by Dee Palmer
“Since when do you ever turn down free drinks from hot men?” Alcohol infuses my judgmental tone. It appears this latest ‘out of character’ act is the last straw. A silent standoff, heavy with accusation ensues. I just want to know why. We lock eyes, and I can almost see the cogs turn. She’s wavering, and all I want is the truth; is that so hard? She opens her mouth, and I suck in a sharp breath filled with trepidation. This is it. I hear the words, and my shoulders drop.
“You’re right, I don’t. Then tell them thanks.” She takes one of the cocktails and downs it in one classy gulp.
“Still want to dance?” She pushes herself away from the booth and tips her head toward the dance floor.
“Sure.” I can’t hide my disappointment. Why didn’t she take that perfect opportunity to just tell me? I follow her down the sweeping staircase, lightly linking fingers and hoping actions speak louder than words. Because, at the moment, this Hollywood film feels more like a silent movie.
The dance floor is heaving and yet pleasantly respectful of everyone’s personal space, busy, but no ‘accidental’ touching, gratuitous grinding, or dry humping. I guess there are enough alcoves and dark corners for doing dark deeds that only an exhibitionist would enjoy this spotlight.
Still, there’s always one.
“If you put your hand on my ass one more time, I’m going to break every bone in your upper body, understand?” Hope snatches the man’s hand and grips it like a vice. His eyes widen, and even over the head-pounding music, I think I hear his bones crunch. She lets him go with a forceful push. He looks more shocked than angry, says something in a language I don’t recognise and walks away.
“Hope, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, just…it doesn’t matter.” Pushing out the world’s heaviest sigh, I take her hand and lead her off the dance floor.
“Come on, let’s go back to the booth.”
“Yeah.”
There’s a fresh jug of ice water and I pour us both a glass. She sips the drink slowly, downing half the glass before speaking.
“He was very cute.” I know I’m pushing, but I’m getting to the stage where I’m so confused, it’s beyond frustrating. I don’t know why she just won’t tell me.
“He was.” Her lips couldn’t be any thinner or her smile less genuine.
“Totally your type.”
“Again, not wrong.” Another sip and flat response. Fuck it, I’m going to just ask.
“So what gives Hope? Do you love—”
“Ladies, do you mind if we join you?” The two gentlemen from earlier approach us. They look like they are related, brothers, maybe, and the one speaking confidently slides into the booth.
“I’m married, she’s not.” I blurt. The other man sits beside the first, and they both smile at my comment.
“Congratulations. I wasn’t looking for that type of commitment this evening. I was hoping for a little conversation. I guess the night is still young.” His smooth Italian accent goes perfectly with the charm that rolls off his handsome features in sizeable waves.
“Sorry. I just thought it best to be up front. Honesty is always the best policy.” I aim my pointed remark toward my friend, and she either misses the inference or chooses to ignore it.
“Unless you’re a liar by trade,” he replies.
“Hardly likely to have that on your business card, though, are you?” I counter.
“Very true. May we get you another drink?”
He raises his hand for the waitress when Hope turns to me and not so quietly asks, “Can we go?”
“Really?” My surprise is battling with my confusion and pulling my facial expressions this way and that. She leans closer so our conversation isn’t overheard.
“Not necessarily home, it’s just I’m not feeling this place.”
“Hot, handsome guys throwing cash around like there’s no tomorrow, sure, it stinks.”
“Why are you so set on fixing me up, Finn? I’ve made it pretty clear I’m not interested.” There’s a glassiness to her eyes, and I get a punch of guilt to my chest that she’s right. I said I wouldn’t play games and that’s exactly what I’m doing.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything. It’s fine. Of course we can go.”
“You are going?” The man says just as Flick and the others return to the table.
“Going? Please don’t say we’re leaving already.” Alison pleads, and it’s clearly the consensus judging by the sudden downturn of all the smiles facing us.
“Not going home, just going to try someplace else,” Hope announces.
“How about we go to Divas? It’s a drag club downtown. It’s always a fun night.” Flick offers, and I look over to Hope.
