Casting Stones (Stones Duet #1)

by L. M. Carr

  As the train rumbles down the track, I look around at the crowd of people heading home for the night, while others head out for a night on the town. I sigh deeply and scroll through my phone and pull the hood of my lightweight fleece over my head as a shiver runs through me. I feel off tonight. I don’t know exactly what it is, but something doesn’t feel right. I should’ve taken the summer off like any normal graduate student. My upcoming classes this fall are going to be really difficult, heavy on the rigorous content. I need a break, physically and mentally.

  The weight of someone staring at me causes me look up. I meet the face of the older, balding man, whose remaining grey hair is slicked back and greasy. With careful eyes and a predatory smile that stretches across his horrifically scarred face, he watches me. When his mouth opens, he utters the words that send chills down my spine. “Her debt grew bigger today. A lot bigger.”

  I blink cautiously as my eyes dart to the closed door, praying it would open so I could make a mad dash through before he can match me step for step.

  “Somebody needs to pay.” His voice drops to a deep whisper as his eyes pin mine.

  Even if I wanted to speak, my voice is wedged somewhere behind the boulder in my throat. I simply nod in acknowledgment. For as long as I can remember, every Friday night, like clockwork, it’s the same thing; he waits beside the black car making sure the debtor pays her debt. As he often reminds me, the balance due must always be paid…one way or another.

  I respond to Jenna’s text asking what I’m wearing tonight. I think my normal attire of cut off shorts and T-shirt will suffice for our usual late Friday night. My phone is quickly stashed away in the side pocket of my backpack as I rise to stand when I see my stop approaching. I step through the sliding door before he does and quicken my pace. I know he’s behind me, walking slowly, making sure I get to my destination unharmed. No one wants damaged goods. I glance back for the last time and see him nod at me before I turn the corner and head around to the back of the building.

  I greet the weekend security guard and pull open the door. Loud music assaults my ears. I narrow my eyes as they adjust to the bright fluorescent lights. I nod and look glumly at the few people scurrying around.

  “Hey, baby girl. Why are you so sad tonight?” Candy asks, looking at me in the mirror while she applies another layer of mascara to her already thick lashes. I don’t know why she even bothers; the dark eye shadow and thick eyeliner hide her deep-set, big brown eyes.

  “I’m tired. And I don’t want to be here,” I answer her honestly after pulling my eyes away from the small picture of her son taped to the mirror. The little boy in his arms has the same blue eyes and blond hair. Blue eyes and blond hair. I bite back the annoyance brought on by the memory of the gorgeous man at the diner. Fifteen dollars tip for a coffee and a muffin! Who does that? I walk away and bend down, casting my eyes downward. I spin the combination lock and open the small storage space that is reserved for me. I hate the contents and all they stand for.

  “How’s your mom?” The sympathy rings loud in Candy’s raspy voice.

  An icy glare is my answer.

  “I wish I could do something for you.”

  “Well, you can’t,” I offer sheepishly before mumbling, “No one can.”

  “Do the best you can, honey.” She runs the tube of red lipstick across her lips and smacks them together. “You know it’s going to get real busy after the game.”

  “I know,” I slam the locker shut and get ready for whatever the night will bring.

  Shane

  I REMOVE MY hat and do my best to stand at attention when a young, rising pop star walks to the pitcher’s mound to sing the National Anthem. I look around at the thousands of people who’ve flocked to watch a baseball game and wonder how many of them actually know the words or even realize what it stands for. How many of these people actually understand the price that is paid? How many truly understand the sacrifice?

  Eric and his buddies are too drunk to even stand straight. I had no idea things would get this crazy so fast. What was supposed to be a few beers turned into a few shots and before I know it, I can’t feel anything. I’m pretty buzzed and I know better than to drink so much. It’s not something I do…often.

  “Yo, wait till you see this! It’s fucking awesome! Nobody puts on a show like Boston!” Eric shouts above the roar of the fans cheering as the Star- Spangled Banner comes to a close. My shoulders tense and I grip the wooden seat in front of me at the high-pitched familiar sound. Wrenching my eyes shut, I bow my head, inhaling and exhaling slowly as the dark night sky illuminates with whizzing light and sound, screaming higher into the air before exploding into a huge display of color. Even with my eyes closed, I know what it looks like. The image is forever etched in the recesses of my mind. I breathe in the stagnant air and adjust my hat, willing my body to calm down. My mouth is dry. I can’t swallow; even the cold beer does little to quench my sudden thirst.

