Almost Broken Up (Almost Bad Boys)

by Peart, A. O.

  Colin shrugs and takes a sip of his appletini. He’s about to say something when he spots his buddy, Julian, in the crowd. He waves and gets Julian’s attention. I’ve met Julian once, a few weeks ago. He’s one of the DJs at the KZIX station and co-hosts a popular syndicated program on Thursday nights. I’ve listened to his show a few times and laughed to tears at his remarks. He’s witty and fun to be around, so I’m glad he’s here tonight.

  A big grin spreads on Julian’s face. He pushes through the crowd toward us. When he reaches us, he claps Colin on the back and gives me a bear hug, forcing the air out of my lungs.

  I wheeze in his ear, “Easy, big guy. I’m not exactly a burly woman. You’re flattening my best assets.”

  “We can’t have that,” he says in his strong British accent and chuckles.

  I take a deep breath, feeling my chest expand and push forward. Phew, my boobs are still in their normal position and not caved in from that monstrous hug.

  “You’re alone?” Colin asks Julian.

  “Yeah. Michelle’s in North Carolina. Business trip,” Julian says. Michelle is his long-term girlfriend.

  Some intangible, strange feeling tugs at the back of my head. I turn and see the Black Leather guy standing in the crowd. His eyes are narrowed, and his jaw is clenched. He’s watching us, and the expression on his face is that of pure hatred. What’s his problem?

  I turn back to Colin to tell him, but then I decide to sneak another peak behind me. The man is gone. This is just freaky. Maybe I’m hallucinating. Or maybe he’s some kind of a psycho who’s pissed that we were able to get into the club without waiting in line. You never know—the city is full of weirdoes. By now my eyes keep darting back and fro, and I can’t relax. Colin and Julian are laughing about something, but I don’t even care about listening and participating in the conversation. I keep searching the crowd for the Black Leather creep.

  A girl bumps into me, and my appletini sloshes and splashes a little onto the front of my dress. I growl at her, but she’s not even aware of what she’s done. She disappears, swallowed by the crowd around us. Great. I’m trying to locate a napkin somewhere on the bar, but there are none. I lean close to Colin and yell in his ear, “I’m going to the bathroom. Will be right back.” I give him my drink to hold and take off, squeezing into the constantly moving mass of bodies.

  The place is ridiculously packed. They should stop letting people in, but I’m guessing the cover charge must pay for a good chunk of the club’s expenses.

  I push the girls’ bathroom door open and walk in. There is a line, but I go straight to the area with the sinks. I look in the mirror, trying to assess the damage, but if there is a stain from the spilled appletini, the fabric of my black dress hides it well. I can only see a slightly wet area over my right breast. I take a few paper towels from the dispenser on the wall, damp one with water from the faucet, and press it to the stain. I repeat with another paper towel, and then pat it dry.

  Two women—one on each side of me—stand by the sinks, refreshing their makeup and chatting loudly. One of them is done and goes to stand by her friend. They light up cigarettes, despite the non-smoking law in Washington State public places. They puff out the stinky smoke, and my lungs start to protest. I’m allergic to cigarette smoke. Fucking bitches. Another one joins them and lights up. Really? My eyes sting, and I hold the wad of paper towels in my hands to my already runny nose. I quickly walk to the door and exit the bathroom, coughing.

  The air in the club is stale with so many people sweating and breathing. I keep coughing and wheezing. I need a gulp of fresh air. I locate the door and barge through the crowd, not caring that I push people to the side and step on many feet on the way. Shouts of protest follow me. I’m called a bitch more than I can count. Not that I am counting. The only thing I worry about is the distance to that damn door. My eyes are blurry from tears that come with so much coughing. My throat is dry and scratchy.

  I push between two very slim gay guys dressed in super skinny jeans, not caring about dirty looks they give me for forcing them apart. The bouncer that let Colin and me in is talking with a short blonde. I squeeze behind him and stand in the door, gulping air. He turns to me and asks if I am okay. I nod and waive him off.

