02- Satan!

by Michael-Scott Earle

  The first was that Aimee really was beautiful. She had long, shiny, dark brown, almost black hair that hung straight to her mid-back. It was perfectly cut to frame her heart-shaped face. She had round cheekbones that seemed to accent her perfect smile. Her eyes were a beautiful blue that looked like pictures I had seen of icebergs. Her body was also amazing, as Jack had described. Her breasts had a full, perfect roundness, and I wouldn't have been surprised to find they were the models used by plastic surgeons. They rose high on her chest above a flat stomach, amazing hips, and legs that looked to be taken from a tango dancer. She wore a dark blue blouse with just enough cleavage showing to hint at her breasts. Her lower half was rocking a tight pair of boot-cut blue jeans over gold stiletto heels. Gold, jangly earrings matched her shoes. Damn, if Aimee was half as nice as she was good looking, then Jack should marry her right now.

  The second reason was that I worried I would have been smitten with her as well. It is a deep fear amongst guys that they will fall for their bud's girl. Luckily, the world didn't slow down, stars didn't circle her face, and "Dream Woman" didn't start playing when I laid eyes on her. Not that all those things need to happen to be smitten with someone, but I knew what I liked in girls, and I wasn't getting it from her. At least, I wasn't feeling it at that moment.

  "Hi Eric, I have heard so much about you!" she yelled over the music as she pulled me to her in a familiar hug. A split second of panic fluttered through my brain as I worried I shouldn't be hugging my best friend's girl after just meeting her in front of all her good looking friends, and then I calmed down.

  "It's great meeting you too. Jack has been talking about you as well. Although when he talks about you, he gets as excited as a schoolgirl on picture day, and I bet he doesn't sound like that when he talks about me."

  She laughed with a twinkle in her eyes. "No he doesn't get that excited, but I know you two are really close. Thanks for coming tonight. He didn't think you would." I noticed that she was holding a glass of what looked like cranberry juice and vodka. She followed my eyes to the drink. "Did Jack offer you anything yet? Let me get you a drink from the bar. What do you like?" I realized I had forgotten to ask her why Jack didn't think I would come tonight, but the time had passed. I'd ask her later.

  "Ummm…" I looked around. Everyone was drinking something hard. No beer. "Some sort of whiskey mixed with lemon lime soda would be awesome. Thank you!" She ducked behind the bar and started grabbing bottles. She started talking to me, but with her head turned, I couldn't really hear her over the music. I looked around for Jack, but saw him on the other side of the room talking to some other guests. The people I just met on the couch were back to their previous conversations, but I could see they were still checking me out in brief glances.

  I looked back at Aimee in time to see her pouring half a can of Sprite into half a glass of Johnnie Walker Blue Label.

  "Ack!" I shouted as I rushed over, too late to avoid the Sprite pour.

  "What's wrong?" she asked. A few of her friends turned their heads to watch us.

  "Oh, that is just really nice whiskey. Sorry, I just thought you would have had some Seven or Jim Beam or, well, anything else but that."

  She seemed to beam at me with a huge smile. "Well this is good, right? You'll love it then. Here, drink up. I don't mix bad drinks!!" She watched me carefully to make sure I took a first sip.

  I did. It tasted great. I've never had Blue Label before, but judging by the unceremonious way Aimee poured this mix for me, I could probably get some straight up when I finished the Sprite concoction.

  She grabbed me by the arm and led me over to the couch where her friends were sitting. The band had stopped playing and looked to be taking a break. I asked her where Jack found the band.

  "Oh, those are actually Brent's friends. His parents do something in the music industry, and he has all these connections with bands," she whispered in my ear. Her hot breath steamed up my earlobe dizzyingly as she guided me to the couch to sit down next to her. I was conveniently next to Samantha, and I could see her eyes light up with the prospect of new meat.