  I try hard to concentrate on the game; the long standing rivalry between the Sox and the Yankees is as big as any in history. Fenway Park erupts as fans scream and cheer wildly when in the bottom of ninth Dustin Pedroia hits a grand slam over the Green Monster to tie the game up, sending it into extra innings. My head is buzzing from the alcohol earlier.

  Across the field, the screen lights up with the image of a man and woman. When she realizes they’re on the screen, she grabs him and kisses him hard. Everyone in the crowd cheers wildly and the grin on my face slips when I see her short blond hair. I squint to get a clearer image of the girl from the diner. Curiosity begs me to see who this guy is. His hands tangle in her short hair and his tongue devours her mouth. My lips tighten as anger fuels me. I don’t understand my reaction. Maybe I need to stop drinking for the rest of the night. Red hearts flash on the screen, illuminating the words, “Will you marry me?” as the man drops to his knee and proposes. Say no. Say no. Say no.

  The beautiful woman cups her mouth and nods profusely, accepting his offer. Fuck. The camera zooms in as tears stream down her face before she wipes her cheeks and dries her bright blue eyes. Blue eyes?I stare at the screen carefully. I stare at the blue eyed woman and realize it’s not the same girl from the diner. I would know those green eyes anywhere.

  “Yo, I’m going to take a piss,” I yell into Eric’s ear.

  “Dude, you’re going to miss the best part of the game.” His beer breath smacks my face, making my stomach roll with nausea.

  “Nah, it’s all right. I’ll watch from up there.” I say already maneuvering through the crowded row of seats to make my way up the stairs.

  I wait by the concession stand for the game to finish instead of pushing my way back to my seat. The phone in my pocket buzzes and when I pull it out, I see my sister’s name. Again.She keeps asking me to come down to visit. For God’s sake, I just got up here not too long ago. I know she’s having a tough time with her marriage and all, but there’s not really much I can do except kick her philandering husband’s scrawny ass.

  When the game finally ends and the Sox win, the fans celebrate as fireworks again light up the night sky. I get lost in a sea of red as I fight my way to meet up with the guys. Pulling the brim of my ballcap lower to shield my eyes from the bright flares, I find a place of refuge under the stairs and look around again before I finally text Eric. Nothing. I even call him a few times, but I get no response. I turn and follow the crowd as we exit the stadium in mass exodus. It’s hot as hell and I’m starting to feel the agitation make its way up my body. I wrack my alcohol-induced brain to figure out which way I need to go to get to the T-train. I know I sound like a loser for even thinking about going home on a Friday night when Boston is alive, but I know the adrenaline pumping through my body is going to leave me fatigued soon enough.

  “Yo, Shane! Over here, bro!” Eric shouts, narrowly missing being hit by an oncoming car as he runs across the street. “Where’d you go?” he slurs and slaps me on the shoulder as he guides me in the opposite direction aw
ay from my ride home. “Man, you gotta come with us. It’s your welcome to Boston, bro.”

  After walking a few blocks, we stop at a dive bar for another round of shots. I sit this one out, telling them that I need to take a phone call outside. Through the window I notice a crew is setting up the area for the cover band that is scheduled to play in about an hour. I walk back in, scan across the crowded bar and see a woman talking and laughing with a group of people. It looks as though she was poured into the short, skin-tight dress. When the woman sees me, she leans in and kisses one of the guys she was just talking to. She pulls her lips from his and smiles at me as if she’s inviting me to join in. Of all the bars in Boston, Dana has to be at this one with her friends. She raises her martini glass as her eyes travel the length of my body. I raise my chin with a simple acknowledgement, turn and ask the bartender for a beer.

  “So, you’ve met the infamous Dana Verrano…” Eric grins, tossing the words into the air between us after downing his third shot as I sip my beer.

