Bibi paused, thinking about the roommate she’d found in the personals section of the paper. The first friend she’d had in L.A. “Remember how she used to call me Natchez? Drove me fuckin’ nuts. But she was great. She shocked the hell outta me when I first met her. But I wouldn’t’ve met you if I’d followed my first impulse and backed slowly out of her place.”
Bibi had ended up alone in Los Angeles the way lots of girls seemed to end up alone in that town: she’d gone with a boy from their hometown of Natchez, Mississippi. Within two months of her first sighting of the Hollywood sign, and within the same two months of her high school graduation, she’d been alone and homeless. Her people had been so angry and judgmental about her decision to go west. Her father had told her that if she left she could never come back, and he wasn’t a man who made threats lightly. So she couldn’t ask for help.
She’d stayed the first couple of nights in an awful hotel, crying herself to sleep and wondering whether she’d end up turning tricks or something when her little bit of money ran out. And then she’d answered Gina’s ad.
The East Hollywood apartment wasn’t that much nicer than the hourly-rate hotel, but the rent was cheap, and Bibi had a room of her own and there was parking for her car. Moreover, she and Gina had hit it right off—which had surprised them both. Bibi had come up in a fairly affluent, conservative family, and she’d been a little bit of a princess, the only daughter with three older brothers. Her style had been prairie skirts and poofy sleeves. She’d been a cheerleader, and Joel, the boy who’d abandoned her, had been on the football team. They hadn’t been King and Queen, but they’d been in the Court. They were both all over their high school yearbook.
Gina was…different. Her bright red—that day—hair was stiff and sticking up in all directions, her makeup was heavy and dark, her clothes were ripped, even her tights. She had lots of piercings in her ears, and she had tattoos. Bibi had never met a girl with tattoos before. For that matter, she didn’t think she’d ever met a boy with tattoos, either.
Gina was the first punk Bibi had ever met.
Two years later, when Bibi met the man who would almost instantly change her life, she knew many, many more punks. Including herself.
~oOo~
Bibi turned the last of the four locks to open the apartment door and then shoved her shoulder into it until it finally gave up its hold on the jamb. All but falling into the room as the door swung open, she turned and shoved her shoulder into again to get it to close all the way. Then she turned all the locks. Twice they’d been broken into already, once when Bibi was in the shower and alone in the apartment, so now they kept all the locks locked. And considered the door that had warped out of true during the last earthquake an extra level of security.
Gina moved into the doorway to the narrow hall that led to their rooms and the bathroom. Wearing nothing but a pair of destroyed fishnet tights, she put one hand on her hip while the other smeared wine-colored lipstick over her mouth.
“Damn, Natchez. It’s almost eight.”
“I know.” Bibi kicked off her sensible black pumps. “I told you, we had a staff meetin’. And you need lip liner if you’re gonna wear that color.”
Gina rolled her eyes. “I need you to put it on for me. You know I can’t get it on right. I look like a drunk three-year old colored my lips when I do it. And you need a much cooler job. I started without you. Want a tab?” She loved to trip when they went clubbing.
Bibi was a little more cautious about that. She’d had a bad trip while they were out the year before, and she’d managed to get herself well and truly lost and alone in Hollywood on a Saturday night. On acid. Scariest night of her whole damn life.
She went to the prehistoric refrigerator and pulled the handle. “My job keeps us from eatin’ nothin’ but ramen and Skittles.” She worked at a makeup counter in the Century City Nordstrom. The cosmetics company that was her actual employer had just instituted a new policy that required their ‘associates’ to have college degrees or be working toward them. That policy had been the focus of the meeting. Bibi had no degree and no money to seek one. So she’d probably be losing that decent job pretty soon.
Bending down to search the scant interior of the fridge, Bibi swore. “Fuck it all, Gee. You drank my last Dr. Pepper!”
“Sorry. I needed sweet. I’ll get you back.” Gina had come into the kitchen. Now she had on a vintage black-lace bullet bra with her ripped up tights. Gina worked at a vintage store. She didn’t get paid on any kind of regular schedule, and sometimes her boss just sort of forgot to open the store. Gina compensated for these fiscal challenges by lifting any merchandise she liked.
“You hate Dr. Pepper.”
“Yeah. It’s disgusting.”
“So quit drinkin’ mine!”
“Any swill in a sweet-tooth crisis. Crikey, Natchez, you’re uptight tonight. You seriously need to trip.”
“We got any weed left?” Weed sounded safer. And calmer. Calm would be good.
Gina grinned guiltily.
“Judas Priest, I don’t know why I love you like I do.”
“It’s so cute when you swear in Baptist. And you love me because I’m EXCELLENT. And Tony’ll have good shit.” She came in and bumped hips with Bibi. “C’mon, do a tab, get out of that straightjacket, and let’s tear shit up tonight.” Gina grinned and batted heavily-mascaraed eyelashes at her. “You can wear the striped dress.”
