Black Burlesque

by L. C. Castillo

  “I was working with the D.A. We won a case against two…despicable individuals.” He enunciates each word carefully; hostility unconsciously seeps into his voice. “One shot himself a few weeks ago when he realized the evidence I provided was going to ruin him.” He stops abruptly, searching for my reaction. I don’t give him one, though for the millionth time tonight, I am utterly fucking shocked.

  “The other was just found guilty, and will be sentenced soon. I was on my way down, to look for you when I saw you with my brother.” He sighs, clearly exasperated.

  “I knew you knew him, why won’t you tell me how?” His eyes beseech me.

  He pinches the bridge of his nose, and then his calm controlled facade takes over. He looks to me and sits back, crossing his long legs. His face is a mask. His eyes appear cool and controlled; his jaw set firmly, his lips relaxed. But even though I barely know him, I can see that it’s an act. He is fighting his urge to question me. He’s still upset. He stares fixedly ahead.

  “You looked so relaxed and carefree with him...with Benny. I don’t think you’ve ever been that at ease with me,” his tone aims for casual and unaffected, but I can feel the envy his words contain.

  He’s hurt. Jealous even. It’s almost funny. He’s trying hard to seem unfazed, but now I know better. And I know the reason why he would suspect his brother of seducing me.

  “So…what was this case about?” I say, attempting to drop the subject of Benny. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me anything about that. It sounds like a big deal.”

  Worry crosses his face momentarily, and then it’s gone. He clears his throat.

  “The manwith the gun tonightthat’s the surviving man whose case we just sealed. He had someone working on the inside, and during transport today he managed to escape. He’s no doubt on the run now,” he pauses and looks up at me. “I’m fairly certain…he pulled the gun out on me.”

  My heart hits double time. My mouth drops open, I put my hand to my chest. Kazumi was right. She wasn’t confused or mistaken. A gun was pulled out, and the person close to me he was aiming at was Vincent! And his first thought was to get me out of harms way? I can’t take any more shocking news tonight. Holy shit! I have to find my voice, my mouth moves but not a sound comes out.

  “You have to go to the police,” I manage to croak.

  “No. I already spoke with the proper authorities.” He stands abruptly and checks his pocket watch. “I’ll leave you to get some rest.” He gone cold again, his voice is frigid and taut as a stretched rubber band. He walks toward the door and I watch him in stunned silence.

  “We still have things to discuss, if you’d still like to, that is,” he adds, his tone softening.

  Right. My spine straightens. My body takes on a different tone all together.

  “Uhum. Yes…we do. Tomorrow evening, that is, if you aren’t busy,” my voice finds strength once again.

  He opens my apartment door, turns back and regards me carefully. I keep my face as straight as I can. He looks resplendent in his perfect suit and tie, but I need to stay strong.

  “And leave the spare key here. Next time, don’t let yourself in without letting me know you’re coming.”

  He clears his throat again, digs into his pocket and produces my spare key, and places it carefully down on the table. He wisely suppresses a smile.

  Fuck. I have so much to think about. My mind is a stew of inquiry. What is this case about? Is he a detective or something? Is he a secret spy? I don’t know him. I truly know nothing about Vincent. Yet he is under my skin. He invades my every thought. I peer up at him, and my mind begins to cloud.

  We are shrouded in dark red light. It does things to me, my mind flashes back to the Red Room of The Speak Easy, and then right back to this room, Vincent with trumpet in hand. That soft red light illuminates us, just as it did then. He needs to go. Now. Before I do something stupid.

  I look away and clear my throat, his cue to leave. If he stays a moment longer… He opens the door, and walks out quietly. I finally exhale when I hear the click of the doors shutting below. I feel a brief moment of relief. I survived a confrontation with Vincent. But the respite is short-lived. Panic chokes me a moment later.

  I can’t be alone tonight. I don’t want to be alone. I’m tempted to go after him, but I need to be strong. I need to distance myself from him. Distance myself emotionally. I’ve already let things go too far. Once I hear the roar of his Triumph gliding down the street, I hide my spare key again and I make sure to lock up the shop doors.

