A Diamond in the Rough

by Elisa Marie Hopkins

  When the elevator arrives, we go inside. Two young women also join us, forcing Oliver and I to lean against the wall, side by side. As the elevator begins to ascend, I try to come up with a way to explain this feverish energy permeating around me that has the blonde and the brunette ready to commit a slew of indecorous deeds, right here, right now. I find that the reason is standing right beside me. It’s not jealousy. It’s a fact. It’s not me. It’s Oliver.

  I go and stand in front of him, my back to his chest, and smoothly force his arms and hands around my waist. Even though I don’t see it, I can feel it. I can imagine it. There’s a sinful quirk on his lips that shows his enjoyment.

  The sound of a chime goes off and the elevator doors slide open. The two girls walk out first, and as they vanish, I catch a glimpse of Stacey coming our way in her pink poodle costume, bone purse, and pink, fur-adorned, ankle strap sandals.

  She frowns. “Out of all the things you could’ve dressed up as for Halloween, you dressed up as a cop...a fucking cop.”

  “Zombie cop,” I correct. “I drew scary-looking veins. I’m not sure this is dressing up, but down.”

  She gives us a stern look and crosses her hands over her small waist. “That’s gross.”

  “Sophie’s the mastermind behind this operation,” Oliver says, dressed in black-and-white striped prisoner trousers, matching hat and vest, and black combat boots. “I had no part in it other than she put me in it.”

  I glance over at the large lobby mirror, see myself wearing a police button front, cap, and a ruffle mini dress with fishnet cut outs on the sides and back. A black belt envelops my waist and knee-high boots make me look taller. My face is another story; it’s white with drops of blood here and there, on my clothes, neck, and legs. My eyes are sunken and dark, and spooky veins are painted lightly at my neck and arms, making them look real.

  PH-D is Dream Downtown’s exclusive rooftop lounge, the hip site for the annual Halloween celebration. The DJ is rocking trendy jams. Mummies, creatures, celebrities, and nurses are all pirouetting to the music, their arms waving above their heads, their heads swaying.

  From out of the shadows, a vampire walks up to us, graceful like a cat. “There’s the man of the hour wearing—” His fangs are distinctively sharp, I notice, as he grins to shake Oliver’s hand. “Well, it goes without saying. Impressive, man.”

  It takes me a second to figure out who I’m looking at. It’s Luke behind the sunken eyes, the protruding cheekbones, and the skin as white as fresh milk. He has a very sharp, angular face. I say hi over the music and he raises his drink in a salute.

  “What crime were you convicted for this time, Black?” He laughs into his drink.

  Did I hear right? Did Luke just say that? I wait, but the answers don’t come to me. “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s messing around,” says Oliver.

  “Oh.” Something tells me he’s not. “This is my friend Stacey,” I introduce. “Luke, Stacey.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he says. He’s all smiles.

  It doesn’t take long for people to start calling Oliver’s name; many are women. The second they do, he turns and exchanges a few words. Naturally, he has to talk to everyone he knows, and I should too, seeing that Stacey and Luke—despite having just met—have already decided to skip the small talk and go straight for the hard liquor.

  I spot some friendly faces beneath the costumes. They simply overflow with thrill. I nod, smile, and like a good actress...I already know my lines. It’s all about the weather, our costumes, and how the stylist messed up someone’s hair. What I give in return is almost superhuman. Interest.

  “Sophie.” I feel Oliver’s hand on the lower side of my waist. “Mind your Ps and Qs will you?”

  I take a sip of the white sparkling wine in my glass. “Excuse me?”

  “How is it that I leave you for one minute and you’re already surrounded by men?”

  “I am merely enjoying the partying. Correct me if I’m wrong, isn’t that what you are doing?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m working.”

  “Really? At a Halloween Party?”

  “Especially at a Halloween Party. I’m creating and cultivating important networking relationships. I’m always working. Ps and Qs, Sophie,” he says it as a warning. “Ps and Qs.”

  A ghost of a smile sits on my lips. “Oh, Oliver, I am anything but polite and quiet.”

