Cosmo's Deli

by Sharon Kurtzman

  “A little confidence, please.” Lucy struts through the crowd toward a staircase in the back, cordoned off by a velvet rope and guarded by a large, steroid-enhanced bouncer in the obligatory black tee-shirt. He comes accessorized with a stud earring and a lightening bolt sheared out of his crewcut.

  He holds up his hand to stop Lucy. “This is a private area.”

  She sidles up like an eager dog on a leg and presses her hand in his, passing him the money. “I think they’re expecting us up there,” she announces, shoving her décolleté under his nose.

  He checks his hand. “I’ll see what I can do.” He motions to another bouncer, this one with a shaved dome and a small hoop dangling from one ear.

  Lucy smiles at the new bouncer, while the Lightening Bolt disappears upstairs. He ignores her, instead opening the rope to let an approaching group pass, fist knocking with them as they go.

  Renny and Lucy wait as several more groups pass beyond the rope and head up the stairs.

  “I think he took off with our money,” Lucy gripes.

  “You mean my money,” Renny says.

  The bouncer removes the rope for a group of three transvestites. “That’s it!” Lucy charges at him, shouting to be heard over the music. “Where’s your friend? Is he coming back?”

  The bouncer motions to his ear and turns away as though he didn’t hear her, which is impossible, because Renny is sure they heard Lucy’s shrill all the way in Queens.

  Renny tugs at her arm. “Maybe we should forget it and go have a drink at the bar.”

  “No, we’re going to get you up there. There is no way I will be stopped by some steroid-muscled shithead who thinks he’s the secret service because they let him watch a goddamn stairway.”

  Sheila, the station promotion director, throws her face in Renny’s, scrutinizing her through black cat eyeglasses. The word SUCK is written across her fuchsia tube top, matching the hot pink highlights in her brown hair, which outline her face like a neon frame. A clunky black camera hangs around her neck, looking as though it could pull her to the ground at any moment. “Are you Marcy Flanders?” she asks in a high nasal voice, tugging with one hand at the bottom of her black plastic micro-mini skirt.

  Renny returns her question with a puzzled look.

  Sheila props her clipboard against her hip. “Am I talking in tongues here? Are you Marcy Flanders?”

  She is about to walk away, convinced that Renny is deaf, very dumb and mute, when Lucy pipes in. “Yup, this is her, Marcy Flanders.” Lucy gives Renny a shove toward Sheila.

  Renny opens her mouth to speak, but Lucy cuts in, “We’ve been waiting here for half an hour. Where the hell have you been? Roid-rage here won’t let us up.”

  “Who are you?” she asks, using her finger to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

  “I’m Marcy’s friend, Lucy.”

  She waves, “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait down here. Only Marcy can go upstairs.”

  Renny holds her hand up. “Could you excuse us a second?”

  “I guess.” She checks her watch and adjusts her tube top.

  Renny drags Lucy away. “Who is Marcy Flanders?”

  Lucy bubbles up with excitement. “That’s who bought Rockin’ Ron at the auction. Georgie’s sidekick. I heard it on the radio when I was getting ready. They must not know what she looks like because it was a call-in bid. It’s genius, we should have told them you were her right away.”

  “I can’t pretend to be that Marcy girl,” Renny says.

  “Do you want to see Georgie?”

  Renny is gripped with indecisiveness.

  Sheila calls over. “Is there a problem? Because the night is ticking away.”

  Lucy lifts her eyes.

  Renny sucks in a fortifying breath and plants a smile on her face. “No problem, let’s go.” Walking away, she mouths a “thank you” to Lucy over her shoulder.

  ***

  Renny scans the crowd as she enters the VIP room. Waiters in hot orange wife beater tees circulate with trays of hor d’oeuvres and champagne through the mass of mostly black-clad bodies.

  Sheila walks briskly through the crowd. “This place is packed; it’s a good thing I found you. My name is Sheila by the way.”

  Another clipboard girl pounces on them. “Thank god you found her!” This one is tall, her tanning bed bronze body poured into tight black leather pants and topped with a midriff baring black sweater, with red feather trim at the neck and cuffs. She tells Renny, “We were starting to think you were a no show. The station would have gone ballistic. They hate a lost photo-op.” Then to Sheila, “Rockin’s being an asshole. You’ll need to talk to him.”

