Black Burlesque

by L. C. Castillo

  I smile and nod at Kyle. He has mischievous, playful eyes.

  “Yes, the nature of that favor was not quite explained, though I think I understand now.” He winks at Vincent, and Vincent flushes slightly.

  Favor? Did Vincent ask Kyle if he could play in his stead that night at The Speak Easy? That must mean he knew I was going to perform. Nohow could he possibly have known? Kyle looks from Vincent back to me, a rueful smile on his lips.

  “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Lenore. Vincent. Until next time.”

  He walks out and Vincent tugs my hand and we make our departure as well.

  We get into the Mercedes once we’re changed back into our clothes. I don’t think I’ll get over how good this car smells. It smells of Vincent and worn leather. Something about it puts me in a good mood.

  “What did your friend mean about a favor? What favor? I thought he was ill when you took his place?” I fire my questions at him as I strap my seatbelt on.

  Vincent swallows, he looks uncomfortable. He frowns, keeping his eyes fixed ahead.

  “I don’t know what he was talking about, I wouldn’t listen to anything Kyle says.” He smirks and starts the car. “You hungry?”

  I nod emphatically. I’m famished!

  I order short ribs and mashed potatoes. I was expecting a large portion when I placed my order, but the contents barely fill the plate. The food is very…unique.

  The restaurant we’re in has dim lighting and subdued electronic music playing in the background. It’s very tranquil and private. Glass and pebble waterfalls separate and divide the room into various sections. I feel shy and apprehensive as I take in our surroundings.

  I had such fun today, exploring and collecting with Viola, and then fencing with Vincent. I feel so undeserving of all this attention and kindness. Vincent’s eyes glitter as he watches me.

  “What’s on your mind, Lenore?”

  I stare at the condensation on my glass before I take a long and cleansing drink of water. I don’t feel comfortable. I don’t feel comfortable with Vincent spending his money on me. Whether it is his hard earned money, or his family’s. I just don’t feel right about it. I frown at my glass of red wine, it sits untouched. The bottle cost over $100. I’ll never get used to this.

  “What?” He sounds worried as he watches me mentally wrestle with what I’m about to say.

  I look up at him, my eyes big, my heart lost.

  “I can’t do this, Vincent.” I take a deep breath; it’s tiring repeating myself over and over. I hope he listens this time. My shoulders sag with defeat.

  “Ihad a really lovely time todaywith you, with your grandmother. But I can’t do this. You spending your money on me,” I glance around the room, this restaurant isn’t what I’m accustomed to, “I’m not comfortable, Vincent. It makes me feelI don’t know, odd. This isn’t for me. Your family, your world…it isn’t my world. Drinking expensive red wine, being treated to a fancy new wardrobe.I” my voice wavers.

  I put the water down and take a long drink of wine instead. Oh my God, it’s delicious. I nervously stroke my hands on my thighs. My designer jeans are quite lovely, but I can’t accept all of this, especially his kindness, or his family’s kindness for that matter.

  His jaw tightens, his eyes narrow.

  “I’m not trying to buy your affection, Lenore. If that’s what you feel. You should know I want to help you; fortunately I’m in a position to do so. Don’t worry about it. I like being able to help you, to take care of you.”

  “I don’t want to be taken care of. I didn’t ask for this. I’m not used to it. I’m not comfortable! I like being able to take care of myself.” Don’t you understand? My eyes plead with him, but he is unaffected. “I hate how out of control my life is right now. I feel…unhinged.”

  “Lenore, right now, you have to face the fact that you need to accept help. What happened to your shop is a tragedy. You have nothing. Your friends aren’t in a place to help you the way that I can. I want to do this. My grandmothershe likes doing things like that. She likes you, she didn’t feel obligated to help, but it makes her feel good to do what she can. She knows how important you are to me.”

  “I don’t want to be anyone’s charity case! That’s what I’ve been my whole life. It’s what I am to Maggie! I can’t do it anymore. I need to stand on my own two feet.” My voice has raised, I begin to attract the attention of the other diners. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I try to control myself.