  “Stay close. I have to talk to someone.”

  “Sure you do.”

  At the far side of the room, I spot Stacey and cross to her. I disregard my empty glass of wine, and when I get to her, she nudges at me a green martini with two eyeballs on a cocktail spear laid on the edge of the glass.

  “It looks like you need a drink, girlfriend,” she says and I take big gulps out of the cocktail. “Or two.”

  “I could really use a cigarette too. I don’t smoke at all anymore.”

  “I wonder why.”

  I examine the eyeballs. Stacey says they’re lychees.

  She catches me off guard when she asks, “Is he single?”

  “What?” I shout against the music. At this rate, I could well be signing up for a human ear transplant at the nearest hospital.

  “Luke. Is he single?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, uninterested.

  Stacey scowls at me. That’s one of her many talents. “Come on, don’t do this to me right now. Don’t rain on my parade. I need this. This is a party, so if Luke’s single and I’m single, then I want to know about it.”

  At least she’s polite enough to ask if he’s single, so I tell her he is.

  “What the hell’s eating you?” She gives it a second of thought. “Everything cool with Oliver?”

  There it is. That’s all it takes, a comment the size of a Tic Tac, to throw me off.

  I chew on a lychee. “Yes.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Are you seriously going to sing that song again?”

  “What song?”

  “The song called ‘Lying?’ You know the words to that, don’t you?”

  “Fine. You want to talk? Okay. Let’s talk. I told him I was falling in love with him. There, I said it. I’m done talking.”

  Stacey’s pink poodle fur stands on end after the words leave my mouth. She glares at me, wild-eyed. “Shit,” she mutters under her breath. “Why, why, why would you do that? A woman should never say something like that first. It’s like the first fucking rule in the fucking rulebook. Haven’t I taught you anything?”

  “What rulebook? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Ridiculous? You think it’s ridiculous?” She crosses her arms for emphasis. “Okay, why don’t you tell me what Oliver said after your little confession?”

  “Stuff.” I roll my tongue around the eyeball spear.

  “Stuff?”

  “Yes! Stuff! He said stuff! Okay?”

  Stacey sets down her martini at a table. “He didn’t say it back, did he?”

  An overwhelming sensation of dread hits me and it takes me too long to come up with something to say.

  I inhale sharply. “I don’t want to talk about it, Stace.”

  “What a surprise.”

  The truth is the idea of mostly every person at this party hidden under a mask is making me nauseous. Either that, or martini number two is already seeping into my bloodstream. In the midst of my terrors and emotional torment, I begin to think of what I’m doing here in this dark, noisy room without the person I confessed my love to. People come, talk to Stacey and me, and then go. It’s been over an hour and Oliver still isn’t here yet.

  As I’m making progress on my martini, I feel a playful arm tickle my waist from behind. A dead-looking bride wearing a white wig growls her fake crooked incisors at me. Realistic-looking blood is spattered across her cascading, white gown.

  I laugh. “Jess, is that you under that?”

  “Uh-huh! What do you think? Check out my bouquet.” She holds up a black, plastic flower ar
rangement.

  “Holy shit!” exclaims Stacey. “Why are you wearing that? You look fucking ugly.”

  Jess gives her a haughty smirk. “Well, thank you, Stacey! The whole point of Halloween is to dress up as something you’re not.”

  I’m all smiles at the moment. “So...where’s Eric?”

  “I don’t know,” says Jess, craning her neck around. “We split up looking for you. I didn’t know what you were dressing up as.” She reviews my costume, my hair, my boots and my face, all with marvel. “I like!” she squeals. “Where’s Oliver?”

  Alas, the million dollar question.

  ***

  “HAVE YOU GUYS seen Oliver?” Later that night, I come in between Stacey and Luke while they’re in the middle of locking their lips together.

  Both of them shrug and return to their business.

