Rhythm and Blu

by Jennings, S. L.

  There’s something to be said about that moment when the rhythm slips inside you and sinks its hooks into your soul. Hands in the air, eyes closed, hips swaying and dipping to the groove, I am merely a marionette to the music. A slave to the riffs and melodies that flow through my veins like the liquor sloshing in my cup. This feeling…it’s like a drug to me. I am weightless, boundless. A speck of glitter floating amidst a humid, smoke-veiled universe where each star is a dazzling note that ignites my soul with brilliant beams of rainbow light.

  I’m so wrapped up in the moment that I don’t even notice when our little party of two becomes a party of four. However, Haze is already welcoming the intruders—erm—newcomers back to our table. She turns to introduce me to her new friends just as I finish off what’s left in my glass and attempt to flag down a cocktail waitress for a refill.

  “Rox, this is Dane and Kaz. Guys, this is my girl, my ace, my bottom bitch, Rox Lee.”

  I flash a nervous grin and extend a palm, anxious to get the awkward intros over with and return to the carefree oblivion of booming basslines. But Haze gives me that look…that look that tells me that her dress has lived up to its promise of getting dickmatized tonight, so being anything but hyperaware is out of the question. I should have known the moment I spotted them. Dane is right up her alley. Tall, dark, and tatted up, with enough labels on his body to give Haze a fashion boner. He has skin the color of sunbaked sand and his eyes appear to be clear blue, almost gray under the strobe lights. He reminds me of Jeremy Meeks, the Fine Felon whose mug shot went viral after he was arrested. He’s pretty, that’s for damn sure. A little too pretty for my taste but judging by the way he’s sizing up my roommate, he’s already spoken for.

  “What are you drinking?” the other guy, Kaz, asks. He’s as tall as his friend, a little less muscular, and is much more conservative in denim and a black Henley with the sleeves rolled up to showcase tan, chiseled forearms. He’s got a baby face, clean-shaven, and his golden- brown hair is messily styled, but probably cost few bills to achieve its perfect waywardness. I’ll never understand the notion of paying good money to look like you didn’t do a damn thing other than roll out of bed and rake a hand through your hair, but I have to admit, it looks good on him.

  While Kaz is admittedly neither broke nor ugly, I should have specified that I wasn’t down with playing babysitter to any friend, scrub or otherwise. I have no doubt in my mind that Haze knew that these guys would be here tonight. She looks way too cozy with Dane while tucked under his arm, close enough to his lips that she could probably taste what he had for lunch.

  I hold up my empty glass and shake it, the sharp tinkling of the melting ice cubes cutting into the mellow groove the DJ throws on next. “Nothing now. But…vodka.”

  “We’ll have to do something about that.”

  Kaz signals the female server, who hurriedly comes over donning a wide grin paired with what I can only describe as a starry-eyed gaze. Her interest is obvious, but Kaz is all business when he orders a bottle of top-shelf vodka and all the appropriate mixers. The cocktail waitress nods and smiles in response, then in a much too obvious way that verges on desperate, straightens her back to make her perky tits even more noticeable in her low cut, midriff-baring tee. However, Kaz politely thanks her and turns his attention back to me. Nice of him, but not necessary.

  “So, Rox Lee, what brings you out tonight?”

  “My funeral.” He lifts a brow, perplexed as expected, so I tack on, “I got the job of a lifetime, which is ironic, considering it’ll kill me.”

  “Sooo…I’m guessing you’re a lion tamer? Snake charmer?”

  I shake my head and sigh. “Writer.”

  “Huh. Didn’t know words could be hazardous to your health.”

  “Yeah, definitely. Ever get a papercut? Tragic.”

  “Oh, the horror. And I bet carpal tunnel is a bitch.”

  He laughs, and I notice that he has a gorgeous smile, complete with dazzling white, straight teeth and sensual, full lips. Ok, definitely not the broke, ugly friend.

  The waitress brings over our bottle of booze and fresh glasses, and before I can go in for a refill, Kaz begins to fill two glasses. He hands me one and holds his own towards me for a toast.

