by M. R. Joseph
“Oh, that’s just some silly name my neighbor came up with. Oh, I’m so sorry, but I didn’t get your name.” She asks the genius standing next to her.
“Elton. Elton Joel.”
Now see, that’s my cue to laugh the way she just did, but mine won’t be forced because you have to be kidding me. Elton Joel? Were his parents smoking crack when they named him? Oh, wait. I’m not going to answer that, but it’s not going to stop me from laughing right in his face.
“Elton Joel? Seriously?”
Harlow shoots me daggers from her eyes, clearly ready to kill me. Elton Joel smiles when Harlow looks at him after she shoots me her fiery gaze, but when she looks back to me, his expression is less than welcoming.
“Yes, I know. My mom was a huge Elton John and Billy Joel fan. You gotta take what you get. I’m used to it.”
Harlow’s grin spreads so wide, her jaw is going to hurt.
“I know exactly how that is. I was named after an old movie star my mother loved.”
Elton Joel moves in a little closer to her ear, and I inch a little more towards Harlow to listen in. It’s loud in here, so I bend down a little. All I hear from him is, “Harlow’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” He picks her beer-free hand up and kisses the top of it.
Oh, come on! That’s a line I use, and a move I make. Can’t he be original? I’m the king of the pickup lines, and that is by far one of the cheesiest. This guy is a grade-A ass. My dilemma is do I intervene, or let Harlow step into his pile of bullshit. I’m not going to think. I’m just going to speak.
“Hey, Turnip, Max’s band will be going on in a few. He got us a few booths reserved so why don’t we go sit.” Again, not eyeing me, she speaks in an even tone.
“Cruz, I’m perfectly fine right here for now. I’ll come over in a bit.” All the while she’s still grinning at this asshat like he’s Santa Claus or something. Then she shoos me away with her hand, like I’m bothering her or something. Like I’m one of the swarm of guy flies, but with me, I annoy her like a typical fly. I guess I’m lucky she didn’t swat and smash me like one.
I mutter out a ‘fine’, and I’m not really sure she even heard me. Guess it doesn’t matter.
I reach one of the booths we have reserved, and I’m surprised to see Porter sitting alone.
I throw my body in the booth, kind of pissed off at Harlow, for which I’m not sure why, but even more angry that Elton Joel is feeding her lines that she clearly doesn’t know are lines.
I guzzle my beer as I sit, Porter is very quiet.
“What’s up with you?”
Porter stares over my shoulder, obviously perturbed about something.
“I’m fine,” he says with his mouth in a hard line.
“Don’t look like you’re fine. What’s the deal?”
He snorts, “I guess I could ask you the same thing. Looked like you were burning a hole right through that guy talking to Harlow. You use your x-ray vision to see if he was a jerk? We all know you have Superman-like powers.”
I glance back to them, watching as Harlow continues to laugh at Elton Joel’s come-on’s.
“Nothing,” I say, feeling offended he would even ask me such a question. It doesn’t bother me she’s talking to him, why should it? I can just smell a load a crap a mile away, and Elton Joel is full of it.
“Girls seem to be having fun and making new friends. Good for them. You see some of the chicks in here? We should be doing the same stuff, instead of sitting here with our dicks in our hands.”
Porter just shakes his head.
“I’m fine. I need another beer.” He signals a waitress to come to our table.
The lights dip, and Max’s band takes the stage. The kid is so damn talented, and the girls have never seen him play. This was the perfect opportunity for them to watch Max and the band, but as they began to play, the girls’ interests appear to be on other things. The guy flies move to the beat along with the girls, and by the looks of it, the girls like the music, but could give a shit less that it’s Max up there.
Max plays his heart out, singing backup on some vocals. The crowd pushes towards the stage, some dancing, and some even gyrating to the beat of the music. Hands up, swaying back and forth, beer bottles raised, with some patrons singing along to the covers the band performs. I stay in our booth because we have a pretty perfect view of the stage from where we are. The waitress keeps the beers coming, and we throw them back like they’re bottled water.