  The three of us got to talking. Samantha and Aimee were both marketing majors and in the same business sorority. I recalled Jack telling me something to that effect a few months ago. They'd also been friends since high school. Eventually, I got Katherine and Brent involved in the conversation. Katherine was an accounting major, and Brent was also doing marketing. I put my social skills through their paces, asking questions of people, drawing individuals back into the conversation when I felt that they drifted off or were spacing out. After about forty-five minutes, I was in deep discussions with Daya and Patrick about their travels through Europe last summer. Daya's family did some sort of import/export trading, and Patrick's father owned a financial-planning company that had clients with most of the elite upper crust in the West Los Angeles and San Fernando Valley area. They both also did volunteer work with various Middle Eastern and South American hospitals. During the year, they would fund-raise for a new hospital and help these hospitals set up equipment to service children's needs.

  "What do you have going on Monday?" Patrick asked me after we had been talking for a few hours. The band had stopped playing. Aimee and Jack were mixing with their other guests. Daya, Samantha, Katherine, and Brent were talking about music on the other end of the couch. We hadn't really left the leather sofa except when someone needed a new drink. I had long since finished my whiskey and Sprite, and another small glass of Blue Label, but declined other drinks since I didn't want to drive even slightly buzzed.

  "I've got a class in the morning. Business Law."

  "What time do you finish?" Patrick took a long sip of his vodka.

  "It's an eight o'clock class, so I'll be home by nine-ish. Why?" I unconsciously leaned in closer to him.

  "Why don't you swing by my dad's office after class? It's in Santa Monica. Here is the card," he said, passing me a thick business card with the financial consulting firm's name on it, as well as Patrick's dad's name and title. "He's been looking for some help in the office and asked me to send any talent his way."

  "Whoa. This is really nice of you. Are you sure?" I was shocked because it kind of came out of the blue. I mentioned to him that I'd like to intern someplace for financial consulting, but that was before I knew his dad owned a firm.

  "Yeah, it is totally fine. Actually, hold on one second." He reached into his pocket, grabbed his phone, and flipped it open. He pressed a few buttons on the screen and slid it back into his pocket. "Okay, he knows you are coming. Mondays are slow for him, so he'll have time to see you."

  "Thank you so much, Patrick. I really appreciate this.” I didn't really know how I was going to get a job when I got out of school, and this could be a great opportunity for me. I took a careful look at the card, then slid it into my front pocket.

  "No problem. I like you already, and if Jack thinks you are cool, then you definitely are," he said with a huge smile. I got the feeling the big guy really liked helping people.

  "Of course he is cool!" Jack said as he slammed onto the couch next to me. I could tell that he was pretty buzzed. I was just glad he wasn't going to drive anywhere. His arrival diverted attention from the conversation on the other side of the couch and focused back to Jack and me, as he put his arm over my shoulder.

  "So Eric, Jack told us you are a pretty amazing guitar player," Brent sneered. I had tried to kill the guy with kindness the whole night, but I got the feeling he was still peeved his status as the lone single guy in the group was being jeopardized by me. Everyone looked at me for confirmation.

  "I started school with a major in guitar, but I haven't really played in the last year." I hesitated. I really didn't want to talk about it, and I could feel a lump forming in my throat. Guitar brought up emotions I didn't want to think about.

  "Eric is like Jimmy Hendrix on the guitar. He is like Jesus on the guitar," Jack said a little, too loudly. Okay, maybe I had mistaken his intoxication level
. He was pretty toasted.

  "Haha, I'm not really that good. And I am really out of practice. You mentioned earlier you've seen a lot of local bands play. Who do you think is going to make it?" I tried to divert the conversation back to Brent. Whoever asked the questions normally controlled the conversation, and I didn't want to talk about guitar or my reasons for not playing.

  Brent was about to answer when Aimee's voice spoke up over my shoulder. "Ahh you're being really modest, Eric. Jack has a CD of you playing in his car, and it sounds amazing." I started to feel the lump in my throat get impossibly large. Brent looked pissed that Aimee had interrupted him.

  "Maybe you should play for us?" Samantha piped up from her end of the couch.

  "Well, my guitar is at home. Maybe I can play for all of you another time. What were you going to say Brent?" I tried again to divert the conversation away.

