by C. L. Stacey
Cold pizza it is, then.
I reach in to grab the plate with one hand and a bottle of water with my other, then I kick the door shut before setting the plate into the microwave to warm up my dinner. I twist the cap off the bottle and take a generous sip while I wait out the timer, the gentle hum from the machine the only thing to fill the silence.
It’s always so quiet in here.
I set my sweaty bottle down on the breakfast bar where I will sit to eat, and then I walk over to the microwave to collect my plate. It wasn’t in there long, so it’s not too hot. I’ve never liked to eat my pizza hot, it always burns the roof of my mouth.
Eli always found it weird that I’d wait ten minutes for my pizza to cool before digging into it… I remember his reaction when I first decided on this hot-pizza rule of mine. We were thirteen years old, I think.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Eli asks.
“I’m waiting.”
He laughs. “What, waiting for it to cook? It’s delivered to you already baked and ready to eat, you idiot.”
“Don’t call me an idiot.” I scowl at him. “I end up burning the roof of my mouth when I don’t wait, and then it ends up hurting when I try to eat anything else after that. I’m going to try it after waiting about ten minutes. I bet that’ll help.”
He shakes his head at me. “You’re a weirdo.”
“No, I’m not! You are!”
“Yes, you are. You’re a weirdo, Weirdo,” he argues back, mouth full with a huge chunk of his stupid, hot pizza. “But I like it,” he says with a shrug, and then he smiles my way when he adds, “It makes you different.”
Tears pool in my eyes as I take my first bite, and I think back to every memory I can recall where he and I shared an entire pizza together. It was his favorite, so there were many of them to think back on.
We bickered every time, throughout the entire sitting. What he already knew didn’t matter. It didn’t stop him from making fun of my randomly adopted habit every time after that.
He loved to make fun of me, the little shit. But I loved it. I loved it because he loved that I was different. I loved being his weirdo.
Everything I do anymore only reminds me of him. I see him in everything. Though I suppose that’s exactly what I deserve for falling in love with my childhood best friend. I’ve known him since we were five. We did everything together growing up. We even took family trips together, his and mine.
He drove me insane every chance he got, but he was always there.
Sometimes, he made me so angry that I’d scream for him to leave me alone, but he was always there.
Sometimes, I wished for God to turn him into a cockroach so I could squash him under my shoe, but he was always there.
Now he’s not.
I hate that he isn’t here.
I hate that he didn’t fight harder to stay.
I hate that he left me.
It’s a quarter to ten by the time I’m dressed and ready. Well, almost ready. I’m still in the middle of completing a fishtail braid. My hair’s really long, so it always takes me a while.
I check my reflection when I’m done, smoothing my hands over the soft material of my red dress. The v-neckline plunges pretty deep, so I use dress tape to reduce any chances of an embarrassing nip-slip while out with my slut boss.
You can never be too safe, though. I make certain the tape works with a few trial runs. First, I jump, and then I do another test by running in place. The girls are bouncing, but no slip.
Yep, they’re secure, I decide.
The dress I’m in is pretty short with an asymmetrical design at the front, so if I don’t remember to be careful when I sit or stand… well, I’ll be screwed.
Crotch shots are never pretty. I’m wearing a thong, but still, not very ladylike.
Mother would have herself a heart attack if, God forbid, some stupid photographer got a nice open shot of my ‘hoo-ha,’ as she so loves to call it.
Great, I’m making myself nervous.
The bell rings from the built-in intercom, which means that my driver is here. Backing out is officially no longer an option, not that I want it. I can freaking do this. I can go out with people I barely know, get drunk, and have a careful amount of fun. Easy.
I take one last look at my reflection before grabbing my black clutch and matching pumps, then I head out to the living space to answer the call.
With a tap against the touchpad, I successfully connect with the front lobby. Walter, a regular member of the building’s staff, notifies me that my driver is here to collect me.
