Drew stuck a $100 bill in the concierge’s pocket and closed the door. He turned back toward me, his left eyebrow raised. “You better behave yourself. I can’t afford to just give $100 tips to every concierge every time they see your boobs.”
I bounced up on my knees, allowing my body to become supple, tender. “Well, I covered myself up.”
“Maybe he realized we were about to fuck.” I laughed nervously. Drew raised his left eyebrow at me, preparing to pop the top from the champagne. “Cover your ears,” he warned me in a hushed, husky voice. And then; POP. The top came flying off the rim of the champagne bottle, colliding directly with the lamp on the other side of the bed. The lamp fell from the bed, erupting into three pieces on the floor. Foam came spewing from the champagne, falling to the ground. In a rush, I sprung from the comforter and grabbed the champagne glasses, catching bits of the foam and liquid as it spewed. Drew placed his mouth over it, laughing as it ran wild. I was so giddy, so vibrant. I watched as finally he poured the liquid into the champagne glass, the bubbles wafting toward the top. He poured his own as I stood, expectant, my breasts nearly out of my dress. I touched my blonde hair, gazing behind him at the illustrious city below.
“Let me make a toast,” Drew said, directing his gaze toward me. He cleared his throat. “Okay. First of all, to finding my true home, here in Chicago.”
“Here, here,” I called out.
“And to the Cubs’ amazing win earlier today.” He kissed his thumb, holding his hand in a fist. “Amazing. To further purchasing my own lot in Wicker Park, where I’ll be able to finally, finally build a Femme Fatale bookstore in my favorite city. And finally—finally. To you.” He pushed his glass out and clinked it with mine. The sound was so beautiful, sending shivers down my back.
I shivered, taking a sip. The bubbles coursed through my mouth, putting an immediate smile on my face. I looked up at him, noting the way his eyes had grown dark, the way he clinked his glass down. He began to unbutton his shirt, removing it quickly. His face was hot, ready. I clinked my glass to the side of his, on the table. I hadn’t had sex in years. So many years of wasted youth, I thought. I held up my hands, helping him to remove his shirt quickly, to remove his pants. He stood, finally, in his boxer shorts. His body heaved with uneven breathing. He grabbed my dress, then, and pulled it straight up over my head, ripping it a bit in the armpit and at the breast. I called out, feeling so utterly exposed, so naked in front of him.
And then his mouth was on mine. He rubbed my pussy, making me so wet. I felt crazy, like I would cum any moment. With his other hand, he was grasping my breast lightly, eagerly—rubbing at the nipple, making me want more. More. I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him toward me. But his eyes opened at the force. “No,” he said. And he grabbed me and pushed me against the great window, all of Chicago draped at my back. The lights were glowing in the night sky as I leaned my head back, as I felt the glass against my ass.
“All of the city can see your perfect body,” Drew said. “All of the city knows I’m fucking you.”
And then, I pulled at his boxers, shooting them down to his ankles. My eyes were bright in my face as his cock was revealed to me; so large, pulsing. He pushed against me, pulling it into my wet, dripping pussy. I sighed loudly, letting out a great call to the room—this hotel room that was so much bigger than my actual home apartment. I felt him come in and out of me, in and out, as my body crashed against the glass. “Yeah, do what you want to me,” I called to him. “Do anything you want to me.”
After a few moments at the window, pulsing against each other, bringing our lips together, having his lips, his tongue on my nipples, he suddenly pulled out of me and lifted me onto the bed.
My eyes were bright as I spread my legs to him. I wasn’t accustomed to having sex anymore. I tried to remember the last time Kevin—the college boyfriend—and I had fucked like this—without any boundaries. I couldn’t think of a time.
Drew knelt down and brought his tongue over my pussy. I started gasping, rolling my head back against the pillow. “Fuck,” I moaned.
“Yeah, baby,” he called to me. “Yeah. I want you to moan.” I felt his tongue again, hot and tender inside the lips. I gasped, holding onto my breasts.