The band continues to play, and I’ve been trying to keep an eye out for Harlow, but I don’t see her. Porter looks like he’s going out of his mind for some reason, and my head, my poor big head goes from one shoulder to another, searching for her, wondering if she’s ok with Elton Joel. And now I spot her.
Her sundress-clad ass rubbing up against Elton Joel’s khaki panted front.
Fuck me.
Harlow’s arm is draped around his neck from behind, she reaches up running her fingers through his hair. His lips graze her bare shoulder, his one arm resting across her belly, pulling her in closer. Their rhythm matched, step by step, never seeming out of sync. She eases her head to the side so he can have better access to her neck, as he plants a row of kisses from behind her ear, down the length of her neck. Harlow’s eyes are closed, her hair swinging from side to side to the charge of the electric bass. I bite the inside of my cheek, hard. I taste the coppery-flavored blood, feeling the sting of it. I wonder why watching her move makes me angry. Her moving with him, against him.
I’m willing myself to turn around, to look away, but this girl is stepping outside her shell. She seems free, moving her body in ways I have never seen. The fluency of her arms and legs, the way she dips her knees down, gracefully messy with the sway of her hips, grinding into him as she rises up again.
She moves like a swan, not like the stiff, too-large-of-a-vocabulary girl, who tolerates me.
The night we were together, she moved like a hungry tiger, feral and cold, waiting for the kill. Tonight, her body is relaxed, no weight of the world bearing down on it. It’s just freeing her to move without worry, without stress, just to be a sexual object, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it one fucking bit.
My knee won’t stop shaking. My head is foggy from the beer. My body, tense and ready to strike at a moment’s notice, and that time may be now.
As the beat of the music pulses through the air, and the sound of drums beating within my ears, I see Elton Joel’s hand snake from around her waist. It languidly makes its way down to her thigh, and she doesn’t seem to notice or care. He inches her dress up when he reaches the hem. Her hand is still resting on the back of his neck. His fingers make their way to her inner thigh, while he licks the side of her neck. Her eyes are still shut, and her lower lip is sucked in, as she is enjoying whatever it is he’s doing to her. When I don’t see his hand any longer, as it disappears under her dress and out of my sight, my body betrays me and it makes me fly to her.
I push my way through the sweaty crowd, towering over the bodies, not caring who I’m shoving until I stand in front of them. Elton Joel looks up at me with his face buried in her neck, sensing me watching them, and his face grins, as he pushes his hand further up her dress.
I don’t have time to react because Harlow does. She pushes his hand from underneath her dress. Not really looking anywhere but at his arm.
“Hey, not here, ok,” she says, and it’s not a good enough answer for him. He has guts. I’ll give him that. With me still standing in front of them, Harlow’s eyes shut again, he tries it again, and now I know this cocksucker doesn’t have the sense he was born with.
My reaction has to be swift. I’m not hesitating. My hand grabs onto his wrist, the only visible part of his hand so to speak, and I yank it down.
“I’m pretty sure she said not here, so I suggest you get your fucking hands off of her.”
Harlow looks up, hair sticking to her sweat-soaked forehead, the sheen of it covering her chest, shoulders,
and neck. Her eyes sparkling in a beautiful blue haze, but it turns into fury.
“Cruz, I can take care of myself. Get lost.”
“Yea, you heard her, leave us alone. She’s in good hands.”
Oh, I bet she is.
Elton Joel should keep his fucking trap shut.
“See that’s where I think you’re wrong, Elton. I know guys like you ‘cause I am one. I know what you want from her, and you ain’t getting it.” I grab Harlow’s arm and pull her to me. She resists, and she yanks her arm back.
“How do you know what he wants, and maybe, just maybe, I want the same thing tonight. You do it all the time, so go away, Dickcop.”
Her speech is slurred, her attitude unlike herself, and I’m pretty sure the alcohol is giving her the liquid courage to defy me. She grabs Elton’s face and smacks her lips onto his, forcing her tongue between his lips, parting them, and he doesn’t resist; it only brings her closer to him. Watching their tongues mingle forcefully, his hands snaking down to her ass, grabbing a hold of it enrages me even more, but she made her decision. Fuck it.
