by Bryl R. Tyne
My mind returned to me, and I caught my breath, only as Jade exited the stage. I stood, intent on following, realizing then that Chloe had paid for our food and drinks and had taken my hand in hers. “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”
She dragged me through the crowd, alongside the short platform, and behind and to a stop outside an unpainted door. Her knuckle-rap echoed along an eerily quiet and dark back hall. “What’s going—?”
She released my hand with a flourish, whipped around, and cut me off with an “I’m not taking any more of this shit” glare. “I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain.” She looked away as quickly as her rabid-self had turned on me.
“Bargain? What are you—?”
“I have to go now.”
With those words, she walked away, leaving me to the creaking of an opening door. Torn. That’s what I felt. Stay? Go?
“It’s your dime.” Jade’s voice startled me from my agony.
Wig gone, heels and stockings removed, there she—no, he stood in the entrance to a dressing room no larger than a closet. I realized then that fake eyelashes adorned those seductive eyes, and relief washed over me: Big Papa had only messed with my wings.
“I knew there was something I liked about her,” Jade said in a voice that did not match her made up face. “Well, don’t just stand there. Go get her, before she leaves. Bring her back.”
As if on feet I no longer recognized as my own, I raced past the stage, out into the crowd. “Chloe! Wait!”
She turned, the remnants of heartbreak on her face.
“Stop.” I caught up to her, took her hand, and in spite of the hard glares and a number of catcalls, I led her back to Jade’s room, as instructed.
Chloe remained speechless, as Jade pointed to a stool, but shivered at the command from Jade’s lips, “I want you to stay,” he said before turning to me. “Well, all this way and I don’t get a hug?”
Hypnotic lure vanquished with the facade, the more aggressively Jade advanced, the faster I retreated toward the door. “Do I know you?”
He halted, anger evident in his jaw as he turned around. “Why me?!” With a shout to rile the Heavens, he returned to his vanity and plopped down on his short stool.
Seated crossed-legged, Jade picked up a makeup pad, doused it with liquid from a tiny, white bottle, and wiped vigorously over half his face. He stopped, met my gaze in the mirror. I swallowed, feeling my eyes widen, my heartbeat race, and I forced myself to look to Chloe for just a moment. This can’t be. I would not believe it—I could not live through losing him again. “No…no. This isn’t—”
Chloe stood, lunged for and grabbed me before I made it out the door. “It’s real, Zag. He’s real. Jagniel’s really here.”
Fixated back on my long lost love, I registered Chloe prying what I was sure was my white-knuckled grip from the doorjamb.
“I was trying to tell you…I didn’t know how,” Chloe said. “Papa promised to bring me back and bring you back to me on the condition, I brought you to Jagniel.”
Wait. I looked at Chloe. “You mean I didn’t break His rules? I didn’t—”
“You just started the ball rolling, Zag. It would’ve happened either way.”
“You did this?” I had to ask her.
Chloe pointed to Jagniel. He chuckled as I whipped my attention back to him.
“I did this,” he said, and met me halfway across the room in a full embrace. “I like her,” he whispered, as he kissed my cheek. “I want her to stay.”
“Jagniel…” I couldn’t say much else amongst the tears, but one glance at Chloe’s shy smile told me it was pointless to argue. If Jag was the same now as he was way back when, there’d be no changing his mind anyway, and I knew it.
“I thought you’d be happier to see me,” he said.
He handed me a fistful of tissue, and I cleared my head only to pick up on a vaguely familiar scent. I stepped closer, honing in on the offensive odor like a hound. First sniffing Jag’s hand, his arm…up to his neck. Once again, he wrapped his arms around me, held me tight. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, at the same time I recognized the scent as his lilac perfume.
Inwardly, I groaned, recalling my disdain for the scent, but over Jag’s shoulder, I eyed the Heavens, refusing to let him go. Thank you, Papa.
* * *
I guess some would say my impatience brought me to this end, though I’m inclined to argue it was my stubbornness, my failure to acquiesce to the norm. My name is Zagzagel.