Finally, he pulled himself up on me again, moving inside of me, holding himself against me. He pulsed, over and over again, filling me with his dick. I called out to the Chicago world as it darkened completely to my right. “OH GOD. OH GOD.” I was about to come. I felt it; I felt the tremors. The orgasm burst through me, elevating my brain. I couldn’t think about anything except the supreme pleasure. “TOUCH ME.” I called to him. And he pressed his finger against my clit as his penis remained in my body, filling me, straining me.
The orgasm lasted several moments. My eyes were closed; my body was brimming with feeling. Finally, I opened my eyes and watched him continue to thrust in and out of me, ready to come. He pulsed, pushing his dick further and further in. And finally, his eyes closed, allowing his orgasm to tremor through him, to force him into a state of ecstasy. “Yes. Yes,” he whispered.
He fell to the side, wrapping his naked, hot arms around my naked body. We lay there together for a few moments, kissing tenderly, allowing our tongues to ravel around each other. Then we drank the champagne casually, falling into a sort of drunken haze. Sometime in the middle of the night, we both fell asleep in each other’s arms, not a thought for the outside world. In that moment, I was really, truly happy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning, I awoke with a start. I was shocked I wasn’t in my own bed. Perturbed, I allowed my eyes to roam around this strange environment. Where was I? My head was pounding; I was so clearly hung over. I hardly ever drank anymore, especially since Mel had had the baby, since my friends had filtered off to other cities around the United States.
I finally realized. An arm passed over me, beneath my naked breasts. It trembled just for a moment, as if the owner was in the fit of a dream. I turned my head toward his—toward Drew’s head, I suddenly realized—and noted how beautiful his face looked in the morning light. His eyelashes were long; his face was utterly relaxed. I leaned my head close to his, kissing him on the nose. He didn’t wake.
I turned my head to the side to look at the clock. Surely it was still early in the morning, I thought. But the clock blared back an angry 11;45. I shot up straight out of bed immediately, shocked at how late I had slept. Drew—god, this sincere power in bed—slept on, turning onto his other side. I longed to get back in bed with him, to allow him to do what he had done to my body, again and again.
But I couldn’t. The girls would be waiting for me at four in the afternoon, and I had to make it to the dance studio; I had to prep. I had to tell Mel everything about the previous evening in order to understand that it had been real—that it hadn’t been a dream. I thought about it, peering at the carpet beneath my feet, the few bruises I had from the previous evening’s raucous sex. It had been real. It had been completely, completely real. My heart leaped to my throat.
In a hurry, I rushed around, finding my clothes. I found a notepad, as well, and wrote a quick note on it;
“Drew. Had a meeting with my assistant, had to run. Thank you for the marvelous evening.” I paused before writing the last part. “Call me. X.”
Satisfied, I placed the notepad directly by his sleeping form and fell from the room, by habit taking the elevator all the way to the first floor. When I reached the end, panting and sweating, I erupted into the world of concierges, of rich people. I saw the concierge who had seen me naked the evening before and tipped my head to him, acknowledging him. He nodded back at me, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. I shook my head, wondering at how different my life was, then. How nothing, perhaps, could ever be the same.
I rushed back to Wicker Park, my phone still in my pocket, hoping ever for a phone call from him. From Drew. I burst into the coffee shop in which I had initially met him and ordered a coffee and a large bagel and cream chee
se for my lunch to refuel for the class, from the great, exerting sex. I giggled at myself as I spoke to the same acned boy who had helped me just the other day. I wanted to reach across the counter and kiss him flat on the cheek. “Thank you,” I said to him, taking the bag and the coffee. I winked at him and he turned a deep purple.
I rushed around the corner, looking forward to finding Mel at the dance studio already, fresh with a complaint about her husband, about how tired she was because of the baby. I was ready to listen to all of it. I had everything at my fingertips, now. I had my dance studio, a new man, a best friend—even a cat! Nothing could stop me. I rounded the corner, looking at how the September sun gave a bright glint to everything all around me. I loved this city, I thought to myself. I loved it more than I had loved anything else. Everything had ultimately worked out. If I had joined the ballet, if I had actually made it as a dancer, I wouldn’t be here, so content and so wild after the most amazing night of sex of my life.