  “To a beautiful funeral for a beautiful woman.”

  I nearly choke on a laugh.

  “What?” Kaz asks, an alluring smirk gracing his lips.

  I shake my head. “Dude, that was…lame as hell.”

  “Too much?”

  “Hell yes.” I pretend to flag down the waitress and call out, “Excuse me, can we get some wine with all this damn cheese?”

  Kaz laughs again, and I find myself just as tickled and feeling less awkward about being obligated to entertain a complete stranger so Haze can get her mack on. And after a few more drinks, I find that I’m really enjoying Kaz’s company and am not at all thinking about the fate that looms just beyond the dawn.

  That is, until the DJ cuts the music to make a special announcement. Consider it my eulogy.

  “Aw, shit!” he hollers into the mic. “We gotta special guest in the building! Ya boy has returned home! Riot Bluuuuuu!”

  On that cue, the DJ puts on Riot’s biggest club hit from his last album, Shades of Blu, but it’s completely drowned out by the raucous cheers and screams from fans storming the dancefloor.

  I can’t do this. I can’t. I knew I would have to face him, but I thought I had one more night before it all came crashing down…one more night to prepare myself to confront the person I had vowed to never speak to again. He’s already stolen so much from me already, yet I can’t escape him. He’s on my television, on the radio, in every fucking magazine that I flip open. I can’t even have one last night before Riot Blu intrudes on my life, only to leave it in ruins once more?

  This is bullshit.

  “Huh? What was that?”

  I don’t even realize I’ve said that last thought aloud, so I shake my head. “Nothing. I gotta go.”

  Kaz looks confused and turns towards the stage, and I imagine he spies the person that’s currently invoking my overwhelming urge to crawl out of my skin. I’m not certain because I refuse to even look in that direction.

  “Rox!” I don’t even notice that Haze has mustered the strength to tear herself away from her new boo. She grasps my shoulders and all but pulls me into her bosom. “I swear, I didn’t know. You ok?”

  I nod, but follow with, “I need to get out of here.”

  I try to step away, but end up stumbling on my own heels, right into Kaz’s chest. My head is foggy, and I’m not sure if it’s from the vodka or the fact that I’ve just been battered with a past I’ve worked over a decade to keep buried.

  “I’ll get her home,” he pipes up. Haze and I both shoot him an unforgiving glare, prompting him to raise his palms as a sign of innocence. “That’s all, I promise. The Square is about to be crazy once everyone finds out who’s here. Neither one of y’all should be rolling alone.”

  Haze looks at me. “I can come with you now if you want. Just say the word.” I know she means it, but I also know she doesn’t want to leave. I can’t ruin her night, especially since it took an act of God and a jar of Vaseline to squeeze her into that dress. And just because my love life is pretty much bankrupt, that doesn’t mean I should deprive her of a little momentary bliss.

  I kiss her on the cheek and muster a smile. “Have fun, girl. I’m good.” I peer over to Kaz who pretends to not eavesdrop. “I’ll be fine.”

  I follow up by simply touching the bridge of my nose, which Haze mimics. It’s been our unspoken signal since high school house parties, telling the other to stay alert, and if need be, use the pepper spray tucked in each of our purses.

  Honestly, I can’t get out of there fast enough, and I can tell Kaz is surprised by the way I power walk through the crowd to the exit. The crisp night air tastes of sea salt and impending rain, and I suck in as much as my lungs can take, hoping to sober myself.


  “Damn, girl. Not a Riot Blu fan?”

  I shake my head without looking up and pull out my phone to call a Lyft. “You could say that.” I start walking towards a well-lit area towards the street.

  “I’m surprised,” Kaz remarks, following closely beside me, yet trying not to come off as intrusive. “Most women love him.”

  “Don’t believe the hype. This woman definitely doesn’t.”

  Head down and preoccupied with summoning my ride, I lose my footing on the ridiculous heels Haze insisted I wear to complete my ensemble of tight ripped jeans, lacey black bra top, and coordinating lightweight blazer, which sends my cell flying from my fingertips. Kaz plucks it out of the air before it collides with the pavement while also catching my forearm before I do the same. Clearly, he’s some kinda circus freak with octopus arms and can handle his liquor much better than me.

