A neat pile of clothes lies on the bottom of my wardrobe, waiting patiently for parole. There is a red sweater on top of the pile. I select it and bring it to my nose to inhale its fragrance. The stale musk wrinkles my nose involuntarily. I drop it back on the pile and continue my search.
One by one, I scrape the occupied hangers along the rail and their appearance adds to my disgust. I have nothing to impress a potential employer with.
“Why don’t you wear your black dress?” Alice suggests, startling me.
I glance over my shoulder towards her. “That old thing?”
“Well, okay, you could wear your jeans, I suppose.” She grins in satisfaction at her comment.
I scoff and roll my eyes, turning to face her with a hand on my hip. “What are you wearing? That?” My eyes travel up and down her attire.
She peers down at her tattered jeans and a baby-pink t-shirt with a smiling cat on the front. “What? I’m not trying to impress him.”
My eyes widen and my mouth hangs agape. “They won’t let you in dressed like that!”
She clutches her stomach as she laughs. “Oh, Eva, I’m just teasing you. I’m not going like this. I’m wearing my blue dress.”
The air depletes from the room as all hopes of getting the attention tonight vanishes. Alice will gain the attention of any man with a pulse if she wears her blue dress, even though I’m the one singing.
Her face softens. “Get your black dress.”
I sigh heavily as I retrieve the dress from my wardrobe. As I hold it up, I try to be optimistic. It isn’t too terrible, I guess. The crepe material hugs the contours of my body, the V-neckline reveals the slightest amount of cleavage and the hem reaches my knees. With a decent pair of high heels, my legs will appear long and slender, and given the right hair and makeup, I may match Alice’s beauty, or at least not hide too deep in her shadow.
I turn to find myself alone in my room once again. With heavy feet, I walk over to my bed and drape the dress across it before I sit. With my ankles crossed and my fingers laced together in my lap, I survey the surroundings of my old, dilapidated room. The assembly of these walls took place over a hundred years ago. I wonder what secrets they hide or wonders they have they seen.
I don’t believe it is ghosts that walk the hallways haunting buildings, but the memories of the previous occupants. The last house I lived in frightened me. The air was menacing and thick. The walls had witnessed so much violence and hate they breathed apathy, spreading fear over the residents, mocking them as they endured such pain and torment.
Not here, though. Some time ago, these walls had witnessed love, romance and passion. They indulged in it, breathing in the essence of love to expel it upon the next occupants, to inspire them to continue the tradition.
“Here.” Alice returns with her beautiful blue dress in hand. “You can wear this tonight on the condition you take me on a shopping spree once you’re hired and bringing home bags of cash.”
I leap from my bed and snatch the dress from her hands before she can change her mind. After a brief hug, I turn back towards the bed. Without giving her any warning, I drop my towel, slip into the silk dress, and twirl back towards her. “How do I look?” I ask.
She looks bewildered (most likely from the unexpected peep show I gave her seconds ago), though it soon changes to admiration. “You look amazing,” she says. “Especially with the white towel on your head.”
“Oh, very funny.” I chuckle mirthlessly.
“Seriously, though, that dress is gorgeous on you. Hand me the black one. I’ll come back and help you with your hair and makeup.”
As soon as she leaves, I stand before my full-length mirror to admire the silk, square cut dress that shimmers an iridescent blue and purple. I twist and turn in front of the mirror, analyzing myself from all angles. The dress shows the curves of my slender body, yet covers enough skin to keep me modest. Best of all, my legs still appear long underneath the knee-length hemline.
When my eyes drift up towards my head, I release a muffled chuckle. Okay, I do look silly with the towel on my head. I release my hair, allowing the towel to fall on the floor beside me, while my long hair cascades in thick curls down my back. When it’s damp like this, it curls with ease, making me wish it would stay curly instead of the frizzy waves it produces when it’s dry.
In the mirror’s reflection, Alice stands a few feet behind me in the doorway of my bedroom carrying her sizable cosmetic case. She is in my black dress with her makeup and hair styled already.
