Madison was also pretending she didn’t remember swearing drunkenly that they’d come back and show up all of those bitches. They’d make it big and arrive at the reunion in a limo, wearing…Versace? Dolce & Gabbana? Calvin Klein? Whatever it was that rich people wore. Anyway, the end result had been a pact. The one that Madison was pretending she didn’t remember.
“I have two words for you. Drew Campbell.”
Him.
The only high school guy she’d had a serious thing for. Blond hair, blue eyes, killer body—and a glasses-wearing, calculator-toting, trivia-tournament-playing geek. Something about watching him think, the way he got that far off look in his eyes, had sparked the dirtiest daydreams.
Shit. Even after five years, she still wanted to fuck him. And then talk to him, get inside his head and see what went on in there. Then fuck him again. Madison’s pussy was getting hot and wet just thinking about it. “Do you think he has a girlfriend? What if he’s married?” Not that she wanted to do a three-way. Did she? Maybe if the other girl was hot. But not hotter than her. “What do you think she looks like?”
“Who?”
“His girlfriend. Or wife.”
“Facebook him. See what he’s up to.”
Madison winced, shaking her head. It was really so wrong, creaming for a guy who hardly even knew you existed. And if she saw him, she was absolutely going to make a complete fool of herself. Again.
No way.
“We’re not going.” Madison set her mug down and folded her arms. “I don’t think—”
“Stop thinking.” Tia picked up her phone and tapped in the date. “There. We’re going. Deal with it.”
Madison grabbed her invitation and stuffed it back into her backpack. She left the envelope remains on the table. Two months. Eight weeks. Not much time to deal.
Chapter Two
Drunk Girls on South Beach
Tia waved one of too many Labatts in the vivid Florida sunlight. “Wat iz za rezin we came here, Madsen? To da beech?”
Madison rolled onto her stomach and swiped at the stubborn sand stuck to her forehead. Since when was SPF 30 so stick stick sticky? “Same as everbiddy else. Reel life stinks. Reunion Bitches and all. And. That Mr. Thornberri. Hez an ass.” She swung her arms wide. “See? I’m havin fun anyway. He can’t stop me.”
“Yeah. Him and Harvee.” Although Tia’s effort to get up onto her elbows wasn’t successful, her swing for the SPF was. “So you’re not mad at me for callin around ‘bout Drew? You should be glad, you know, ’cause now u know he’s cominggg. By himself.”
“Now why would I be mad at you for butting into my bidnass and letting me know that reunion is goin ta be even more embarrassin’ than…” Madison forgot what she was thinking, stopped picking at the grains of sand stuck in her eyebrows, and fixed her foggy gaze on Tia. “You might not wanna use that lotion. It’s reel sticky.”
Tia held the bottle in front of her face and squinted. “Maybe I’ll just use it on my face. So I don’t get wrinkles.”
Madison completely gave up wiping off the thousands of grains of sand dotting her face and flopped back, giving in to the heat of the Florida sun. “Wrinkles are bad. Nobody wants ‘em.”
“Yeah. ‘Cept those wrinkle dogs.” Tia burst out laughing at her own drunken stupidity and Madison, having given up on anything making any sense, laughed until she passed out.
* * * *
Madison thumbed through her email as she leaned against the hotel bathroom door. “Tia?” she almost-yelled through the closed door. “Did I actually get an email from Drew asking me if I wanted to be on his ‘Swag ‘n’ Tag’ committee?”
“I look ridiculous,” Tia’s voice came back.
Her response was automatic. “You look fine.” Then she got back to thinking about herself. “Do you remember me saying anything about Drew? And his committee?”
“What are you talking about?”
Madison explained the email she thought she’d received, complained about, then deleted. Then deleted again from her trash.
“My face. I shouldn’t go out in public.” Tia’s voice was uncharacteristically shrill. “What if someone takes my picture? No pictures tonight. None.” Then, “I never thought about double-deleting.”