Bibi loved that dress. It was a sundress from the Fifties. Red and white stripes on the bias, a halter top, and a full, swirly skirt. Gina had brought it home from the shop and asked Bibi to punk it up for her. Bibi had taken more than a foot off the length and added a red crinoline under it. She’d replaced the fabric straps of the halter with studded leather made out of collars from the sex shop downstairs.
But she’d altered it for Gina, who had a lot less up top than Bibi did. If she wedged herself into that dress, she’d have to stop breathing for the rest of the night.
On the plus side, it made her tits look great.
“You’re on. Gimme a tab, and thirty minutes.” It took awhile to turn the makeup specialist into a punk bitch.
“Make it twenty. I want to stop for a slice first. All I’ve had to eat today is a Dr. Pepper.”
“You need a minder.”
Gina kissed her cheek. “I got you, babe.”
~oOo~
‘Their’ club was called The Hole. Located just a few blocks from their apartment, it was both safe—because they were close—and dangerous—because they lived in a shitty neighborhood, and even a few blocks’ walk could be an adventure. But they had a big circle of friends and fellow freaks, and it was rare that they were left to walk home alone.
On this night, while they were at the New York-style pizzeria that was a couple of blocks in the wrong direction, their duo became a group, as some of their friends had already been standing at tall tables, shoving pizza into their maws. By the time they headed to The Hole, they were a band of hooligans, all tripping noisily.
Bibi was having a happy little trip, and she felt good. The lights of the streets and shops swirled and sparkled as they walked, and everybody’s laughter sounded like music. She would have sworn she was floating to the club.
One of their friends, Gil, put his arm around her waist and pulled her close, nuzzling his nose under her denim jacket, but she didn’t want to be held to the ground, so she pushed him off and ran ahead, her vintage white lace-up boots clunking on the sidewalk like bass drums.
“Don’t go far, Natchez,” Gina laughed behind her.
Bibi just giggled and flew.
~oOo~
A couple of hours later, after the band had done its first set, her trip was leveling off to a mellow, soft-focus daze. She’d danced until she was a sweaty mess. She was sure her makeup was a horror, and her hair would have been a lank mop if not for all the sculpting spray keeping it where she wanted it—big and spiky. Because of her job, she couldn’t dye it the rainbow colors G
ina dyed her naturally-red hair. Then again, pretty soon, she’d be out of that job. Maybe she should go back to work on Sunday with blue hair. Or green. Or both. That would give the rich cunts a start.
She leaned on the bar and nibbled out of the garnish tray while she waited for the bartender to work his way back to her end. When he got there, he slapped her hand away from the cherries. She took the one she’d last snagged and bit it off the stem while he watched.
“Don’t be such a grump, Jackie.” Swallowing the cherry, she put the stem in her mouth. While his eyes fixed on her mouth, she did her thing, tying the stem into a knot. Then she plucked it from between her teeth and dropped it onto the bar.
He grinned and picked it up. Putting it in his own mouth, he said, “Only so long that cute little trick gets you free fruit. This ain’t a salad bar, Scarlett.”
Everybody had some kind of Southern nickname for her. She’d tried to lose the Mississippi in her voice, she was still trying, sort of, but it was a lot of fucking work.
“Anybody even order fruit drinks here?” The club was a dark, grimy hole. Aptly named. And the clientele wasn’t the happy-hour crowd. This was the kind of place that had an actual room in the back for the bouncers to beat on assholes.
“You’d be surprised. You need a drink, or you just standing there robbin’ me blind?”
“Yeah. Coupl’a beers.” She’d bring one to Gina.
She wasn’t of age yet, but nobody got carded here. Jackie poured the beers from the tap and slid two glasses to her. She dug her cash out of her bra—damn, the dress was tight—and slid some bills back Jackie’s way. Then she picked up the glasses and turned.
And ran right into a leather wall.
The wall grabbed her hands, steadying the full glasses before they spilled.
He was smiling at her—a smile that caught her off guard. It was quiet, if a smile could be quiet. She got stuck in it.
“Careful there, sweet cheeks.”
His mouth moved around the words, showing more of his nice white teeth. At the sound of his voice, she freed her eyes from his smile and looked up. Oh. Oh, very nice. He was older, maybe by a lot. There was a little bit of grey threaded through his black hair. But he was fine.
The leather he wore was a kutte, but it was different from what most of her friends wore. Instead of buttons and patches all over, it had simple patches. Her trippy eyes didn’t want to let the letters be still, so she wasn’t sure what they said, but she had just enough familiarity with other parts of the outside-the-margins world to know he was a biker.
She’d never known a biker. She knew people who rode motorcycles, but that was different.
“S-s-sorry. Sorry. Shoulda watched where I’s goin’.”
His eyes—dark, so dark they were black in the low light of the club—sparkled, and he tipped his head to the side. “You’re from Miss’ippi.”
He pronounced it like she did, like all her people and everyone she’d grown up with did, eliding the second syllable. But otherwise, there was no accent in his voice. He was making fun of her, which killed the magic of his smile as well as her moment of admiration for pinning her accent so quickly. She shook his hands off of hers, sloshing cheap beer over her hands and his fingers.