“A drag club. Yeah, I could go for that.” She smiles at me, and after I politely shoo the handsome and somewhat confused men away, I fetch my phone out from my bag and pull up Google maps.
“Whereabouts downtown?” I don’t really know LA, but I do know some of the names of some of the dodgier areas, and I’m just betting Divas is slap bang in the middle.
“Oh, wait, you’re not going to be allowed to go, are you? I bet the driver is under strict instructions to have you home and tucked up by two or something,” Flick goads, and I know I shouldn’t rise, but after just scanning twenty-three messages of nothing and a few hundred missed calls from Charge, I’m riled enough to want to break a few rules.
“Leave it with me.” I grab Hope’s hand, and we make our way to the front of the club, my mind racing. The queue outside has gotten a lot longer, and there are some very disgruntled-looking partygoers that give me the perfect idea.
“Hey, there, hello, are you girls celebrating?” The group of ladies clad in pink satin mini dresses with feather boas and angel wings stand out in the long line as the most likely candidates to buy what I’m selling. As cute as their uniform is, there is no way they will be getting into W dressed like that.
“It’s Sandy’s bachelorette, but this queue hasn’t moved in, like, forever. It doesn’t look like we’re ever getting in here,” one of the party pipes up, and the others all look equally optimistic.
“They have a really strict dress code, too, I’m afraid.” More rain on their parade but needs must…
“Oh, man, Chirssy, you were supposed to check that. That’s our night ruined.” Sandy starts to well up.
“How would you all like a limo ride anywhere you want to go? You could even just ride round the city drinking the bar dry, if you like.”
“What? Is this a trick?” Sandy narrows her eyes, and the thick, fake lashes mesh together and hide her pupils completely.
“It really isn’t. I have a limo all night, and we’re heading home, it seems a waste to not use it. It’s free and yours, if you want it.”
“Cool.” Sandy claps her hands together like a demented seal pup.
“This could be a sex trafficking thing, Sandy.” Chrissy seems concerned; however, Sandy shucks out of her hold, and I try to ease Chrissy’s sensible warning.
“It could, but it isn’t. Here’s my ID, call your parents and give them the license plate, if you like. All I ask is that you don’t tell the driver. If he asks for me, I’m Finn by the way, just be evasive, but tell him I’m still in the car. If you tell him I’m not there, the trip will end real quick, understand?”
“Sure, it’s not like we’re going to get in here anytime soon.”
“That’s the spirit.” They all step out of the line and follow me to the side of the club where I make the call.
“Hi, Martinez. Can you bring the car round?”
“Are you done already?” Is everything all right? Are you okay?” Charge must’ve put the fear of god in this poor man for his voice to be so panicked.
“I’m fine. Everyone is good. We just fancy a drive around the city sites, if that’s okay?”
“Of course. I’m at your disposal.”
“Perfect.”
“Hi, okay, ladies, in we get.” Martinez holds the door, and I usher the grou
p in. His face is a picture of confusion as the never-ending river of pink satin streams climb into the back of the limo.
“We picked up a few extras.”
He smiles and winces at the first ear-piercing scream declaring someone has found the stocked mini bar. “Anywhere special you want to go?”
“Show us where the stars live. I’ve got the door, you start her up, and let’s get this party on the road.”
“Okay.” His response is hesitant, and he hovers as Hope, Flick, Tiger, Alison, Nese, and Maggie climb in. They quickly and quietly exit out the other side before Martinez rounds the front of the car and camouflage themselves by mingling with the tail end of the queue still hoping to enter the club. I poke my head in and call loudly to Martinez that we’re ready to roll. Slamming the door shut, I nervously join with the others until the limo pulls completely away. Even from the increasing distance, we can all still hear the high-pitched squeals from inside the car, and before it reaches the end of the street, three heads have popped out of the sun roof. Screams and howls of laughter echo into the night. Poor Martinez.
