by Carrie Duffy
“For me also.”
Gilles turned back to the table, as CeCe looked up at Dionne. She was scanning the room, checking out who was there. Suddenly she stopped dead, her mouth falling open, her breath coming fast. CeCe could see her chest rising and falling in the low cut dress.
“Honey, who’s that guy over there? Do you know him?”
CeCe followed her gaze across the room, to where an incredibly handsome guy with black skin and close-cropped dark hair was chatting with his friends. He was dressed in a slate-coloured shirt and black trousers, his powerful arms and broad chest showing he was no stranger to the gym.
CeCe shook her head. “No, why?” she asked innocently, although she knew exactly why Dionne was asking. She recognised that spark in her eyes, the way her face lit up with desire.
“Because he is the hottest guy I have ever seen in my life! Boo, I think I’m in love,” Dionne gushed, positively glowing with excitement. “Come to mama!”
***
Javier’s friends were a cool, laid-back crowd, just like him. They’d arrived en masse, commandeering a table, and now they were all drinking and laughing. Alyson could feel her natural shyness returning, but Javier took care to introduce her to everyone.
They were speaking in French, which was great practice for Alyson, but with the music so loud it was hard to follow the conversation. Somehow, she’d become separated from Javier. He was across the table, and she was sandwiched between two of his friends, both of which were talking to the person on their other side. For the hundredth time that evening, Alyson found herself wishing that she knew what to say to people, that she could chat easily to complete strangers the way everyone else seemed able to.
Instead, she stared round the club, absorbing everything that was happening. If she was being honest, she couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. It felt depressingly like a cattle market, with women lining up along the bar, pouting and preening, trying to spark the interest of the richest looking men. Beside their table, people were dancing with wild abandon, bodies rolling, hips grinding.
Across the circle, Javier caught her eye.
“You okay?” he mouthed, looking concerned.
Alyson nodded. He’d been so good to her, bringing her out with his friends and making an effort to include her. It wasn’t his fault that she was such a social failure.
She turned to the girl beside her, a pretty, delicate redhead whose petite frame made Alyson feel like a giant. “Do you know where the bathroom is?” she asked in French.
“Sure,” the girl replied. “Head across the dance floor, and it’s to the right of the DJ booth.”
“Thanks.” Alyson stood up, smoothing down her skirt. She smiled at Javier, to reassure him that she was fine, then made her way into the writhing mass of people.
***
David Mouret was having a great evening. The club was cool, his friends were having a good time, and he was pleasantly drunk. At twenty-nine years old, he was already phenomenally successful, running a lucrative car-hire firm that specialised in providing luxury vehicles to a discerning clientele. The business had made him rich, and he enjoyed his wealth. He came from a tough background in Saint-Denis, and appreciated the position he’d risen to. All the same, he believed life was for living, and wasn’t averse to spending his cash in order to enjoy himself.
And tonight, it looked like his night was about to get even better. A stunning woman had just walked into the VIP lounge. He’d seen her as soon as she came in – then again, it was impossible not to notice her. Every head had turned when she glided up the stairs, the men staring, slack-jawed. It wasn’t just the dress she was wearing – some incredible silver creation that caught the light as she moved and clung to every curve of that insane figure. She seemed to illuminate the room as she walked in, a presence radiating from her that was captivating.
David was fascinated, and he felt his competitive side flare up. Every man in the room wanted her, but he was going to have her. Then she turned round and they locked eyes, and he knew instantly that she was thinking the same thing. The chemistry crackled between them, sparking across the room. He watched her lean down and speak to her friend, never taking her eyes off him the whole time. Then she smiled at him, and began walking over.
***
“CeCe, I need to speak with you.”
