Dark Intentions, #1

by Charlotte Byrd

  "So this is just parties, or is it like a club or a bar that’s open whenever?"

  "When they bring in new people, they have special parties just for that. But after, if everything goes well and you'd like to come back and they want you there, then you tell them. They'll tell you the hours that they're open.”

  "Okay.” I nodded. "That sounds good."

  Suddenly my hands got clammy and my heart started to beat out of my chest. This is the first sign of life that I've experienced in two months and I want the feeling to stay with me.

  "Can I ask you something?" Allison reached over and put her hand on mine. Her hands were cold, and I jerked away because they reminded me of the way that she’d held my hand at Michael's funeral. "I think you're only doing this because he's gone."

  I nodded. "So what?"

  "Well, I just wonder if maybe you should see a therapist, or go to meditation, or do something healthier."

  "You mean having anonymous sex with strangers is not the healthiest thing I can do for my mental state?" I asked sarcastically.

  She tilted her head with a look of concern.

  "Yes, okay," I finally said. "I probably wouldn't be doing this if that ... hadn’t happened."

  I couldn’t exactly bring myself to say the word died out loud.

  "But the thing is that this is the first thing that has made me feel excited again about life, you know what I mean?" She shook her head no.

  "It's maybe stupid and irresponsible, but it's no less responsible than going to bars and just trying to find someone to spend the night with. The last guy I talked to told me flat-out that he was looking for a relationship and I smiled and told him that I was looking for one, too, just because he was hot and he was a good dancer, and I wanted to feel something other than all of this hate, and disappointment, and anger that was just going inside of me all the time."

  “What happened?” she asked.

  "I went home with him. He wasn't as good at sex as he was at dancing. A little too eager, too quick, didn't really care about where I was in the whole thing. But, whatever, that's the thing. I went home unsatisfied and I'm sick of it. I had to lie to him about my intentions. And for what? I think I need to go to a place like this where everyone is just in there for one thing and just hope that they're really into it and they're good at what they do."

  "Oh, you have no idea.” Allison's eyebrows shot up. "I don't want to raise your expectations, but people there take sex very seriously and they do not like to disappoint."

  I smiled and she smiled, and then we both cracked up laughing.

  8

  Jacqueline

  Darkness is falling and the sun disappears over the horizon. The next party is tonight.

  I get the official email from Cassandra. This time however, the message is not so impersonal as it was before; she writes more like a friend asking me whether I'm free to come over.

  This isn't the masquerade that's on Saturday; this is just an informal get-together, a few friends having drinks at the bar. No pressure as always, she points out.

  I stare at the email on my phone and wonder if I should go. When I put on my best pair of skinny black jeans, a comfortable, loose-fitting top, and a tight leather jacket that's way too thin for this cold weather, I look at myself in the standing mirror in my room and I like what I see.

  I look cool, hip, just going out on the town. I hate to admit it, but Redemption was fun. I like meeting strangers who I can have this flirtation with once and then move on with my life.

  It's freeing not to know their real names or what they do for a living and it's freeing to not be myself tonight. Tonight I'm not going to be Jacqueline, tonight I'm going to be Kylie. It's not my favorite name, but it's catchy and easy to remember and that's good enough.

  When I arrive at the club, I head straight to the bar and look around, couples are everywhere. One guy who had his arm around a girl with long auburn hair pulls away and comes to talk to me.

  He sits on the bar stool nursing his Old Fashioned. Instead of a martini, I order the same.

  "Wow, I didn't know girls liked these kind of drinks.”

  I hate statements like that. It’s a compliment peddling in stereotypes. It’s like saying, I’m not like other girls, I’m a cool girl.

  "Maybe not, but I do.” I smile.

  He introduces himself as Brad and I wonder if that’s his real name. We shake hands and he looks at me like I'm something to consume. That's the point, I guess, but it's a little bit too sleazy. When his girlfriend or wife turns around and waves at us, he nods for her to come over and introduces her as Christine.

  Christine seems shy and a little bit uncomfortable and he mentions that it's their first time here.

  "You're going to have a good time," I say and move just a little bit away from them. I've never kissed a girl and I'm not really interested in starting with Christine.

  After a few minutes, I excuse myself to head to the bathroom but instead I scan the room.

  Dante, where are you? I say silently to myself.

  Staring at myself in the mirror, it occurs to me that I'm not so much here for someone new, but for someone old.

  I exhale slowly and I curse myself because this is the complete opposite of what is supposed to be happening. I'm supposed to meet someone new, someone fun.

  What am I doing instead? I'm waiting around for him.

  I go back to the bar. I chat with two more guys and then a girl. She's a single girl, just like me and introduces herself as Emerson. That's such a good name, I suddenly feel jealous.

  Why didn't I go with something literary and exotic instead of plain old Kylie?

  Emerson has thick curly, black hair and is in an attractive peasant blouse and jeans. She's not particularly dressed up and from talking to her for a few minutes I realize that she's not a stranger at all.

  "How often do you come here?"

  "Um, usually once a month just to blow off steam."

  "And what is it like?"

  "Oh, you've never been?"