  I watch the water flow out from the nickel spout in my bathroom and drink straight from it. I splash some cool water onto my face. I stare at my reflection, stare into my eyes, probing my own mind; I search for a clue to my thoughts and feelings. What is going on inside me? Why does my mind conflict with my heart? Why do they have to clash, without fail, every single time when it comes to Vincent?

  Bucky keeps me company in the darkness. There is the physical darkness of my room, and then there is the darkness that possesses my emotional being. I feel as though both are swallowing me whole.

  Chapter 15

  Jordan and Kazumi come to the shop at lunch. I’ve been doing a great job of distracting myself today. Despite my late night, I woke early, very early, and took Bucky out for a long run. After my shower I began sewing rampantly and managed to finish all of my tailoring work for the week. My hands work very quickly when my mind is occupied.

  Music has been my companion throughout the day. Each time my thoughts begin to drift, every time my heart feels that grip, I get up in search of a new record to put on. It’s a perfect distraction. Or so I tell myself.

  I trace the ivory note that was under my door this morning. It feels heavy in my pocket. I haven’t opened it yet. I’ll wait for a moment where I don’t feel bird wings flapping in my rib cage at the thought of what Vincent could possibly have to say.

  I ball my hands into fists and try to focus on the conversation between Kazumi and Jordan.

  “So, the police aren’t really giving us any information. They didn’t apprehend anyone, and apparently have no clues as to what incident may have led up to a shooting. Someone took the surveillance footage before the police had even arrived. It all just seems...mysterious to me. Nothing like that has ever happened at The Speak Easy. It’s going to hurt business. They’re staying closed for a few days to amp up the CCTV and talk with security,” Kazumi pouts.

  She’s visibly distressed, but I remain tight lipped. I watch a slight frown mar her perfect face as she quietly contemplates what to do.

  After a light lunch of veggie sandwiches, Kazumi heads back to the studio and Jordan lingers. He’s unusually quiet. I’m guessing his night didn’t end well either.

  “What’s up with you? Is everything okay?”

  “I told Benny I can’t see him anymore,” his voice cracks. I watch the corners of his mouth struggle. He has dark circles around his eyes. He looks weighed down and defeated.

  “Don’t tell me it’s because of that bitch, Charlene, Jordan. That was in the past! Don’t forget, you have quite a past yourself.”

  Please don’t sabotage this, Jordan.

  “It’s not that. I just…how can we have a future if he can’t come to terms with who he is? If he can’t tell his friends or family, how can we get anywhere? Am I supposed to be okay with being kept a secret? He had the opportunity to tell the truth last night but he didn’t! These Reynier brothers, Lenore, they’re a complicated bunch. I don’t think it would be smart of me to start a relationship with him and have to keep it secret; I have to be cautious of every touch in public. It’sIt’s too hard.”

  Reynier? Is that my stranger’s last name? A chill runs through me. I should have known this, at the very least; I should know the last name of the man who has taken my virginity! I flush. There is something seriously wrong with me. Damn, I have issues, serious fucking issues. Why it just dawned on me, I do not know.

  “What is
it?” Jordan looks confused.

  “Nothing. I didn’t even know Vincent’s last name.”

  He looks shocked for second, but then we both laugh, because what else do you do when you feel alone and broken?

  There is a knock on my door shortly after Jordan leaves. It’s UPS. I don’t remember placing an order in the last few weeks? The delivery boy looks bored as he hands me the brown parcel. I sign and I put the box to my ear and shake it lightly as I stumble back to my desk.

  It can’t be clothes. Maybe I ordered some hair accessory awhile back? I look at the sending address; it’s not one I recognize, though it is local. From somewhere is Los Angeles, apparently.

  I pull out a razor blade from my desk and slice the tape and pry open the box. By some miracle, I don’t cut myself.

