a fresh batch when I got there.”