“And you ain’t. But y’are in my way.”
He stepped to the side. “Sorry.”
As she walked past him, he caught her arm in his. “Don’t go far, now.”
If he thought he was at some tacky pickup bar, he had another think coming. Maybe her heart was pitty-patting in her chest, but he didn’t know that. She was a punk, dammit.
She turned and pulled her arm free, sloshing more beer. “Dammit! Fuck you!”
He laughed. “That’s what I’m angling for, yeah.” Nodding at the beers, he added, “I’ll bring you a couple fresh ones.”
“Don’t bother. Hit the road, Biker Boy.”
He tipped his head again, this time in a gesture that looked for all the world like concession. But his eyes said she hadn’t seen the last of him.
And that didn’t piss her off as much as she pretended it did.
~oOo~
Later, Bibi found herself sitting alone. Gil and Gina were off fucking in the bathroom. Everybody else was off doing whatever. Bibi had been off doing whatever, too, until Tony had gotten pushy. Gina slept with everybody and their sister, and that was fine and dandy, but Bibi was a little more discerning, and she didn’t like Tony much. He had the good shit, it was true, and he was liberal with it, but he was always trying to push harder shit, especially coke, and Bibi and Gina could barely keep the roof they had over their heads. The last thing they needed was a grand-a-week snow habit.
Plus, he liked to hit. Gina didn’t mind that, but Bibi definitely did. She might have been a part of this scene now, but she was still, deep down, the girl who’d worn a pink Gunne Sax dress to her junior prom.
Biker Boy had never brought fresh beers over, but he was still around. Bibi’s eyes kept finding him, and every time they did, he was looking at her, smiling that smile. He was with another guy, wearing a kutte like his, even more gorgeous than he was. But that guy looked like an asshole.
Not that Biker Boy wasn’t an asshole. She wouldn’t know one way or another.
What she did know was that her trip was over, and she’d never gotten around to getting drunk. Now she was alone in a crowded bar, surrounded by people who’d gotten around to getting drunk. The band was done, and she couldn’t think of one good reason to stay where she was.
She shoved her way back to the bathrooms, looking for Gina. Gil had her at the end of the hallway, and they were fucking right there, Gina doing her operatic soprano routine. Bibi stormed down and poked Gil in the back. “Hey!”
He stopped thrusting, and they both looked at her. “What?” Gina asked.
“I want to leave. I’m straight again, and now I’m bored.”
“Find Tony.”
“I don’t want to find Tony. I don’t want anythin’ more. I just want to go home.”
Gina had obviously reloaded at some point; her pupils were pinpricks. “So go.” She looked at Gil. “Can I crash with you?”
Gil was couch surfing, staying with his cousin or something like that. But he grinned and thrust his hips, making Gina moan. “Yeah, baby. Plenty of room on the fold-out.”
Bibi ignored him. She was too stunned at the idea that Gina was going to send her off to walk home alone. Through Hollywood. After midnight. “Gina, come on. We stick together, right?”
“It’s five blocks. Get somebody else to babysit your debutante ass.”
Well, this night had just bottomed out. Fighting back the tears that, if freed, would make it the worst night of her life, she backed away. When she turned, she ran straight into the bathroom door that some guy had just opened and smacked her forehead.
She was going to cry. No, no she was not. No, no, no.
Okay. Walking home on her own. She knew the way.
She’d almost made it to the front door when the night got even worse. “Bibi, hold on.” A hand grabbed at her jacket.
Tony.
She turned and put on her Southern smile. “Hey, Tony. I’m headin’ out.”
“I heard. Gina wants me to walk with you.”
Gina knew how Bibi felt about Tony. Now she was moving from hurt to good, old fashioned furious at her roommate and supposed friend. “That’s okay. I can make it on my own.”
When she tried to free her arm, he changed his hold, closing her upper arm in his fist. “Nah, I’ll take you. We can party. I’ve got some special stuff.”
She tried the direct approach. “Tony, I’m not interested. I’m just goin’ home. On my own. I’ll see ya.”
His hand tightened, but before he could say more, Biker Boy was there. “Lady says she’s not interested.”
Lady says she’s not interested? What, were they in a Sam Spade novel?
Tony thought that was ridiculous, too. He released Bibi and turned to the bi
ker with a contemptuous laugh. “Who the fuck’re you?”
Biker got close and made a slight, subtle movement, and Tony’s eyes went wide. Bibi couldn’t tell what had happened. But Biker snarled, “Guy who’s gonna slice open your kidney right here unless you back the fuck off.”
Tony backed off immediately, backed all the way across the club, and Bibi saw the biker fold a knife and tuck it in his jeans pocket.
“D’you think you just rescued me? He didn’t want anythin’ you weren’t lookin’ for earlier.”
He smiled. Sheesh, she had to stop looking at his mouth. “Yeah, but I know how to take no for an answer.”
Dream & Dare Page 2