  “You don’t know me, Vincent. You really don’t. I’m not prepared for you to get to know me, to know about me, and the life I lived before you. You’ll end up resenting me, resenting everything you’re doing for me. I’ll become a burden in time. And I just can’t. I can’t. I don’t want to be anyone’s burden, least of all, yours. I truly can take care of myself, you have no idea how resourceful I can be,” I feel tears sting my eyes.

  I keep my eyes closed. If I open them, if I look at him, the tears will fall. These days, with everything so out of my controlmy emotions, they’re not easy for me to control anymore.

  “I can’t stand feeling so out of control of my own life,” I whisper, again.

  He takes my hand in his. I open my eyes and look at his hand covering mine.

  “I know exactly how that feels, Lenore. More than you know. I’m trying to find my way. I’m learning to take control of my own life, too. Let’s do it together. Let me help you, let me be here for you. I won’t resent you, Lenore. I couldn’t. You’ve helped me in more ways than you could possibly understand. It’s you who is doing me the favor.”

  I can hear him pleading with me now. His voice is earnest, determined, and sincere.

  “Once you get your business going again, I’ll take a step back and let you do things your own way. For now, just let me be here. All of this,” he gestures the restaurant with his right hand, “it means nothing. Don’t overthink it. But if you don’t feel comfortable, I’ll scale back.” His plea is so heartfelt. It twists and turns my insides.

  “I understand you. I truly do. You’re used to taking care of yourself, and I’m used to doing what my family asks of me. Let’s break out of our comfort zones.Allow me, Lenore, to take care of you, and help you, and you can continue to lend me your strengthto chart a new path for myself. Please, will you let me be here for you?” His voice is quiet; the atmosphere is heavy with nervous anticipation.

  I bravely look up and meet his eyes. His eyes implore me. I fight the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek, to run my thumb across his bottom lip. I don’t deserve him and all that he is promising me. But I will do my best to repay him. I’ll do my best to be what he deserves, even if I think everything is moving much too quickly.

  I nod a meek yes; a subtle nod is all it takes to erase all of the anxiety that was weighing him down. An enormous smile unrolls across his face. He is so beautiful. I watch his blue eyes twinkle and dance. My heart thuds loudly in my chest. He squeezes my hand in his. It’s a silent thank you.

  I have no idea why he thinks he needs me, why he thinks I am helping him! And what strength is he speaking of? I feel weak, and wary. I rack my brain for the rest of our dinner to try to understand why he could possibly feel I’ve done anything except complicate his life.

  Chapter 23

  Vincent pays for our dinner, and I try not to mentally calculate the cost. We walk out and Vincent places his coat over my shoulders. We walk hand in hand down the piss-stained streets of Los Angeles. Vincent looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He looks light, and carefree. I feel weighed down with worry. He’ll regret this; all of this help he is so freely raining down on me, I just know it. This is all happening too soon, it’s all going at warp speed, and I’m stuck in quicksand trying to get my bearings.

  “Would you like to grab a drink before we head back home?”

  Home. I don’t have a home.

  I smirk at him, and nod lightly. I need a drink. He wraps his arm firmly around my
waist, pulling me into him. I can’t help but feel that warm blanket of comfort and security wrap itself around me.

  How did I let this happen? And why does it feel so good?

  I need to get drunk, I need to eradicate all of my worry. He’s right, what can I do? Everything is temporarily up in the air and out of my control. I should let loose. I need it. I need to relax and let go of all of this pent up anxiety building up inside of me.

  “Yes, let’s have a drink, or a four or five. In fact, I’d like you to get me drunk tonight.”

  He looks at me with wide amused eyes.

  “I think I can manage that,” he mutters wryly.

  He takes out his phone and I don’t know to whom he speaks with, but he arranges for his car to be picked up and driven back to the loft. Someone will be picking us up and taking us home later.

  “Who was that?”

  “Lurch,” he responds brusquely.

  “Lurch? Like…from the Addams family?”

  He nods once. “Yes, and no. You’ll meet him later tonight. He works for me.”