  “Thanks,” I mutter. He hands me my phone then pulls out his.

  “What’s your address?”

  “For what?” I snap.

  Noting my tone, he peers down at me, his expression pinched. “For your ride. They need to know where we’re going.”

  “We’re?”

  “I told your roommate that I’d get you home, and I meant it. I’m not leaving your side until I know you’re safe.”

  Too tipsy to argue, and admittedly a little touched by the chivalry, I tell him. In the few minutes it takes for our ride to arrive, I learn that Kaz is an only child, originally from Colorado, and a Pisces. Over the short car ride, I tell him that I have an older brother who serves as a doctor in the military, grew up in Redmond, and am a Virgo. By the time we pull up to my apartment building, I decide that he’s cool. At least cool enough for me to invite him up for coffee.

  I throw on a chill R&B playlist and go to prepare our hot brew while Kaz checks out the cluttered shelves of books and music.

  “Holy shit. You still have CDs?” he calls out, his tone touched with mirth. “Do they even manufacture CD players anymore?”

  I grab our mugs and make my way over to where he’s inspecting my coveted collection. “Hell if I know. I’ve had the same stereo since ’98.”

  “You’re kidding.” His eyes are wide as he takes the offered drink.

  I shake my head. “No bullshit. Sure, I’m a big fan of modern technology and all; I’m not a dinosaur. But there’s nothing like opening that CD jacket, reading the lyrics and discography, and remembering the excitement of hearing the new Jodeci or SWV or 112 for the very first time. Then playing it on repeat until every lyric feels like it was dedicated especially to you. And just like that, you’re thirteen again, transported to your very first dance, and the way your date’s hands felt on your body as you rocked and swayed to a slow jam. You relive those butterflies, those sweaty palms and the exhilaration of falling in love. Music is memories. And these are my photo album.”

  I don’t even realize I’ve let my eyes fluttered closed until I open them and find Kaz staring down at me, the look on his face so thoughtful yet intense.

  “That’s…” he begins, his tone raw. “That’s fucking beautiful.”

  I don’t know if it’s the vodka, or the quick trip down memory lane, or knowing that after tonight, my entire life will forever be altered, but I respond, “I think you’re fucking beautiful too.”

  And as his hand snakes around my waist to pull me closer into his body and his mouth covers mine so his tongue can lick silent questions and taste my responses, I know that it’s a combination of all three.

  THERE’S A FUCKING CAR ALARM blaring inside my skull, yet it sounds oddly similar to my ringtone. The ringtone that belongs to the phone I can’t find. The phone I can’t find because every time I attempt to move or even peel open my eyelids, a stampede of baby rhinos Cupid Shuffle from temple to temple.

  Fuck. Me.

  What did I do?

  I don’t need to do a body check to know that my pants are missing, which probably means my bra and panties are too. Great. A hangover and a messy hookup with some guy I just met. And where the hell is my phone?

  I dare to open an eye and bite through the ache that rips through my head. Surprisingly, the space beside me on the bed is empty. Hallelujah for small miracles. Drunken one-nighters are bad enough. The awkward morning after thing is damn near unbearable.

  I manage to move my limbs enough to feel around for my phone, which stops ringing, only to resume seconds later as if the caller really, really needs to get in touch with me. Shit! Bari told me he’d hit me up with the Riot Blu interview details today. But more than that, Haze could be stranded somewhere and need me. I shoot out of bed with a renewed fire under my ass, squinting against the throbbing in my sockets, and rummage through the blankets and last night’s strewn clothing.

  “Hello?” I croak into the receiver the second I snatch it from its hiding place under my bra.

  “Rox, are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  “Shit, I’m sorry, Bari. I couldn’t find my phone. I’ve been searching for it since early this morning,” I lie.

  “Never mind that. Your first meeting got moved up to this morning.”

  “This morning?” I’m instantly sober.