“Thank you, Walter. I’ll be right down,” I say, slipping into my heels on my way to the door.
I was never told who to expect, but I never imagined Caleb himself would be the one to pick me up. He’s waiting for me in the lobby, still in the same navy suit he was wearing earlier today.
“Well, well…” Caleb sizes me up with a grin. “Doesn’t my best friend rock the devil’s red so effortlessly?” he asks Walter.
My brow arches at the sound of that interesting new label. “Best friend?” I repeat.
“Well, you hate the word favorite, so…” He shrugs then nods his head in my direction. “You clean up nicely.”
“And what, I was a mess before?” I laugh.
“Disgusting.”
“Hilarious,” I mock, narrowing my eyes at him as I draw near. He chuckles, offering me his arm, and I loop my hand through it. “I thought you were sending a car.”
“I did.” Caleb gestures toward a black Escalade waiting on the other side of the tall glass doors. “I never said I wouldn’t be in it.”
We step outside the building, and I notice a man standing by the idling vehicle. “Good evening, Ms. Moore,” the man greets. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my name is Brock,” he introduces himself.
“Good evening, Brock. Pleasure’s all mine,” I greet him back with a polite smile. “Please, call me Lexi. I hear ‘Ms. Moore’ all day, I’m sick to death of hearing it.”
“Hey!” Caleb feigns offense. “You never gave me special permission to—”
“You’re my boss, you can call me whatever you want, Mr. Carlisle. Plus, you call me Lexi anyway, so stop your crying.”
“Still, it would have been nice of you to ask me to.”
“Call me Lexi!” I give into his whining, my tone coming out impatient and distracted as I try to map out a way to get myself into the elevated car without flashing Caleb my ass.
I yelp when Caleb’s hands close over my waist before practically tossing me inside. “Caleb, goddammit!” I growl.
“Aww, Lexi, good for you, you called me Caleb!” He pats the top of my head, tousling my hair like he would a child who just completed a chore.
I smack his hand away. “Don’t fuck with my hair! This braid took me forever.” I run my hands over my head to smooth over what he messed up.
“How much am I paying you?”
My eyes stretch wide, and I turn to look at him. “Are you making a hooker joke? Because that’s not funny.”
“No,” he laughs. “I’m just curious how a stylist can afford to live in the Archibald Tower.”
“My grandmother left it to me.”
“Ohhh.” He nods understandingly. “So you’re a trust fund baby?”
I hate that. “So?”
“Why do you work?”
“Because despite my healthy bank account, I’m no spoiled child.”
We pull up to the building, and I see a bunch of people standing outside. A few bouncers guard the door, checking the IDs of the people in line, and the rest are club goers who are out for a smoke or a chat or both.
Caleb turns his head to look at me. “Ready to get silly, Lexi?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
The door on Caleb’s side opens, and he climbs out. All I hear are slurred speeches and drunken laughter from the crowds of people out front, and I scrunch up my nose when the smell of cigarette smoke hits me.
�
�What’s wrong?” Caleb asks with his hand stretched down to me.
“Nothing. I just hate the smell of cancer sticks.” I take the hand he’s offered me and use my other to cover my lap with my clutch when hopping out of the car.
The curious look in Caleb’s eyes shows that he hadn’t noticed the smell until I just mentioned it. He sniffs and peeks over his shoulder, easily spotting the group with the cloud of smoke floating just above their heads.
Caleb tips his head toward the doors. “Let’s get you inside then, come on.” He places a hand against my back and ushers me forward.
On our walk up, I notice a couple of men at my nine. They keep their distance, but they are taking our picture.
“Oh, great. Memories,” I mutter under my breath.
Caleb cranes his neck to look. “Ignore them. I do.”
“What are they doing here?”
“Waiting for someone to make their next mistake. A lot of somebodies come to party at this club, Lexi. Have you never been here before?” he asks.
“Nope.”