  “He’s always an asshole,” Sheila complains.

  Leather Pants rolls her eyes toward Renny.

  Sheila pulls her tube top up and smiles. “But he can’t wait to meet you, Marcy. He’s really a great guy.”

  Leather Pants doesn’t bother to introduce herself, shoving her clipboard under Renny’s nose instead. “Let’s go over a few things. These papers say that you are eighteen years or older and anything that happens between you and Rockin’ tonight—you know what I mean—is your business, not ours.” She flips a page over. “Thus, the station is released from any and all liability. If at anytime you wish to terminate the date, that’s fine. Just signal to either Sheila or myself. Be aware that there will be people Rockin’ will have to shmooze with, advertisers and such. Keep your mouth shut and smile. Any questions?”

  Renny starts, “I’m not planning—”

  “Good!” Leather Pants presses a pen in her hand. “Then we won’t have any problems will we? Sign each page at the bottom.”

  Renny barely sets the pen to the paper before Leather Pants yanks the clipboard away. “Okay Sheila, she’s all yours. Don’t forget to talk to Rockin’!” She disappears in the crowd.

  Sheila motions for Renny to follow, “Let’s go.”

  Keeping pace behind Sheila, Renny spots Georgie. She halts, momentarily arrested by the sight of him, then noticing that he seems angry. Georgie tries to shove past a skinny grunge-dressed guy who shoves him back.

  “There’s Rockin’,” Sheila says, pointing toward Georgie.

  Ew, Renny thinks. She hurries up to Sheila, who walks behind Georgie and Rockin’ and announces, “She’s here.”

  Georgie and Rockin’ ignore her and continue what is evidently a heated argument. “You’re drunk,” Georgie snarls, poking Rockin’ in the chest. Sheila has to step back quickly to avoid being knocked over. She flashes a fake smile at Renny and holds up her finger to indicate they shouldn’t interrupt just yet. Georgie shouts at Rockin’, “You’re making an ass out of yourself.”

  “But that’s why the little people love me.” He takes a swig from his drink, sending a stream of blue liquid sloshing over the side and onto his shirt. “So where’s your significant other?” he slurs.

  “She’ll be here soon.” Georgie runs a hand through the front of his hair.

  “I was bummin’ when I heard she was bailin’ you out.”

  Georgie tries to push past. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

  Rockin’ blocks him. “It would have been the Rockin’ Ron Show if she hadn’t taken you back. You would have been gone like a fart in the wind.”

  Sheila grabs Rockin’s arm, “Okay break it up. She’s here by the way.”

  “Who?” Georgie and Rockin’ ask in unison with their eyes locked on each other.

  “The fan who bought Rockin’ at the auction,” Sheila answers.

  Georgie smirks, “Is she ugly or what?”

  “No, see for yourself.” Sheila pulls Renny forward into view.

  Rockin’ opens his arms. “My adoring fan.”

  Renny’s eyes dart from Rockin’ to Georgie. She searches his face for some inkling that he is glad to see her. Instead, his eyes reflect anger and the mouth that once traveled her body distributing pleasure is shut in a cold, hard line. She opens her mouth to say something, an
ything that will wipe away the awful look he’s giving her.

  The incessant ‘pop-pop-pop’ of flashbulbs from near the stairs steals their attention. Renny is blinded by the dots of color that dance in her eyes. The crowd peels away, revealing Tawney at the center, camera lights strobing across her chiseled face. Beneath her clothes, she wears a delicate white lace bra and thong. Renny knows this not because she’s suddenly developed x-ray vision, but because Tawney’s white tank top and hip hunging white skirt are sheer, leaving nothing to the imagination. The only solid thing on her is a large silver and turqoise cross shielding a ‘t’ of skin on her chest. Renny can tell that Tawney is doing a Mona Lisa—the carefully crafted appearance of focusing on one spot, while actually scoping the room.

  Rockin’ hisses at Georgie. “Better go, Mr. Supermodel.”

  Georgie eyes travel over Renny. “Whatever,” he utters as if he’s closed a book and is dissatisfied with the ending. Watching him join Tawney in the spotlight, a lump the size of a baseball lodges in Renny’s throat.