  “Yeah, I met her. She’s one of the secretaries.” I answer stiffly.

  “Have you tapped that yet?”

  “Hell no!” I swallow down the lager.

  “Watch her. She’ll eat you alive.”

  My eyes open wide. “Have you—”

  “Fuck that!” He holds up his left hand, showing me his wedding band. “Six years, bro.”

  I nod with understanding and force back the twinge of jealousy. I could’ve been married right now if I didn’t fuck things up so badly. I will always regret not asking Mia to marry when me I had the chance.

  While I watch the television screens broadcast a replay of tonight’s game and ignore the trembling of my hand, I’m acutely aware of her presence behind me.

  “Hello, Mr. Davis. Good to see you out tonight.”

  I turn and am greeted by her plump tits, practically hanging out of her dress. She’s attractive, there’s no doubt. But I’m all set with the ‘boil-a-bunny’ type. Been there. Done that.

  “Hey, Dana. How’s it going?” I respond cordially. There I go with the rhetorical question bullshit. I don’t give a shit about how she is.

  Her eyes rake up and down my body again and she licks her lips. “It’s all right. I like letting my hair down every once in a while.”

  “Cool.” A clipped response slips through my lips.

  “Are you enjoying your night out?” She moves in close to whisper in my ear, leaning her body toward mine. “Because you know…you could be enjoying your night buried deep in me.” Abruptly, a disorderly and very drunk man knocks into Dana, causing her to spill her drink down the front of her tight dress.

  “My bad, babe. My bad. Let me help you clean that up,” he offers, slurring his words while he eyes her tits.

  “What the hell, asshole! Fuck off!” she screeches in his direction.

  He staggers away

  “Take this,” she slurs as she thrusts her martini in my face; its contents sloshing over the side. She reaches around me and asks the bartender for a cocktail napkin.

  I place her drink on the bar.

  “You can have a taste if you want. I won’t mind.” She presses her body against mine and purrs like a cat.

  “Listen, we work together. That’s not a good idea.”

  She looks down to wipe the spilled alcohol from her chest before looking back at me. “Work. Play. What’s the difference?” She tilts her head to the side and shrugs her shoulders.

  I step back, widening the space between us. “I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

  She eyes me skeptically, pouting her red-stained lips. “That’s too bad Mr. Davis because playing at work is so much fun.” I’m sure that’s what the last guy thought, too.

  “Let’s go, boys. We’re outta here.” Eric announces, saving me from rejecting her once again.

  Brandon, a shop teacher from work, walks up and looks at Dana. His eyes trail up and down her body. “Dana”

  She smiles. “Hey, B. Haven’t seen you in a while. Call me.”

  I inhale deeply once we’re outside, but it’s not a cleansing or refreshing breath. The August air is thick and heavy with moisture. We walk another few blocks as I watch the city lights pass by until I see an illuminated sign that reminds me of Cinderella, my niece’s favorite Disney movie.

  “Welcome to Boston,” Eric howls as we bypass the long line and I follow him into the packed club, dimly lit with purple LED uplighting. Tall, marbled pillars are roped off as if standing guard around the shiny pole affixed in the center of the stage. On the side, I see two smaller stages with a pole, encased by a metal cage. A strip club. I love sex just as much as any other guy, but coming to a strip club is pointless. To watch some woman dance around naked isn’t appealing to me. It’s not like you can touch them; I mean really touch them.

  A waitress in a string bikini welcomes us and offers a drink.

  Brandon grabs her ass when she walks by.

  “That’s extra, baby,” she purrs.

  I glance around the large room and watch these men dig deep into their pockets to spend their money on these girls. Sure, their bodies are beautiful, but they’re dirty. The more I think about it, I would never fuck a stripper, let alone touch her, not even with a ten foot pole.

  “C’mon, Davis! It’s your birthday. Go for it!”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Dude. You only turn twenty-one once in your life.”

  I remember suppressing a cringe when the stripper gyrated on my lap. The smell of cheap perfume was enough for me to offer her money to go dance for someone else. The guys gave me a hard time and called me “Pussy Boy” from then on. They said I must’ve been missing some guy gene or had a low level of testosterone, but I disagreed. Getting a girl to spread her legs for me wasn’t ever a problem. I never wanted anything more until Mia.

