Dark Intentions, #1

by Charlotte Byrd

  And then, almost as if he knows that I'm here, he narrows his gaze on my section of the room, the corner that I was so certain that he wouldn't be able to see me in.

  "Jacqueline," he says, walking up to me.

  I sit up in my seat and he sits down. I don't invite him.

  "It's nice to see you again."

  I give him a slight nod, but say nothing.

  He takes a sip of his whiskey, swirls the amber colored liquid at the bottom of his glass, and then looks up at me again.

  "I was hoping I'd see you here."

  With my gold mask on my lap, I feel exposed, but in a good way.

  "I thought that we weren't supposed to know who we are," I say, pointing to the mask in his hand.

  He shrugs. "I don't see you hiding."

  "Well, I am in the corner, some would argue the opposite."

  "I can leave if you want," he says, his eyes laser-focused on mine.

  He waits for me to answer, and finally I manage to mumble, "No, it's fine."

  I have looked for him here and I've thought about him so much, but then to suddenly see him before me, present and interested, caught me off guard.

  Music starts to thump louder on the dance floor and I glance over at the bodies pressing and grinding against each other. Somewhere in that mosh pit is Allison, looking for her couple.

  She promised me that she would be my wing woman and she’d abandoned me as quickly as she could.

  We watch everyone dance, and at the end of the song, Cassandra comes to the microphone. Her voice is as smooth as ever and she announces that the Masquerade Ball festivities will be starting soon. I have no idea what this means and I'm a little scared to find out, and that fear, it's not entirely excitement. It's real fear.

  Dante continues to sit next to me, observing the room, but saying nothing and not even trying to make conversation, and suddenly I feel very comfortable in the silence. It's relaxing and it makes my anxiety diminish just a little bit.

  The tone of the light changes and people part down the middle. Cassandra, in her long flowing white gown hugging tightly around her hips and giving her the curvy figure of a 1950s movie star, stands in the front and says, "We're going to play a little game."

  The excited crowd lets out thunderous, ferocious yelps, and Cassandra licks her bright red lips in anticipation.

  "You have all been assigned numbers and when we call your number, please come to the stage."

  I force myself further into the corner. I hold my number so tightly, the little piece of paper that it’s on shrivels up into a scrap.

  Suddenly, I get the feeling that the person who is least excited to be up there on stage is probably the one that's going to be chosen.

  "2, 17, 33, 46," Cassandra reads out, holding a card in her hand.

  The crowd breaks into applause and separates to let the people walk to the stage.

  I see Allison in the crowd, right in front, and our eyes meet.

  She waves me over.

  I shake my head no.

  "That's my friend," I tell Dante. "She's very excited to be here."

  "Yeah, I can see that," he says, without making a move.

  "Aren't you going to go up there for a better look?"

  "Nope.” He shakes his head. "This is the only view I need."

  He stares at me in a disarming kind of way. The stare becomes impossible to bear and I look away, but I still feel it on me.

  It throws my body into a flash of heat.

  When Cassandra lifts her finger and her diamond necklace moves slightly, framing perfect breasts just so, the room quiets down and the people on the stage turn to look at the audience.

  The guys seem more nervous than the girls, who look like they can't wait to get started.

  Cassandra walks over with a box of cards. "Pull one out," she instructs, "and read what it says."

  A big, voluptuous woman, tall with broad shoulders and an enormous blonde hairstyle, eagerly puts her hand inside. She pulls out a card and reads and screeches in excitement.

  "What does it say?" Cassandra asks.

  Silence falls.

  "Take off a piece of clothing,” the woman reads, her lips quivering.

  “Can I take it off anyone up here?” she asks Cassandra.

  "Yes, if they're willing.”

  Everyone nods in approval.

  The woman walks back and forth, trying to decide, eventually settling on a slim redhead with A cups and bright, wide eyes. She walks around and unzips her floor-length gown and lets it fall to the floor. All that's left are panties and a bra.

  The room cheers and the redhead blushes from a little bit of embarrassment, but then she spreads her legs out wide, puts her hands on her hips and walks around, showing them her curves. She even turns away from the crowd, bends over to show off her butt cheeks in the thong.

  I glance at Dante.

  It would be a lie to say that I wasn't aroused by this, just like everyone else in the room, but still my thoughts come back to him, who's just sitting here without saying a word.

  I want him to invite me into the back, or better yet out, I want him to ask for my real name and my real phone number.

  Suddenly I feel like such a fool, an idiot for thinking that he wants anything more than what we had before.

  I have to put him out of my mind. I have to get away from this place. It’s no longer for me. Without saying a word, I get up and start to walk away.

  "Hey, where are you going?"

  It takes Dante two big steps to catch up to me in my high heels.

  "I have to go," I mumble.

  There's no one at the coat check, so I just reach over and grab my jacket and walk out the front door.

  A gust of wind blasts my face and I struggle to zip my jacket.

  “Wait!” he yells after me as I rush down the street.

  23

  Dante

  I watch them dance and play a game onstage.

