by S. R. Grey
I’ve wondered for a while why there’s this odd vibe between Missy and Chase, so I ask, “What’s your problem with him anyway? You used to think he was hot, but now you act like you can barely stand him.”
“Oh, I still think he’s hot, honey. Some things are indisputable. But, I told you before, the guy is a prick. He’s a player, Kay. You should watch your step.”
I know my boy’s past reputation, but there’s something in Missy’s tone that makes me think she may have firsthand knowledge of something. But that can’t be right. Chase would’ve surely mentioned if anything had ever happened between them. I mean, I think he’d tell me.
My stomach sours at the thought of Missy and Chase having done, really, anything. Maybe this is part of what Chase is referring to when he says he’s trouble? But my guy and the head of the bake committee? Ugh. I can’t even.
I force myself to ask Missy, “Why do you say he’s a player?”
She flips her blonde hair back. She used to always wear it up, but that’s another change I’ve noticed. Her hair is down almost all the time now.
“I’ve just heard things, that’s all,” Missy replies, picking up the pencil she set down earlier, and studying it intently. “I’m sure it’s all the same stuff you’ve heard. He does have a reputation, you know?”
I nod, but I also breathe a sigh of relief. I know Chase has a past. A past filled with many…conquests. Thank goodness Missy isn’t among them. That would just be weird.
“Hey, I actually came in to ask you a question,” Missy points the pencil at me once more as she, thankfully, changes the subject.
“Okay.”
“What are you doing tonight? Do you have any plans?”
I thought I had plans, but Chase made it clear I’d not be seeing him until tomorrow. Do I really feel like sitting home all night? Not particularly. My life has changed a lot in the past few weeks. I’m more apt to take chances, live a little, so to speak. So far, I’ve done this chance-taking, this life-living thing, with Chase only. Makes sense, since he’s the one who got the whole thing started for me. But I feel ready to expand my horizons. I’m ready to make others a part of my life too.
With my new attitude and renewed enthusiasm, I look up at Missy from my seated position at the desk, and ask, “Why? What did you have in mind?”
A smile creeps along her lips as she drums the pencil excitedly on the desk. “You’re really up for doing something?” I nod and Missy actually squeals. “Oh my God, this is great. We are going to have so much fun, you’ll see.”
Missy’s reaction makes me realize this is the first time I’ve ever agreed to do anything with her outside of church obligations.
“So, where should we go?” I ask.
She hops down from the desk and straightens her skirt. “Ooh, I know. Let’s go to the Anchor Inn.”
I groan a little inwardly because that place is such a pick-up joint, but it’s also one of the only bars in town where you can dance.
Oh, what the hell, I think. To Missy, I say, “Okay, that works for me.”
We finalize our plans—I’ll meet her at the entrance to the Anchor Inn at eight o’clock so we can go in together and find a booth. After Missy leaves, I debate whether I should call Chase and tell him my plans. I decide against it. He wanted some time to himself and calling will make it seem like I’m trying to find excuses to contact him. So, I let things be.
After work ends, I speed back to my apartment so I can get ready. I shower and pick out a cute outfit I’ve never worn. I bought it last fall when I was sort of dating Nick, but we quit seeing each other before I ever got around to wearing it.
I get the scissors out and cut off the tags. The jeans are this nice deep, dark indigo color. The cut is skinny, but the denim is stretchy. I tug indigo up my legs and over my hips. I zip up. The jeans are snug, but for the most part, comfy. The blouse, I find I love. It looks fantastic once it’s on my body. The fabric is light and summery, a pale yellow crinkled chiffon. Floral embroidery stitching runs all along the neckline and up over the shoulders. I pair the whole ensemble with a pair of flat-soled metallic sandals.
When all is said and done I take a spin in front of the mirror in the bathroom. I have to say I look good, maybe a little sexy, even. Too bad my night is about to be spent with Missy and not with someone I know would fully appreciate my appearance this evening.
Oh, well.
Three hours later Missy and I are seated at a booth near the bar, drinking margaritas out of salt-rimmed glasses. The music blares around us, and the place is filling up rapidly.
“Are you having a good time?” Missy yells over the music.