  ***

  Renny blindly follows Sheila and Rockin’ to a gathering of sofas at one side of the room. Rockin’ plunks onto a sofa and grabs her hand, pulling her down next to him. “So you’re Marcy Flanders. I gotta say, you look much better then I thought you would. Eight large, I hope I live up to it. But then again, I’m Rockin’ Ron, so of course I will.”

  Renny extricates her hand from his paw and takes a hard look at what she has gotten herself into. His ripped t-shirt and splattered jeans replete with paint and chains are bad enough. And that hair! It stands out from all ends, leaving her to wonder if he has washed since puberty.

  “You’re a nice looking package, Marcy. I can’t wait to unwrap you.” He licks her cheek.

  “Aachh!” Renny grimaces and wipes her face.

  Sheila hisses in Rockin’s face. “Okay let’s behave. Rockin’, unless Marcy is naked and trying to seduce you, hands to yourself.” She turns to Renny. “He’s harmless, really.” Sheila straightens herself. “Capiche?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Rockin’ nods. “I’ll be a good boy.” He whispers in Renny’s ear. “Very good.”

  She shifts to get out of the booth, but is stopped by Sheila, who maneuvers her closer to Rockin’. “We’re going to take a few pictures, kay? Rockin’, put your arm up on the sofa.”

  He gentlemanly puts his arm on the sofa behind Renny. “Okay, lean in closer,” Sheila instructs.

  Rockin’ moves his hand to Renny’s shoulder.

  “Perfect,” Sheila says. “Okay hold it on three. One-two—three.”

  Rockin’ plants a kiss on her lips as the picture snaps.

  Renny shoves him off. “Try another stunt like that you’ll be doing Monday morning’s show as a eunuch.”

  Rockin’ smiles. “A spunky one. I like that.”

  She turns away. “I’m leaving.”

  Rockin’ grabs her arm. “Hey don’t go. I’m sorry. I just figured you’re a groupie and you want your money’s worth.”

  Renny pulls free. “You figured wrong.” She prays for Georgie to emerge from the crowd and whisk her away from this nightmare. But, why would he? Renny’s heart lurches in her chest. He hates me, of that she is certain. But why, what did I do?

  “I’m reading you loud and clear.” Rockin’ holds out his hand. “Truce?” She regards his hand like a venomous snake. “I swear I will behave for the rest of the night.” He holds up his other hand, too.

  Renny searches the crowd for Georgie, deciding she has to talk to him and find out why he dumped her. “Okay,” she says, turning back to Rockin’.

  “Cool.” Rockin’ winks at Sheila.

  Sheila leans toward Renny. “If you need me, I’ll be around.” She wags a finger at Rockin’ before disappearing into the crowd.

  He gets up. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to some people.” He guides Renny through the crowd, discreetly pointing and nodding at different people. “See those two guys in baseball caps? Film directors. They’re cousins. Brilliant, they’ve been on the festival circuit for the last few years. They screened at Sundance this year. They just wrapped another one. It’s gonna be huge. I have a part in it, you know?”

  “Yeah?” Renny says, feigning interest. Tawney crosses their path and blows a kiss at Rockin’, before joining a group of other giraffes with boobs by the bar. Renny watches them exchange air kisses in their tall, thin upper stratosphere. Her heart hammers in her chest to the beat of the music. She expects Georgie to follow. He doesn’t.

  Rockin’ tosses his head toward the models. “That’s Tawney, the supermodel. They flock to these parties like flies on shit. See all those suits over by the bar?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Renny feels Rockin’ scrutinizing her and reluctantly looks away from Tawney.

  “Those are the station sales guys schmoozing the big advertisers.” Rockin’ sneers, distorting his already ugly face. “Watch them turn their shorts brown when I walk over. They think I’m gonna insult the advertisers and they’ll lose their commissions. Go to the bar and get us both a drink while I mess with them.”

  He walks away and Renny recognizes this as her chance to go find Georgie. Quickly turning, her arm sends someone’s drink flying. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” She bends to get the glass.

  “Ms. Shuler?”

  She stands up, trying to place the smiling face, suddenly realizing it belongs to Trey Cedar.