I arrived at the door to my studio, a portion of the bagel sticking out of my mouth. Looking at it, as I searched for my keys, I resolved to stop eating bagels. They were so bad for me, after all; I could choose better things, more weight loss-appropriate things. I could be extra skinny, extra model-like to fit in with Drew’s amazing, rich world.
I was considering this as I took another bite and pushed the key in the lock. But the lock was already open; the door flung itself out onto the street. I looked up, blinking, seeing a dark-haired, graying man before me. His glasses were gleaming in the sunlight, just like the windows. His trench coat was long, ominous. I narrowed my eyes at him, still chewing ravenously.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I asked him in my best Chicago accent.
The man cleared his throat. “Come on, Molly. You recognize me? I know it’s been over a year, but.” He pounded his hands over his chest. “I’m the building owner! Langston!”
I clapped my hand over my eyes, so embarrassed. “Langston. I am so, so sorry. I didn’t recognize you. Have you lost weight?”
Langston allowed me to enter. I held the bagel away from my face, bringing my supplies in with me. I was going to have to change before the four o clock rehearsal. I had already begun to think about it; how I wanted to re-work part of the girls’ entire routine. I wanted to liven things up around there, to make them really, deeply interested in it. I started humming, pouring some coffee grounds into a filter. “Langston. Do you want some coffee?”
“Um.” Langston hesitated. He was looking all around the room, at the mirrors, at the floorboards. “Sure. Sure. Say. You’ve done great work with this little space. I didn’t think it was good for nothing.”
I laughed, looking at him. My eyes grew a bit serious as I began my speech. “I love this little building, Langston. I know, I know I’m a bit behind on my payments. But I just wanted you to know that I have a good deal of money coming in very, very soon.” I paused for a moment, considering what I was saying. “So. Just. If you were coming to kick me out, don’t. Please don’t. I have everything worked out. I wrote out a whole—“ I snapped, trying to thinking of the word.
“Spreadsheet?” Langston asked me.
I nodded vehemently. “Yes! Spreadsheet,” I sighed. “I am going to get those payments in on time. Don’t you worry about it.”
“Right,” Langston said. He started scratching at his graying, black hair. “Listen, Molly. I really like you. You know I like you. I like all my tenants, but you’re my favorite. You have so much talent. I’ve seen you dance—saw you dance at Butler, since my daughter was going there at the time.” He shook his head for a moment. “She got kicked out after that, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway. We’re in a bit of a pickle, my wife and I. We don’t have a ton of money coming in.”
“Like I said,” I piped in then. “I have some money coming in. It’s going to be totally fine. I’m going to send the checks to you immediately. You and your wife won’t have any problems anymore. I promise.”
Langston nodded. His eyes were red. I wondered if he was drunk; it wouldn’t have been the first time I had seen him drunk. Behind me, I heard the coffee pot begun to grunt. It was finished making the coffee. I poured us two cups and brought his steaming cup to him, offering it to his shaking hand. “Langston. Are you sick?” I asked him, looking concerned. I bobbed my head to the right, allowing my eyebrows to filter down over my eyes.
Langston shook his head. “In my heart, yes,” he said. He looked up at me, blinking wildly. “I had to sell the building.” He took a deep sip of his coffee, closing his eyes. “I had to sell it. Some big-wig buyer. I don’t know.” He shook his head, over and over. “You know how popular Wicker Park is getting these days. People—people want this real estate.”
I put my mug down, feeling panicked. My heart was beating rapidly, like a rabbit’s. I put my finger up. “Yeah. I mean. I want this real estate. That’s why I’m leasing from you,” I said, my voice almost choked. “You can’t do this to me. This is the only place I can—I can work. This is where the kids live. This is where the older moms live. This is the furthest people will go to take dance lessons—a purely underrated form of exercise and entertainment. And now you’re taking that away from them?”
