by Megan Noelle
“I don’t care if you like me or not, Maurizio. Every time I dance I give it 100% and that is why people keep coming back. Maybe I’m a pain and don’t dance as much as the other chicks do. But, they also don’t have a clientele like mine. If they screw up once onstage, don’t look right, or anything really—their appeal drops. You know it. I know it. They don’t want a flawed woman for their wild night of forbidden fantasy. I give you hell but that is all behind the curtain. I’m telling you right now if I go back on tonight, it’s going to be shit.” I yelled back, sufficiently making this large, scary looking man look stuck.
“I really hate you sometimes.” He admitted, I knew without the shadow of a doubt that he wasn’t joking around.
“Yeah, I know you do. But you just hate me because I stand up to you like the others don’t. And whenever I do—I’m right.”
He stuck a sausage sized finger in my face. “Not always. I just want to set the record straight.”
“More often than not.”
He shook his head, running his fingers through the ratted mess of greying hair on his head.
“If I let you leave it will piss off all the other girls.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “So what? Tell them I had a bad attitude and didn’t deserve to work and get the tips. Meaning there are more for them.”
Maurizio’s eyes narrowed while the hamster wheel turned in his mind. “It’s not a horrible idea, but you know they won’t buy it.”
“Then maybe one of them will learn to stand up to you. If you want you could always just tell them that once they start bringing in as much money as I do that they can call the shots too.”
An unexpected chuckle shook his chest, making a reluctant smirk spread over my lips. “You’re a real bitch sometimes.”
“Meh.” I shrugged it off.
After a few more moments of Maurizio shaking his head and staring at me with uncertainty, he let out a resigned sigh. “Fine. Leave tonight and I’ll even be nice and say that if tomorrow night you need another night—take it. But when you come back, I want you to work a full night’s schedule like the other girls.” I opened my mouth to respond but he stuck that beefy hand up to stop me. “Without bitching about a damn thing. Do we have a deal?”
As difficult as it was going to be to not argue with Maurizio about something, I agreed. “Deal.”
In the front pocket of his grease stained white shirt he pulled out a wad of cash. I took the considerable amount in my hands and flashed through the bills to count it. I could hardly believe it. This was at least triple my regular fee for a lap dance. My head snapped up to Maurizio’s waiting face.
“Told you my buddy liked what you did.”
“This is all from him?”
“Yep, I threw the bills from your opening dance into your bag while you were dancing for his nephew. But that stack is all from him.”
I shuffled the bills through my fingers once more to make sure I didn’t make a mistake. Once I found that my math skills weren’t screwed up, I handed Maurizio a little more than his cut of what he got, and headed toward the exit.
“I’ll call you a cab.” Maurizio yelled after me. I flicked my hand in the air, but never turned around as I made my way back through the room of bright lights, fake hair and a whole lot of lingerie. On my way out I grabbed my bag and gave a quick nod to Cherry, receiving one back. I was glad no one cared to stop me for a chat, at this point I wanted nothing to come between me and the prospect of a deep breath of fresh air.
I passed the security guard at the back door and inhaled the scents around me. Salty ocean air licked against me in a gust of wind. That and rain were two of my favorite smells, but for some reason I swear I smelled that sexy, defined smell of Onyx. Typically nothing could cut through those heavenly scents, but right now, his was.
Just as I was about to sink to the ground, lost in scent, the cab pulled up. With one last inhale I took a seat in the back and let the driver take me away from the evening I wouldn’t soon forget.
“Have a nice night, Miss.” The cab driver said as he pulled up to my building. Well, at least the building I always claimed as my own.
This place was stunning, yellow and sand colored paint covered the outside of the building. There were large windows and a patio door leading to a little deck. Palm trees every few feet welcomed the residents to their stunning homes. More than anything I wished I could pull out my set of keys and have one magically allow me to enter to an apartment that belonged all to me. That was of course, a foolish hope. Nothing like that would ever happen for me.
After the yellow cab disappeared I took one final look at the luxury apartments before walking the three blocks to my own place. In its prime it was once a crappy brownstone, but now it was almost unlivable. Almost. At the side of the shitty building, in the alley was a door that one might miss at a first glance. It was covered with darkened boards that went over the door completely. A few locks were hidden by the wood. I slid my keys into each one, dipped under the boards and made my way inside.
It wasn’t much, but it was home. In one corner was my mattress, soft purple blankets and a bookshelf of a few all-time favorite books. A cheap lamp, a surprisingly decent dresser, a vanity mirror and desk filled with the pounds of makeup I used each night at the club. Along one wall was a simple kitchen, fridge, counter, sink, and a hot plate I used in place of an oven. It was rare that I ate much here, this place I really only used for two reasons. One was sleep. The other though, was my true passion—art.
In the only vacant corner sat dozens of canvases, some empty and others held a story of my mind that I couldn’t explain. There was nothing I loved more than painting, drawing, sculpting, and molding. When I danced, my mind shut off and everything faded away. When I picked up a paint brush however, the opposite happened. My deepest thoughts emerged. I wasn’t afraid to just be. It was freeing, safe, and completely cathartic.