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. I pick up on the dead bride that is Jess, bouncing up and down to a techno beat. I’ve never seen her so wild, so free. No sign of Eric or Oliver. It becomes clear to me that I should be home, either soaking in a hot bath or falling asleep to peaceful sounds. But instead, I’m here, hallucinating monsters everywhere, my gaze shooting around as I push myself through the crowd. I step out onto the lounge terrace and someone crashes into me.

  “Watch it!” I say. I see a man standing a few breaths away from me. He’s wearing a suit, an all-white suit and tie, and a black shirt underneath. The off-putting part is the black skull mask.

  He doesn’t move. I can’t see his eyes or his mouth. I slowly move away from him. The second he reaches for my shoulders and I realize this man is actually going to lay his black gloves on me—I shove him back.

  “Sophie!” He takes his mask off. “Relax! It’s me!”

  “Eric.” For once, I’m relieved to see him. “Damn it. What the hell were you thinking? Why were you just standing there looking like a creeper?”

  “I was yelling at you, stupid. I figured you couldn’t hear me underneath the mask.”

  “What the hell are you supposed to be? You scared the crap out of me.”

  “I’m the black mask.”

  My chest rises and falls in rapid sequences. “The what?”

  “The Black Mask is one of Batman’s lesser known villains. However, he’s still my favorite one.”

  “If almost nobody knows about him, then why is he your favorite?”

  “Okay, stop for a second. What’s going on? Who are you? Are we actually having a conversation about what I like without you insulting me, hitting me, or threatening me?”

  I give him a very nonchalant shrug.

  He gives a quiet laugh with some voice in it that passes as a chuckle. “So what about you, five-o?”

  “What?”

  He waves a hand dismissively up and down my body. “The costume. It’s slang for police.”

  “Don’t worry about my costume.”

  “I really don’t care what you’re wearing. Dressed like that, I don’t think I’m the one who’s worrying.”

  “I’m supposed to be a zombie cop, Eric. Only you can manage to turn it into something obscene.”

  He laughs. “Where’s your boyfriend?” His tone is light, inquisitive.

  Apparently, Oliver is a hot topic tonight. “Somewhere...here...inside. He’s around.”

  “You love him?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “A simple one if you can answer it.”

  I’m not sure where he’s going with this conversation, but from his firm tone, I feel I should kill whatever attempt of interest his question comes with. “Yes. I love him. Happy?”

  “Sure. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

  “Good.” I collect myself again. “Anyway, where have you been all night? Jess has been looking for you.”

  “I was out here having a smoke.”

  I nod at first, then look around. A witch and a lumberjack are sharing a very sloppy kiss right beside us. I’m not sure which is more creepy, the icky smooch or their costumes. Somewhere amid all that showiness, I come across a memory of Jess disliking Eric’s smoking.

  I turn to look at him again. “Jess said you quit.”

  “I did quit. The operative word being ‘did’. I’m starting up again. Are you going to argue with me over that too?”

  “I’m not arguing.”

  “Then what’s it to you?

  “Oh, please,” I say bitingly. “I don’t care if you smoke pot or snort heroin. It’s kind of weird that you’re a medical intern. But seriously, I don’t care what you do, Eric. You have fun.”

  “Okay.” Just when I think he’s dropped the subject, he pulls a joint from inside his suit, lights it, and takes a long puff. “Man, this shit is good.” He exhales and smoke clouds around him.

  I fan the air with my hand. “Eric!”

  “Sophie!” he teases, flashing his dimpled grin.

  I make a face, turn around, and walk away.

  “Now wait a minute,” he says, turning to block my path. “Why do you have to be a buzz kill? I thought you didn’t care.”

  “Jess would go crazy if she saw you right now, you know that?”

  He stomps on the cigarette with his foot. “It was just a hit. Besides, Jess isn’t here.”

  “What is wrong with you? Jess is a good woman. She’s my friend. She doesn’t deserve to be fooled around with.”

  “Who says I’m fooling around with her?”

  My brow shoots up. “Seriously?”

  “Do me a favor.” He comes closer, very serious all of a sudden. “Stop looking at me like I’m broken and pathetic and an asshole. Maybe I am, Sophie, and maybe I even deserve to be called on it, but I don’t want to be reminded. Not by you. Especially not by you.”

