by Lila Moore
That was never going to happen, of course. He’d moved on with that fake-looking, overly bronzed Oompa Loompa girl.
The sudden mad urge to chuck the ring out the window rose up inside me. As much as I wanted to, that wasn’t an option. The ring belonged to Luke and I’d promised to return it.
I twisted it around my finger where it rested securely. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about losing it. Now, to get out of the apartment before my mother woke to discover her ring was gone.
I went to my bedroom and turned my closet inside out and trying to decide what to wear tonight. We weren’t going to meet until nine, but I needed to sneak out of the house before then.
I looked at the dress my mother made me wear last night. It was wadded up on the floor in the corner of my closet. I flushed at the memory of all those people in the restaurant staring at me. I’d looked like a hooker.
Did Luke like the way I looked in the dress? I’d caught him checking me out once, but that didn’t necessarily mean he thought I looked hot. The dress left nothing to the imagination; it was natural that he’d stare.
I was going to show Luke the real me. I wasn’t the kind of girl who dressed like a high-priced escort or acted as an accomplice in my mother’s schemes. For the most part, I’m a normal girl-I think.
I pulled out a pair of skinny jeans, ballet flats and a black cardigan. Then I ran a comb through my dark, thick hair. I needed a haircut. No time today. Besides, I didn’t want to risk disaster. What if I ended up with a bad hairstyle? I didn’t want to follow up a bad first impression with a worse second impression.
I decided not to put on makeup. I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard. I wanted Luke to see the natural girl underneath the spackled on makeup my mother made me wear last night.
I considered myself in the mirror. I wasn’t going to win any beauty contests any time soon, but I looked decent. It suddenly occurred to me how pathetic I was being. Why did I care so much? Even if Luke did find me attractive, nothing could come of it. I was not going to date my mother’s ex. The thought made my skin crawl.
I had a hard time believing the kind of man who found my mother’s personality appealing would want to date me. We were polar opposites. I am not the party girl type. Nor will I tell a man whatever he wants to hear just to stroke his ego.
I stood up straighter in the mirror. I would be myself, deliver the ring and leave. Simple.
Genevieve
I stood outside the Blu Lounge and debated whether or not to walk away and return home. I checked my cell phone’s map directions for the hundredth time. There was only one Blu Lounge in the city and this was it.
Neon blue light bathed the sidewalk as a line full of men waited to get inside. The fact that there were only men in line along with a handful of women should have been a huge warning flag. What kind of club catered primarily to men? If I’d stopped to think about that question for half a second, the answer was obvious. But the reality of the situation didn’t dawn on me until it was too late.
I walked to the front of the line. A muscular man with a tablet stood guard at the entrance. He was checking to see if names were on a list. The people at the front of the line were arguing loudly with him after he’d turned them away.
“Excuse me,” I said, trying to speak over the man who was screaming at the bouncer.
The bouncer looked relieved to have someone else to deal with. His eyes drifted over my body. He looked amused. I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Should I be insulted, or relieved?
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Is this the Blu Lounge?”
He looked at me like I was a moron. He was standing directly in front of a neon sign that said ‘Blu Lounge.’ The bouncer motioned over his shoulder to it.
I smiled weakly. “I think I’m supposed to meet someone here.”
“Name?”
“My name is Genevieve. His is Luke…”
It suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t know Luke’s last name.
“Genevieve. You’re on the list.”
He stepped aside. The man at the front of the line protested.
“Are you kidding me? This girl gets in, but I don’t? She doesn’t even look legal.”
The bouncer gave me an appraising stare. “ID?” he asked.
The man in line gave me a smug look. If he couldn’t get in then he wanted to make sure no one else did either. The situation made me nervous. What if I was turned away? Most clubs don’t let anyone under twenty-one in. I’d only just turned eighteen.
I pulled out my driver’s license and showed him. He looked at closely, bending it and shining his flashlight on it to make sure it wasn’t a fake.
“Okay,” he said, handing my ID back. “You’re good.”
The man in line groaned and swore. “Seriously? This chick gets in and I don’t? She probably won’t even spend any money on the girls. Meanwhile, I’ve got a wallet full of hundreds burning a hole in my pocket and you won’t let me in.”
Spending money on ‘the girls?’ What was he talking about?
“You going in?” the bouncer said.
“Yeah. Um, could you tell me if Luke is here?”
The bouncer consulted his tablet. “I’ve got a Luke on the list, but as far as I know he isn’t inside yet.”
Great. I was early.
“Thanks.”
I slid past him quickly into the dark interior of the club. Immediately, I was greeted by pounding bass. When I stepped into the main room, my mouth dropped open. Naked girls grinded on poles while men threw money at them. A stripper to my right was rubbing her tits into a Frat boy’s face while his friends cheered on.
The Blu Lounge was a strip club.
What was Luke thinking in asking me to meet him here of all places? We barely knew each other. This was supposed to be a simple drop off. We meet; I hand over the ring-the end.
“Excuse me, sweetheart.”
A half-naked girl carrying a tray of drinks slipped past me.
“Sorry,” I said, feeling like I was in the way.