He frowns. “How old are you?”
“Will it matter if I’m not twenty-one?”
“Not if you’re with me.”
I giggle. “Just as well, I turn twenty-three next month.”
“Then why have you not been here yet?”
“You know why!”
“Oh, that’s right!” He laughs when he remembers that I’m a shut-in. “Disney and sweats.”
“Disney and sweats,” I confirm with a smile.
The line to get in is pretty long, but it’s Caleb, so I’m not surprised when he leads us straight to the door. The bouncers recognize him right away, friendly with their greetings.
They don’t check my ID before nodding us inside.
I gasp when we cross through, the sound inaudible over the booming music all around us. The place is humungous, standing four-stories high. It makes me feel so tiny, and I suddenly feel very much out of place.
There are bodies in every direction I look. I can’t count the number of bars on just this floor alone, but there are a bunch of customers waiting to get drinks at each and every one.
Some are standing by the high-tops among friends, chatting and laughing while sipping on their overpriced drinks. Some of the more intimate couples are lounging on the cushioned benches. The ones in more of a party mood are enjoying the DJ’s performance at the far side of the building, a mob of them dancing by his booth on the elevated platform.
My eyes continue to roam and I find a staircase that leads to the upper levels. I assume they lead to a level for VIP only guests when I notice another set of guards standing by a rope barrier at the landing.
I feel a tug against my hand when Caleb begins to drag us through the crowd, heading in the direction I was just observing. I fight to stick with him, clinging to his hand so we don’t end up getting separated in this mess.
People greet him as we pass, hindering us each time they do. Unlike Jackson, Caleb isn’t shy with the public. He goes where he wants, does what he wants, whenever he wants. So his is a face people easily recognize. The amount of times we’re acknowledged doesn’t surprise me, it’s just an inconvenience when our objective is to keep moving.
I can tell his patience is thinning when his grip around my hand tightens a little more each time a new face pops out in front of him. All he really offers them is a simple ‘hello,’ not once coming to an actual stop to make conversation.
I’m feeling an awful lot like a ragdoll with this stop-and-go dance we are doing, but I never let go of him. No freaking way am I going to get swallowed up in this shit by myself.
The men guarding VIP notice us approaching, one of them unlatching and pulling the rope aside to let us through. Caleb pats him against the back as we cross over, keeping his greeting short and sweet.
“You okay?” he asks me from over his shoulder.
“Yes. My God, is it always this packed in here?”
“It’s a club, Lexi. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”
We take the steps up to the second level, and I am relieved to find the atmosphere much calmer up here. The entire floor is broken up into four different sections, one for each side of this square-shaped building.
Each of the sections run deep, making for a sizable room instead of just a simple lounging area like I imagined it to be. The walls are lined with black half-circle booths for privacy among separate parties, and in the center of each room sits a fully stocked bar.
The money this place must rake in, the money it must take to restock the shelves, the money that goes into upkeep… is math I can’t do.
A man in an expensive suit walks up to us with two guards flanking him, and I immediately peg him as the owner of the club. “Caleb, welcome back.” He holds out his hand and Caleb doesn’t hesitate to take it.
“Thank you, Chad,” Caleb greets him back before he turns to include me, hand tugging on mine to bring me next to him. “This is my new friend, Lexi Moore. Lexi, this is Chad. He’s the owner of this club.”
“Ms. Moore.” Chad extends his hand to me, and I take it with a smile. “It’s always nice to meet a friend of Caleb’s.”
I fully expected the owner of this crazy club to be something like Caleb, a party-boy type. I’m pleasantly surprised to find that I’m wrong; Chad is a perfect gentleman.
I’m human; I make snap judgments from time to time, we all do it.
“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“You two let me know if there’s anything you should need. Bottle services have already started at your usual tables, Caleb. Your party arrived a little while ago,” Chad notifies him.
Caleb nods. “Thanks, Chad.”