  “Dude! Wait until you see the tits on Jade! Fucking perfection!” Brandon cups his hands as if he’s fondling them before closing his eyes and sticking his tongue out like he’s licking them.

  “Yo, who haven’t you bagged in Boston?” Eric asks and slaps Brandon’s back.

  “Your wife!” Brandon guffaws, but Eric narrows his eyes in fierce warning.

  “Watch it, asshole. That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

  Brandon reaches down and cups his dick. “One taste of this, she’ll leave your ass for good.”

  “Fuck you!” Eric shoves Brandon against the wall.

  This is the problem with alcohol; it’s turns some people into assholes.

  “Easy, fellows. Easy.” I step in between the two men. Brandon laughs again and apologizes, saying he’s just messing around. Eric glares at him in response. “Once. Only once will you disrespect my wife.”

  I follow behind Eric, using myself at the buffer between these two guys. We find a couple of vacant seats at the bar and sit down as the music roars to life. All I can make out is the loud thumping bass and a song about “making her say it.” Who listens to this shit anyway? My mouth is dry and I really need to drink some water, but I can’t exactly do that in a strip club so I order a cold beer instead.

  Within minutes, as the music changes, a voluptuous older woman struts onto the stage and begins a sultry and erotic dance, keeping every shake of her ass and spread of her legs in tune with the music. Brandon has no qualms about stepping close and shoving a twenty into her thong. His hand is quick as he runs it along the inside of her leg, attempting to reach in between her legs.

  “Baby, you can look, but you know you can’t touch!” The dark haired woman with legs seeming to stretch for miles caresses his face, steps back and continues her sexual prowess.

  A deep voice asks the crowd to give a round of applause to the woman as she saunters off the stage before he announces that the highly anticipated “Jade” will be ready to perform. He tells us to sit back, relax and enjoy the ride of a lifetime.

  As the lights shut off, the entire bar is completely cloaked in darkness until a s
trobe light flickers wildly, illuminating the stage to reveal a small figure descending down from the center pole. Whistles and cat calls come from every corner and seem to bounce off the walls, begging her to begin.

  Quick flashes of a strobe light illuminate the space and suddenly a feeling of warmth spreads through until it reaches my neck. My throat constricts as my ears begin to flame. I blink my eyes rapidly as I try to breathe through the panic beginning to course within me.Instinctively, I look for a way out. I look for the closest exits, but I can’t find one. Fuck. Not now. Not now. I yank off my hat, scrub at my scalp before pulling it back down hard, covering my eyes so no one will see the fear and anxiety creeping in. Breathe. Breathe. A quick shiver runs down my spine and I cock my head from side to side, cracking my neck.

  “Can I get a water?” I ask the bartender whose plump tits and curvy body are squeezed together in her a small red bikini. She nods as she grabs a bottle of water from the stainless steel mini-fridge. I guzzle it down and swallow the tablet I’ve pulled from my phone case. Dreadful thoughts drift away as I focus on the stage.

  Taking long deep breaths until I feel the anxiety dissolve, I’m mesmerized when the woman on stage finally stops and methodically unbuttons her black trench coat, letting it fall to the floor, revealing a slim waist and flat stomach. She pulls the black hat low, shielding her face as she starts to move with the music, sticking her leg straight in front before she angles it back to grip the pole. In one swift motion, she’s around the pole, gripping it with gloved hands while her legs spread apart for our eyes. Lustful eyes. Greedy eyes. Lustful, greedy eyes.

  The woman with long, red hair commands the stage. She swings around and disengages from her position on the pole to straddle the floor before she crawls onto her hands and knees, keeping her lithe body close to the floor like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. The crowd goes wild when she turns around and circles her ass in the air, gyrating wildly; the thin, black string disappears between her curves. Her hands roam all over her body, tempting and teasing us. My hand moves to wrestle my dick down. I don’t want to be turned on. I hate the thought of all these men staring at this woman with one thing on their minds. This woman, as classless and derogatory as she is, is someone’s daughter. Someone’s sister. Maybe even someone’s mother.