by Xavier Neal
“Helen Cecile Ur-chine,” I over articulate. “We've been over this.”
“Yeah and I still think that bitch belongs in a pit in the ocean with all the other evil creatures.”
Don't giggle. That's the last thing I need right now.
“There has to be thousands of rich people in this city alone. Probably hundreds of thousands. I'm sure any one of them would kill for you to throw their parties or weddings.”
Hearing her say the w word has me muttering under my breath, “What the hell is with you two?”
She kicks me with her bare foot, forcing my face up. “Two of who?”
“You and Arik.”
“Our names should rarely be that close together.”
I roll my eyes. “Couple weeks ago he gave my number to some girl looking for a wedding planner.”
“It's better than him giving his number to some girl. Put it in the win category.” When my face twitches unpleasantly she questions, “Why was that bad?”
“Because I have a job,” I fight and key in my password to log back onto my tablet.
“But it's not like you love it.”
“Not everyone loves their job!”
My outburst causes Liz to put her wine glass on the table. For a minute neither of us say anything.
Okay so maybe his heroic act of caring has me a little on edge. I'll admit it. I know I shouldn't be bothered he was trying to help, trying to show me he listens and believes in me, but I didn't like it. I'm not ready to go back into that field and I’m not sure I ever will be. After not working for all that time the only thing I crave in my career is stability. It's one of the reasons I don't do long and intense relationships. They distract and often break up that stability by taking away your focus. By making you become obsessed over them, over what the other person is doing, over what the other person is thinking. God, my mom lost three different jobs because she couldn't stop obsessing over my dad. Three. In less than a year. I don't have any of that bullshit. However... I will say, I never thought my relationship would be the one encouraging me to do better. Just assumed it would be trying to steal my focus. To try to destroy me and everything I've worked to achieve. I can't say I like being wrong. But let's not write that off as fact just yet. There's still time.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Shoving the fancy, fat free, gluten free cracker into my mouth, I grumble, “No.”
“Too bad,” Liz remarks and moves them out of my reach. “What's up your ass that the magic stick can't fix?”
I swallow the urge to laugh along with the cracker. “Nothing.”
“Ari.”
“I'm not ready to get back into the jungle of wedding planning. It's overwhelming. It's scary and honestly I'm not sure there's not still a black cloud around my name in that world. I'm not ready to put myself back out there. I don't need you or him trying to pressure me into it, so please let it go.”
She toys with the end of her blonde hair. “Fine. But only after I've said my peace. The only reason he probably tried to help was because he can see how miserable Helen makes you. Hell the astronauts in space can fairly judge your unhappiness from the stars. Arik was doing nothing more than what I assume a good boyfriend does and exert his effort to make you feel better.”
I know she has a point!
“Second,” she starts.
“Oh this conversation isn't over?”
Liz shoots daggers at me. “Second...you can't hide from that failure forever. Eventually you're gonna have to grab that bitch by the collar, smack it across the face, and say I own you. It's the only way you'll ever be able to move on and set foot back on that side of the grass.”
Quietly I mumble, “Noted.”
After I hit send on my email she questions, “What else is bothering you?” Prepared to brush off the intrusion of my emotions, I'm surprised when she swiftly grabs her glass and states, “Don't give me that nothing bullshit again. You're like one of those cartoon time bombs with the lit string.”
“Race card.” She kicks me again. “Ou!”
“I'm gonna return you to your boyfriend bruised and he's gonna be pissed it wasn't from his rough sex rounds.”
Instead of further denying the topic, I surrender. “At first it didn't really bother me that I only see him Sunday through Wednesday.”
Liz echoes between sips, “At first.”
“Right. But now that the sex high is wearing off-”
“It's not. It's still very apparent.”
I glare and continue, “Now that it is wearing off, now that it's been a few months, it's beginning to bother me.”
“That he has a job?”
“That he has a job that never lets him off on the weekends? Ever? You don't think that's a little suspicious?” When she shrugs I push, “Or how about the fact he works Monday through Wednesday and has no problem calling or texting or meeting me for a quick bite…”
“Of food or your flesh?”
“Liz!” Her giggles cause me to shake my head. “It's really strange to me that four days of the week he's this normal guy and for three days he's basically a fucking ghost. I'm starting to wonder...”
“Don't say it,” she snaps.
“Well what if he is cheating on me or has a secret double life?”
“You are so paranoid.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Am I? Tell the truth. Isn't it a little unusual that I barely have contact with him three days? Three consecutive days? And when I see him on Sunday it's a couple hours before sunrise. What is he? A vigilante on the weekends?
“Did he or did he not give you a key to his apartment to let yourself in tonight?”