  We quicken our pace and walk purposefully into a boisterous bar where he orders me a glass of water and an Old Fashioned. I’ll try to remain hydrated, in an effort to avoid a hangover. The bar is unique. It has a western saloon theme. It’s small, noisy and crowded. But the music is great. There is a DJ playing upbeat folk songs; I catch myself tapping my foot along to the beat.

  I devour my first drink, cherry included. Who knew Old Fashions were so delicious? By my second glass I am swaying my body to the beat and moving from foot to foot. I’m itching to dance.

  I vaguely wonder when Kazumi will tell us when performances are going to resume. I rather enjoy being onstage. Who knows, I may ask her if I can be a permanent member of the group. I need the money after all.

  The thought turns sour as I’m reminded of my loss and I finish off my second drink, eating the cherry and sucking an ice cube before slamming it down on the bar.

  Vincent smiles at me, he is being very observant and careful tonight, and as always, very attentive. Not just of me, and my mood, but of our surroundings as well. Perhaps he’s worried about the shooter. God! I’ve been so self-involved that I’d completely forgotten about the fact that Vincent was shot at!

  “Vincent, are you okay? Should we go home?” I ask, glancing nervously around the small bar as I remember the panic from that night at The Speak Easy. He furrows his brows at me in surprise.

  “No. Trust me. We’re fine, Lenore. I’m just being cautious. I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he runs his thumb across my brow.

  To me? Wasn’t he the one who was getting shot at?

  Something, or someone catches his eye and I whirl around to see what it is. I see an enormously tall man. Seriously he must have some form of gigantism. This has to be Lurch. He has a grim, serious expression. Lurch has high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a square jaw. He’s almost frightening to look at. He nods discretely in Vincent’s direction, and I immediately see that he is accompanied by a thick and tall, black man. They’re both dressed in black. The other man is huge, but compared to Lurch; he looks average in height. They are masked in the shadows of the bar. I only noticed them because I followed Vincent’s eyes.

  I glance back at them once more.

  “Who?” I feel my eyes bulging from their sockets.

  Vincent smirks, “Lurch, and his assistant, Dwayne.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Just to be safe,” he adds as if it’s completely normal to be accompanied by two giants.

  I nod slowly as I absorb this news. Have they been shadowing us, and if so, for how long? I think I remember Dwayne from The Book Bar. Does Vincent always have security with him?

  “Come on, let’s dance.” Vincent takes my hand and leads me to the crowded dance floor. It’s a perfect distraction technique.

  It’s beginning to feel humid in here, but I ignore it. And I ignore the slight feeling of dread seeping into my bones knowing that Vincent is risking his life by taking me out. He must know his life is in danger if he has gone through the trouble, and expense, of hiring a security team to shadow him. Unless this is something normal for him, his family is very wealthy after all. I’m sure that attracts all manner of strange people.

  The song playing is diverting, it has a thumping base line and I’m soon lost. Swaying my hips, my arms wrapped around Vincent’s neck, all my worries are forgotten once Vincent is in close proximity. I bathe under the heat of his gaze.

  Four drinks in, and we are in the Hidden Bar. We had to go through an old bank vault to get inside. It’s like an actual speak easy, though it is nothing like The Speak Easy itself. There is nothing fancy about this place. It’s humble and I immediately feel comfortable. It’s noisy, and crowded inside. Pool tables, and old arcade games are strewn throughout the dark space. The ceilings are low, and I feel a little off, my balance askew. But I’m having a wonderful time. They’re playing music from the soundtrack of Pulp Fiction. Chuck Berry’s “You Never Can Tell” comes on, and Vincent’s excitement overtakes me.

  We hit the dance floor, both of us moving like John Travolta and Uma Thurman. I’m having so much fun! And even though I am beginning to feel drunk, I am still able to execute each move. Vincent is an exceptional dancer. We compliment each other well. We soon draw a crowd and people are encircling us and clapping as we parade around the dance floor. Our bodies moving together as though we had rehearsed this, it’s the kind of familiarity that comes with intimacy.