  He frowns and looks closer at me. “You came here with Colin, didn’t you? Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah. Colin’s inside. I just…” more coughing, “I need some air. I’m allergic to cigarette smoke.” More coughing and wheezing.

  “Cigarette smoke?” he asks, clearly astonished.

  I’m pissed off at the women who decided it’s their right to smoke among those who can’t stand that shit. But I still don’t want to get them in trouble. So I just shake my head and say, “I’ll be right back.”

  “Hold on.” He presses a small round stamp to the top my hand. “This will get you back in. In case my replacement is at the door.”

  There is an imprint of a tiny red rose on my skin. I don’t know why, but I decide to take a picture of it with my cell phone. I look at the photo on the screen and smile, despite my pounding headache and my constricting chest. Bleh. How can you possibly enjoy smoking? This stuff is nasty!

  My stomach starts to hurt too, and I’m nauseated. I walk a few steps away from the door and along the building. The frigid night air feels good on my face and neck. I round the corner and squat down with my back to the wall. I press the back of my head on the cool brick and close my eyes, breathing deeply.

  Before I even open my eyes again, I feel a certain change around me. It startles me. I look up and see the Black Leather dude standing in front of me, hands in his jacket pocket, feet wide apart. I instinctively look around before snarling at him, “Hey, what’s your problem?”

  I start to stand up, but he pushes me down. I hit my head on the building wall and shriek, “Fuck off! Help! Somebody, anybody! Help me!” I swat at his arm and kick him hard in the shin. I kick again, but he side steps. I make sure he can’t get close to me again. I have strong legs that can do a lot of damage when needed.

  There are two couples at the end of the street, about twenty yards away. They turn, and I see the guys running toward us, the girls following behind.

  “Tell that fucking boyfriend of yours that Razor is back,” the Black Leather hisses through his clenched teeth. His hands are curled into tight fists. There are letters and symbols on each knuckle. “This is just the beginning. He will pay for what he did to her.”

  My voice gets stuck in my throat. He did to whom? Her? Who? Colin? To whom? But my brain must be working overtime, because I lift my hand that clutches my cell phone and snap the picture of his snarling face. He swears and tries to grab the phone, but I kick again, and the guys who heard me yell for help are getting close, shouting, “Hey, what’s going on?” They are only a few feet away.

  The Black Leather takes off, running. Soon he disappears in the alley across the street. Holy Mother of Sweet Jesus, who’s that creep? And what the fucking hell nickname is that—Razor?

  Two guys stop in front of me, one kneels down, and the other takes off after the dude. The girls are getting close, trying to run on their stiletto heels. I know from experience it’s a hell of a job to perform such a race.

  “Are you okay?” the kneeling guy asks me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. This asshole came out of nowhere.” I feel my brows bunch up together. My breath comes out ragged, but I’m trying to take some slow, cleansing breaths.

  “Do you know him? Did he hurt you?”

  “No idea who he is. I’m okay though, nothing happened… I mean, thank you. If it wasn’t for you, guys, I would be in serious trouble.” My heart is racing, and if I won’t pass out from the adrenaline overload, it will be a success.

  The second man comes back, walking fast. “He’s gone. Is she okay?” He points to me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I answer, although the question was directed to his buddy and not to me. But it’s kinda weird not to say anything.


  Two women hobble over. “Fuck, I almost twisted my ankle,” one of them huffs. “What happened? Who was that dickhead?” she asks me.

  I wave my hand and repeat what I already said to the first guy. The girl takes off her heels and sits down next to me, massaging her ankle.

  The second girl squats down in front of me. “I know you. You work for Strong Connections, right?” She grins.

  I look at her sharply but I can’t conjure any memory that would tell me if we know each other. “Yes… uhm… sorry, I don’t—”

  “It’s okay,” she interrupts, still grinning. She shoves her hand at me, and I shake it. “I’m Bella. I’m one of your customers. Actually it’s Ali that I know.”

  I let go of her hand. “Yeah, Ali is my business partner. I’m Natalie Davenport. Well, nice to meet you. I wish it was in different circumstances.”