She’s wearing a low-cut top and a pair of tight jeans. The blue fabric v of her top is so low and revealing I have to resist the urge to tell Missy she’s about to have a nip-slip any minute. Somehow, I don’t think she cares.
I take a sip of my margarita, and answer her question, “Yeah, it seems fun here, so far.”
I am exaggerated a little, I’m mostly just bored. But soon the alcohol from the margarita begins coursing through my system, and I begin to think there may be the potential for good times ahead.
I bounce a little in my seat to the bass beat of the tune that’s playing, and say, “We should dance.”
“Sure.” Missy holds up her margarita “After we finish our drinks, yeah?”
I nod and start sipping.
Just as we finish off our margaritas, and are about to hit the dance floor, I spot Nick Mercurio, manager at Pizza House and one-time date of mine. He’s with a friend, some guy I’ve never seen before. But the guy bears a striking resemblance to Nick. The two of them just got here, but, even from this vantage point, it’s apparent they’re both a little drunk. I try to hurry Missy along so we can get out to the dance floor and lose ourselves in the crowd. I don’t care to deal with Nick and any alcohol-fueled advances tonight.
Unfortunately, Missy is fumbling around in her purse, searching for who-knows what, and taking forever. “Come on,” I prod, standing up.
“Okay, okay.”
Missy starts to slip out of the booth, but it’s too late. Nick has spotted me. He waves enthusiastically, and heads to our table, his friend following.
“Hey, isn’t that your manager from when you worked at Pizza House?” Missy asks as she settles back into the booth. Before I can answer she adds, “Ooh, he’s cute. And who’s his friend?” She licks her lips. “Mmm, I want to meet them both.”
I roll my eyes. Not to be crude, but Missy is like a bitch in heat sometimes. Nick and his friend close in on our table; there’ll be no escaping now.
Damn, I’ll have to talk to him.
His friend-that-I-don’t-know is, in fact, cute, just as Missy has observed. This guy actually looks a lot like Nick, same dark hair, olive-toned skin, similar dark eyes. He’s most definitely tall, dark, and handsome, like Nick.
The guys reach us and an awkward greeting is exchanged. Nick introduces his friend as his cousin, Tony. No wonder they look so similar.
As Missy begins to flirt shamelessly with Tony, Nick kind of chuckles and turns to me. “Do you want to dance?” he asks.
“Uh, I…”
I look to Missy for help, but she chimes in with, “Actually, we were on our way out to the dance floor to do just that.” She loops her arm around Tony’s.
Oh, great, this is so not what I wanted.
The four of us make our way to the dance floor, Tony and Missy lead the way and Nick guides me forward with a lightly placed hand on my back. We fight through the crowd and stop somewhere in the middle. And then we carve out a little space of our own in between packed bodies and start to dance.
I’m just relieved the song is a fast one, since there’s no way I am pressing my body up to Nick’s for any slow songs. Not only would Chase surely not like if I did something like that, but leading Nick on is the last thing I care to do tonight.
While I dance facing Nick, I also make sure to keep a respecta
ble distance away. The up-tempo makes it easy enough, but it sure doesn’t deter Missy. She dirty dances with Tony like there’s no tomorrow, grinding her ass right up into Nick’s cousin’s groin. Not that Tony seems to mind. He appears to love it.
Nick laughs and looks pointedly at me. Is he kidding? I just shake my head.
The song changes to something a little slower and Nick tries to wrap his arms around me so he can pull me closer. I slip under his grasp and tell him I have to use the ladies’ room. Really, I’m just done dancing for the night.
“I think I may leave soon,” I yell over the music to Nick.
He just shrugs and says dismissively, “Whatever, Kay.”
He steps away and turns to where his cousin and Missy are really ramping up the grinding. When Missy sees Nick alone, she puts her arms around him, effectively sandwiching herself between the two cousins.
I turn and make my way through the crowd. When I reach the edge of the dance floor, I glance back. Through the crowd, I catch a glimpse of Nick, Tony, and Missy. The two men have their hands all over Missy, right there in the middle of the dance floor. They’re basically feeling her up. No one seems to care though. The whole scene starts to become very dirty and wanton, and there’s no doubt the three of them will move and escalate elsewhere sooner rather than later.