  “Yeah. His camp had a scheduling conflict and needs to get started right away. Jot down this address.”

  I grab a pen and the closest scrap of paper I can find, which funnily enough, is a receipt for condoms. Definitely not mine. “I’m listening.”

  Bari prattles off the address, but before I can even record a single letter or digit, the pen tumbles from my grip. “Wait. Where am I meeting him?”

  “His home.”

  “His home? He’s not staying at a hotel?” I was expecting a quick interview in the restaurant at Loews or the Four Seasons. Some place nice and public, yet tucked away from paparazzi.

  “Nope. He bought a spot weeks ago, and just moved in. How did you not know this?”

  Because I’d rather gnaw off my arm than occupy my thoughts with where Riot Blu lays his head.

  “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

  “Well, get your game face on, Lee. They’re expecting you in half an hour.”

  I glance over at the numbers illuminated on my digital clock display and curse.

  “Don’t be late,” Bari commands. “Remember: this story could make or break your entire career.”

  We hang up and I jolt into action, sprinting to my closet and damn near tripping over my discarded clothes and shoes. I’m in such a hurry that I almost miss the little scrap of folded paper sitting on my dresser, marked with unfamiliar handwriting.

  Rox,

  Last night was great, and I wish I could have stayed. Early morning grind. I want to see you again, sooner than later. Call me.

  Kaz

  His number is scrawled under his name, but I don’t have time to save it in my phone, let alone call him. My focus is entirely singular right now: I’m about to see Riot for the first time in over ten years.

  I once believed that nothing could fracture what we had. He wasn’t just the boy next door, he was my first kiss, my first love, my first everything. There was nothing on this earth that I wouldn’t have done for him, including defy my parents to be with him. And I did…more than he could ever know.

  Still, he left me.

  No goodbye. No note. Not even a phone call.

  It was so easy for him too, as if those precious firsts I had surrendered to him had meant absolutely nothing. And being a young fool in love, I even tried to rationalize his disappearing act. He had left me behind to become a star. So I did what I thought was best for the boy who had left his mark on my soul and his music in my heart. I kept our secret so he could shine.

  That was easier to do when my only access to him was in the form of MTV appearances and radio interviews. When the loneliness became too much to bear, I had to accept that my Riot was gone. Maybe he was never really mine at all.

  I don’t know how I pull it off, but I manage to shower, dress, slap on some conce
aler and mascara, and run a brush through my hair in eighteen minutes flat. Normally, I’d call a ride, but by the time it arrived, I’d lose a good five minutes. Then we’d be battling traffic and detours from endless construction. I can hear Bari’s bitchin’ now.

  I set out on foot, weaving through the morning crowd as quickly as my short legs will take me. Halfway to 2nd Street, I try to recall if I put on deodorant, since the balmy Seattle summer coupled with my nerves are making for a very swampy situation. This is so not what I need right now, and definitely not how I wanted to present myself on such a huge assignment. Bad enough I’m hungover and my hair probably looks like I was caught in a wind tunnel with all this humidity. And while I’ll only admit it to myself, I’d planned to look damn good the first time I came face to face with Riot Blu. Let him see how I’ve grown up and all that I’ve accomplished without him. Then let him be the one to sweat as he watched me walk away.

  But you know what they say when you make plans. God has a sick sense of humor, it seems.

  The tower on 2nd that houses some of the most luxurious (i.e., expensive) condos in the city looms before me, and I dash to the door with only seconds to spare. The doorman peers at me skeptically.

  “I’m a writer for The Seattle Tea, with an appointment to see Mr. Blu,” I blurt, trying desperately to contain my panting and not sweat all over his shiny, black dress shoes. “He should be expecting me.” I even whip out my press ID to show him I’m legit, despite my disheveled appearance.

  The door attendant offers a polite smile before turning to pick up a phone stationed on a small podium. He confirms my claim in a hushed tone then turns to me and says, “You’re all set.”

  I follow him to the elevator where he punches in a secret code to grant me access to the penthouse. Before the elevator doors close, I extend my palm.

  “Thank you…?”