CeCe looked up with hazy eyes from where she was lounging on the white leather sofas. “Hi Levi,” she grinned, lazily. Levi was one of the first people she’d met when she arrived in Paris, and it felt like they’d been friends forever. He was in his forties and rather unfortunate-looking. Short and balding, with thick, black-rimmed spectacles and a badly-fitting suit, he resembled a French Woody Allen – although he was probably twice as rich, and correctly believed that the stunning blondes who hung around him in the clubs weren’t after him for his body. He’d always had a soft spot for CeCe as she was completely real with him, but she’d made it clear on more than one occasion that there was no way in hell she would ever sleep with him. “Yeah? What about?”
His pale face was sombre as he sat down beside her. “I’ve written a poem for you. I need you to hear it.”
“Aw, Levi, that’s sweet.” Her words were slurred. “Go right ahead.”
He shrugged sadly. “The poem isn’t here. It’s in my apartment.”
CeCe burst out laughing. “Nice try, Levi.”
“No, I’m serious.” He looked hurt. “It was a beautiful poem. Heartfelt. I wrote it for you. You’re looking beautiful tonight, as ever.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it.” He looked her up and down. “That’s a nice outfit. Is it … retro?”
CeCe smiled. Levi was as clueless about fashion as he was about women. “Something like that.”
She let her head loll back against the seat, staring blankly round the VIP area. Then her gaze focused on a couple across the room and her smile quickly faded. It was Dionne, flirting heavily with that guy, the one she seemed besotted with. Dionne didn’t believe in subtlety, and CeCe supposed she had to admire her forthright approach. As she watched, Dionne laid a hand on the guy’s arm, then burst out laughing at something he’d said. Rule Number One in the handbook of ‘How To Flirt’, CeCe thought cynically, but the guy was lapping it up. He seemed utterly entranced, hanging off her every word.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Levi asked solicitously, seeing the expression on CeCe’s face.
“Nothing,” she replied sulkily.
Levi reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bag of fine, white crystals. “Here,” he told her. “Have some of this. It’ll make you feel better.”
CeCe smiled gratefully, licking her finger and dabbing it in the crystals. Then she put her finger in her mouth and sucked.
7
Alyson locked the toilet door and sat down, letting her head fall into her hands. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself, but all she could hear were the women outside chattering in loud, excitable French, and the relentless beat from the music pounding against her skull. Even the light was strange in here: uncomfortably bright and unnatural. She felt drunk, although she hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol – well, other than the vodka orange Javier had tried to give her – but her head was swimming, and she felt exhausted with the effort of just trying to keep up.
Javier’s friends were sweet, and he was wonderful, but it had been a mistake coming here, she could see that now. She looked down at her skirt rolled up above her knees, the blouse that had been unbuttoned to show off her non-existent cleavage. This wasn’t who she was. And she had a feeling that everyone else could see it too.
She’d tried. She could be proud of herself for that. But now it was time to go home.
Alyson got to her feet and unlocked the cubicle door, paying no attention to the gaggle of model-like women clustered around the mirror. Javier had told her she was beautiful earlier tonight – what a bloody joke that was. She looked nothing like these girls, and she didn’t have the fi
rst clue how to go about getting their immaculate, ultra-groomed appearance.
No, she was totally out of her depth here. She would find Javier, thank him for a great evening, then call it a night. If she hurried, she might still make the last metro.
***
CeCe was sprawled on the white leather sofas in the VIP lounge, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. Levi was nowhere to be seen, and she felt totally fucked up. Everything seemed to be happening at different speeds – whenever she tried to speak, it came out in slow-motion, like she was underwater, while all around people seemed to be moving fast, voices and laughter reverberating inside her head.
She felt totally detached from everything she was watching, as though the party was happening without her and she was just an onlooker. It felt like a metaphor for her life – like everyone else could fall in love and have an amazing career, while she was just a pathetic failure.
Man, she was feeling weird tonight. Totally emotional. Maybe it was the drugs. God knew what she’d taken – she’d helped herself to anything she was offered. Tonight, she just wanted to get off her face, to sink into oblivion and forget everything. CeCe knew it was a bad idea. As a teenager she’d battled depression; all in all, she’d had a pretty shit time back then. Maybe screwing around with the chemicals in her brain wasn’t the most sensible thing to do, but at times like this it seemed to be the only option.