  "No, I was just once, so this is my second time."

  "Oh, okay. Were you with a guy or more people?" Emerson asks, drinking her Bloody Mary.

  She seems completely unfazed by the fact that that's a morning drink and that everyone else is wearing cocktail dresses and I admire that.

  "Well, I'm a pilot, I fly around a lot. Single, so, you know, this is kind of a fun thing to do whenever I'm in different cities."

  "So are these clubs everywhere?"

  "Major cities, yes. LA, New York, Boston. Let's see, Atlanta, Seattle. There must be others. Miami, I'm sure."

  “So, do you meet guys in every place?"

  "Well, that's what's so interesting about it. You can kind of hook-up with whoever you want. Sometimes couples, sometimes one-on-one depending on how the mood strikes.”

  I take another sip of my Old Fashioned and suddenly hate the way it tastes. I ask the bartender to bring me a martini.

  "You don't seem very comfortable," she says.

  I rub the back of my head and lean my elbow onto the bar top.

  "Um, that's the thing. I'm kind of all over the place. Last time I came, I had a really good time. I met this guy."

  "Who?" She leans over as her eyes light up.

  "Dante."

  "Oh my God. You lucked out. And you were with him one-on-one?"

  I nod.

  "Dante is a stud." She crosses her legs and clinks my martini glass with hers in a demonstrative manner.

  "Have you been with him?"

  "Yes, and he is very, very good."

  "So how often does he come here?"

  "Well, he travels a lot for work and I mean a lot. I've seen him once here probably every six months. If he were here last week, I wouldn't expect him to be here again for six more months."

  I nod, slightly disappointed.

  "I know how you feel."

  "You do?"

  "Yep. We got together about the fourth or fifth time tha
t I was here and let me just tell you, if you're expecting every guy here to be as good as him, I would adjust those expectations. That's just not going to happen."

  "Oh, okay.” I nod, not hiding my disappointment.

  "It's like, he will be what you want him to be. If you want him to be rough, he'll do that. If you want him to be a little soft, take it easy, he'll do that,” Emerson continues to gush and I feel a tinge of jealousy. “And the best part is you don't have to request anything, you don't have to tell him what you want. It's like, he knows intuitively as soon as he gets with you."

  "Ah," I exhale loudly. I thought that we shared a real spark but I guess that wasn’t the case.

  “Don’t let that get you down,” she says. “This place is great, you're going to meet lots of other people."

  "I know. I just, I don't know. I came here thinking that this is what I want. I want to have a good time. I want to forget what happened and here I am talking to you about the first guy I met and thinking about how I'm not going to be able to see him again for six months and I'm sorry about that.”

  "But just because it's not Dante doesn't mean that you're not going to meet someone amazing, okay?” Emerson says. “A lot of people here are very good and the couples, you should give them a chance. They're very giving and you know, you don't have that same pressure you do with guys one-on-one. And since you're the guest star, you can just sort of lie there and let it happen if you want. If that's your thing."

  "The thing is I don't even know what my thing is,” I say, nodding.

  I finish my drink and ask for another round. Two guys approach us, as she turns around to flirt with one, she introduces me to Ross.

  He's tall, broad shouldered, and looks like he works out. He has kind eyes and a short crew cut that actually frames his face well. He has a little bit of last night's stubble and I like the way that he rubs his chin when he talks.

  I turn my attention to Ross and the guy who had approached me leaves without saying a word. He's halfway away from me, before I reach to apologize, so I just shrug it off.

  Ross and Emerson flirt a lot. They bring me in on the conversation and then suddenly, Emerson glides her hand over my arm and pulls me closer to Ross who reaches down and gives me a kiss.

  It feels nice, romantic but also a little bit forced on my part. I kiss him back but the tension and the feeling isn't there.

  I guess he senses that as well because he turns his attention almost exclusively to Emerson who reciprocates his every advance.

  "Do you want to join us?" she asks, grabbing my hand again and standing up. "We're going to head to one of the rooms in the back."

  "Um, no thanks. I'm just going to stay here for a little bit.” I nod.

  She smiles and nods then says, "Let me give you my card just in case you want to get in touch and get some coffee sometime, okay? And talk."

  I nod. "Thanks."

  I slip her card into my purse and watch her walk away with Ross, their arms draped around each other's backs and suddenly, I feel incredibly lonely.

  It's not supposed to be like this.

  When I came here, I thought that everything was going to be amazing and I was going to have a good time again.

  What I did not know was that I was actually just looking forward to being with Dante.

  Oh, I feel so stupid, and like such a loser. I came here with every intention of doing the opposite of that; of meeting people, just for one thing, no strings attached.

  And then here I am walking around comparing every single man I meet to the one that blew me off my feet.

  Cassandra meets up with me when she sees me at the coat check and hands me my jacket. "Is everything okay?"

  "Yeah. I'm just not feeling up to it today."

  "Okay. Well, I hope that no one made you feel uncomfortable."

  “No, actually I met a really nice girl, Emerson, but I just, I'm not ready to be with a girl," I say in a half whisper, "and I'm just not in the right head space."