Divas looks like a dive on the outside and is fabulous on the inside. The drag show is stunning. The make-up, costumes and sass have me in awe and in stitches. I’m sweating alcohol and dizzy with joy, dancing and laughing with my best friend. I ache a little all over when I realise how much I’ve missed her. We lean up against the back wall to take a breather from dancing. My feet have passed through the spectrum of regular pain to excruciating agony and are now, thankfully, numb.
“This is better.” Hope yells at me.
“It is.”
“I’m sorry if I was a little off.” The music is so loud, and I’m too drunk to pursue this conversation. Even so, that doesn’t seem to stop me.
“It’s fine, it’s just not like you, Hope, and I’d kinda like to know what’s brought on the change. I feel like you’re keeping something from me.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Finn. how can I explain when I don’t have the first clue myself. I ran away to get my head together, and now I’m even more confused.” Tears fill her eyes, and I’m shocked at the fear and desperation in her tone.
“You ran, what? What are you saying, Hope? When did you run?” I hold the tops of her arms, and she seems to chill beneath my fingers. She shakes herself, emotion clogging the words in her throat.
“I’m running now, this…this is running. I’ve never felt like this, Finn. I don’t know what to do. He’s such a good man. I’m…I’m…I shouldn’t…he’s better off. I need to leave.” Panic taints her rush of words as she pulls away from me. I manage to capture her hand and hold tight enough to pull her to a stop.
“What? Leave, now, you mean? We only just got here.”
“You’re right, sorry. Forget what I said. Forget everything. Let’s get drunk and just forget everything.”
“Because that always works out well for us.”
“First time for everything.”
“I can’t hear myself think in here, and I’m way too drunk to pick through the weight of shit you’re spouting, but we’ll sort this, Hope. Together we can fix anything.”
“Together. I like the sound of that. I miss you.”
“Right back at ya, sister, from another mother.”
“I don’t think that’s the right saying.”
“Well, you hated your dad, and I didn’t know mine. And I hated my mum, and we both love yours, so I think it’s perfect.”
“You’re right. It’s perfect.”
If the wall I’m leaning against doesn’t stop swaying I’m going to be sick.
“Where are the others?” Hope scratches her head, looking up and down the near empty street. The club closes at five in the morning, and within minutes, the only people outside its doors are Hope and I and a few stragglers trying to get home.
“They took a cab back an hour ago.”
“Lightweights,” she snorts. Throwing her head back, she loses her balance and crumples to the sidewalk beside my feet.
“I think that was the smart thing to do, Hope. There aren’t any taxis. I can’t get a signal to get an Uber, and we are in the butt hole of nowhere. Charge is going to kill me if he finds out.” I hold my phone up like some sort of offering to the telecommunication gods, trying to get just one bar to light up on my screen.
“When he finds out.”
“I’m still hoping for an if at this point.”
“I think the if has just become a when. Isn’t that your limo?” Her long finger wiggles at the black vehicle approaching. She can’t know that; it’s too far away, but my tummy rolls, more with dread than relief.
“Not sure, one black car looks very like another, and I can’t exactly focus on the licence plate. I can barely stand up.”
“I had a great night.” Her head flops back, and a wide, dopey smile spreads across her face. She looks a beautiful state of wrecked.
“Me, too, right up until you threw up on the owner of the club.” I bend over laughing and scrape my hand on the rough brick wall trying to steady myself.
“Yeah, well, I said I wasn’t interested.”
“Oh, shit!” Blood is pooling in my palm, yet I can’t feel a thing except the hairs on my neck prickle to life.
“Yay, that’s our limo.” Hope hauls herself to her feet and squints at the car pulling to a stop. “That isn’t Martinez driving.”
“No, that would be Charge.” Bile pools in my mouth, and my stomach drops and lurches with involuntary contractions. Racing forward with the urge to purge, the heel of my shoe catches on a crack in the sidewalk, sending me skidding to my knees just in time for me to empty every fluid ounce of liquid from my stomach onto Charge’s shoes.