She swivelled round in her seat, facing the pane of glass that looked down onto the dance floor below. Pressing her hands up against it, like a mime artist trapped in a box, she stared down at the crowd, her hazel eyes wide and vacant. People were dancing, a giant mass of movement, while the coloured lights reflecting off the floor made her feel as though she was lost inside a kaleidoscope. Out of nowhere, CeCe felt a wave of burning hatred for every single person down there – all happy and successful and having a blast, when all she could do was sit up here and watch, like an uninvited party guest. They all looked the same, every single one, with their perfect faces and designer outfits. Where was the fucking originality? CeCe wanted to scream.
And then she saw her.
There was a girl on her own, trying to push through the crowds. She was immediately noticeable by how out of place she looked, sheer terror written all over her face as she made her way across the dance floor, avoiding thrashing limbs and unwelcome advances. She was dressed like she’d just come from the office, and her skin was pale as alabaster. She was tall and skinny, her face devoid of make-up. CeCe thought she might be the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen.
She reached out a hand, as though to touch her, but her fingers came up against the cold, hard glass. It was as if nothing was real, as though everything on the other side of the glass was an illusion.
CeCe stared back at the girl, instantly finding her again in the crowd. She looked so ill at ease that CeCe longed to comfort her. Yes, CeCe thought, staggering to her feet. That was what she needed to do. She would go find the mysterious girl, and she would rescue her. Wobbling dangerously, her eyes barely focusing, CeCe made her way down the stairs.
***
The dance floor seemed to have got ten times busier while Alyson was in the toilets. The place was packed, wall to wall with sweaty, writhing bodies crammed against each together. Startled, she ducked a flailing arm – the guy was dancing like an idiot, trying to impress some girl, and paying no attention to what was going on around him. Alyson could feel the panic rising in her chest, suffocated by the overwhelming sensation of being trapped. She hated it here.
She jumped in shock, as someone slopped a drink over her. It stained her new tan skirt, but whoever it was didn’t apologise – they didn’t even seem to notice. Keep moving, she told herself. All that mattered was finding Javier. Suddenly her path was blocked, and she felt hands on her body. Was she imagining it? No, it definitely wasn’t an accident. Someone was groping her buttocks, trying to put their hands up her skirt. She span round furiously, but the place was so crammed it was impossible to tell who was responsible. All she wanted was to get away.
Then a hand clutched her arm and she turned gratefully. Javier! But it wasn’t him – it was some freaky girl with blue hair and—
Alyson flashed back to the scene outside the club – the two girls getting out of the taxi. This was one of them. She couldn’t see the other, the tall one who’d been wearing the sensational dress.
The girl was still clinging onto her arm, looking up at her with huge, vacant eyes and mumbling incoherently. Alyson couldn’t tell if she was speaking French or English, but she didn’t intend to hang around and find out.
“Get off me!” Alyson yelled, horrified. She wrenched her arm away and ran, forcing her way through the crowd, not caring who she shoved or elbowed. Panic was spreading through her veins, her eyes filling with tears, as she finally pushed through to the area where she’d left Javier and his friends.
They were gone. Their seats were unoccupied, just empty drinks glasses left on the table.
Shit. Alyson span round, looking for anyone she knew, but the place was a sea of faces and she didn’t recognise any of them.
There was a staircase nearby – maybe they’d gone up there? She moved towards it, but a man stopped her.
“I’m looking for my friend,” she tried to explain. Her brain seemed to have gone dead, as she fumbled for the French words. “Mon ami … je cherche mon ami …”
The bouncer smiled, shaking his head. He’d heard all the stories, but that was pretty unoriginal. Yes, the girl was stunning, but he wasn’t letting her into the VIP area.