  Brent looked pleased as he started to discuss the small handful of rock bands on the scene that he thought had potential. Other conversations broke out as people less interested in the local music scene ignored us.

  Midnight rolled around and the party had wound down to a murmur. There were a few stragglers still mingling, people I assumed went to school with Jack, but whom I hadn't met. The group on the couch, who were his closer friends, were pared down to just Samantha, Jack, Aimee, and me. Jack looked like he had enjoyed his party more than anyone, and his head hung on Aimee's shoulder as he drifted in and out of bouts of drunken sleep. The girls and I just talked about classes and movies until Samantha decided to leave with the rest of the party goers.

  "I should take off. Looks like I closed the club down," I said to Aimee after everyone had left. Jack was passed out on the couch, snoring like an adult elephant.

  "Awww. I hate to see you go; did you have a good time?" she said as we both got off from the couch.

  "Yeah, I really did." And I was surprised that it was true. Even though I had been going to school and putting myself through the motions, I hadn't been really participating in anything social. This party had been a huge success. Not only did I meet some great people tonight, but I also got a possible job lead. I should be smacking myself for thinking about not coming when Jack first called me about it a few days ago. Jack's friends were very nice, and I felt a bit ashamed I thought they would be shallow, spoiled rich kids.

  "So… what do you think about Samantha?" Aimee asked, mischievously. "I'm not supposed to say anything, but she thinks you are really hot."

  "Oh well… ummm… She seemed really nice. Honestly, I'm just getting used to talking to people again." We began to drift toward the door.

  "Jack told me about your parents. I'm so sorry. I imagine it is going to take a while to get over." Her blues eyes were filled with sympathy.

  "No. I am good now. I wasn't for a while, but I'm getting back on my feet. This party really helped."

  "Good. I also think a nice girl will help you get better. So let's talk about Sam more." Ugh, she wouldn't let it go.

  "Well, like I said, she seemed nice… but not really my type."

  "So what is your type?" She said, with a beautiful, dark eyebrow raised. We had gotten to the door, and I contemplated lying, or telling the truth. Most girls don't like to be told they are "not someone's type," even if they weren't interested in the guy they were asking. I decided on plan C.

  "We just met, Aimee. Can't I have any secrets?" Her face dropped into a pout that didn't detract from her beauty. If anything, her facial expression made her lips look even more amazing. I had to get out of there. "It will give us something to talk about next time!" I said, with faked enthusiasm.

  "Alright. Oh, I almost forgot. Give me your cell number," she demanded. She pulled out a dark-purple phone from her purse and typed in my number. "Great," she said, when she finished and dialed. "That's my number. Now I can text you all day long." My front pocket started to ring and buzz with her incoming call. I pressed the side of my pants and it went silent.

  "Okay cool. Looking forward to it. It was great meeting you," I said as I opened the door. It was a little chilly out there. And when I say chilly, I mean it was 55 degrees, in early November, at one o'clock in the morning. Typical California weather.

  "Wait, give me a hug." And before I could think, she had her arms around me, pulling me close to her. She smelled good, and her body felt amazing next to mine. I felt my cock start to get hard as she ground her hips against me. The hug lasted way longer than a friendly goodbye embrace should have been. After about ten seconds, her hands started to rub my back, and she let out a long sigh. I was about to break free, since I was fully hard now, and I know she could feel it against her body. She slowly leaned back, as if to release me, and kissed the side of my neck, then my chin, and then she pulled my face down and kissed me on the lips.

  Again, this wasn't like a friendly peck. Her lips were slightly open when she kissed me and they clamped down and sucked on my bottom lip. I was so stunned that I couldn't think of anything; actually I was probably thinking of four hundred million things. Her tongue flicked across my top lip as she finally pulled away. It was one of the best kisses I'd ever had; her mouth was definitely talented.

  "Good night Eric. I'll call you tomorrow." Her eyes measured me for a reaction.

  "Yeah. Uh, goodnight Aimee." I must have looked like a zombie that just had its head knocked off and was searching for it. If she had pulled the pin on a hand grenade, I couldn't have gotten out of there faster. I sprinted down the stairs in a complete daze toward my car as I heard the door shut behind me.