  “So what that fucker wants from you?” the other girl asks.

  “No idea,” I lie. Or maybe I don’t lie, since I really have no idea what his threat was about. “He was drunk. Must’ve followed me from the club.” I point to the corner of the building in the general direction of Doors to Hades.

  The girl puts her shoes back on. “Are you going back there? Are you with someone?”

  “My boyfriend’s in the club. I’ll text him now,” I say and start texting Colin, hoping his phone is set on vibrate, so he would feel it right away.

  The guys and girls offer to walk me to the entrance, and I graciously accept. No way I would walk anywhere alone after this crazy ass incident.

  There is another bouncer at the door, but before I even get close to entering, my cell phone rings in my hand. It’s Colin.

  “Where are you?” I hear him shout over the noise in the club. “What’s going on, baby?”

  “I’m outside. Went to get some air. Come here now.” I hope he can hear me over Rihanna’s Disturbia. I feel the throbbing rhythm of the song coming from the phone and straight into my brain. I start shaking—the realization that something just went very wrong is finally settling in my mind. The Black Leather freak scared the shit out of me. But what’s worse is that he promised to come back… to hurt Colin. My heart is pounding in my chest. I lean against the wall for support.

  “On my way!” I hear his voice in the phone.

  “Are you okay?” both girls ask at once. They are standing close to me. Bella is touching my elbow. “Is your boyfriend coming out?”

  “Yeah.” I nod and exhale with force. “I’m just freaked out a bit, that’s all.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll wait here until he shows up,” the other girl ensures me.

  “Thank you… you know, for everything,” I manage to say.

  THREE

  “The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next.”

  Ursula K. Le Guin

  Colin takes me home. While we ride in a taxi, I quietly tell him what happened. He keeps asking me if I’m hurt. He’s concerned and confused, just like me. We have no clue who that creep was and what he wanted.

  “I snapped a picture of him,” I whisper.

  “You did? Show me.”

  I pull my cell phone from my pocket and find the photo. Colin stares at it, but there is no sign of recognition.

  “What do you think? Who is he?” I ask.

  Colin slowly shakes his head, concentrating on the image on my smartphone screen. I notice his jaws clenching and unclenching.

  “Nothing? No idea?” I tilt the phone toward me to see better.

  He sighs. “No clue. But he looks like some low-life, and his eyes… see?”

  “What?”

  “His pupils are dilated. He was on some shit, most likely. Maybe this creep thought you were someone else?”

  I bite my lip and don’t say anything.

  Colin’s arm around me tightens. He’s looking at me. “Did he… seem like he knew you?”

  I meet his eyes. “No. But he seemed like he knew you.”

  Colin kisses my forehead and exhales with force. “I have no idea who he is.”

  “So maybe you’re right? Maybe he really had us mixed up with someone else?” My voice sounds hopeful, and I want this to be true. Heck, there are tons of junkies on the streets of Seattle. He was just one of them—confused and messed up in his head. Nothing to get so worked up about.

  I put my head on Colin’s shoulder.

  We arrive in my apartment and quickly go up the stairs. I change into my sexy nightie and a silk robe, make us hot tea, and we lounge in front of the TV.

  Colin switches the channels, looking for something worth watching. He is such a fine sight, only wearing his boxers, with his strong muscles moving under tout skin, and his tousled ink-black hair swept off his forehead. I love to stare at him, especially with nobody around, when he is relaxed and looking so young—much younger than his twenty-seven years.

  With a sigh, Colin tosses the remote on the sofa next to him and turns to look at me. “Show me that photo again.”

  Huh? Did I just think he looked relaxed? Wrong again, Natalie. I stand up and unplug my cell phone from the charger in the kitchen. I hand it to Colin, and he frowns at the picture.

  “That tattoo.” He points.

  I sit next to him and lean closer to the screen. “I didn’t notice it before. What is it?”

  “Looks like a thick chain with roses weaved in it. And thorns. You see? Red roses with thorns and a black chain.” Colin’s finger indicates the creep’s neck.