  When the song ends we are offered drinks from strangers left and right. I’ve lost track of Lurch and Dwayne, and I try to find comfort in the fact that they are somewhere close by. We make friends with a few other drunks at the bar, and laughter and conversation flows freely. My cheeks hurt from smiling, and I feel a surge of gratitude towards Vincent. He’s distracted me from all of my worries, and in doing so, I feel free. I feel young.

  Tonight feels so normal, and comfortable. I feel like an actual couple. I can’t recall a time in my life where I have felt so social, and excited to be out.

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” I mean to whisper into his ear, but because the bar is so loud I nearly shout. He leans into me, a smile on his lips as he nods and excuses us from the rambunctious bar.

  “Excuse me, be right back!” He shouts to the two young couples we were conversing with. Honestly, I don’t even remember their names. He walks me through the narrow hall and leans against the wall opposite of the ladies room; he means to wait for me outside.

  I poke my head inside of the tiny restroom. It’s empty, except for one person occupying one of the two stalls. I grab Vincent’s tie and drag him into the empty stall with me.

  A look of utter surprise crosses his face as I slide the lock into place. The bathroom is dimly lit; red bulbs softly glow above us. That red light, it never fails to get me in the mood. Who am I kidding? Vincent never fails to get me in the mood.

  I press him against the door, and stretch up on my toes for a kiss. My hands are tangled in his hair, running over the soft stubble of his jaw, down over his chest. My hips press against him. At first he kisses me back warily, obviously uncomfortable with his surroundings, but as desire enfolds, he kisses me back, passionately.

  He runs his hands all over my body, worshipping my every curve. Pulling my blouse up, he thrusts the cup of my bra down. Freeing my right breast. He hoists me up and brings his mouth to my nipple. He sucks hard, and then bites.

  I can’t fight the moan that escapes me. A delicious chill runs through my body as my thoughts warm and turn into a shapeless puddle. The person in the stall next to us makes her escape quickly. We both chuckle softly.

  “I won’t make love to you in here, Lenore. I can’t,” he groans against my neck. I grab his jaw and suck his bottom lip and he moans again. His circles and pinches my elongated nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The sensation sends a spike of pleasure straight through my body, sending my blood pumping faster.

  �
��No?” I ask innocently, trying hard to steady my already quivering voice.

  “No,” he pants against my lips. He looks pained.

  I take his hand from my breast and slide it down the front of my pants. I unbutton the top button of my jeans. He knows what to do from here. He closes his eyes as he slips his hand into my underwear and against my already wet sex.

  “You’re wet,” he breathes against my mouth.

  “Yes,” I pant.

  He circles my clitoris and glides two fingers up and down; my insides twist deliciously.

  “Am I the only man who has ever touched you here, Lenore?” His question throws me, but enhances my excitement.

  “Yes, just you.”

  “Am I the only man who’s made you wet like this, baby?”

  “Fu yes, Vincent.” I’m ready to burst already. I hate that I love when he calls me baby, but I can’t help it, it makes me feel cherished and adored.

  He sinks two fingers into me, deeply. “Tell me I’m the only one who’s made you come,” his voice is rough, husky, and raw with need. His lips rest against mine, but he’s not kissing me, he’s waiting for me to speak. He slides his fingers in and out, his palm pressing and rubbing my clit.

  “You’re the only man who’s ever kissed me, touched me, fucked me or made me come,” my voice comes out in a harsh, needy whisper. I want to come. I want him so badly. Saying the words out loud brings a bright flush to my cheeks, I’m shy, despite where we are and what we’re doing…and what we’ve already done so far.

  He tilts his head back, and licks his lips, savoring my words. He bites his bottom lip and I see his arousal straining against his slacks. I reach out to touch him, but he circles his large hand around my wrist and pins it behind my back. My other hand tightens against the lapel of his blazer. He brings his two fingers out, slides them against my clit, and then sinks back into me, rotating his fingers, pressing his palm and circling with the perfect amount of pressure and I come.