  He takes her silence as lack of recognition. “Trey Cedar, from Cedar Foods.”

  Renny nods, “Yes, I remember. It’s so crowded in here, it’s a little disorienting. I’m so sorry about your drink.”

  “It’s not a big deal. I try not to drink much at these things. You’re helping me out.”

  “Do you come to these parties a lot?”

  “Cedar Foods is a big advertiser. Grandfather likes to send me to these events. It’s not exactly his scene.”

  “I guess not.” Renny laughs.

  “I didn’t get a chance to tell you after the meeting how impressed we were with your presentation. I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

  She pauses awkwardly. “I’m afraid you won’t be.”

  “I don’t understand. My grandfather and I specifically requested that you handle this, and Val assured us…”

  “I’m no longer with the firm. I resigned yesterday.”

  “I see.” He reaches in his pocket and hands her a business card. “I’d like you to call me on Monday.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We were very impressed with you. Cedar Foods could use an idea person like you on our staff.”

  Images of another maze of cubicles leading to nowhere pass through Renny’s mind and suddenly she knows that it’s time to take her career off the moving sidewalk and jump on the escalator to where ever it leads. “I’m flattered. I really am.” She hands back the card. “But I can’t. I think the time is right for me to strike out on my own. My mother is ill and I need to work around my own schedule. Besides, I’ve always wanted to start my own marketing firm.” Renny realizes that card she relinquished was next month’s rent money and she has to fight the urge to grab it back.

  Genuine sympathy colors his eyes. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”

  “Thank you.”

  Trey continues, “You know, we haven’t signed the contracts with Heffner, Wilde and Cooke yet. My grandfather loves helping people get a start. And he liked you. That’s saying a lot, because he doesn’t like that many people.” He presses the card into her hand. “Call me. We might be able to use you as a consultant. Strickly freelance and flexible. Do you think your fledgling marketing firm can handle having their first client?”

  “I don’t know what to say. I…”

  “I’ve got to run, my party’s leaving. I’ll speak to you.”

  She nods, hanging on tight to the card, as if it might vanish from her hand at any moment. “Yes you will. Thank you. Thank you so much.” Renny tucks the card in her
purse and watches him leave. She looks around the crowded bar and spots Georgie and Rockin’ locked in what appears to be a continuation of their earlier argument. Suddenly their heads turn toward her and she senses that the charade is over. Hurrying toward the stairs, she is half way down when Rockin’ grabs her arm from behind. “So” he hisses, “miss me?” He pulls her the rest of they way down the steps.

  “I’m pretty tired,” Renny says, feeling his fingers cut into her arm, “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

  “Not without a dance.” He jerks her onto the strobe lit dance floor amidst a sea of robotic bodies, undulating to the pulsing techno beat. Rockin’ dances close, the nearness of his body making Renny uneasy. She struggles to maneuver for some personal space, but the crowd on the dance floor makes that impossible. Caught in an erotic game of chess, his body gyrates against hers, eventually checkmating her off the dance floor behind a giant speaker next to the wall. Concealed from the crowd, Rockin’ pins his body against hers and forces his tongue into her mouth.

  With all the strength she can muster from her five foot three body, Renny pushes him away. “Get off me!”

  “What’s the matter, Renny?”

  The sound of her name coming from his mouth startles her.

  “Georgie told me who you are.” He sneers, “He told me all about you. He said you were FUN. I’m just trying to have some FUN too.”

  ‘Fun’ rings vulgar in her ears. Trapped against the wall by his weight, his hands roam over her dress and his mouth silences her screams. Her heart beats wildly in her chest as the rest of her body fights against him. Renny knows the speaker is blocking them, leaving no one to witness as she struggles against him. His hand reaches under her dress and panic rockets through her veins, sending her knee thrusting up in a bullseye hit to his balls.

  “You twat,” he groans from the ground.

  Renny barrels across the dance floor, feeling like she can’t breathe. Hurling the heavy front door open, she rushes onto the sidewalk and gulps for air. A hand grabs her arm.

  “Keep your fuckin’ hands off me,” Renny screams, ripping free. She whirls around.

  Georgie takes a step toward her. “What happened?”