Chapter 4
August 19th 2010 9:15 p.m.
The weeks following Chuck's death had been a hell of a roller coaster ride. We blew through Texarkana, made our way west on Interstate-30 until we hit Dallas. We spent the night there while the men planned our new route and the rest of us tried to get a grip on ourselves. It was easier for some than others. While I managed to put my head into a nice, blank state and Suze continued to be the rock she was, some of the other girls were still scared and confused.
Out of all of them, I thought Joy Anne would have been the least to give a shit about what was going on, but surprisingly, she was completely beside herself. The tears had stopped by the time we reached the next motel but no one was home upstairs. She just stared ahead with a lifeless gaze and let Suzanne lead her around. Maybe she really had cared for Chuck. That made it really difficult to not feel sorry for her. Me, pity Joy Anne? I sure hadn’t seen that coming.
Sleep eluded me. All I saw when I closed my eyes were shreds of flesh dripping thick red blood, bed spreads soaked in it, and Chuck’s cold dead eyes staring through me as he lay there. Sleep was not an option.
Each day was like that. Ride, park, plan, maybe choke down some food, get a few hours of sleep if my brain allowed, get on the bike, and do it all over again. We must have ridden through two dozen cities in less than three weeks and none of it changed. And Frank still hadn't given me any answers.
I was lying on the bed in the newest dank hotel room when Frank came in. I didn't look up from the TV. Hell, I didn't have to to know it was him. He had this air about him when he walked in the room that let me know he was there. I couldn’t puzzle out what had changed in him, but he was different. He’d always been a force of nature, but now he felt more dangerous; as though he were a tsunami pushing forward to wipe away everything that crossed him. It made it hard to be around him, which only sent me into a deeper spiral of indecision and apprehension. For now, I just made a point to distance myself from the storm as much as possible.
I raised my hand in a half-hearted wave only to feel something soft and cool fall onto it. I lifted my head and looked at what had landed on me.
"What's this?" I asked, pushing myself up and looking at the red fabric.
"Get cleaned up, get dressed, do whatever you gotta do to look hot. We're goin' out."
I looked up at him then. Going out? All we'd done for the last three weeks was ride and sleep, put as much road between us and Chuck's corpse as possible, and now he wanted to go have a good time? Sometimes I wondered if Frank needed medication.
"I take it I don't have a say in it?"
"Not tonight you don't," he said as he snatched the remote from me and hopped onto the bed. "Get to it. I'm done with the funeral procession already."
I rolled my eyes at him and slid off the bed, heading to the bathroom. I had no energy to fight right now. Besides, I could do with a night away from hotels and reruns.
The shower was to be expected. Lukewarm, generic-smelling soap and shampoo, over-washed towels. I was clean, though, so little else mattered. Just as His Highness commanded. I dried off and slipped on my black thong and bra that I'd washed the night before and hung to dry on the towel rack, then grabbed my hair dryer and brush.
The warm air soothed a bit of my irritation. Each sweep of the hair dryer across my scalp melted away whatever tension I was holding onto. I didn't know why I was acting this way. Why I was taking Chuck's death so hard? Like Frank had told me, I didn't know the guy. Not really. With each careful sweep of my hair, each twirl of my brush under the rushing hot air, I came to terms with the fact that I was mourning an idea, not a person. The father I did have kept me at arm's length while showering my sister with more love and attention than I could ever hope for. Now, I am not saying Chuck welcomed me with open arms, or treated me like the daughter he never had, but he filled a role in my little world. Now he was gone. The fact that my boyfriend had been involved in his death only made it harder to swallow, even without knowing the details.
I grabbed the clothes Frank had bought me from the top of the hamper and held it out. It was a dress. At least, it may have started its life as a dress before a battle with hardcore drugs, anorexia, and self-mutilation. There was barely anything left of the fabric I was holding in my hands. It was the Lindsay Lohan of dresses.
"What the hell, Frank?" I murmured.