The margarita I drank earlier churns in my stomach. Why am I even in this place? I wish I were somewhere with Chase right now, anywhere but here. There’s nothing at the Anchor Inn for me.
I go to the ladies’ room and splash cool water on my face. Whatever alcohol I consumed has long since left my system. I just want to leave. A night I thought had the potential to be fun is shaping up to be something far different.
I go back out to the bar and look for Missy, so I can tell her I’m definitely going home. However, she’s nowhere to be found. I go over to our table and pick up the tab our waitress has left us. When the waitress comes back around, I hand her the money for our drinks, plus a generous tip.
“Hey, thanks,” she says, tucking the money into her apron. She adjusts her high-on-her-head ponytail, and starts to clear off our table.
“Did you happen to see where my friend went?” I ask. “I wanted to let her know I’m leaving.”
The waitress points to the area from which I just came. “I think she went back there.”
“By herself?”
The waitress shakes her head. “No, there were two guys with her.” Nick and Tony, no doubt.
Now, I’m torn. Do I leave, or do I first check on Missy? She seemed pretty much into what Nick and Tony were doing to her, but I want to be sure. Missy isn’t some close friend, but I do like her, and I’d never forgive myself if I left and later found out she had needed rescuing.
I take a deep breath and head back to the hallway leading to the restrooms. Beyond the men’s room, there’s a heavy-looking door marked as an exit. Another closed door in between the restrooms is marked stairs. I place my hand on the handle of the door marked stairs, but hesitate when I hear muffled grunts and groans coming from the other side. I try the doorknob, but it’s locked.
“Missy?” I pound on the door. “Are you in there? Are you okay?”
I hear skin-slapping sounds and Missy moan-answers, “Go away, Kay. I’m—Oh, God—fine.”
A man’s voice—not Nick’s, so I guess it’s Tony’s—calls out, “Hey, come on in and join us.”
Missy giggles, and then groans in what sounds like pleasure. She’s obviously fine.
I don’t answer. I just turn away and run out of the heavy door marked exit. I trip a little, right myself, and spill out into a smelly alley. I’m in the back of the Anchor Inn, and everything reeks of urine and God-knows-what else. I hold my nose until I’m around the corner and at my parked car.
I hurriedly jump in and turn the key in the ignition. Before I pull away I think about all that has happened. I’m surprised and disturbed by what I’ve learned about Missy tonight. Again, it worries me that she and Chase behave so uncomfortably around one another. Every time I bring one’s name up to the other there’s always this weird tension. Despite Missy’s denial earlier, I resolve, once I get up enough nerve, to flat-out ask Chase if they’re hiding something.
But right now all I want to do is go home. Nothing has gone right today, and I am more than ready to just go to sleep and start fresh tomorrow.
Unfortunately, a short while later, when I pull into the apartment lot and park, I sense things are about to get a whole lot worse. Fireplug and his friends from the other morning are blocking the entrance to the building. They’re standing around in a loose circle smoking something out of a pipe.
When I get out of the car, a chemical-like odor—like burning plastic, maybe—wafts in my direction. The junkies are not smoking weed, that’s for sure. Meth or crack, then, I think. Shit, the tweaked addicts are the worst.
I try to hurry past their huddled bodies, clutching my big hobo bag to my body like a protective shield, but Fireplug stops me by stepping into my path. “Whatcha got in the bag?” he asks, his eyes dark and his words slurred.
Unlike the other day, he’s not leering. He just appears desperate and strung out. I try to shoulder past.
“Where’re you going in such a hurry?” Fireplug grabs for my bag and his two friends chuckle. “Don’t you know you gotta pay a toll first? It’s a new rule, just started tonight.”
One of the other junkies, skinny and gaunt, adds, “Yeah, we be the trolls under the bridge from your bedtime stories, little girl.”
“More like my nightmares,” I mumble under my breath.
It’s a mistake to engage them, but my comment slips out before I can stop myself.
Fireplug immediately gets in my face, his breath fetid as it washes over me. “You think you’re better than us? Is that why you’re giving us attitude, bitch?”
