Black Burlesque

by L. C. Castillo

  “You did really well today. Like, really well. I can’t say I’m surprised. I just wish you knew how amazing you look,” Jordan says, turning towards me and looking at me for a beat. “You know we wouldn’t let you make a fool of yourself, or a fool of Kazumi for that matter, so believe me when I say you will be amazing.” His voice is cool and reassuring. I smile and allow myself to believe him. He starts the car and eases out of the studio parking lot.

  “Thanks, Jordan. I’m getting there. I felt good today, surprisingly.”

  His smile broadens.

  “So, who’s your date for Friday night?” I ask, hoping to change the subject, and it works. Turns out he met a guy on our night out, when I was inebriated. I don’t even remember him speaking with anyone! That’s not good. He’s reluctant to offer more, which is unusual, considering he’s always over-sharing. He drops me off in front of my shop moments later.

  I walk quietly to the backyard and Bucky trots up to me, eager to get inside. I take a moment and hug my dog. His body stills, as though he is mentally hugging me back. I kiss him and he turns his head to the side, perplexed.

  “I seriously love you, Bucky.” He lets out a small whine and I smile at him.

  I open the door and step into the warmth of my shop and home. I drag myself upstairs and fall into a deep, deep sleep.

  In my dreams there are red lights, glittering costumes, and a sexy stranger watching me perform on a black stage. I move, as I never have before. I’m not nervous. I am pulsing with sensuality. I crave his eyes on me. And I crave…oh, so much more…

  Chapter 5

  I can’t believe Kazumi thinks I’ll be ready for Friday night. She’s instructed me to practice at home in front of the mirror, and she swears that by tomorrow, I’ll be ready. I’m so anxious, and upset. I have no way to get ahold of Vincent to let him know that our scheduled plans won’t be happening. I feel a stab of disappointment whenever I think of it.

  I absentmindedly choose a book from the shelf and attempt reading it in an effort to distract myself.

  I’m completely absorbed in my thoughts when I feel a sharp pang against my shin.

  “Ow! Shit!” I shout. I look up and Kazumi and Jordan are standing before me. I straighten up quickly.

  “Well, welcome back to Earth,” Jordan grumbles. I kick him back and he flinches.

  “I was just reading!” I shout.

  Kazumi hasn’t taken her eyes off of me. She glances at my book and I realize it’s upside down. I quickly put it down.

  Jordan rolls his eyes. “I am here because I was wondering if you’ll meet me at Heir for a drink tonight. There is someone I want you to meet.”

  This perks my interest. He’s found a replacement for Caleb already? And he wants me to meet him?

  “Seriously?” I ask, shocked.

  “Yes, not that you’d remember, but I met him during Monday nights escapades. I told you. Remember?” He arches an eyebrow at me. “He wants to meet up.”

  “And you want me to meet him? I don’t get it. Why do I have to be there?” Kazumi has wandered off already, a sequin beret capturing her attention. I want to beg her to change her mind about Friday, but she’s being stubborn and pig-headed.

  “I...need you there. I like him. I want you there for moral support,” Jordan murmurs.

  “Are you sure that’s all?” This sounds really unusual. There’s more to this story.

  “II don’t think he’s come out yet, if you know what I mean. I don’t want him to feel pressured and I don’t want things to be awkward. I need you there as a buffer. So...Ugh! Will you just come?”

  So Jordan is going to go out with a semi-gay guy? Ok. I guess I can understand why he feels like he needs me there.

  “So, um...how do you know he’s even, you know? Interested?”

  “I just do! I really like him. I haven’t stopped thinking about him since Monday night. It’s like...” he takes a breath and pauses for an exaggerated amount of time. His eyes get this far off look. “I didn’t want to mention him again for fear that he isn’t real or something. He is that hot,” he straightens up, his eyes come back to mine.

  Oh, wow. Jordan actually just managed to look dreamy. He remembers himself, and clears his throat. He’s flushed, looking shy, and vulnerable. I am so loving this right now. I don’t think Jordan has ever been like this. I am grinning from ear to ear.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Jordan.”

  “Just shut up and show up, or I’ll kick you again.” We both laugh, and I can tell he’s relieved.