  "Yes, of course. We want you to be as comfortable as possible. This is totally normal."

  I nod, putting on my jacket.

  "Will we see you at the masquerade ball," she asks, "this Saturday?"

  "I'm going to think about it. Is there something that I have to wear?"

  "Well, of course, feel free to dress however you like."

  "Is it like a Halloween party?" I ask.

  "No, just formal attire and a Venetian mask should do."

  "Okay. Thanks. I'll think about it."

  I go out to my car and as soon as I get in, I burst into tears.

  "Stop. Stop crying," I keep saying to myself out loud. "This is nuts. You wanted to be there. Why are you making this so complicated?”

  I turn on the music really loud and let Gwen Stefani take me away to a less angry place. After a few minutes, my tears dry and I drive to Lemons, my favorite bar, hoping to see Allison there.

  Sure enough, I find her in the corner with Danny Morenko, her latest romantic interest. It's been two weeks and they are still at the height of their honeymoon.

  She waves me over, and we talk about work and life, and I have a few more drinks and a basket of curly fries, and try to forget about everything that happened.

  9

  Jacqueline

  When I get home and start to tiptoe through the house, I spot the light on in the kitchen. I find Mom sitting there, her hair hanging loosely around her head, her gray roots coming showing up in thick clumps around the crown of her head.

  "Hey, what are you doing up?" I ask, putting my purse on the table. She immediately gives me a little bit of side-eye and I move to the chair.

  I look over to our ancient refrigerator, which breaks at least once every year or so that we keep planning on replacing without actually making the commitment to do so.

  "Couldn't sleep," Mom says.

  My mom is dressed in her favorite plush bathrobe and her royal blue silk pajamas are slightly visible underneath. They were this year's Christmas gift from Michael and she practically lives in them.

  My mom is in her sixties and incredibly stylish. When things were going well, she never missed an appointment at the salon or the manicurist.

  She's always been good with her hands and crafty and that's why the house looks as good as it can look given its age and state of deterioration.

  "How was everything?" she asks, pulling herself away from her Kindle for a moment.

  She has always been an avid reader, but ever since she got sick and hasn't been able to get much exercise due to chemotherapy and a lack of energy, she has become what I lovingly call a rabid reader. She devours a book, sometimes two, three a day. It's her primary source of entertainment.

  "How are you feeling?" I ask.

  She shrugs, pulls out a little clear lip gloss tube from her pocket, and lines her lips.

  "So-so today. I went on a walk trying to get those 5,000 steps, but only managed to do 3,000."

  "Well, that's great. I mean, any little bit helps."

  "Yeah. It's just pathetic, you know? I used to be so mobile, so active."

  "Yeah, I know. Well, listen, I'm proud of what you're doing and how far you're getting, given the circumstances."

  We are both dancing around her diagnosis, not really mentioning it on purpose. She has had chronic illness issues for a long time. That's part of the reason why it was so important for her to stay fit and active. Many years ago, before we moved to this house, we lived in another one a few miles away and my mom would constantly get sick there.

  No one knew why, but she would just have these spells where she couldn't get up, she couldn't do anything, she'd cough, she'd be sick for weeks.

  She went to see a lot of doctors and someone had mentioned an autoimmune disease was a possibility, but she felt still there was something else going on.

  When my dad lost twenty grand gambling in Atlantic City and we got evicted, we moved in with a friend of theirs, into their small guest house and suddenly, my mo
m felt infinitely better.

  It was a big mystery until she looked into it more and discovered that she had a very bad allergy to mold. The other house we’d lived in had a huge mold problem, but it was right behind the walls, so none of it was visible except for in the basement.

  Things had improved a lot since then, but that's what taught her to always take care of her health and prioritize it over almost anything else.

  “So, tell me about Allison,” Mom says, standing up and peering into the fridge, offering to make something.

  At first, I say no, but then the thought of some fried eggs and toast draws me in.

  "Nothing new, hung out with her new boyfriend or whatever their official status is."

  "Sounds good. How's her job?"

  "Very busy, working crazy hours like always."

  "Well, I'm glad that you went out, had some fun. You know, it's important to have fun at your age."

  There's more veiled language there.

  I know that she's concerned about me and “the choices” that I’m making.

  "I'm going to make you eggs in a basket. Remember? Michael's favorite."

  I smile at the corner of my lips. The thing that's the hardest about losing him is that there are memories of him everywhere.

  On one hand, I want to remember, and I want to hold him with me and keep him safe.

  But on the other hand, I'm afraid. There's this pain that comes with remembering him and talking about him and it cuts me to the core.

  Sometimes it's easier to just not think about him and to not let that pain in.

  "I got the acceptance packet for the experimental treatment," Mom announces as she flips the eggs and the toast over with the spatula.

  "What?" I gasp. "Wait, you did?"

  We've been waiting for these documents to arrive for months, and for her to just announce it so nonchalantly, it takes me aback.

  "Listen, it's not a good idea."

  "What? No, this is the only thing that's going to work."

  She shakes her head. "I've thought about it. It's just going to be too much of a burden."