I should have left then, but a group of guys came into the room behind me, pushing me further into the club. Awkwardly, I shuffled through the crowd and ended up at the bar.
My eyes were glued on the stage where a tall, tanned girl in six-inch Lucite heels was peeling off her clothes in time with the music. She looked beautiful beneath the stage lights as she danced. She didn’t look like she was dancing for the men, but for herself. She had a sly smile on her face and a mischievous look in her eyes as if she was enjoying this more than the men were.
I envied her in that moment. You have to be brave to go up on stage like that. I wished I was that confident and free of self-doubt. It’s easy to dismiss women who strip as trash, but these girls were totally self-possessed and somewhat elegant in their movements. They were in their element and they were taking these pathetic, drooling men for all they were worth.
“Can I get you a drink?” the bartender asked.
“A ginger ale.”
“That’s all?”
“I’m not twenty-one yet,” I said.
The bartender smiled as if he found my honesty cute. I smiled back. He wasn’t bad looking. His right arm was covered in strange tattoos. I wondered what they meant. Maybe I would ask him when he came back. I didn’t have a chance. Luke sat down on the stool beside me.
“This is where you wanted to meet?” he asked. “I never would have guessed you were into this.”
Luke looked as if he’d just left work. He wore a suit minus the tie. The top button of his shirt was undone. Dark hair peeked out from beneath. I wondered what he looked like with his shirt off.
“What?” I asked, not fully hearing him.
He smiled brightly. “I never pictured a girl like you in a place like this.”
“‘A girl like me?’”
I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or not. Did he think I was boring? That I didn’t have a wild side to me?
“I don’t mean that I find you boring,” he said, as if reading my mind. “I just thought you’d want to meet somewhere like a coffee shop or a bookstore.”
“Wait-you were the one that suggested this place, not me.”
“I… what?”
“Yeah, look.”
I pulled out my cell phone and showed him the message he’d sent me. He grimaced as he silently read the DM.
“It appears I did request a meeting here.”
“You don’t remember?”
“No… it’s complicated.”
There was nothing complicated about the message. It was embarrassingly juvenile. I decided to let it go.
“Can I get you a drink?” Luke asked.
As if on cue, the bartender set my ginger ale down before us.
“I see you’ve gotten a head start.”
“There’s no alcohol in it,” I said, for some reason.
Luke gave me the same smile the bartender had. That look that said, ‘You’re adorable.’ I didn’t want to be adorable I wanted to be hot, like the girls on stage.
Luke ordered a beer and a whiskey. He was wasting no time getting drunk. He must have been a heavy drinker.
We sat in awkward silence for a time. Luke stared at me, taking in my conservative clothes. Last night, my dress was so revealing that it made me stand out like a sore thumb. Now, my conservative attire had the same effect.
For once in my life, I wished I’d dressed sexier. I looked like a schoolmarm compared to the girls in the club. I was surprised Luke bothered to look at me at all. I was nothing compared to the strippers. Their bodies were amazing, and yet he was staring at me. It was then I remembered the ring.
“Oh!” I said. “I almost forgot.”
I tried to pull the ring off my finger, but it was stuck. I smiled nervously and pulled. It didn’t move. It slid on easily this morning. Now it was wedged on my finger.
“Let me try,” Luke said.
He took my hand and twisted the ring back and forth, then gently pulled. It was firmly wedged on my finger. He pulled out a piece of ice from his drink and rubbed it around my finger, then tried again. The ring still didn’t move. He held my hand gently, turning it over in his. His touch kindled warmth deep inside me. A small shiver shot through my body as his long fingers passed over my palm. I tried to suppress it, but failed.
“Are you cold?” he asked, oblivious to the effect his touch had on me.
I shrugged. “I’m sorry about the ring,” I said, changing the subject. “I was afraid I’d lose it, that’s why I decided to wear it. It went on easily this morning. I don’t know why it won’t come off now. I hope we won’t have to cut it off.”
“If it slid on, then it can slide off. We’ll figure out a way to get it off. Did you have trouble with your mother?”
“No, no trouble at all.”
I thought of her comatose form in bed beneath her pink Pepto Bismo colored curtains.
“That’s good. I was worried she’d be difficult. I hate putting you in the middle of this.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind. I’m used to my mother’s antics.”
‘Antics,’ was putting it mildly. She was a mess.
He smiled and turned his attention to the stage. The music surged as a dark-skinned girl walked down the long catwalk to the stripper pole. Her legs were long and muscular. Her gait matched the beat of the song perfectly.
The men went wild. They cheered and threw money at her. She paid them no mind. She was focused on taking center stage.
I turned to find Luke watching me closely. I was surprised his eyes weren’t glued to the stage like the other men.
His gaze made me self-conscious. I regretted the decision to dress modestly. I wished I looked sexier. There was no way Luke would find a girl like me hot, not surrounded by women like the ones in the strip club.
I reached up to pull at my cardigan and stopped. Luke was still holding my hand. Our eyes met; he released my hand quickly. He looked startled to discover he’d been touching me. Did he regret it? I couldn’t read his face.
He turned towards the bar and ordered another drink.