On nights like these my first thoughts weren’t to eat or to sleep, they were to escape. Except I don’t escape into a fantasy of princes and princesses, white horses, or happily ever after’s. I escape into the truth of myself.
I stripped out of my clothes, replacing them with a white paint stained tank top, and splattered denim shorts. After I pulled my hair into a messy bun high on my head, I took hold of my toolbox that was home to all my paint supplies—for the time being at least. At the far end of my little home was a window that began the bottom of the fire escape. I shimmied out, climbed the escape to the roof, pausing every now and then to make sure people weren’t around to discover my secret.
I slipped my leg over the roof wall and found my true home. A paint stained tarp was stretched wide, held by random cinder blocks, an easel in place ready to hold my blank canvases. In the background was a breathtaking view of the moon, and city-light tainted night sky. This view, day or night, was always a marvelous display of the natural beauty of this place. It gives me an ultimate sense of peace to come up here, be alone, and not worry about some dickhead of a manager interrupting me. Under another tarp were a vast amount of blank canvases of all different shapes and sizes. I picked up one of the larger squared ones and set it atop my easel.
I pulled out my paints, and prepared my brushes for what was to come. In the cheap CD player I acquired over the years I slipped in the self-titled album, Beulah. Her incredibly haunting voice and beautiful lyrics were a favorite of mine. Not to mention, I did my best painting while her voice was in the background. One of my favorites began and after a deep breath, I let my mind and brush connect.
Shapes formed, colors swirled together, and I felt like my soul was dancing. The stresses of life I couldn’t control left my mind, and in its place was this moment. I controlled every stroke of my brush, every color that forever made its mark on my canvas. Some nights I only got part of a painting done before I just got stuck. If I couldn’t feel it, then I wouldn’t paint it. Tonight though I was finished in record time. In less than an hour I had set down my supplies and to
ok a step back to examine my work.
The painting was dark, running water from what looked like a stream flowed diagonally across the canvas. The water wasn’t deep though and the primary subject of focus was a countless number of beautiful little stones. That was when I really noticed that in each dark stone were layers and patterns of different colors. My jaw nearly dropped as I realized I had painted an endless array of onyx stones.
The next morning I woke up and the first thing I saw was my painting of the onyx stones that I left near the end of my bed. I fell asleep thinking of it, spent the night dreaming of it. Now here I am, my eyes have only just opened and already I am under its spell once again. Whatever happened last night at the club was something I needed to get out of my mind. Onyx was already occupying so much of my subconscious thought, it was almost making me ill.
I hated that I didn’t understand what was going on. Yet here I was, giving him every thought I had. Those dark smoldering eyes, the feel of his rough hands against my legs, our lips moving together. He intoxicated me with his smell, his touch, his taste, and now I felt a hangover over him. I wished I could call him, see him, just be near him. And quite frankly, all I knew about him was that his name was Onyx.
For some reason though, none of that seemed to matter. The rest of that morning while I bathed in my slow dripping shower, applied a light layer of makeup, and searched for something to wear—he was in my mind. I must have replayed the scenes from my last night in my head so much that I was convinced my brain was going to shut down in protest.
It didn’t take long for me to see that I had to do something to occupy my time in order to think clearly. I slipped on a pair of white shorts, a black lacy cleavage revealing tank top, and a pair of gold goddess style flip flops. After I slid my white headband into my hair I slung my hemp purse across my shoulders and headed out for the day.
It was a beautiful late July day in Venice Beach. Eighty degrees, sunny, with a refreshing ocean breeze flowing all around. This was the perfect day, allowing me to travel my journey by foot. I hadn’t bothered investing in a car, if I could walk, I did.
The first stop was a quaint little coffee shop. It was privately owned and never had the hustle and bustle of a coffee chain. I wasn’t a regular by any means but if I was in the mood for something hot—this was my place. The bell on the door chimed as I entered. In the cramped little space of the dining area the divine scent of coffee beans warmed my senses. I loved being in here and some days if I just needed to fill the silence I’d spend the entire day here. Listening to the conversations going on around me, and watching from a distance. It had been a while since my last visit though.
“Hey Andie, haven’t seen you for a while.”
The familiar male voice of one of the regular baristas, Cliff, pulled me from my thoughts. My lips twitched up in my version of a smile, not coming close to the wide grin from him.
“Yeah, I’ve been busy lately.”
“Hopefully you’re doing well.” He asked, never looking away from my face. I knew this was his attempt to flirt with me. Cliff had asked me out a couple times but I said no instantly. It should have been the end of it but he seemed to take that as me simply resisting attraction.
Not likely.
“Same old, same old.”
“Would you like your usual?”
“Please.”
“Coming right up.” He said with a wink as he shouted out my order out to be made.
I only got as far as lifting the flap on my bag before he reached out and touched my arm. As an instinct reaction I jerked my hand away, my heart rate sped and I looked into his face as if I was staring at an attacker. Cliff misread all the signs as me being swooned by his touch.