Untangling the dress was like getting the knot out of a string of Christmas lights. My first try, I think I put my foot through an arm hole, but who could really tell? It slid over me like a second skin that I had long outgrown. The fabric itself was nice, almost silky but not quite silk. It took some twisting and pulling and some rather awkward poses to figure out how it was supposed to sit on my body, and when I had finally figured it out, all I could do was stare at myself in the mirror.
I looked like a Pretty Woman reject.
I mean, it was cute in a way, but it looked like lingerie rather than something to wear out in public. It might have been right up Joy Anne's alley, but for me... I felt like a hooker-in-training. The red cloth hugged every curve I had, even gave me the illusion of more curve than my thin frame had to offer. It was cut out on each side to show off my skin and the fabric crossed in the back where another larger cut-out was centered over my lower back. An inch lower and I'd be showing the world my thong.
"You seriously want me to wear this?" I shouted through the door to Frank.
"I bought it for ya, didn't I? Lemme see it," he said.
I took a deep breath and found that was a mistake. It was so tight that I could almost hear the seams screaming with tension, threatening to break open. The bustier of the dress squeezed my chest tight as I filled my lungs, pushing my flesh up to almost spill over. Dear God, I wouldn't be able to do anything in this thing without falling out in one way or another.
It took everything I had to force myself out of that bathroom. I opened the door with my eyes clenched tight, arms crossed over the front of me as if they could hide my shame. Perhaps shame was too strong a word, but I certainly wasn't flouncing around the room like a giddy little girl in a new party dress.
"Damn," a whisper more than a word.
I opened my eyes and saw Frank half-crouched on the bed, his mouth hanging open and eyes all for me. I swear I could feel his gaze like fingers raking over me, and it made my stomach tight. I'd seen him lost in passion, but it was never like this. A possessive and almost predatory air filled the room. It was all coming straight from him.
"C'mere," he said finally. "Do a little turn for me."
His gaping maw quirked into a lustful grin, and he crooked his finger at me. What else could I do? I went to him.
My neck was on fire. Embarrassment strangled me as I closed those short few steps to him. I couldn’t understand why I felt so awkward. He'd seen me naked before, yet the idea of him seeing me in this little floozy-parade special seemed so much more perverse.
I slowly began to turn, letting him see the full effect of the dress. When I faced Frank again, I risked a glance up at him and realized what was really bothering me about it. It wasn't the dress at all. It was the raw lust in his eyes as he looked at me. That base instinct where male saw female and decided, no matter what, that he would mount her and make her his. It shone openly in those chocolate-colored eyes. It made my throat tight, my neck tense, and pressed a heavy weight in that lower place in my body.
Hands grasped me on either side, rough and warm with fingers digging. I looked down and found that eager face staring up at me.
"What's the matter?" he asked, the words coming out nearly strangled.
"Your face," I whispered.
"What about it?"
"You look like you're ready to eat me alive."
His lips curled even more, a guilty grin for the not-so-guilty. His fingers kneaded my sides, thumbs running over that delicate edge of fabric and searching for warm, alive skin. I stared down into that grinning face until he lowered it and pressed his nose
firmly against my abdomen. He nuzzled my stomach, rubbing his nose, his forehead, his cheeks against it, those wiry little hairs on his chin catching the thin, fragile cloth.
"You are so unbelievably sexy, Harley. Everything about you. Your skin, your scent, the way you carry yourself. If I could devour you, I would." His words were muffled into my stomach, breath tickling me effortlessly through the dress, but I heard—and felt—all of them. "Someday, you might even see it yourself."
I stood frozen as he rubbed his face against me. My stomach hurt. It was so tight and unrelenting that each breath was a struggle. For months his attitude towards me had grown cold and indifferent. Even when we made love it was more for the sake of release than any pressing desire or need for one another. That he was clutching me, expressing his attraction and desire for me, now, had me stunned.
Finally, my hands moved. They rose to cup either side of his face and found his cheeks almost blistering hot. Frank always ran hotter than most people I knew, but this would have edged on feverish compared to his norm. I leaned down, which effectively pulled my stomach away from his face, and pressed lips to his forehead, drinking down that heat.