I just want to get into the building, so I mumble, “No.”
His grip on my bag tightens, but I hold on to it with everything I’ve got. I’m tired of being frightened. “Get out of my way,” I grind out.
I try again to slip past the junkies, but Fireplug won’t let go of my bag. I yank harder. He stumbles a little, and that’s when he reacts. He raises his arm and hits me in the face. He uses an open palm, but it’s still a hard slap. I gasp as my cheek stings and my eyes water. I’m reminded of the time my own mother hit me. Tears well up, like some sort of automatic reaction. Fireplug laughs sinisterly and plucks my bag out of my now-lax hands. I offer no resistance, but he pushes me so hard that I fall on my ass. He calls me a filthy word and spits in my direction. His saliva misses me, but barely.
I’ve made so many mistakes today. I should have pressed Chase to talk to me, I should have declined the offer to go out. And I should have left the bar without searching for Missy. Then, I wouldn’t have heard a guy I used to date—and his cousin—getting it on with my sort-of friend in some gross stairwell. But most of all, I wouldn’t be here now, sitting on my ass, at the mercy of three men who are drugged out of their minds.
The enormity of it all prevents me from moving. I sit and watch as Fireplug goes through my purse. He laughs as he throws my life all over the ground. His pals watch and cackle; they do nothing to stop him. And neither do I—I am powerless, like I’ve been so, so many times before.
“What the fuck is this shit?” Fireplug laughs as Peetie, Sarah’s stuffed bunny, flies past my head. I close my eyes and something that feels like my makeup bag hits me in the shoulder.
When I dare to open my eyes, the sunglasses Chase fixed the day we met are falling to the ground. Fireplug lifts his foot to step on them. I glance up and his dilated eyes dare me to try to stop him. I look away and hear sickly crunching as Fireplug stomps on the sunglasses with his heavy, black boot. They are beyond repair now, even Chase’s talented hands can’t fix this shit.
Finally, my empty bag hits my lap.
But Fireplug hasn’t thrown everything out; he holds my wallet and my keys in
his grasp. He takes money out of my wallet and drops everything else. Holding up two twenties, he growls, “This all you got?”
I nod lifelessly and he kicks my thigh, hard. I cry out. “Well, that’s not going to be enough, I’m afraid,” he tells me.
I don’t know what he has planned, but the other two junkies quickly take off. My thigh aches and my cheek feels tender, but I decide I am not going down without a fight. Not tonight. Maybe there’s rage in me like there is in Chase, because I suddenly wish I had my badass boy’s strength to beat the shit out of this asshole.
Fireplug leans down like he’s going to try to scare me some more, and I snap. From somewhere deep inside me I find the courage to lift my sandaled foot and kick this loser right in his chin. He doesn’t cry out, but he’s stunned enough that he steps back. I have time to right myself. Unfortunately, I am not fast enough.
I am on my knees, reaching for my keys, when I feel Fireplug grab hold of my ankles. I fall forward as he starts to drag me away. My new blouse’s chiffon fabric snags and tears from the gravel in the lot. I scream and struggle but no one comes to my aid.
I’m too frightened to even consider what may happen next, but suddenly Fireplug lets go of me. He takes off just as a police cruiser flies by. A second one follows. But the cops aren’t even stopping here—they continue westward. I guess the lights and sirens were just enough to scare off my assailant. Thank God for small favors.
I crawl back to where my stuff lies on the ground. Tears blur my vision as I gather what I can find in the dimly lit lot. I jam everything in my bag—pray that I haven’t missed anything—and then using the keys I retrieved, hands shaking, I let myself in the building.
I can’t stop trembling. I keep telling myself I’ll be okay once I’m safely locked in my apartment. But all that happens when I step through the door to my home are more panic attacks. I double over and breathe through my mouth, taking in big gasps of air. I eventually calm enough to realize I can’t stay here any longer. In fact, once I leave tonight, I know I’ll never step through that door ever again.
I begin to toss everything I own—which, sadly, isn’t a hell of a lot—into one old suitcase and a beat-up, old oversized duffel bag. I think about where I should go. A hotel, no. The church, I think not.