Langston didn’t know what to do with his hands. He put them first on his hips, second against his brain. He held his coffee mug with his last three fingers on his right hand, and it bobbed up and down as he got upset. “You can get loans,” he whispered. “You can get loans to get a different place, somewhere around here. If you really have money coming in—“
But I stomped my foot. I didn’t actually have money coming in; it was just the easy lie I turned to whenever I needed it. I turned my eyebrows toward him, humming with anger and resentment and sadness. “What am I supposed to do?”
Langston shook his head. “You have to be out of this place in the next several weeks.” He shrugged. “They didn’t tell me a whole lot other than that. You just have to be out. Along with the people who live upstairs—the people who pay their rent on time.” He positioned his free finger on his nose, tapping it.
“Go to hell,” I told him, whispering it. I didn’t want to be made a mockery of, not now that this was happening to me. Not now.
Langston spun around, walking slowly back toward the door. I yelled at him. “Leave the mug!”
And he dropped it on the ground, forcing it to shatter everywhere. He didn’t look back at me as he exited, allowing the bell to jingle jingle jingle. Instead, he went on his merry way, unable to comprehend life beyond the paycheck he had received from whatever rich bastard was ultimately ruining my life.
“UGH!” I yelled in frustration. The shards of coffee cup had to be cleaned up immediately. The kids would be coming soon. They would be stepping all over it. I couldn’t afford a lawsuit on top of everything else. I wandered toward the corner in a sort of daydream, picking up the broom. I started sweeping the shards away, allowing my mind to run pell-mell. What the hell was I going to do?
I would never find a better place than this one, I knew. I looked around at the mirrors, the bars. I had skipped several monthly payments, and still Langston had kept me here, believing in me. And now; he had cut me off, just like that—at the very beginning of the fall, when I could have made serious money from people interested in dancing for the Nutcracker performance I wanted to put on. I shook with ready anger. Something had to be done.
I heard the bell jangle once more and I looked up, my eyes looking like owl orb eyes; scary and yellow. Mel had entered through the door, carrying a large sack of groceries; fruits, vegetables. Some grains, some breads. She was a vegetarian, and she went shopping often. She said the vegetables were never as good the next day.
“Darling. What’s wrong with you?” Mel wailed, rushing toward me at my seat on the floor. She grabbed the tops of my knees and looked into my troubling eyes. “Is it that bastard man who took you on a date?”
I shook my head vehemently, thinking of
the evening before. “No, no, Mel. Drew is everything. He is so goddamned hot.” I put my hands over my face, tossing my face left to right. “No. Drew is perfect. You should have seen the sorts of positions he put me through last night.” My insides shuddered. I could hardly think for a moment.
But Mel pulled me out of it. “Then what’s gotten into you?” she asked.
I pulled my head up, tugging at my bright, blonde hair. “Langston came. The guy who owns the building.”
Mel nodded. “Does he need his payments? We can’t pay them yet. We haven’t generated enough revenue this month.”
I interrupted her. “No, honey. He has decided to—to—to sell the building.”
Mel’s eyes grew wide. “He can’t do that,” she hissed. “This building is a historic landmark. It was built at the end of the 19th century! He can’t just sell it; he has a responsibility to it! To us!” She was breathing rapidly. She stood up and began pacing.
I shook my head, positioning my face back in my hands. “What am I going to do,” I murmured. “I had already given up on my dream. But then I found this new dream. I thought maybe this one could work, you know. That this one was it for me.”
Mel leaned back down and kissed my head. “Now. Don’t despair,” she said. “Please. We’ll find a way out of this mess.”
“In the next few weeks?” I screeched at her.
“Did you say that that guy—that Drew—is a very rich man?” Mel asked.
I pulled my head up, blinking brightly. “He is, Mel. But what are you saying? Are you saying I should ask him for money? Like I’m a gold-digger?”
Mel held up her hands. “No. Just. Just a loan. Or. Or you could get a loan, like—from a real bank. What do you think?”
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