Large hands scoop my hair away from my face and out of the river of vomit swirling in the drain in the road. His hand feels cool through my clothes as it strokes the length of exposed skin on my back. I’m burning up and not finished. I don’t remember anything else. The agonising cramps in my stomach, the throbbing jackhammer in my head, and the constant swaying of my surroundings and everything around me just stopped, probably at the same time I passed out.
I HEAR FOOTSTEPS AND FEEL the dip in the bed. My lids are too heavy, and even attempting to flutter them open causes a spike of pain like two hot pokers in my eye sockets. What the hell was I drinking last night? The cover shielding me from any light is peeled away from my face, and trying to seek solace under the pillow just makes everything in my tender skull throb.
“Oh, god.” Groaning, I manage to squint one eye open. My mouth feels like a camel’s hoof, dry, rough as fuck, and filled with breath that could kill said camel.
“That bad?” I take comfort in the edge of humour in his question as images of the best night start to filter back into my conscious. The morning after is not going to be pretty. I’ve closed my eyes again and relish the soothing hand on my brow. Even if it isn’t touching the hangover from hell, it still feels nice. He strokes my hair for a while, as I summon the courage to open both eyes, pull myself together, and face the music. I have a sinking feeling it’s going to be loud.
“Worse, so much worse. My head feels… Wait, I’m home? How did I get home?” It’s taken longer than normal to recognise our room, our bed, and that I’m in my old pj’s, but I blame my liquor-soaked addled brain. Charge raises his dark brow high as if the question really doesn’t warrant a response; however, after a moment of extended silence, he replies way too calmly.
“I drove you home, you and Hope.”
“Oh, god, you’re really mad, aren’t you?” Now I’m just stating the frickin’ obvious.
“Doesn’t even come close to how I’m feeling, angel.” His soft smile doesn’t change the rather sinister expression of calm detachment that has settled over his features. His fingers tuck some stray strands of hair out of my face, and he leans in to kiss my forehead. I don’t remember having a shower, so I have to think I still smell like vomit with a hint of shame.
“Then why are you being so nice?”
“Because you’re in no fit state to be punished, but that doesn’t mean it’s not coming, or that I won’t enjoy every little bit of it when I do. I promise I will.” He bops my nose, a sweet gesture and a polar opposite of his statement.
“I’m sorry.” Not that I’m adverse to his form of punishments. It’s not why I’m in this fragile state, and I am sorry.
“For what bit, tricking Martinez, leaving your phone in the car, or getting so drunk you pass out?”
“I’m going to go for all three.” I shuffle up, wincing as every slight movement makes my stomach lurch and my head pound. Leaning against the headboard I pull the comforter up around my body as some sort of barrier. Charge holds out a glass with bright orange liquid with a sickly sweet smell that already has my gag reflex on high alert.
“Here, drink this, and when you’re feeling up to it, come downstairs, and I’ll fix you something light to eat.”
“There you go, being all scary.” I take the glass with one hand and pinch my nose closed with the other. Its the only way I’m going to be able to get it anywhere near my mouth.
“Me being nice is scary?”
“When your jaw is twitching like that, yeah, very scary.”
“Drink.”
“Sir,” I quip, too soon. Failing to get any reaction from my attempt to lighten his mood, I do as he asks and sip a little of the rescue remedy drink. It’s icy cold and bubbly, and I managed to take down half the glass before handing it back to Charge.
“Has Hope surfaced?” I flop down on my side, gravity winning the battle against me remaining vertical, and besides, this horizontal position is less head-spinning.
“We’re heading into early evening, Finn. She surfaced sometime ago and has been up at the stables with Pink.”
“She loves him.” My words cause the biggest smile to spread across my sleepy face, and despite the pull of more sleep, the memories from last night lose their drunken blur, and I’m immediately more excited to share this news.
“She said that?”
“She did.” Rubbing life into my face and feeling the restorative powers of the drink begin to take effect, I sit up. It’s impressive, I feel more alive than only minutes before when I’m sure I not only looked like death warmed up, I felt it, too.