  This should be interesting.

  “This is just so... not your usual cup of tea,” I say, still grinning.

  “Yeah...I know. I like a man with balls, who knows what he wants. But...”

  “Balls? Don’t most men have balls? Isn’t that what you love most about them?”

  He rolls his eyes at me.

  “I mean figuratively! You know, balls!” He shouts in frustration.

  “Did you hear that, Kazumi? Jordan likes balls. Did you know that?” I say sarcastically. Enjoying the pink blush spreading across Jordan’s face.

  “Balls? Yeah, who doesn’t? They’re so...decorative,” Kazumi says casually, her hands pantomime cradling and caressing balls. I bust out laughing and Jordan flips us both off. I’m already looking forward to tonight.

  I have to say, this is shaping up to be one of the most interesting weeks of my life. Each day gets more and more fascinating.

  So, I will be spending Thursday evening, at Heir, as my gay best friends escort, accompanied by a semi-gay, totally hot guy. Ok, I will have to find something to wear now.

  I apply the final touches to my mascara. It’s almost time for me to “surprise” Jordan and his friend at Heir. I am told it is supposed to appear as a coincidence. I throw on a pair of ripped jeans, they’re tight, and make my butt look good (according to Jordan). Topped with a thin, white, lacy long sleeved shirt, and my red kitten heels. They’re a recent favorite. I blot my red lips, and get one more look in the mirror before I head out. It’s subtle, but I can see a change in me. I can’t place my finger on exactly what it is, but there is definitely something different.

  I pop into Heir, a very posh bar on Green Street. It’s dim and bustling with people. The ceilings are all exposed wooden beams, with blue lighting. It’s comfortable here. The music isn’t too loud either. I hate having to shout over music.

  I spot Jordan tucked away at a small table near the back of the bar. I pretend to walk past him, and then, turning with exaggerated flair I pretend to take notice of him.

  “Oh, Jordan. Hello! What a coincidence, seeing you hear,” I flutter my lashes at him. He looks like he wants to kill me. His date has his back to me, and he turns slowly around to face me.

  Oh, wow! Jordan was right. He is very attractive. He has a sly smile and a mischievous look. I think he senses this is set up, but goes along with it anyway.

  “Oh, whatever bitch, sit down,” Jordan says, sliding over, making room for me. I smile at him and take my seat across from his date. He gives me a diverting smile and extends his hand to me.

  “I’m Benny.”

  “Lenore,” I reply, placing my hand in his. And I’m comfortable in an instant, Jordan, less so.

  Jordan looks good, like always. He’s wearing a black hat, with a wide brim, one long, dangly feathered earring hangs in his right ear, and he’s wearing a black, long sleeved, V-neck sweater, black jeans, and his black combat boots. Of course, no one else in the world could make it work, but Jordan certainly does.

  Benny is wearing a thin white t-shirt and faded blue jeans. He looks like an all American bad boy with his tousled light brown hair and big brown eyes, the color of burnt honey.

  Jordan and I order a round of pomegranate martinis, Benny sips on a bottle of dark beer, and conversation flows comfortably between the three of us. I take to Benny right away. He is very bohemian, and enjoys music, and art; especially sculpture. He asks very few qu
estions about me, most of our conversation is centered on Jordan. He seems very interested in him. I tell Benny all about how I first met Jordan.

  “I was raking the leaves in his grandmothers backyard,” I was often recruited by the elderly to do odd jobs in exchange for their vintage clothes, “he and his mother had just moved in, and he would not stop talking!”

  Benny laughs, Jordan rolls his eyes.

  “He outed himself to me after 30 minutes. I think I was the first person he told. After that, since we were both being home-schooled, for different reasons of course,” I glance at Jordan and arch my brow, “we started hanging out as often as we could. Which wasn’t that often because Jordan was always in trouble,” I laugh.

  Benny seems amused, and asks Jordan why he was kicked out of school. Laughter flows freely as Jordan attempts to tell us his side of things. I guzzle my drink down when they lose me in a very passionate, artistic conversation. I take the opportunity to give them space and I make my way to the bathroom.