  My confused lobotomy only lasted for the few minutes it took me to get to my car. By the time the engine was running and I was back on the 405 freeway, my brain couldn't calm the fuck down.

  What the hell was that? Why did she do that? Oh my god, what is Jack going to think? What the fuck?

  By the time I got home, I was able to think straight. I replayed the events of the night over and over in my head, looking for something I had missed that would have led to Aimee kissing me. I couldn't recall anything. She was nice to me, and we did have some cool conversations, shared some laughs, and we had gotten to know each other. But she hadn't flirted with me at all during the whole night. It didn't make sense. There had to of been something I missed, or maybe I just didn't know how to read people anymore. I didn't even know her well enough to know what she was thinking, or what this meant for her and Jack.

  My phone beeped with a text message.

  Did you get home okay?

  Oh boy. Maybe I shouldn't have given her my phone number. I typed out a quick response.

  Yep, thanks for checkin'.

  A few seconds, later my phone beeped again.

  Great. Looking forward to seeing you again.

  Ugh. Holy crap. I probably shouldn't see her ever again. I contemplated typing a response, but decided to just turn the phone off and get ready for bed. As if I would be able to sleep tonight. Fuck.

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  Concrete Chaos

  It was one of those shitty dreams. The kind that has you running down a winding pathway of mixed cobblestone, dirt, and rock through a tall, dark forest. Real ol' timey Ichabod Crane-style shit. There was no sound in the dream, but I knew something assholeish was following me. The trees were too dense to go through, and the dusk light of the dream world was turning into dark-as-fuck night. I just kept running, and Dickbag kept gaining ground on me. Just as I was about to turn around, I startled awake like a fish pulled from its bowl.

  "Ugggghh.... What time is it?" I asked my empty room. My head felt as if I'd used it as a hammer to play whack-a-mole all night, and my mouth felt like I'd licked my own asshole.

  "It is eight thirty-two AM, Sue Zay." The voice was a man's and had an Australian accent that elongated all the vowel sounds in a way
that I found unbelievably funny.

  But I wasn't laughing now.

  "What the fuck, Hogan? I'm going to be late for class! Why didn't you wake me up?" I kicked off the covers of my bed and gasped at my outfit. "What the hell is this?"

  "Last night you ordered me to let you sleep in or you would 'reformat my hard drive with your torque wrench and season my CPU in your toilet.'"

  "I don't believe you." I crawled out of bed with a moan and awkward slide across my nightmare-drenched sheets. The skirt I was wearing was bright pink, tight, and way, way, way, way too short. It was stupid hard to crawl in, and I gave up after a few attempts and just rolled off the bed like a lazy dog.

  "Hogan… If you… fucking… wake me up for class tomorrow… I'm going to… I'm going to… fucking take my torque wrench and beat the shit out of your drive. Then I'm gonnna… rip… rip… your fucking CPU out, piss in the toilet and fucking leave it the fuck in there to season for a week. Do you understand, asshole?" Hogan replayed the recording he took of my orders. Holy shit balls, I sounded drunker than I would have believed.

  "Okay, fine. I said that, but you should have known better. I've got midterms today." I had fluorescent green pasties taped over my nipples. They had little yellow smiley faces on them, and I tried to search my non-existent memories of last night to figure out what had happened, but all I remembered was the forest.

  "I'm sorry, Sue Zay. I'll do better next time," the Australian voice sighed.

  "Did I ride home in this?" I gingerly peeled off the tape from my nipples and staggered across the oil-stained concrete floor toward the side of the garage that housed Funakoshi and my bathroom. There were no walls or doors anywhere in my place, so I had nothing to lean against.

  "Yes. I did engage the autopilot on your motorcycle when you started vomiting," Hogan stated.

  "Goddamn it." I hit the water in the shower and attempted to shimmy out of my skirt. I might as well have tried to yank off my own skin. The thing wasn't budging. It was, like, glued to me. At least my watch was still on, and I used my shaking fingers to pry it off my wrist before I placed it on the sink next to the shower.