“It’s for stuff you really, really never want to see again.” She lowered her phone. “Are you ever going to come out of there? We didn’t come down here to hide in the bathroom.”
The door jerked open, but just enough so that they didn’t have to yell. “Sounds like you do want to see that email from Drew again.”
Madison frowned. She didn’t want to see it. She just wanted to know if she’d actually received it or imagined it. And if she had received it, what it actually said, rather than what she’d imagined it said. Maybe what it actually said was worse than she remembered. Maybe it was better. Reading email on the beach after drinking was obviously a dumb thing to do. “You can’t look that bad, honestly, Tia. Look at me. Do I look much better?” Madison glanced in the mirror over the cheap hotel room dresser and winced at the zebra stripes running across her boobs and down her stomach, then turned to peek in through the bathroom door. “Hello! This is South Beach! Nobody gives a shit that you have a sunburn.”
The door burst open and Madison came face-to-face with the truth of her lies. But she was a good friend, and no matter how stupid Tia looked she would not laugh.
Because if she did, she might have to go out by herself, and that was not going to happen. If she were by herself it’d be nearly impossible to make fun of the weirdoes who thought that everybody who goes to the beach during spring break wants to have sex with total strangers they’d never get within ten feet of in the regular world. And if Madison did start thinking she wanted to have sex with some shaggy-haired, skateboard toting idiot, Tia would put a stop to it.
What was that? Oh, right. Her friend was in the middle of a crisis.
“Go ahead. Say it,” Tia challenged. “I look like I’m wearing reverse war paint. I’m a peacenik Indian!”
“Hello? Welcome to the new millennium. People don’t say crap like that anymore.” To avoid staring at the wobbly white stripes across her friend’s face, Madison slipped into the bathroom and starting digging through her makeup bag. “Did you try some blush? Maybe you could even it out.”
Tia’s glare burned into Madison.
“That’s good! Stay mad like that. Maybe you can make your whole face get red!” She was trying to be helpful, really.
“Oh, hell.” Tia stomped over to the pile of clothes on the bed. “Let’s get dressed. If anybody gives me a hard time, you’ll have to take care of it.”
Take care of it?
Throw beer in their face? Step on their feet?
Tia crossed over to the broken patio door, trying to open it at least enough to make up for the fact that their room was a tad stuffy, seeing as the air conditioner didn’t do anything more than sound like it was working. “Next time your brother offers to do us a favor, remind me not to take him up on it,” she grumbled after she managed to get the door open three and a half inches.
Yes, their free hotel room lacked a few amenities, like decent towels, soap and breathable air—but it was free. As in, they didn’t have to pay anything for it. Who else got a free room during spring break—besides all the high school kids who got dragged down I-75 by their parents and were forced to enjoy the family-friendly sections of the beach? Those lucky kids who basked in the sunshine, safely away from drunk girls who passed out while smearing on their SPF 30. Drunk girls who were avoiding life and—
“—and we need to get you back on stage. Doesn’t matter the venue. We just have to do it.”
Madison only heard the word stage. The rest of what Tia said was lost in a fog as she stewed on that email she may or may not have received from Drew. Really, she must have received it. There is no way she would’ve made up a committee for the reunion. Especially not one called ‘Swag ‘n’ Tag’.
“I know i
t’s a ridiculous thing to do, but it’ll be fun and—”
“Sure. That sounds good,” Madison replied, fully aware that she had no idea what she was agreeing to because she’d latched on to the question of whether or not Drew would invite her, a girl, to be on a committee if he was married. Or had a girlfriend. Would he?
“After I get rid of the crap on the bathroom counter, I’ll grab your suit for you.”
Suit?
Madison twisted her mouth, holding back the question that would reveal the truth of the matter—‘attentive listener’ did not describe someone who’d spent most of the afternoon day dreaming about her high school crush while drinking way too many Labatt Blues on the beach. One thing Tia hated—when people didn’t listen to her. Maybe that had something to do with why she was so hugely successful?