Tears began to spill down Alyson’s cheeks and she swiped them away angrily. What the hell was wrong with these people? Why did there have to be rules for this and rules for that, petty decisions about who was allowed in certain areas?
Well, she’d had enough. She’d had her nightclub experience, and now she needed to get the hell out of here.
***
Up in VIP, Dionne was pressed tightly against the taut, muscular body of David Mouret, his lips crushing down on hers, hands exploring wildly. She felt like a schoolgirl – giddy with longing and horny as hell. Her body was singing; an intense ache deep in her groin that she knew could only be satisfied by one thing.
They were still on the banquette seats in full view of everyone, but to Dionne, it was as though the rest of the club had vanished. She didn’t care what she did, or who saw. All she knew was that her body was calling for this man, and she wasn’t going to deny herself.
“Dionne …” David groaned softly, as she gently ran the tip of her tongue around the underside of his upper lip, letting one hand trail over his crotch. He was already hard, and the thought excited her. This was what men wanted, right? This was the way to make them like her, to make them love her.
She sat up, her eyes dancing. Her hair was wild, her make-up gone. “Let’s get out of here,” she told him, her breath coming fast, her pupils dilated. “Now.”
David didn’t need to be told twice.
***
CeCe was dancing crazily, tears streaming down her face, but no one paid any attention. CeCe didn’t care. She just wanted to keep dancing, to stay locked inside her own world until the pain stopped. She’d found the girl and tried to explain how she felt, but she hadn’t listened. She’d rejected her then disappeared, and CeCe had lost her in the crowd.
Suddenly, she felt someone grab her wrists, calling her name. CeCe opened her eyes and stopped dancing; it took a few seconds for her to focus.
“Levi?” she asked. Her voice sounded weird.
“CeCe, chérie, what’s wrong?”
CeCe looked at him. His brow was sweating, and his glasses had steamed up. She let out a peal of manic laughter, then burst into fresh tears, burying her head in his shoulder. Jesus, she was a hysterical mess. Tomorrow was going to be one hell of a comedown.
Levi cradled her in his arms, shushing her gently – a thoughtful gesture that was completely ineffective over the thump
ing music. Around them, everyone carried on dancing, partying, celebrating.
“Come on, chérie. Let’s get you out of here.”
Levi wrapped his arms around her and guided her towards the stairs.
***
Alyson had almost reached the exit when she heard Javier calling her name.
“Alyson! Where are you going?”
“Where were you?” she demanded, visibly shaken. “I came back and you’d gone.”
He held open his hands apologetically. “I’m sorry – they told us that to keep the table we must pay a hundred euros.” He shook his head. “It’s crazy. Alyson, I’m so sorry. I came to look for you, but I couldn’t see you.”
Alyson softened, just a fraction. He looked genuinely apologetic, concern for her etched on his face.
“Look, Javier,” she began, stepping towards him. “Thanks for a great night. Your friends are lovely but … it’s just not me,” she said helplessly, gesturing at the scene around them. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“Let me come back with you,” he suggested. “It’s late – you shouldn’t be on your own. I’ll just tell my friends I’m leaving and—”
“I’m fine, honestly,” Alyson cut him off. “If I leave now, I can make the last train. It’s not far to the station.”
Javier looked at her, those dark eyes full of remorse. Everything about him made it clear he wanted her to stay.
“You’re sure you want to go?”
Slowly, Alyson nodded her head.
“At least let me walk you to the metro.”
“Okay,” Alyson agreed. They walked up the steps together, heading out into the cool night air. Alyson shivered, wrapping her arms around her. The queue had died down, and when they’d gone a few paces from the building, Javier stopped. Alyson looked up at him in confusion.
“You’re freezing,” he told her. “Come here.” He drew her closer and Alyson could feel the sheer bulk of him; the strength in his arms, and the solidity of his chest. He was so tall that he towered above her by a good few inches, her chin coming up to his shoulder. The heat from his body was deliciously warm, and she could feel her skin tingling in response.