My eyes glance at the shiny gift on my coffee table.
“Did he or did he not trust you enough to let you spend the day or night there waiting for him?” When my attention rolls back to her she tosses a hand in the air. “He basically gave you an invitation to snoop through his shit to prove to you he's not bringing anyone else to that apartment. Have some trust.”
“You do realize if I snoop through his things that's the exact opposite of trust.”
Liz's short shrug makes me giggle. “My advice is stop over thinking...life in general, pack your best lingerie, go over there and be the first thing he sees when he walks through the door after a long night of bussing tables.” Her valid advice is followed by her standing up. “I, on the other hand, have a date with an investment banker. He's taking me to 'The Den'. It's a piano bar.”
“I know.” My face heats at the memory. “Arik plays there sometimes.”
“That's right,” she slowly says backing up towards my front door. “Gave him a standing O, right?”
Her wink is met with my middle finger.
She snickers to herself and exits swiftly.
Smart ass. And you stop laughing. It wasn't that funny! I should probably take Liz's advice, huh? I'm probably overreacting to everything. See what I mean about becoming obsessive? Too overly concerned? Shit...how do people do this shit all the time? If things don't work out with me and Arik, I'm totally returning to the world of one night stands and week long benefits without the friendship part. Part of me hopes I never have to venture into those waters again. Sure trying to figure out the whole couple thing is a lot of work, but I dig the reward. More than I ever thought I would. The other part of me though...that part fears the damage left when this thing collapses. When what feels like the inevitable heartbreak finally shines brightly and I'm left to drown. I've gotta be the one to pull the plug first when it comes to that. It's the only shot I have at making it out. What? Of course I said when. Why would I say if? Well...I just...I don't know. I guess it seems statistically a lot less likely. Then again, this whole relationship thing hasn't been likely or predictable. Why should I expect what lies ahead for us would be any different? Hell, this is the first time I've ever considered there could be something ahead with someone else. Damn. There's that hopeful feeling again...
&nbs
p; Arik
Show time. Of course I'm not fucking nervous. This shit is like second nature. Yeah I may be the main feature of the night, but it doesn't add pressure like you're assuming. If anything it just spurs me to want to do better. I told you. I love performing. I love that they're here to see me. Only thing I would love more is if my girlfriend was in the crowd supporting me. Then again, I'm not sure I ever want her to know about this side of me. I'm not ashamed just....let me get back to you with the right word.
As soon as the lights are dimmed Clayton, the MC, announces, “The time has come ladies. Your final prince has arrived. Sit back and prepare to get wet...”
Haha. What?! It was clever. You'll see.
Playing the opening notes of 'Surfin USA' by the Beach Boys creates a surprising uproar from the women I still have my back to. Instead of going into the actual song, I toy with the notes and introduce myself, “Good evening, ladies.”
The second round of screams has me smirking. In unison they shout back, “Good evening, Prince A!”
With a glance over my shoulder, I add, “You ready for me?”
Their cat calls and giggles are proceeded by me singing the opening lines of the song. In what seems to be an abrupt fashion, but isn't, I slide my fingers down the keys and off the keyboard, body smoothly gliding out of my seat. Once I'm on my feet the spotlight is pinned to me. The white light beaming down exposes the thin white t-shirt and pants to match. With a smile I kick my feet into the strategically placed water on stage, which splashes my body. The songs we've remixed, cut, and edited begin to fill the room pouring gasoline on their excitement. My eyes lock onto the crowd as I coast my body to the other end of the stage where I kick up the pile of water waiting on me. Now completely wet, I bite my bottom lip, which causes a familiar wave of hollers. As I begin to sing the words to the mashed up collection of 'Surfin' USA' and 'I Get Around', my body spins around, kicking up the sand on the accented beats. Rhythmically I roam down one path of the stage, my hands mimicking my flawless foot work.
The basic stage shape never changes even if we give the illusion it does. It's main base away from the crowd where the water puddles and my keyboard are located is square. It branches out with runaway like paths on each side that eventually connect, leaving an open pit for women to be seated. On the outskirts of the same path are more places for women to congregate. At the corner of the runaway are poles and ramps for us to use to grind our way through the remaining crowd. The way the few pillars are positioned they can double as poles or props. When you come to The Castle, you will be fulfilled no matter where you're sitting.
I lean backwards onto one hand in the middle of the runway area and roll my body while singing into the eyes of an older woman. On beat I drop to my knees in a sacrificial fashion, money already flooding the area.
With my body now in groping distance, I yank my shirt open exposing the wet muscles. The young brunette woman in front of me bites her bottom lip as she leans forward to run her hand across the taut flesh. In the process, I slide my body off the edge of the stage and position myself in her lap. Excitement lands on her face while I use her body like a prop showcasing the many ways my hips can rock. Most of my hip movements are long and smooth.