Tia threw their dirty clothes into the closet, then stuffed both their suits into Madison’s backpack, and off they went.
* * * *
Using the handrail to keep herself from toppling into the crowd of horny drunks, Madison followed Tia. Unfortunately, Tia was following a cluster of girls who were wearing bikinis. As if that wasn’t bad enough, here’s what’s worse. Madison and Tia were also wearing bikinis. Yes, they had succumbed to the ultimate spring break idiocy.
A bikini contest.
The blotchy white patches? Forgotten—with the help of a twelve pack from Circle K.
What was it about driving twenty hours, getting too drunk to handle sunscreen and having only thirty-five dollars cash that brought out the Miley in women who really did care about the future of society and Women’s Issues?
Who was to blame for this dance of shame?
Madison?
Responsible for her own behavior?
As if.
It’s the media’s fault.
When female role models who should be aboard the ship of political consciousness dove into the ocean of being sexy to make money, the whole sea of womankind went to hell. Witness the collection of arms and legs waving and wiggling as though their very lives depended on it. Scheherazade might be proud—if the women were using their intelligence in a creative way, and their lives really did depend on pleasing the oversexed losers screaming at them, that was.
Alas, the only stories these girls were telling included…
I want prize money.
I want to prove I’m a total fucking hottie and guys want me. Really. They do…want me… I hope I remember this tomorrow, so I can remember what it feels like to be so wanted.
Ha! If my dad could see me right now he sure would be pissed. And I used his credit card to pay for the beer that got me drunk enough to do it! Ha! Ha!
Madison was all about the money. Tia? Probably there just because it was a stupid, very unprofessional thing to do. And sometimes even Tia, a mature professional woman, wanted to act ludicrous. It was easy to guess how things went. Being a performer, Madison had a distinct advantage. One does not go to endless cattle call auditions without learning how to make oneself stand out.
After Wild Ones by Flo Rida rolled to an end, Madison lined up with Tia and the other three girls who were included in the top five. She pasted on a crazy smile, which wasn’t too hard because she was a bit crazy at the moment, and stared out at all the faces she couldn’t see. Those shadowed bodies swaying in the darkness stared back, and the ocean breeze drifted across her skin. Some tall guy with a jet black ponytail lifted his red plastic cup and howled, showing off a wide smile. “You hot, girl. Shake it some more.”
Madison threw her shoulders back and shook her boobs, bouncing so much her nipples almost popped out. The guy with the ponytail howled again and grabbed his crotch. Madison laughed and shook more because he was so cute, in a silly, oversexed way.
Jivin’ Jay, the guy with the microphone, wrapped his too-thin arm around Madison’s bare shoulders. “You like this one?” he shouted. “Should she stay up here?”
In spite of everything her mother had told her about remaining dignified in all situations, Madison looked across the faceless crowd, flashed a smile and waved, arching her back and rising up on her toes. Pathetic, but it did the trick. Jet Black Haired Guy, who’d pushed his way to the front row, stuck both totally inked arms in the air and hollered. He and all the guys around him bellowed loud enough to earn Madison a spot stage left. For someone who was all about the money, that was a good thing, because stage right led to the thanks-for-trying-but-you-don’t-get-the-cash steps down.
The steps that poor Tia got sent to when the jerks in the crowd didn’t whistle loud enough.
Tia threw Madison a wide go-get-’em grin, laughing as she climbed down.
“Okay, girls,” Jay shouted after another girl was sent stage right. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”
Miley’s We Can’t Stop boomed from the speakers and Madison forgot about the drunks, that stupid arrogant ass Mr. Thornton, and she even forgot about the reunion that had freaked her out so much that she’d talked Tia into running away from home. She danced, not for any of the guys watching, but for herself. Well, sort of. Except for the part when she took advantage of the song’s slow beat to turn around, bend over, and skim her hands up her calves and thighs then grab her own ass.