  Everyone watches. Everyone huddles around and waits for the next dress, next shirt to come off.

  But they don't hold my attention. My gaze returns to Jacqueline.

  I can feel her. I want her to feel me watching her, me wanting her.

  We sit in silence, and in those few moments, I forget about everything else in my life.

  It's just her.

  I want to hold her. I want to touch her. I want to be with her.

  The faint scent of her perfume excites me, and just as I'm about to say something, she storms off.

  I follow quickly behind.

  She grabs her jacket and runs out the door.

  "Wait up!” I yell after her. "Wait."

  But she doesn't, and she runs fast. Something drops out of my pocket and I turn back when I realize that it’s my wallet. By the time I turn back and pick it up, she’s gone.

  No, no, no, I say to myself.

  I walk briskly past one street then another, praying that she didn't hop into a car, and then just before I decide to turn around to check the other side, I see her on the other side of a narrow alley turning the corner.

  Picking up my feet, I run fast, catching up.

  “Jacqueline!”

  When she turns around, her face is flushed. There's a little light illuminating us and the dark brick behind her looks wet.

  "What do you want?" she demands to know, crossing her arms in front. She takes a step away from me, and when I take one forward, she takes another one back, her shoulders colliding with the wall.

  "Why did you leave?"

  "Because I wanted to."

  She slides along the wall and starts to walk away. I'm tempted to reach out and grab her hand, but I don’t want to scare her.

  "Weren't you having fun?"

  "Does it look like I'm having fun?" she snaps, her finger in my face, crinkling her nose. Two little lines form right in the middle of her forehead.

  "What do you want?" she challenges me.

  "I wanted to see you. That's why I came."

>   "Please.” She tilts her head, rolling her eyes.

  "Are you mad at me?" I ask.

  I take a step away. My dress shoes make little clinking noises as I shuffle them against the asphalt. Suddenly, it begins to rain and little drops start falling from the sky.

  "No, I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at myself."

  "For what?"

  She rubs her shoulders with her small, elegant hands, trying to warm up. Dressed in a short cocktail dress and slim heels, she shifts her weight from one foot to another to stay warm.

  Her light brown hair was curlier and with a lot more body before, but after a jog and a little bit of moisture falling from the sky, the strands now fall flat around her face.

  "What are we doing here?" Jacqueline asks. "Why did you follow me?"

  Her nails are short, not acrylic, painted some sort of sparkly blue color. Though not exactly elegant, they show character and personality and I like that.

  "I came here hoping I’d find you," I say.

  Looking deep into her hazel eyes, I try desperately to convince her that I’m telling the truth.

  “Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes. "You came to Redemption, a sex club, to look for me? I don't think so."

  She turns to walk away, and this time I do grab her arm.

  "I'm telling you the fucking truth,” I hiss.

  Her face falls just a little, and a small smile forms at the corner of her lips.

  "After we met, I came back again,” I explain in a more reserved tone of voice. “I met two beautiful women who wanted to spend the night with me, and I couldn't do it. I kept thinking about you and how they weren't you."

  "You don't even know me,” she says, raising one eyebrow and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  "I know. And I'd like to."

  Jacqueline narrows her eyes, not exactly believing me, but not exactly not believing me either. "So what do you want to do now?" she asks.

  "I want to ask you on a date."

  24

  Jacqueline

  Dante is driving me home. He had followed me out of the club and he told me that he came back looking for me. I was so angry at him. I was so angry at myself for being an idiot for wanting him and for coming here and looking for him, and I had no idea that he felt the same way.

  And now, I'm sitting in his Maserati, and he's driving me to my mother's house in Jersey City. I told him that I can take a cab or a ride share, but he insisted, and I wanted to spend more time with him anyway.

  His slightly curly, dark hair frames his face as he drives a little bit too fast down the empty streets. I've never been in a car this expensive before, and if you thought that a Maserati or some other luxury vehicle looks good on the outside, it's hard to believe the features and the comfort that you experience inside.

  The world ceases to exist, but not in any metaphorical sense. There's hardly any road noise at all, and you're just traveling in your own little sanctuary in total silence, unless of course you want to put on some music.

  "How are you doing?" he asks, turning slightly to look at me.

  "Good."

  He smiles. His lips are luscious. His teeth are white and sparkle under the streetlights. He has a strong Roman nose and bright blue eyes that can be quite disarming and cold, but I don't feel anything but warmth right now.

  I had already said yes to the date, but we haven't decided when or where.

  "Tell me something true," Dante says.

  "My real name is Jacqueline."

  "My real name is Dante," he says, smiling.

  I laugh and he laughs along with me. I put my hand on the hand rest and play with the buttons without actually pressing one all the way down. "What do you do for a living?" I ask again.

  "Travel a lot. I work for a company that assesses risk and invests in high-risk endeavors."

  "Isn't that dangerous?" I ask.

  "Yeah. You can lose a lot of money, but you can also win big."

  "So you didn't lie about that either?"

  He shakes his head no.

  "You know, we were supposed to tell each other stories? You know, pretend to be these other people."