“No problem, have fun. Try to stay out of trouble.” Chad taps the side of Caleb’s arm before leaving us to tend to some of his other VIP guests
“Tables?” I ask Caleb as soon as Chad’s out of earshot. “As in more than one?”
“Yea.”
I’m not surprised.
“Which ones?” I look around.
“In the back.”
“Which ones?” I repeat my question.
“The back,” Caleb mirrors my tone, spanning his hand over the entire back wall.
My eyes widen, taking in the entire section. “All of them?”
Caleb doesn’t get a chance to answer me when others have taken notice of his presence.
Women flock to him as if their very lives depend on getting this one man’s attention. I quickly move out of the way to avoid getting trampled by the bitch-stampede.
Now that I’m in a much safer section of the club, I feel brave enough to separate from him, so I give him some room and walk myself over to the railing that overlooks the club down below.
I look over my shoulder to check on him, making sure none of them have smothered him to death. I can barely see him through the mob.
The women are shameless in their pursuits, desperate and clingy.
I turn back around, resting my elbow against the rail and my chin against the heel of my hand. Everyone below appears to be having the greatest time, and I can’t help but feel a little jealous.
Tonight’s supposed to be about letting loose and living life, and what am I doing? Spectating, as usual. Why am I not surprised?
A tap on my shoulder prompts me to lift my chin from my hand and stand up straighter. The sight of a familiar face in this place full of strangers puts me more at ease.
“Hey,” I greet her loudly, shouting to be heard over the music. “Bethany, right?”
“Yea!” she shouts back, flashing me a happy grin. “It’s good to see you, you look so great!”
“I’m relieved to see you! I was afraid I wouldn’t know anyone here,” I laugh.
Bethany leans in closer to me and jabs a thumb over her shoulder. “I came right over when Mr. Carlisle told me he lost you to the ‘crowd,’” she air-quotes. “He asked me to bring you back to our tables.”
I agree to follow her with a nod, letting Bethany lead the way.
Familiar faces of some of the staff I met earlier today come into view the closer we get, but no Caleb. Then I realize my mistake when I see that he’s in one of the booths, just hidden by Natasha, who’s claimed herself a seat atop his lap.
Oh, the poor bastard.
Natasha looks my way, her mouth set in a triumphant smile. She’s staking her claim, wrongfully assuming I want Caleb, but I don’t bother with it, and I let her have her moment.
“Lexi!” Caleb calls to me, and I shift my gaze from Natasha’s face to his. “Come sit. Natasha, move.” He begins to remove her from his lap, but she appears to be refusing to budge.
I shake my head, not wanting any drama on the one night I chose to come out. “I’m okay right here, Caleb. It’s fine,” I assure him.
Some of the people around the table stare up at me when I shoot their boss down, and I do my best to ignore the extra attention by shifting my attention back to Bethany.
“Come sit,” Caleb says again. “You’re my guest.”
“She said no, Caleb!” Natasha clips.
One look from him shuts her up real quick. I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment, but fortunately for me, the room is dark enough to hide away any evidence of it. Then my mouth falls open when Caleb tosses Natasha aside, not bothering to check whether she ended up on the floor or not.
Caleb waves me over again, but I stay where I am, unsure of what to do after seeing that.
“I would sit,” Bethany advises me. “There are a lot of questionable characters that frequent here. He just wants to keep an eye on you to make sure no one tries anything stupid,” she assures me. “It’s why he sent me to look for you.”
While I don’t know Bethany all that well, there’s nothing about her I find sketchy or untrustworthy. To be perfectly honest, I don’t find Caleb all that threatening, either. But now there’s this awkward tension at the table, and it’s exactly what I didn’t want.
I’m a little annoyed, but the longer I stand here, dumbly staring at Caleb instead of doing as he asks, the longer everyone’s eyes will remain on me.
I give into his request and take one step forward, only to be jerked two steps back by someone behind me.