Because—honestly—five hundred dollars was a lot. Unemployed women needed that kind of money when they were avoiding facing the realities of life.
The crowd kept howling even after the song ended, and Madison started thinking she needed another beer because right then she felt really, really ridiculous, but turned on at the same time. What kind of self-respecting woman danced for money and got horny doing it? Was it too late to withdraw? Too late to scamper off, stage right, unnoticed, with her dignity still intact? Those thoughts evaporated when she found herself stage center, peeling off Jivin’ Jay’s roaming hands with her left hand and accepting the five hundred cash with her right.
“Thanks, really. This is great,” she said, backing away from him.
“My pleasure, sweetheart,” he said, patting her ass before disappearing into the darkness that used to be a backdrop of flashing lights and speakers. Feeling possibly more asinine than she had all night, Madison stood alone, stage center.
Alone, except for Jackson and Hamilton, who stared up at her from the bills in her hand. And what was the fellas’ game plan? Get a drink, find Tia and take off Madison’s suit.
Typical men. Even dead and flattened onto paper, they were all about the same things.
Madison agreed on all counts—even taking the suit off. The fellas would have to deal with the fact that she was going to get dressed into normal, acceptable clothing—just not in that order.
Regrettably, it wasn’t until Madison got halfway down the stage right stairs that she figured out she had some trouble on her hands.
Specifically, trouble in two forms.
Trouble that wanted to snatch her money.
Trouble that wanted to snatch away what little fabric was covering her body.
All traces of drunkenness slithered to the ground, leaving Madison in frozen sobriety midway down the stairs. Eight feet below, a fat, sweaty guy hollered, “Come on, honey pie. Come to Chuck, I got what you need—a big cock for that sweet ass.”
He seemed to mistake her expression of terrified disgust for overjoyed enthusiasm because he started up the stairs, his meaty palms getting closer by the second.
A quick check to the left confirmed that the money-hungry members of the crowd were climbing onto the steps behind her, eyeballing her wad of cash.
To keep her newfound best friends safe from would–be kidnappers, Madison curved away from the faceless mob and lifted her arms high above her head. Too bad that made Mr. Fat ‘n’ Sweaty whistle and reach out, calling, “Come on, baby, shake those tits.”
Why was it that whenever she and Tia climbed up on the speakers at the edge of the club dance floor the meathead bouncers appeared out of nowhere, but now that she really needed them, they were nowhere in sight?
Madison gave up all efforts to remain calm and shrieked until she ran out of breath. “Tia! Tia! Tiaaaaa!”
Tia didn’t appear. But Jet Black Hair Guy did. Like an angel who had forgotten his shining golden halo, feathery wings, white robe and gentle personality, he swooped onto the steps, grabbed Madison, tossed her over his shoulder, and carried her safely through the trouble.
Once they reached the edge of the dance floor, he set her down. “You okay?” he shouted over the music.
Still clutching her prize money, Madison looked down to make sure her most intimate body parts were still covered and, wordless for once, nodded.
“Where’s your friend? You want me to help you find her?”
A guy who understood women? Gay? After all the howling? Not likely. What then? “You have sisters?”
Jet Black Hair Guy flashed her a smile, which up close was almost overwhelmingly bright. “Five.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded as he scanned the crowd. “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Tia.”
He wrapped his arm around her, caressing her waist with his warm fingers. Dragons, demons and skulls pressed against her bare skin. “Come on, let’s go find her.”
Madison moved against him, loving the way her skin looked so pale against his ferocious sleeves. Before they took three steps, Tia burst through the crowd. “You okay?” she asked, then turned a quizzical glance at Jet Black Hair Guy. “Who’s this?”
Good question. Madison looked in his dark eyes. “Who are you?”
“Nikki.”
Hmmm. Better than Jet Black Hair Guy. Easier to say.
Off the Rails Page 2