“Fine, Turnip, it’s your life.”
I turn away from them and run into Willow and Thea dancing.
“Hey, Cruz. Max’s band is great. This is so much fun. Where’s Harlow?” Thea asks.
I thumb in Harlow’s direction, and she’s still making out with Elton Joel.
“She’s all yours, girls. I tried to get her away from that guy, but she’s being stubborn as usual.”
They look at each other, then back to me, and laugh, wiping the sweat from their heads.
“Cruz, maybe she doesn’t want you to get him away from her, maybe she wants him to get under her?” Thea laughs at what Willow says, and it’s so obvious they’re drunk, falling into each other and laughing like maniacs.
“Whatever, I’m out of here. Have fun.”
I walk away from them and go back to the booth where Porter is. I finish what’s left of my beer.
“I’m leaving,” I announce to Porter.
“What do you mean, man? The night is just getting started.”
“Well, my friend, mine is over. I’m going back to the house. Let Max know where I went when he’s done. Later.”
I walk away from him squeezing my body through the crowd. I feel someone grab my arm and tug. It must be Harlow coming to her senses, and she’s done with Elton, but when I look in the direction of the pull, it’s the exotic looking chick from the bar, and I already forget her name.
“Hey there handsome. Going somewhere?” She smiles at me and licks her lips. I feel her nails graze my skin. I don’t really look at her. I’m too preoccupied with finding a parting in the crowd to make my escape.
“Home,” I simply say. My tone is flat.
“Aw, well what a shame. I was hoping I could see where the rest of that ink is.” She winks at me, and my head is suddenly clouded with thoughts of seeing if those tits of hers are as gorgeous as I imagine they are. “Wanna get out of here?” She whispers into my ear.
Now, as much as I want to say yes, and take her somewhere and fuck her into oblivion, I’m choosing not to. This decision shocks even me, and as horned up as I am, the more I look at her, the more I sense trouble… and I don’t know why.
I take her hand away from my arm, knowing when I get home I’ll probably regret my decision, but something in my fucked up head tells me here and now that I should leave.
“Maybe some other time baby.”
She backs up, looking disappointed as she adjusts her shirt, and pushes out her breasts even more.
“Suit yourself, hot stuff. I’ll be around.” She spins on her high heeled feet and slowly walks away. I get a glimpse of her heart shaped ass in that skirt, and I suddenly feel bad. Not for me, but for Morty.
This house has never been so quiet. Usually it’s filled with people. Either my roommates are here, or the girls come over to play a game, or just sit around having a few drinks with us. I welcome the silence as I make my way outside to the deck, and crack open my beer and my laptop, so I can do a bit of work for the online class I’m doing this summer.
There’s a shift in the air temperature. It’s not as humid as it has been, which means a storm is coming. Laying on this lounge chair with just the illumination from my laptop screen, I begin typing swiftly on the keys, reading, and gathering the information on the screen into notes. It’s only midnight, and I, Raphael Cruz, am home doing homework. What’s wrong with this picture? I should be banging that chick from Jax right now, and making her all sweaty as she screams my name. I’m still not sure why I did what I did. I walked away and came back here, alone. That jerk dancing with Harlow had some balls grabbing her the way he did. She’s a different girl with a few drinks in her. Case in point: last summer. Sometimes when she’s around and we are just sitting here, talking with the others, the memory of that night comes to mind. It’s like she has split personalities or something. It’s not that I don’t like her personality… well, sometimes I don’t. I mean the more we talk, the more I do like it. It’s just that if what happened last year didn’t happen between us, would I still want to get to know her?
Ah, fuck, I should have taken that girl home from the bar.
I slam down my beer and pull at my hair with my free hand. Frustration makes its way to my brain, and I feel like I need to relieve this pressure building up in my pants. How could I have let this happen? I do make some pretty shitty decisions, and this one by far, was the shittiest of the night. I need to concentrate on what I’m doing, figuring I’ll take care of my business with my hand and a bottle of lotion later.