“All right, come sit down,” she instructs.
“Do I need to worry?” I tease.
She taps her foot in annoyance. “Just sit.”
I pout as I shuffle my feet towards the bed. Using her case, she taps me on the backside, making me yelp.
“Hey, I was only joking,” I say.
My rickety double bed complains with a series of creaks and squeaks as I leap on it. Alice places the case beside me and opens it, allowing the aroma of chemicals and perfume to pervade the air, reminding me of a beauty parlor. Inside the case is her extensive collection of makeup and hair styling equipment. Alice has always dreamed of becoming a beautician, despite her parents’ aspirations for her to work alongside her father in his company.
“What utter nonsense, lowering yourself to the middle class,” her mother used to say. “We pay them to beautify us, not the other way around.”
“I hope you don’t turn me into a scarecrow,” I say.
She responds by tapping me on the head with the brush. Maybe I should have waited until she finished brushing my hair first.
“How do you want your hair and makeup? Like mine, or…?” she asks.
Tonight, she wears her straight, shimmering hair loose. It cascades down her back and around her heart-shaped face. She elected to keep her makeup simple, applying only a light purple eye shadow and just a hint of blush to accentuate her high cheekbones. Her ordinarily thin lips appear fuller thanks to a light pink lip-gloss and a lip pencil. Though her makeup is subtle, she still reminds me of a supermodel.
“I don’t know. What do you think?” I ask.
“If you really want to impress this guy, though I still don’t understand why, then I’ll turn you into a rock star.”
The hair dryer comes to life, howling its high pitch drone, drowning out all other sounds, including the bustling traffic in the street below.
“Your thick hair takes forever to dry,” Alice complains once she soothes the hair dryer’s roar.
“I wouldn’t know. I let it dry naturally.”
“And that’s why you always resemble a frizz ball,” she chuckles.
Next, I feel the familiar twists and pulls from the curling iron.
Since I moved in with Alice, I’ve become accustomed to the sensations of her beauty equipment, since she frequently uses me as her mannequin for practicing new hairstyles and makeup techniques.
“Now everyone can see your beautiful face under all this hair,” Alice says. She moves onto my makeup, ordering me to close my eyes and pucker my lips. “What are you going to sing?”
I’m a little embarrassed to tell her that I plan to sing the song I composed, given her thoughts of me attending this particular club to perform for this particular man. It’s better to lie. “I haven’t decided yet. Maybe ‘Jar of Hearts,’” I say.
“‘Jar of Hearts’ would suit him,” she muses.
“Why would you say that?” I wonder.
“For starters, he’s a player who picks a different girl each night. Lots of girls end up hurt because he doesn’t care about their feelings. I’m sure his heart’s made of ice. That’s if he even has one.” She taps her lips with the handle tip of her makeup brush. “In fact, I’m sure that song’s written for him.”
“Have you met him?” I ask.
“No, thank God.”
“How do you know what he’s like if you’ve never met him?”
“I read the paper, babe. You should too, if you
’re hell-bent on having him as your boss. It’ll be better for you to know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“You can’t believe everything you read in the paper.”
“I watch the news, too. I’ve seen video evidence.”
“What’s he like?”
She refuses to respond.
“I’m only asking to educate myself on the kind of boss I might end up working for like you suggested.”
She sighs. “Well, he’s in the mafia. One of the bosses even. Not a don, but a capo. I think that’s what they’re called, anyway. Do you know anything about the mafia? They’re dangerous people. I mentioned he’s a player already. He’s not kind to women and I’m sure he’s dumped some of them in the ocean for standing up to him.”
My stomach wrenches, making me nauseous. How could I possibly work for someone like him?
“Did you read that in the paper?” I wonder.
“No. It’s common knowledge. Everyone knows what kind of man he is and what he’s capable of. He’s been in and out of prison so much that his name’s probably engraved on a cell.”