You'll never hear a woman complain about those two factors.
More money flies at the stage like they're allergic to it and need it as far from them as possible. Continuing to sing, I slink my body around the women in their chairs from the front to back, each practiced movement, each perfectly timed pause and spin around the pillars, flawless in my execution.
It is my job to make them feel fucking fantastic. Make them feel like they matter. Make them feel like they're the only woman in the crowded room. If I can do that for ten seconds, ten measly seconds, then they're mine. Every. Time.
With hundreds shoved in the pockets of my pants, I maneuver my way back up the ramp, relocating closer to the right side of the stage this time. Between hard beats, exaggerated thrusts, and well timed winks, I shed my pants providing the service they pay for.
See. I didn't lie. I said I was in the service industry. Like I told my brother, it's my body I'm serving. Well that and of course my attention.
Shouts and praise overwhelm the room, making it difficult to know if I'm hitting the notes I'm aiming too.
It helps there's a pre made audio track with my voice already playing. I could easily stop singing and lip sync the shit, but where's the fun in that? Don't waste time wondering how that's possible. That's Sami's job and she's damn good at it.
On my knees once more, I grab the closest woman's face and place it inches from my crotch. Rolling my hips towards it, I try not to flinch at the feeling of her nails cutting into my thighs.
That never fucking happens. No not the nail thing. The urge to flinch away.
I shake off the uncomfortable feeling trying to creep it's way through my system and tumble away into another sexually provocative position. This time when I slip off the stage, I bend the woman over her seat similar to the way Becca and I rehearse. However when she pops her ass out at me and glances over her shoulder, it's Ari's face I see with a betrayed expression.
What the fuck-
She wiggles her ass and I continue dancing behind her until my girlfriend's face disappears leaving me with the pale one that belongs to a red head.
We have a major problem.
The music changes tempo and once more I switch locations making sure the entire room at some point has been graced with my presence. By the end of my set there are two very different emotions pumping alongside the adrenaline. Thrill from knowing I've made more than my usual take and an unusual trepidation.
I can't believe I'm thinking this, but maybe I'm not so sure I'm cut out for this shit any more.
**
In the locker room, while I'm changing, I try to rid myself of the gnawing consternation.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I pictured my girlfriend out in that crowd. I've never pictured Ari at one of my shows. And that expression wasn't one I ever want to be responsible for giving her. It was hauntingly hurtful. We've been together for months yet this is the first time she's ever crept into my mind while I was out there. While I was working. Normally my brain just shuts off anything other than performing, but this time was different. What the hell is happening? Something isn't right. Did I not get enough sleep? Is it because I know she's waiting for me at my loft?
“Bro!” Chance shouts in my face.
“Do you wanna get punched?” I grunt, shutting my locker.
“Animosity bro...”
“You were the one yelling in my fucking face.”
“I've been trying to get your fucking attention for like five minutes.” The exaggeration of time has me tilting my head. “Fine! Like three minutes, but still. What the fuck is up with you?”
Chance is one of the last fucking people I would talk to about relationships. Besides I get enough shit whenever I split poker games early to go be with Ari.
“Nothing.” After stuffing the envelope in my pocket I ask, “How'd you clean up for the night?”
“Bank bitch!” He offers me a fist bump. “You?”
After knocking knuckles, I answer, “Same.”
“You're damn right you fucking did! You were killing that shit!”
He continues to hype up the performance as the two of us walk side by side up the stairs for French's office doors. Each step expands the knot in my stomach.
I've taken these stairs hundreds of times. I've done this hundreds of times. Why now? Why the fuck does it all feel different now? Why the fuck did it flip on like some sort of goddamn light switch?
“....and then Cyndie's for the after hour shots. So, you in?”
Realizing I missed most of Chance's conversation, I simply shake my head. “Nah. My girl's waiting for me at my place.”
“You gave her a key to your place?”
“Kinda,” I answer instead of knocking. “It's not like I went and had one ma
de. It was just my spare.”
“But you still let her have it,” Chance chuckles. “Never thought I'd be around when a Prince fell.”
“I haven't fallen.”
“You've fallen so hard your neck might as well be fucking broken,” Brock grunts and opens the door without knocking.
Shit. Is that what all this is about? Have I fallen in....no. Fuck that. I don't even know what that is. I'm sure I'm just coming down with a cold or late twenties crisis or some shit. There's no way it's that other thing.
French shuts her desk drawer. “So now you don't think you have to knock Prince B?”
“You don't think we should have first look at our test results?”