  I blink a few times. It’s a cell phone. A fucking cell phone? What is this? A prank? I stare into the white box it lies in. It’s an iPhone. What in the world? I toss it back into the box it was shipped in. Who the hell would do this? Maggie maybe? It must be a mistake, wrong address? I grab the box again to double check. No, it clearly says my first and last name on the box.

  I stamp off into my kitchen to call Maggie, but it wasn’t her. She confirms the time for our breakfast tomorrow, which I nearly forgot about. I’ll need to make sure I go to bed at a decent hour tonight.

  I slide the box under my desk. I’m baffled. I’ll ask Kazumi and Jordan later, though I doubt they would buy me a phone without talking to me first. Who the hell would send me a phone? I pull out the note in my pocket. I’ll just get it over with.

  “Everybody is equally weak on the inside, just that some present their ruins as new castles and become kings”

  Meet me at The Ivory at 6:30 p.m.

  -V.J.R.

  I like the quote though it isn’t familiar to me. What is he trying to say? And he wants to have dinner at The Ivory? First thing’s first, he needs to understand this meeting we’re having isn’t a date. We are not dating. The bullshit needs to end tonight.

  I tear through my closet, trying to find the perfect thing to wear, which is proving difficult. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. I’ve decided to go back to my original plan, a non-relationship relationship, just about sex, might still work. But first, he’ll need to tell me what the fuck is going on between him and Charlene.

  “What’s an appropriate outfit to wear when you are going to have dinner with a man to establish the ground rules for your sexual relationship?” I ask Bucky. He cocks his head to one side, as if seriously considering my question. He gives up and rests his head on his paws once more.

  I decide on black and white. I find a fitted, cropped black blazer, a tight white tank top, sans bra, and slide on my high-waist black jeans. Hmm…I need shoes. I find some black stilettos. They’re previously worn, but practically new, they were too uncomfortable for their previous owner. Let’s see how I fare. With red lips, smoky black liner, and my long hair piled up, I step out into the dusk, leaving Bucky fast asleep in my closet.

  The Ivory is a modern restaurant, located on the second floor of one of the older brick-clad buildings in Uptown. Thankfully the walk isn’t too long; these heels really are quite high.

  I glance around the restaurant. The furnishings are opulent and plush. Soft piano music trickles out from hidden speakers, and the lights are dimmed nice and low. This is a very romantic setting; so not the right way to start the night. I’m shown to our table, located on a small private balcony. It’s secluded, our table for two the only one out here tonight. Clearly Vincent has made arrangements.

  There is a spectacular view that reaches all the way to downtown L.A. As dusk settles in, puffy clouds of purple and pink hues are bound together on the horizon; it’s a dazzling sight.

  Vincent stands when he sees me, I take my seat without acknowledging him, and the waiter leaves us. There is water already at the table.

  “I ordered us a bottle of wine,” his voice is deep, smooth, thick and rich as caramel.

  He’s in a dark denim jacket; it fits him like a glove. A crisp white shirt is buttoned all the way up underneath. Why does he have to do this? He always looks so damn perfect all of the time; it isn’t fair. His hair is neatly groomed; a day’s stubble covers his jaw, his horn-rimmed glasses crown his face.

  Must.

  Stay.

  Strong.

  I close my eyes, and I imagine him with her. In my imagination, Charlene is a tall, leggy blond with big bimbo tits and a perfect smile.

  Yep. That did the trick. I feel my resolve strengthen immediately.

  The wine is brought over and is poured for us. The waiter places a basket of warm bread before us and waits for us to order, so I pick up the menu and order the first thing I see without even looking up.

  “I’ll have the seared salmon.” I put the menu down and look back out toward the view. I don’t even know what else it comes with.

  “I’ll have the same,” Vincent follows quickly.

  I look up at Vincent sharply once the waiter departs.

  “I don’t want this, Vincent.”

  “What? You’re not thirsty?” He takes a sip of his wine, an obnoxious smile dances across his gorgeous face. I roll my eyes.

  “No. That’s not what I mean. We are not dating. That’s not what this is.” I wave my fingers back and forth between us. “I don’t want to come to nice restaurants with you.” I glance around. “I just want to fuck you.”