“That’s on the house, sweetheart.”
I couldn’t even say thanks as I walked away from the front counter. My hand pressed against the middle of my chest, focusing on my rapidly beating heart I closed my eyes. Whenever this happened there was only one thing that could calm me back down. Slowly, I began counting in my head at the pace my heart should be. It took a few moments longer than usual but soon I was back under control.
When I opened my eyes I realized that as terrifying as a reaction that was, it was still normal to me. So why was it that I never flinched away from Onyx’s touch? And why did I crave him still?
The second my drink was finished I turned on my heel and booked it towards the door. I had almost made it back into the breathable air when I heard my name. Cliff was running out with an unfailing grin on his face.
“I’ve been talking to the owners and we are all in agreement that we need more art. Do you have any new art pieces you’ve been working on? There’s no one else we’d rather have painting for us.”
“Actually, yes. I finished a piece last night.”
He clapped his hands together with a nod. “Great! Name your price!”
I drifted away from the conversation and thought back to the onyx stone painting sitting in my room. The sense of serenity I had while working on it washed over me in waves all over again.
“Actually, this one isn’t for sale.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry.”
He waved off my apology but closely scrutinized every inch of my face. “Oh no, don’t you be sorry about that. It is your art after all, but something tells me this is your best yet.”
I looked to him with a questioning stare. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, because you have never had that look on your face when you talked about a painting before.”
“What look?” Immediately I pulled my face into an emotionless expression. No one saw anything I didn’t want them to. Yet I had just given something away that was definitely unintended.
“That look that says there was some true inspiration behind it. For that reason, if you ever choose to sell it, I’ll pay any price. Sight unseen. I’d hate to let that go.”
I was beginning to realize that I would hate letting it go just as much as Cliff. I just wish I knew why.
I sipped my coffee as I made my way down to the boardwalk. Tourists were in fine form today. As soon as I spotted an open bench I took a seat, and let the people watching commence. Rollerbladers, joggers, families, teen girls wanting to be much older—Venice had it all. Being here provided hours of endless entertainment without keeping you locked up in the house all day. Not to mention all that Vitamin D was making it more enjoyable.
While in the middle of listening to a mother arguing with her daughter that couldn’t have been older than 13 I was distracted. At first I wasn’t sure what it was that took me from the moment, until I heard it again.
“Alexandria Hawkins.” A male voice called out from the direction my back was facing. My body froze, no one called me by my full name. Not only that, it was rare for someone to even know my last name at all these days.
My neck inched over my shoulder, expecting a man with a knife waiting patiently. Heavy footsteps drew closer and stopped directly behind me. All at once I whipped my body around to catch the man before he could manage doing anything.
In an instant my body went from fear to relief finally settling on shock. Staring at me with a bewildered expression in a plain tee and cargo shorts was Kayne. I recognized him right away since it was only last night that I saw him. What didn’t register in my brain though was how in the world did he know my real name?
“It is you!” He said, a smile breaking over his face.
I didn’t react, just stared up at him. Too many questions rolled through my mind that not a single one came out.
“Do you remember me?” The excitement in his voice felt extremely misplaced. Did he think that just because I stripped that I was too sloshed during the day to know which way was up?
“I just saw you last night.” My voice didn’t hide a single irritated syllable.
Kayne let out a wild laugh as if I was in the middle of a stand-up act. “No, no, I didn’t mean that. It’s me, Kayne Ram
sey!” He held out his arms, and I blinked. Nothing about that first and last name sounded familiar.
He shook his head smiling. “We went to the same high school together. You were a cheerleader for the football team!”
The wheels started turning, this typical preppy frat boy from the club was indeed an old classmate. The memories started flooding in. Kayne played football every year I cheered. Although we had the same general crowd of friends, we hardly ever spoke. Our little circle of people were different and it wasn’t until right now that I recognized him. My stomach was sinking quickly as it registered that for the first time someone knew me as both Kandi and Alexandria.
“Yeah, I remember now.”
Kayne’s smile grew wider than I figured was humanly possible. He plopped himself on the bench next to me shifting much closer than I was comfortable with.
“We even went to the same college for freshman year. We were in the same class, I kept meaning to say hi, but you always seemed preoccupied. Then you just disappeared after the summer.”
I looked away from his face and stared forward to the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean.
“I transferred.” My words were short and firm. I didn’t want to reminisce about old times, and I sure as hell didn’t want to answer questions about where I went. It was no one’s damn business but mine.
Crossing my arms over my chest and placing my leg over my thigh, I hoped Kayne quickly got the message. I wasn’t open to hanging out, or having a conversation for that matter. I wanted the silent peace of my bubble that I had been in before Kayne came out of nowhere and ruined it.
“Did you? Man that is a lot less colorful than the rumors that were going around at the time.” Kayne slung his arm along the back of the bench. Out of the corner of my eye I watched his head shake back and forth as if he was hearing those rumors all over again.