  As I start walking, I realize how very at ease I feel with myself tonight, and yes, slightly buzzed. This is fun, I remind myself. I need to do this more often.

  Just as I am nearing the table on my way back from the bathroom, I see Benny stand and take Jordan’s hand, leading him toward the exit. I don’t want to intrude so I stay out of sight. Benny’s hand fumbles with the door for a moment, but then he turns back and kisses Jordan. He closes his eyes as both of his hands cradle Jordan’s face. It lasts all of 3 seconds, but I swoon for my dear friend. I’ve never seen him like this before. It’s weird, but good at the same time.

  Benny opens the back door, and makes his way out, pausing and giving Jordan a shy wave before letting the door close after him. Jordan is soaring when he makes his way back to me, and I can clearly understand why. Benny is a keeper.

  We’re on our third round, and before I know it we sandwiches between people on the small dance floor at Heir, dancing to Arcade Fire. They’ve turned the music up, and there is a small crowd gathered underneath the electric blue lights. Jordan is behind me and we are lost in the music.

  Despite all of the anxiety that was swirling inside of me all day, I feel surprisingly unburdened and alive tonight. I wish I felt like this more often. As I turn around to face Jordan I get that scalp tingling, goose bumps everywhere feeling that tells me, he’s here. My stranger. He’s watching me.

  I turn, whipping my head toward the small bar facing the dance floor, and there he is, a stern expression on his face, his elbow resting on the bar. I do a double take. Jordan is oblivious, dancing away, eyes closed.

  Goddamn, he looks so fine. He’s wearing a black three-piece suit. He looks like he’s just stepped from the glossy pages of a high-end magazine. His hair is parted to one side, and his glasses are framing his perfect face. His nostrils flare slightly as I make my way toward him. He doesn’t take his arm off of the bar. Once I am two feet away from him he reaches behind him and grabs a martini glass.

  “Here, have another.”

  He hands me the glass containing another pomegranate martini. I can’t read his expression. I take the glass and stand next to him. How long has he been watching me? And how did he know what I was drinking tonight?

  “You’re a little over dressed,” I shout over the music, trying to ease my erratic heart. He straightens up, looks at me, drinking me in from head to toe.

  “I had a meeting. You look amazing, I could watch you move all night.” His expression softens as he leans in a little closer, his lips brushing past my ear, sending a delicious chill throughout my body.

  “I only wish it were me you were dancing with,” his expression remains guarded, but his eyes are on fire. He removes his glasses and places them inside his jacket.

  I gasp lightly, more from the thrill of having him in such close proximity than his actual words. I turn to look into his eyes and his expression is dark, angry almost. It’s fucking hot. I realize suddenly just how much I want him. I want him, bad. There is a mysterious air about him tonight.

  Jordan appears before us, breaking the spell. He stands, staring impassively from me to Vincent. I think he’s wondering whether or not I want, or need, rescuing. Finally, I find my voice.

  “Jordan, this is Vincent. Vincent, my best friend, Jordan.” Vincent, ever the gentleman, extends his hand to Jordan. I can see that Jordan is very much impressed with Vincent. He is, after all, ludicrously, handsome. But I can also sense his confusion with the situation, but I don’t feel like elaborating. Jordan is hesitant, but takes his hand, shakes it, then lets it drop almost immediately. Jordan, he’s always so rude.

  “Vincent was just saying how he’d like to steal your dance partner away,” I say peeking up at Vincent from underneath my lashes.

  Yes, I want to dance with you.

  Jordan looks dumbstruck, mouth open, eyes wide. Vincent looks at me lecherously. The air around us is charged again, Jordan looks uncomfortable. He can sense the change in atmosphere as well.

  “Um, if you’re okay with that, Lenore?” He looks at me for an answer, but Vincent and I cannot tear our eyes away from one another. I welcome the burn this time; I want to feel it seeping into my pores. The burn that only Vincent’s bright blue eyes can make me feel.

  Vincent takes me by the arm, and I place my drink in Jordan’s hand and leave him reeling and watching me strut to the dance floor.