"Are you sick?" I asked against the taught skin of his forehead.
He chuckled and raised his chin so he could catch my lips with his. He sucked his heat from my bottom lip before pulling away and standing up abruptly.
"Nah, I'm good," he said, regaining his more normal tone, "but if we don't get outta here that dress ain’t gonna last too long."
"Where are we going?" I asked as I grabbed my stuff.
"Just this little shit-hole dance club on the edge of town."
"If it's a shit-hole then why did it matter what I wore?"
He looked at me, straightening the collar of his jacket, "Because I want to show these backward hicks what a real woman looks like."
"And rub it in their faces?" I asked, actually finding myself smiling.
His grin told me all the answer I needed to know. He was a man's man. That meant the other men expected him to have a sexy woman hanging off him. I didn't exactly believe I fit the criteria, but it was flattering. Really.
I followed him out of the room automatically. It wasn't until we reached the Softtail that I realized I was going to have a serious problem. I stopped and stared at the bike as Frank moved to get onto it. When he was settled onto it he finally looked over to notice I hadn't moved.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
How the hell was I going to ride in this thing? I was freaking out about sitting down in a normal chair too fast and flashing my ass, there was no avoiding it on the back of a motorcycle! His eyebrows knit closer together as I stood there awkwardly, not answering him.
"One moment," I said finally before turning around and rushing back into the room.
About five minutes later, I came back out. I was still wearing the dress, but black jeans peeked out from under the scandalously short skirt. Frank gave me a disapproving look as I finally made my way to mount the bike.
"Seriously, Harley. You looked good," he said with a shake of his head. "Don't be embarrassed about showing off your body. I’m not."
I hoisted myself up behind him and found that the skirt, indeed, rolled up over my ass. For once, I was right about something. My arms slid around him and I rested my chin on his shoulder, mouth just behind his ear.
"While I appreciate you not having a problem showing off my body, I'm not embarrassed," I whispered. "It's just for the ride."
His body moved against my chest, and I could tell that he was chuckling. He was probably thinking I was just a silly girl, but that was okay because I was Frank's silly girl. He wanted me in spite of my neurotic little episodes, which was more than I could say for some. I felt stupid for being ready to throw all that away these last few weeks, over something I was sure would make sense when he was ready to talk about it.
I knew I wasn't the sort of girl that guys like Frank fawned over, but tonight he was proud I was his. He wanted to flaunt me around, make other men jealous of what he had. In a way, that made all the crap lately seem worth it. It made me feel like leaving my family and that dead end town wasn't such a dumb move.
The jeans came off almost the second we parked the bike. Frank had given me a look that said it was time to be the dutiful girlfriend and help him make the envy of the bar. That was fine with me. It was a balmy night and with the added heat of the bike’s engine, my legs were sweating. I slid them off and stuffed them into the saddlebag. This way, I could make an entrance without everyone focusing on the oddity of my wardrobe choices, one of those hot She's All That- inspired entrances, sans slow motion and Sixpence None The Richer. Okay, I really had been watching way too much television. Frank was right. A night out was much needed.
When I turned around I nearly ran into Frank's chest. He was suddenly just there, staring at me with a strange hunger in his eyes. His hand snaked around my waist and pulled me tighter into him. In the heels, I didn't have to get on tip toe to kiss him or him crane his neck down to meet me. It was a nice change. It let me focus more on the feel of his lips on mine instead of the inevitable ache in my feet.
When he pulled his face away from mine, he sucked in his bottom lip and didn't open his eyes. It looked like he was savoring the taste of my mouth. When he finally released that oh-so-kissable lip, I saw a light stain of red on it. My lipstick had rubbed off on him. I moved to wipe it away from him with my thumb but he caught my wrist, gently, in his hand and smiled at me past it.
"Leave it," he said with a smile, before bringing my palm to his mouth and kissing it. "I like when I can still taste you."
I didn't say anything. I couldn't. A sudden heat blossomed, not just in my cheeks but in my body. It was just lipstick but Frank made it seem so much naughtier. I tried to gather myself again, pulling my hand away from his and smiled at him to let him know he'd won this little battle. How could I argue with that? Why would I try?