  His eyes blaze and his comment prickles me so much I am left dumbfounded.

  “Close your mouth, five-o,” he says. “Come on, let’s go look for Jess.”

  Somewhere through the crowd, I grab his hand, mainly to lead the way to the table, second to stay upright in between so many people. When we reach the table, I squeeze my lips tight. I catch sight of Twiggy and Oliver at the same table. It takes me a moment to recognize her in a black, rubber cat suit.

  Luke pats Oliver on the shoulder and says something to him. Oliver turns around and sees me approaching the table with Eric. He looks close to a stroke as Eric lets go of my hand. “Where have you been?” he asks, harshly.

  “Where have I been? Where have you been? I’ve been looking around for you.”

  “Were you looking for me inside Eric’s hand?” The question is directed at me, but his focus is on Eric.

  Eric’s brows go up in a playful way as he tells me, “Told you I wasn’t the one who was worrying.” He goes around us and latches to Jess’s waist.

  I heave out a breath. I pretend to act calm. I am anything but. I take a step closer to Oliver. “I didn’t know Madison was invited too.”

  He pulls me by the waist and hauls me up tight against him. “Where were you?”

  “Why am I the one at fault here?” My voice comes out strained as he keeps me pinned to his chest. “You’re the one who left!” He presses harder and I try to twist myself loose. He releases me. “Are you going to tell me why she’s here or not?”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Who?”

  “Madison!”

  “Is she not supposed to be here? She’s Luke’s sister.”

  I bite my lip. “Luke’s sister?”

  “Yes,” he says, out of humor. “I changed my mind about that dress. You shouldn’t wear it in public. For other people, it’s too provocative.”

  “What a male thing to say.”

  “Well, forgive me for being a man.”

  Stacey barges in as I am about to say something. “Come with me to the bathroom.” She yells at me. “Come with me, please! Please! Please!”

  Her legs wobble. About to meet the ground, I quickly take her in my arms. “Stace? Are you feeling okay?”

 
“Sophie,” Oliver begins.

  “She’s drunk, can’t you see that? I’m taking her to the bathroom. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

  Stacey points her finger in the air. “Excuse me? I only had two drinks.”

  “Make it quick,” Oliver orders.

  A few steps away from the table and Stacey is already babbling, slurring her words. She doesn’t make any kind of sense until she says, “Luke wants me to go to his place!”

  “Go home, Stace. You are done for the night.”

  “But, I like him.”

  I carefully guide her into the bathroom. “You like everybody, woman.”

  “I like him!” she shouts.

  “Don’t shout,” I say. “I already heard you. What do you think you’re going to do with him, huh? You’re so drunk you can’t even stand straight.”

  “I only had two drinks,” she says again. “I’m not drunk. I can open my knees. That’s what I’m going to do because that’s what I’m good at. That’s my special talent.”

  She laughs wickedly and collapses into an empty chair beside a stall.

  I crouch down in front of her. “Special talent? That’s not how it works, Stace. Have some self-respect, for God’s sake.”

  “Oh, like you’re so pure and chaste.”

  “Hey! If you were sober you’d have the common sense to not do this.”

  Her lips quiver and tears begin to form in her eyes. “I am such a failure!” she shouts again, hiding her face behind her hands. “What am I doing? You’re right! You’re right about everything.”

  “Shh, no. It’s okay...”

  “I’m a joke! I’m a walking disaster! I’m a shitty model! I’m a shitty person! I’m a shitty everything!”

  “No, Stace, don’t say that.” My heart melts. I can’t look at people crying. “Please, don’t cry.”

  She unmasks her face and her mascara is dripping down her eyes. “I am one fucked up woman.”

  “Stace.”

  “Look at me!” She pinches her costume. “Look at me! I’m pathetic. I couldn’t even hold the fuck on to my last date. They’re all the same. They all run away from me. They all cut me off. I’m like the gum stuck on their shoes. No, I’m like the crap on the gum stuck on their shoes.”