  It feels so good to have my hand in Vincent’s. It feels like a lifetime since I have seen him, when it’s only been one day. He puts his arm around my waist and brings me closer to him. And like magnets, we move together. “Murder She Wrote” by Chaka Demus and Pliers is playing. A funky 90’s Reggae song I don’t think I’ve ever danced to.

  We move slowly, our legs intertwined, and boy can he move! It doesn’t take long for me to lose myself in him. We move well together. There isn’t an awkward or clumsy step between us. The dance floor has cleared around us, and people are watching. I turn around, my back to his front, and start to move down low, my hands on his outer thigh, moving my hips in a hypnotic circle. I am vulgarly rubbing myself against him.

  I feel the bass thumping in my chest, the music taking possession of me. I pop and roll my hips into him; he counters moving in time with me. Oh, baby. Can he move…I can only imagine. I close my eyes and surrender to him, to the music and to the riotous feeling blossoming inside of me. I will the song to last forever. I take his hands in mine and run them down the sides of my body, across my abdomen and let them settle low on my hips.

  I turn back around to face him and take one of his legs between mine. We keep rhythm and continue gyrating and grinding. I grip his shoulder and lean back. And once again I think…oh, fuck…I can only imagine what this will be like.

  When the song is over, which is far to soon as far as I’m concerned, applause is heard over the music. I blush, and can feel Jordan’s burning curiosity. He hasn’t moved from the bar, we walk hand in hand back to him. I am a ball of sexual tension and need.

  Vincent extends his hand to Jordan again.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Jordan. I have an early meeting tomorrow morning, so I must be off.” He smiles politely. Jordan’s expression is stunned and stupefied as he takes Vincent’s hand and shakes it.

  “Lenore, would you mind walking me out.” I haven’t taken my eyes off of him, my stranger. I nod idiotically and follow him to the exit. When we reach the metal door, Vincent turns around, and his face is tantalizingly close to mine. I can smell his sweet warm breath and I want to stretch on my tippy-toes and kiss him.

  “Is he your boyfriend?” His question takes me by surprise.

  “Jordan? No, he’s gay. And like I said, he’s my best friend.”

  “Just thought I’d ask.” He smiles at me softly, his eyes full of warmth and want. I’m sure my eyes are reflecting the same. I grit my teeth in an effort to overcome my growing desire for him.

  “Shall I pick you up tomorrow evening? There’s a place I’d like to take yo
u in Downtown. I only recently discovered it with my brother.”

  “Yes,” I feel slightly hypnotized by him. I have a million thoughts swimming in my mind, all of them dark...and depraved.

  “I’ll pick you up around 8:30-9 o’clock?”

  Oh, shit! I forgot, tomorrow I’m performing at The Speak Easy.

  “Well, how about I meet you around 9? Where in L.A. is it?”

  “Why can’t I pick you up?” He asks with a dazzling smile.

  “I’ll be in Downtown tomorrow, it’ll be easier if I meet you.”

  He glances at his watch.

  “Ok, meet me. It’s called The Speak Easy. I have to go,” he grins and presses a kiss against my knuckles. All worry is temporarily dispelled from my mind. I part my lips, close my eyes.

  When I open my eyes again, he is gone.

  My first date, and it’s the night of my first burlesque performanceand it’s at The Speak Easy itself! How am I going to explain it to him?

  I walk back to Jordan in a slight daze. I’m ready to go home. He grabs my hand and we walk out of the bar. He’s silent until we exit into the muggy October air. The weather in Southern Cali is so bipolar.

  “Who the hell was that? And how do you know him? And why on earth were you grinding up on him like that?” He pauses for a fraction of a second.

  “Well, never mind the last question. I wouldn’t mind grinding up on him. He was seriously fucking hot, Lenore!” He doesn’t mention the kiss Vincent pressed against my neck, which I assume he didn’t see.

  I stop walking, and put my hand up.

  “Stop, Jordan. I don’t want to talk about him. I’m sure you can understand why.” I say shooting my eyebrows up at him. I’m referring to his Benny. He doesn’t want to talk about him, because he doesn’t want to jinx things, or, whatever. I feel similarly. It’ll make it too real. I’m enjoying my fantasy world right now. I’m beginning to feel the full effect of the alcohol as we stumble and sway our way back to my shop.