  His eyes widen. I have his attention.

  “I know what this really is. You don’t have to play games with me, Vincent.”

  I watch him swallow his wine with difficulty.

  “What exactly is this then? Enlighten me.” He cocks his brow, he is amused, and it is annoying the shit out of me.

  “Fuck! I told you what I want from you. We can’t have anything more than that.Especially since you” Since you already have a girlfriend. I can’t even bring myself to say the words out loud.

  He flushes, and removes his glasses. I know he isn’t comfortable when I use vulgar language. But who the hell cares what he’s comfortable with?

  “I think you know I want more than that,” he retorts.

  I hate it when he says shit like that to me. Why is he still pretending he wants more? His eyes ardently sweep my face. A determined and stubborn Vincent stares back at me. He isn’t going to make this easy.

  “I don’t know anything. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. I know nothing about you. We need to keep it that way.”

  Seriously, why is he pretending? He just had his ex-girlfriend, or current girlfriend, come to his parent’s house in the middle of the night not 48 hours ago, and he took her to breakfast with his mother! They’re going house shopping for goodness sake!

  “You’re just trying to be a gentleman, you’re being polite. You’re sexually attracted to me, and I to you. If you want to see me, then these are my terms.”

  I take a sip of my wine; actually I drink the entire glass.

  “We have sex, nothing more. You’ll ask nothing about me, and I’ll ask nothing about you. You don’t touch me, unless I ask you to, no more of your notes and mysterious quotes,” I reach into my pocket and thrust his note across the table at him,“ or dinner in romantic restaurants. I’ll have you however and whenever I want. No more of you holding me, and” my voice wavers, “…kissing my eyelids and…” I close my eyes.

  I’m losing my train of thought. I can feel his gorgeous blue eyes beseeching me.

  Stay strong.

  “I don’t want any of that...from you.” I open my eyes and look him dead in the eye. I don’t know who I’m trying to convince more, Vincent, or myself.

  My chest is heaving; my heart thumps loudly inside my chest. I feel violent, angry, and hostile! The sun dips low, and sinks below the horizon. I’m under the cover of darkness again. A blanket of silence descends upon us.

  The waiter arrives and no doubt senses the hostility coming from
me. He sets our dinner before us and shuffles away without a backwards glance. Vincent continues to stare at me; his eyes are luminous and inquisitive. He cocks his head to one side.

  “I don’t believe you,” he says flatly. His face is a still mask.

  “Believe what you want.”

  I get up in a huff, throw my napkin onto the table, and walk out of the restaurant as quickly as these ridiculously high heels will take me. Why the hell did I wear these damn shoes anyway?

  I make it safely down the flight of steps that bring me to street level. My legs are shaking once I make it onto the sidewalk. I pause at the signal, waiting for the little walking man to light up. I look behind me, shifting from foot to foot anxiously. He isn’t following after me. That’s it then. It was a take-it-or-leave-it decision, and he’s chosen wisely. He’ll leave it. He’ll leave me. Good. Better now than later. Besides, he has Charlene.

  The lights change and I run across the street toward my shop and nearly collide against a very well dressed young man running in the opposite direction. I feel him turn and stare at me, probably annoyed. I don’t bother looking up at him or apologizing. I keep walking until I get home. I unlock the doors quickly and slam them shut. I hear Bucky pawing furiously on the other side of the back door.

  What?

  I didn’t leave him outside. He was inside my apartment when I left. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Something is off. It feels as if someone was just here. They left their energy behind and I can feel it. I move quickly to unlock the backdoor, but it’s already unlocked. My stomach twists. What the fuck? Bucky comes charging in, his hair standing on end. He snarls and growls. He looks ferocious.

  I cower behind him as he heads up the steps to my little apartment. My heart is thumping through my ears. My adrenaline level has just shot through the roof. I glance around nervously, my eyes trying to focus on something to use as a weapon. I have nothing. We get to the top of the stairs and the door to my apartment is wide open.