“For murder?” my voice screeches.
“No. He was involved in a series of bank robberies a few years ago. It was all over the news. Honestly, I’ve seen nothing in the news about him murdering people, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t.”
I take a moment to process this information, fighting the urge to bite on my freshly painted lips. Even if this is a dangerous place, what other choice do I have? I received no other auditions and we are desperate for money. Despite Alice’s warnings, I need to meet him.
“What does he look like?” I ask her.
“Huh?”
I repeat my question a little louder.
“Why would you need to know? You’ll meet him soon enough.”
“I’d seem like an idiot if I asked him to see him,” I point out.
She giggles. “Fair enough.”
“Is he old?”
“No, he’s in his late twenties, I believe. He’s extremely handsome, actually. In fact, he’s your…” She pauses, her expression peculiar.
“What?”
“He’s your type. You’ll fall for him.”
A nervous laugh wiggles its way up my windpipe and escapes my mouth before I can stop it. “No, I won’t.”
With slow, deliberate movements, she sits back, allowing her shoulders to sag. Her beautifully manicured eyebrows furrow as her glistening eyes penetrate mine. While holding onto her makeup brush and powder, she rests her hands in her lap. “I know you,” she insists. “He’s gorgeous and a charmer. You’ll fall for him.”
“What if I promise not to?” I raise my finger, stopping her from interrupting me. “Even if I find him attractive, I promise not to become involved with him.”
“You better not, for your sake and mine.”
I try to relax, to clear my mind of this mysterious, charming crook I am about to meet. Nevertheless, I can’t silence the deafening beat of my heart. I fear Alice can hear it too.
“Finished!” she exclaims in triumph. “Go take a look.”
I don’t recognize the girl in the mirror. Her dark auburn hair is pulled back away from her face and secured with a clip, allowing it to spiral down her back in glossy ringlets. Her haunted, ice-blue eyes have transformed into smoky, mysterious ones. Her oval face, with hidden features, has changed into a thinner one. With cheekbones, no less. Her little pixie nose remains as I remember, as do her succulent lips, only now, they wear a coat of glossy, dark rouge lipstick. I greet my creator with a beaming smile.
“Thank you. I can’t believe that’s me in the mirror,” I tell her.
“I told you I would turn you into a rock star. He won’t be able to resist you, and that scares me.”
I ignore her comment and continue to admire myself in the mirror. And then a daunting thought materializes in my mind. What if I can’t resist him either?
The excitement I felt before we left our apartment has vanished. My stomach twists into knots that only intensify the closer we get to meeting my potential boss. I can’t decide if I am nervous to sing or nervous to meet this mysterious man with a dark side. Even worse, Alice has forbidden me to develop a relationship of any kind with him, making him irresistible, even though we have yet to meet.
“Here we are, ladies,” the driver announces as the taxi idles outside Club Stang.
Alice pays the driver and thanks him before getting out of the car. I follow in silence; the thrumming of my heart creates enough noise for the both of us.
As if they have a mind of their own, my feet stumble closer to the club’s doors, even though I’m reluctant to do so myself.
I open my mouth to converse with Alice, but I find I have lost the ability to speak. All the moisture in my mouth has depleted, inducing a new fear; the inability to introduce myself, let alone sing. Panicking, I turn to my friend and silently plead for help.
“Here.” Alice hands me a bottle of water she retrieved from her bag.
The refreshing liquid replenishes all the moisture back into my mouth.
“Thank you,” I say, my lips turning up slightly in appreciation of her mind-reading abilities, and hand the bottle back to her.
She stashes the bottle in her bag and gestures with an open hand. “Shall we?”
My feet, so eager to reach the doors only moments ago, now appear glued to the ground beneath me, resisting to move even though my mind wills them forward. A familiar set of hands rests on my shoulders.
“It’s just nerves. You can do this,” Alice encourages me.
I allow myself a few moments to soak in the new sights before attempting to motivate my feet again.