  “Hell on wheels. His jacket collar was up so I thought he was wearing a black turtleneck, but it was this huge tattoo instead. How much ink do you have to inject in someone’s skin to get such effect?”

  “A lot. And I bet it hurt.” Colin looks at me sideways. He shakes his head and says, “No, I don’t know him. Never seen him. I think we’re right—he took you for someone else.”

  “We didn’t get to dance tonight. Wanna take a rain check?” I cozy up to Colin, and he wraps me in his strong arms. I trace his bulging bicep with my fingernail.

  “Anything you want, baby.” He pulls me down to recline me in his lap and lowers his lips to mine.

  “What I want right now is to take those boxers off you.” I grin.

  He grins right back. “What’s stopping you?”

  Smartass.

  Two days later Ali is sitting in my office, moaning about her terrible wound, as she describes it. She cut her hand yesterday while preparing some fancy dinner for Ashton. She wanted to impress him, but only managed to smear the cutting board with blood. They ended up at the ER where Ali got stitches. Now she pledges to never cook again.

  “The only terrible wound you suffered is to your damn self-esteem, girlfriend. Your hand will heal in no time.” I briefly roll my eyes and continue typing an email to one of our new members.

  “Ash must be thinking I’m such a klutz. We spent half of the night at the ER,” she complains.

  “I don’t see why he would think that. Anyone can cut their finger while chopping veggies.” I shrug. “So, are you two becoming an item?”

  Ali makes a little eh noise that I interpret as a kind of. I look up from my computer screen. “Not sure yet?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll see. For now we are not exclusive, and I prefer it that way.” She shrugs.

  Ali doesn’t like to rush anything. She’s been subscribing to the sex-buddy philosophy for a while, and Ash is finally the guy she starts to treat more like boyfriend material. But if she says they aren’t exclusive, then it means she still hasn’t made up her mind. So I decide to drop it for now. She will tell me when she’s ready. Or, more precisely, when she knows herself where she’s heading with this relationship.

  “I’m going to look through those resumes.” Ali gets up and walks to her office. We are looking to hire help, since the business totally rocks. It becomes too hard for just the two of us to handle all our customers.

  My phone rings, and I pick it up. “S
trong Connections, this is Natalie,” I say in pleasant voice with just a touch of perkiness to it.

  It’s Esther Bosarge, our customer from hell. For months I’ve been bending backwards, trying to accommodate her taste in men, finding her the best possible matches, but nothing works. She always finds something wrong with everyone—even if there is absolutely nothing wrong with the guy.

  She finally lets me go, and I put the receiver down. I bury my face in my hands, resting my elbows on the desk. We need to let her go; refuse our services. There is nothing Strong Connections, and probably any dating service, can do for Esther.

  I’m having a crappy day as it is, but this phone call puts me on edge. I stand up with resolve to take action. I walk to Ali’s office. Esther is my client, so it is my decision how to handle her, but I want to discuss with Ali first.

  Ali reclines in her chair with her feet propped on her desk, talking on the phone. There is a huge smile on her face, and her eyes look dreamy. I instantly know whom she’s talking with and can’t help but smile. She’s head over heels with Ash, no matter how hard she denies it.

  She motions me in and ends the phone call, promising to see Ash tonight. I’m happy for them. Ali’s fuck buddy concept has been completely overridden with this relationship. It’s so much healthier for her to have a real boyfriend, especially one like Ash—sweet, honest, and caring.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  I growl and shake my head, exasperated.

  “That bad, huh?” She takes her feet off the desk and sits up, leaning toward me. “What’s happening? It’s not Colin, is it?”

  “Esther.” There is no need to explain anything to Ali. The name speaks volumes.

  She groans. “What does she want now?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know. She’s driving me crazy. There is nothing more I can possibly do for her. We need to get rid of her.”

  Ali nods. “Okay. No argument here. I told you that a long time ago.”

  “I know. I just hate giving up.” I sigh.

  “She’s a nutcase. Send her our standard letter, just spruce it up a bit.” Ali shrugs.