  "Yeah. I've been doing that a lot, and it was fun and it has its place, but I didn't want to do that with you."

  "Why not?" I ask, picking up a strand of hair that has hopelessly fallen and playing with it.

  "I don't know. I just saw you out there and I wanted to talk to you. And when I did, I didn't want to lie, and that was that."

  The GPS leads him straight to my house, and I point it out. "It's the one with the big bushes out front."

  "Looks like a nice place to live," he says, and I turn to face him.

  "I live with my mom."

  "You do?"

  "Yeah. She has cancer. She's getting treatment."

  "Oh, I'm so sorry."

  "Anyway, we'll be leaving on Monday to go to Minnesota. The Danick Clinic. She's getting an experimental surgery done."

  "Oh, okay.”

  “So in terms of that, I'd like to go out with you, but I'm going to be in Minnesota for a while helping her with the recovery and everything else."

  "Yeah, I get it. Let's exchange numbers and maybe make some plans."

  "I don't think you understand. I think it's going to be like weeks, and tomorrow I have to spend all day packing, getting ready. The flight is really early in the morning."

  "Are you trying to back out? If you're trying to back out, just tell me,” he asks, suddenly insulted.

  "No, not at all."

  He turns the engine off and turns around in the seat to face me. "Please don't feel any pressure to go on a date with me. Okay?"

  "I'm not making this up."

  "I'm not saying that you are, but I just want to be honest."

  "I want to see you. I'm just laying out my life for the next month and the fact that I won't be here. That's it."

  "And if I happen to be in the Midwest during that time?” he asks coyly.

  "I'd love to see you.” I nod.

  Our eyes meet again and something in his changes. He looks down at my lips and then up at me asking permission.

  I move a little bit closer and he does as well, and our lips touch again.

  He reaches over and brushes his fingers along my neck, touching me slightly and sending shivers down my spine.

  He kisses me over and over again, and I kiss him back. Our tongues find each other’s, but it takes some time for me to pull away.

  "I have to go," I say, shaking my head in the direction of my house.

  "It was great to see you tonight," Dante says.

  "You, too. Oh, wait, phone number," I say, slamming the door behind me but pointing my finger up in the air and leaning back over.

  He opens the window and we exchange numbers.

  When I wave goodbye to him, he tugs on my arm, pulling me back inside and giving me another kiss.

  "I'll be in touch," he promises.

  My stomach is full of butterflies the whole time I walk up to the front door.

  25

  Jacqueline

  Our arrival in Minnesota is pretty uneventful. After a lot of packing and sorting, trying to figure out just the right amount of stuff to bring, I finally settled on a large carry-on bag.

  It's going to be a hospital, and I'm just going to be doing a lot of waiting and sitting around, and comfort at a difficult time is my number one priority. I pack a lot of leggings, loose fitting tops, sweaters, and comfortable shoes.

  My mom on the other hand, seems to think that she's going to some sort of celebrity birthday bash, and packs herself heels, a big bag of makeup, all of her hair tools, and everything else that's completely unnecessary.

  "Listen. A woman has to look good to feel good," she said. "After I get all of this packing done, I think we should celebrate."

  I love her attitude, but I don't quite agree with it. It's not that I don't pay attention to my looks. It's just that ... Well, yeah, I don't really pay that much atten
tion to my looks.

  We fly coach, sit next to each other, and Mom manages to fall asleep while I listen to music and think about Dante.

  What were the chances of him being at Redemption?

  What are the chances of him actually telling me the truth?

  On one hand, I hate this excited thirteen-year-old girl that I've suddenly become.

  But on the other hand, this is the happiest that I've felt since Michael's death, and I can't help but want to revel in it.

  I thought for sure that after he dropped me off, he'd play some game, the way that guys play where he will wait a requisite amount of time to call me to not look "desperate".

  But he didn’t.

  He texted me that night, and again the following day. We texted quite a lot on Sunday, and I promised to be in touch after we land and get situated in Minnesota.

  We arrive in Minneapolis around ten in the morning, grab some breakfast at the airport Starbucks, and take the rental car to the apartment complex that's walking distance to the hospital.

  The hospital is not located in the city, but rather near a cute little town with shops and a main street called Aspinwall. I like that. As I wheel my mom's heavy suitcase to our first floor apartment, I see two little girls playing on the playground in the park across the way.

  The pre-teens laugh and joke without a care in the world, and I suddenly feel incredibly jealous. If this were a big city hospital, there would be a big trauma unit, a big ER to accommodate gunshot wound victims, and all of the medicine that big city hospitals usually deal with. But here in the middle of this bucolic little town I feel like my pain and my mom's suffering doesn't belong.

  Everyone is happily going along with their day, living their lives, and we are these imposters, occupying an apartment on the corner, and filling it with grief.

  My mom and I go to her first preliminary appointment which is just a meeting with the doctor at her office. It's a corner glass unit with a view of the rose garden below.

  Dr. Ellis is a no-nonsense kind of personality who immediately puts me at ease. She doesn't sugarcoat things, but she isn't overly morose either.