I see the lights of what looks like a cab pull up in front of our house. I peek up from the lounge chair, not seeing anything, but I hear the door of the cab slam. It pulls away before I have a chance to inspect. I go back to reading the assignment I was given, when I hear footsteps coming from the wooden steps beside the girl’s house. There goes my peace and quiet until all the drunks get home in a few hours. I sit up a bit, adjusting my body and my laptop resting on my legs when I see it’s Harlow. She doesn’t see me as she goes to unlock the sliding glass door to her house.
“Where’s Elton Joel? He dump you to go to an after party with Lady GaGa?” She jumps at the sound of my voice, dropping her purse in the process. I hear the contents fall onto the deck, her change spilling and bouncing on the wood, and I see something roll towards me. I stop it with my foot. It’s a small can, so I bend down and grab it from underneath my toes.
It’s mace.
“Jesus, you scared me. What are you doing out here?” I look at her then back to the can.
She carries mace. I’m not surprised. She’s a smart girl.
I set my laptop down on the lounge chair and get up to give the can back to her.
“I should be asking you the same thing. Why are you back so soon?”
She doesn’t answer. But she begins to pick up the things that spilled from her purse from the deck floor and stuffs it all back in.
“Um, hello? Can you answer me?”
“I wanted to come home, that’s all. My God, why do you care anyway. You made me look like an ass in front of that guy tonight.”
“Well, no actually, Elton Joel made himself look like an ass tonight. Why aren’t you with him and before you even answer that, why did you take a cab home by yourself?” She struggles with the key to the glass door and appears frustrated.
“Damn it, just get in there.” Harlow’s talking to the door, twisting and turning the key in the lock, and she yanks on the handle.
I grab the keys with my free hand and pass her the can of mini mace. She looks at it, then her eyes raise up to mine. I unlock the door, slide it open and usher my hand towards it for her to go in. She does without looking at me, but I hear a faint ‘thanks’ come from her.
She walks in and throws her purse and the can of mace on the dining table. My question still hasn’t been answered as to why she’s back without her friends. She goes to th
e fridge to get out a bottle of water, with her back to me she opens it, tosses the cap in the sink, and takes a long drink.
“You can go now.” She tells me in a cold tone. It angers me because I did nothing wrong. I was trying to help her. That guy was an asshole.
“You know I was only looking out for you. The guy just wanted in your pants, and if I didn’t interrupt the two of you, that’s where he would have gone. I know guys like him.” I want to say ‘cause I am one, but I think she knows that already. Then the thought comes to my brain, and I remember what Willow said earlier.
Maybe she did want what he was going to give her. Maybe he did the deed. Do I waste more time trying to defend myself if it already happened?
Yes. Yes, I do.
“I’m trying here, Turnip, but you don’t seem to care that I am.” I stand there, arms folded across my chest, waiting for a God damn reply. “Well?” I say after about a minute of complete and utter uncomfortable silence.
She turns, looking at me with an expression I haven’t seen before. One of maybe agreement? A slight smirk on her face, then it softens.
“Well, you were right.” She finally looks up at me, a touch of sadness in her eyes as she does.
“About what part?” I ask.
She strolls over to the couch and plops down on it, sighing.
“You are right. Albeit I hate that you are. He tried on the dance floor, I told him to stop; he did. Then I excused myself to go to the ladies room. When I came back out, he grabbed my elbow, tried to lead me to the back hallway beyond the restrooms, and stuck his hands in places I didn’t want them to be.” She tells me this very matter-of-fact, not changing the level of her voice. There’s no anger in her tone, just telling me like I’d imagine she would if she were talking to the girls. I’m guessing it’s the alcohol, but her speech isn’t slurred, and her eyes are clear.
I’m mad at this situation, and I’m going to do my best to keep my cool. I clench my teeth, and I shut my eyes tightly.
“You mean to tell me he forced himself on you? He tried, again, to do what he tried to do on the dance floor? Did you use that can of mace on the mother fucker?”