The "shit-hole dance club" was about twice the size of my high school gymnasium. There were three bars, each with its own drink theme like Jack Daniels rodeo and Corona luau, an elevated dance floor the size of a large rectangular pool, and an army of pool tables lining the back wall two deep. Country music swelled and hit every square inch of the space coming from a DJ booth that had taken me about fifteen minutes to realize was on top of the floating island bar in front of the billiards area. All that was missing was the damned mechanical bull.
"Wow," I breathed, looking all over as I stood under Frank's arm.
I don't think he heard me, not that it would have really mattered, and he led me to a corner full of tables. Our people stood, sat, and even draped themselves all over the chairs and stools, and I couldn't help but smile. Frank was right, yet again it seemed. Seeing the crew alive with energy, smiling and laughing, I knew that we had all needed this to get out of the grieving mindset. It was best for all of us.
They welcomed us with a round of cold beer and a few wolf-whistles and cat calls, which made me tug down at the skirt every so often, and just like that, we let go of some of that dark cloud that had been leeching off of us for days. Frank broke off to talk to some of the guys and I, instinctively, made my way towards Suze.
"Damn, baby girl," she said as she slid out of my hug. "Look at you. You almost look grown up."
I gave her a look and she chuckled, leaning back in her chair.
"Thank you," I said finally, taking the compliment.
"Where'd ya get the dress?" Roxy asked from across the table.
She, like me, was fairly new to the group. One of the other guys had picked her up at a bar a few weeks after I turned up with Frank, and he tried to leave her behind, but she sorta just went with us. She wasn't pressing him for a diamond ring and wedding bells, but she made it clear she wouldn't just be tossed and forgotten like some piece of trash.
Her hair was cut short, barely hanging past her ears. The cut was cute on her bone structure and hid how dull the brown was. If it h
ad been any longer I'd have called her mousy. Short as it was, it actually complimented her high cheekbones and drew attention to her cornflower blue eyes.
"Frank bought it for me, I guess," I admitted.
"Damn. The man has taste," she said with a smile.
"Yeah, Frankie," one of the men shouted behind me, "who knew you had such fabulous fashion sense."
Frank grappled him around the neck and dragged him towards the pool tables.
About two hours later, I was sitting back watching the couples out on the dance floor. Suze had gotten about four glasses of beer and a shot of tequila in me before Paulie grabbed her up and whisked her away to dance. The look on her face every time they two-stepped past our tables brought a smile to my face. My life was far from happily ever after, but maybe it was close enough. For Suze, it looked like it was as close as it could get short of Paulie asking her for more than a dance.
While they made their turn around the floor, I watched everyone else. Men swept their girls around, some spun in intricate moves like they've been doing it for years, others stumbled and laughed as they were being taught for the first time, the real veterans spun their way through piles of sawdust in the corners. I'd never two-stepped before but it seemed fun. I wondered briefly if Frank knew how. but was drawn out of my quiet wondering by a loud cheering.
I glanced over to the pool tables where the men, Frank included, were in an uproar over a finished game. Frank and Niko rubbed their win into the others' faces. The other two men paid for the next game and a pitcher of cold beer. I'd be getting no dance from Frank but seeing him relaxed and slipping into the man I'd fallen in love with brought a smile to my face that no half-learned two-step could.
A dark head of hair passed through the men by the pool tables, cutting past them as if she were on a mission. I watched Joy Anne emerge from the crowd and make a bee-line for Frank. Part of me was ready to jump out of my chair and cut her off—a strangely possessive impulse considering I had never really been like that towards any guy in my life. Not that I dated a whole hell of a lot, but with Frank I found myself getting jealous easily.
The other part of me was curious, though. I wanted to see how he acted towards her. There was a lot of talk where Joy Anne was concerned. Now, I might get a little peek into how it really was. I told myself that if there was even the slightest attraction between them, I'd see it when they thought I wasn't watching.
Deny the Moon Page 8