Of course he regretted it. Why would a rich, hot guy like Luke want anything to do with me? He could have his pick of any girl. I wanted to flee before I could embarrass myself further.
“Maybe we should call it a night,” I said.
I stood and started to leave.
“Wait,” he called after me.
I stopped. My heart raced. Maybe he did find me attractive? Was he willing to overlook my crazy mother and get to know me? Was that something I wanted? It was hard to look past the fact that he’d had a relationship with my mother. It turns out it didn’t matter.
“The ring,” he said. “I need it back.”
Luke
Red light danced across the room. When it fell on Genevieve it cast shadows over her face, deepening the gulf below her cheekbones and giving her a strangely exotic look. It was amazing the girl hadn’t been snatched up by a modeling agency. Even in a strip club full of naked girls, she stood out.
Men stopped to consider her tight jeans and sweater. She was tall and thin, but had a nice round ass and high tits. She was a stunning girl. Dressed down she looked more restrained, almost as if she was playing coy.
I knew she was hiding an amazing body beneath her conservative clothes. It was like she was trying to tease me with a secret. Somehow, she looked sexier dressed conservatively than in her revealing cocktail dress from last night.
Distracted by my thoughts, I hadn’t realized I’d been holding her hand. Without thinking, I let go and sat back. Genevieve looked hurt. I hadn’t meant it as a sign of rejection. Things were moving fast. I had to figure out how to stay in control.
Nearly knocking her barstool over, she suddenly rose. I grabbed the seat to keep it from tipping over.
“Maybe we should call it a night,” she said.
My mind raced. How could I convince her to stay without looking desperate? Trent always says you don’t want to make yourself look too available. Women see it as desperation. It’s a huge turnoff.
Of course, I had no idea why I was taking advice from Trent. After sending that ridiculously, idiotic message to Genevieve I was going to kill him. Besides, he knew nothing about relationships. I don’t think he’d ever been with a girl for longer than two months.
I finished the rest of the whiskey in my glass.
Was I seriously thinking about this girl in relationship terms? I barely knew her. And she came with a lot of baggage. Her mother was not going to sit idly by while I dated her daughter. Maybe it was best for the both of us if I let her go.
She stood before me for an awkward second. She wanted me to say something, to ask her to stay. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t want to see her leave.
“The ring,” I said. “I, uh, need it back.”
It was a convenient excuse to keep her around longer. Still, she looked disappointed. She tried to hide it with a smile, but it somehow made her look even sadder. She looked around nervously. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on something behind me.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she said.
I turned and for a horrifying second expected to see Val. To my relief, she was nowhere in sight. Genevieve was staring directly at someone on the far side of the club. At first I couldn’t see what she was looking at, then the crowd parted. It was the guy from her Instagram account-the ex-boyfriend, I assumed. He was sitting next to a girl with a deep tan and bleach blonde hair. She was half undressed and drinking champagne directly from the bottle. At first I thought she was a stripper, but she was getting a lap dance from one of the girls.
Genevieve glared at him. If looks could kill, he’d by lying on the floor in a million pieces. Her anger made me laugh for some reason. I didn’t want her to be mad, but it was better than seeing her sad.
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“Michael.”
>
I waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t.
“Who’s Michael?”
“My boyfr-my ex-boyfriend.”
Her slip up led me to two conclusions: first, the breakup had been recent; second, she still had feelings for him.
I took a hard look at the guy. I didn’t think it was possible, but he actually looked smugger in person than in his pictures. He shoved a dollar bill into the g-string of a stripper, then slapped her ass; the blonde girl sitting beside him laughed and high-fived him. They made quite the pair.
Genevieve crossed her arms in front of her chest and cocked her hip to the side. She was clearly jealous. My hatred for this douche boiled to a fever pitch.
“Let’s go say hi,” I said.
“What?”
She looked startled by the idea. I wanted to talk to Michael and see what it was Genevieve saw in him. The guy looked pathetic, but maybe he had an amazing personality. As I watched him shoo away a drink girl with a flick of his wrist, I seriously doubted it. If this guy was charming or charismatic I would be shocked.
“Let’s go make him jealous,” I offered.
Before she could protest, I took her hand and led her over to where Michael was sitting. Genevieve tried to hide behind me. It was no use; he saw her quickly. Michael wasn’t the only guy who stopped to consider Genevieve as she walked by. She was hard to miss.
Michael jumped out of his seat, like a little kid who’d been caught stealing red-handed. Watching him squirm made me smile. I held out my hand.
“You must be Genevieve’s ex-boyfriend.”
He looked at me, then Genevieve, then at my hand. Finally, he took my hand. His grip was weak and clammy. I squeezed hard as I shook it. He winced.
“What are you doing here?” he stammered to Genevieve.
“I, um…”
She slid behind me, trying to hide. I wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her tight. Pressed against me, her body felt soft and warm. I rested my hand on the curve of her hip. She relaxed a bit and leaned into me, resting her hand on my chest. Her touch made me stiffen. She was supposed to be the nervous one and here I was acting like a guy on his first date with a girl. Was this a date? In a twisted way, it felt like it had turned into one.