A pair of glass doors is nestled in the center of a clean brick building, with two cylindrical, silver handles. The outline of a galloping Mustang hangs at eye level on the left door. On closer inspection, I realize it’s an unlit neon light. A large pane of glass stretches across the top of the doors with Club Stang printed in bold silver letters. I peer through the glass and detect no light, movement, or shadows. Maybe no one’s here.
Only then do I realize that my feet have unconsciously escorted me closer, inviting a kaleidoscope of butterflies to flutter around my stomach.
With a shaky hand, I tap on the glass. The knot in my stomach tightens. I bounce from one foot to the other, clenching my fists into tight balls, hoping to ease the tension.
The silhouette of a hefty man approaches the door. I stand rigid and my hands cling to one another over my abdomen. He opens the door only wide enough to step through, obstructing my view inside the club.
As my eyes travel the length of his black-shirted torso towards his puffy face, I’m reminded of a sentinel, guarding the way. He appears fearless, wearing a grimace instead of a smile, accentuating the scar on his top lip from cleft palate surgery. His hair is like a raven’s wing as the light reflects from it. Not one strand is out of place.
Alice said Mr. Cappellini is my type. Clearly, this man isn’t Mr. Cappellini.
“Yeah?” his voice booms, deep and gruff.
My lips curve into a nervous smile while I try to hide the quiver in my voice. “Hi. I’m Eva Brenton. I have an audition at four,” I tell him.
“Is that so?” While maintaining his glare on me, he calls over his shoulder. “Hey, Angelo. There’s an Eva Brenton here, says she has an audition.”
The traffic drones behind me, drowning out all other sounds.
A glint from his hand, holding the door, catches my attention. Each of his chubby fingers wears a different gold gem-stoned ring. Another glint around his neck draws my attention to a thick gold chain nestled in the thicket of dark chest hair, which adds to his gaudy appearance.
I hope Mr. Cappellini isn’t dressed this way.
“Who’s your friend?” he asks, jutting his chin towards Alice.
“Alice,” she replies, her voice ice-cold.
The man twists his torso insi
de the club as he glances over his shoulder. “Ange, Alice is with her today.” His laughter rumbles. “Yeah,” he says in answer to an unheard question before turning back towards us wearing an amused expression. “You and your guardian may come in and see him now.”
Once inside, I choke on the overpowering scent of cologne pervading the air. I remain close to Alice as we follow the Goliath man. My eyes dart around the room, drinking in its appearance.
Even with the dim lighting, I can see most of the interior. On the black walls is an assortment of muscle car photos, mostly Mustangs, in silver frames. To our right, I see an organized cluster of square tables with four chairs around each of them. To our left, a single dome light fixture hangs over a shiny ebony bar. On a mirrored wall behind the bar, several glass shelves hang, each emanating a golden glow. Along each of the shelves, various bottles of liquors line up like soldiers.
A skinny man wearing a white shirt under a black vest and an untied bow tie stands behind the bar. He wears his hair cropped close to his skull. What he lacks on his head, he makes up for on his gaunt, oblong face with a scruffy, chestnut goatee. With a sizable white cloth, matching his complexion, he is either drying or polishing a glass. As we approach, his angry stare locks onto us.
If I had the courage, I would ask Alice what his problem is, but his dark demeanor keeps my lips sealed.
A line of black plush bar stools with short backs stands before the bar. A man in a black suit with his back towards us occupies the last stool. In one hand, he holds a phone to his ear, while the other swirls an amber liquid in a tumbler nonchalantly.
This has to be Mr. Cappellini.
The Goliath man stops us a few feet from Mr. Cappellini, while he steps close enough to tap him on the shoulder. With the phone still pressed against his ear, Mr. Cappellini glances over his shoulder to acknowledge his visitor before returning to his call. The Goliath man stands as a bodyguard, obstructing our view.
Alice remains close to my side while maintaining a fierce stare on the two men.
Twisted City: (Twisted City Book 1) Page 2