by Breena Wilde
I’m halfway through the moist chicken when Jessica calls.
“Hey,” I say, steeling myself for the rampage I know is coming.
“What the fuck, Cade? I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”
I swallow and sigh. “I know. I’ve been busy. You’ve got me now. What’s up?”
“Ugh, like a shitload. Let’s start with the not-so-great stuff.”
“Okay,” I say carefully.
“Have you spoken to your boyfriend in the past three days?”
“No,” I say, knowing she’s talking about Cruze but only thinking of Zane.
“Well he’s been all over the news lately. Everyone’s talking about how he and his costar have been heating up the nightlife. They’ve been seen making out at parties, feeding each other at restaurants…” I hear her shudder through the phone. “All sorts of sickening shit.”
I listen, trying to gauge my thoughts. I’m a little sad, but mostly I’m glad he and Scarlett are seeing one another—because my heart belongs to another. It has for a long time, but over the past three days I’ve spent a lot of time to thinking about what I want, what I feel. And while I do care for Cruze, he isn’t the man who owns my heart.
“Cade, are you okay? I’m so sorry. That’s why I called and texted you that first night.” She exhales in frustration. “I wanted to warn you that the two of them were seen getting frisky at the Café Merlion. Someone even snapped a picture of Scarlett’s foot in Cruze’s crotch.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her, and mean it.
“You sure? I mean, he’s fucking hot and, from what I can remember—”
“Oh, now you remember making out with him?” I ask, shaking my head.
“Okay, no. But have you seen him? He has to be an amazing kisser. It just seems wrong to give the up without a fight. Like I could kick that scrawny bitches ass for you.”
“Seriously, I’m okay,” I say laughing, but I’ve lost my appetite and push away the remainder of the chicken, then take a giant gulp of wine.
“Do you want me to come over? We can get drunk and talk about how all men are douchebags.”
“No, I’m fine. Really. But what about my party? Is that still on?”
“Are you fucking kidding? Of course it’s still on. I spoke with Michael, the owner of the Play Pen, about how I wanted epic and he called in a favor with the owner of Studio 45.”
“No fucking way.” The place was known for its wild, star-filled parties. Three floors of fun with a VIP upstairs. Jessica and I had always dreamed of checking the place out, but neither of us had ever been.
“Yep, so you can check that off your bucket list.” A strange noise—a cross between a squeal and a scream—fills the phone. “That’s not even the best part.”
I’m hyperventilating. “What?” I ask, breathlessly.
“The VIP upstairs is ours.”
“You’re shitting me.” That seemed impossible. “Are you sure? Like, you heard the owner say it with his own mouth, or was it just something Michael told you?”
“No, I just got off the phone with the actual owner. He was really nice, actually. Said there’d been some last minute changes and the VIP floor was ours. He’s also providing hors d’oeuvres, a cake, and a DJ.”
“Jessica. Are you serious?” I wondered if Cruze had something to do with this—or was it Zane? Getting into Studio 45 was impossible, which was why it was on my bucket list, but getting to be on the VIP floor… That went beyond my wildest dreams. Like, I couldn’t even imagine. I didn’t have a single friend who’d been up there, except maybe Cruze or Zane. But I’d never talked to either of them about the club. “How much is this going to cost?” I’m sure the amount is staggering.
“That’s just it. He said it’s free of charge.”
Now I know either Cruze or Zane is involved. They’re the only people I know who’d have the clout in L.A. to accomplish such a feat on such short notice.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “This is going to be epic.”
“I know, right?” She squeal-screams again then takes a deep breath. “Okay, so what’s the plan for tomorrow before party time? A birthday lunch? Shopping?”
We discuss details for another thirty minutes.
After she hangs up I finish off the bottle of wine and send Cruze a text: My birthday party is at Studio 45 tomorrow night. Party starts at ten o’clock. Bring Scarlett. Hope to see you both there.
I wait a moment for a reply, but don’t get one.
I can’t help but think about Zane. What would I be doing if he were still here? What kind of nasty fun would we be having? I can imagine, but with Zane reality is always better than fantasy.
“I wish you were here,” I whisper.
I open my eyes to a dark room. The clock says it’s four o’clock in the morning. I’m officially twenty-one. “Happy birthday.” I close my eyes and try to go back to sleep, but I’m too excited. There’s so much to do. I stare at the ceiling, admiring the strange, modern chandelier.
I realize I’m giddy. I’m hoping somehow Zane shows up, that he’ll tell me he can stay, that he wants us to be together.
“I want that,” I whisper, and force my breathing to slow. I need to sleep.
“What do you think? The red one or the black one?” I hold up two dresses and flip from one to the other.
Jessica is lounging my bed. It’s covered with clothes. She isn’t wearing any. She has on a black bra and black thong. “I like them both. How are you going to wear your hair?” She’s sucking on a piece of licorice. One leg is crossed over the other. Her hair is frizzy and everywhere, and she isn’t wearing any makeup.
“I was thinking wild. This is my twenty-first birthday, right? So I should wear something smoking hot and sexy, with maybe some big curls?
Jessica sits up. “If you want wild then you need to ditch the pretty dresses and go a little crazy.” She starts digging through the pile on my bed, then holds up a metallic silver dress. It’s ruched, fitted, and super short. The sleeves are strappy and hang off the shoulder. The back is bare except for a thick band where a bra sits. “This is the dress.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. That’s hooker couture.”
“Yeah, what’s you’re point? Try it on.” Jessica tosses it at me. I pull it over my lavender bra and panties. “Well?” I ask, walking over to the full-length mirror inside the closet.
“A definite fuck me dress. When Cruze sees you tonight he’s gonna know he chose the wrong woman.” She peruses the shoes lined up in the closet. Rita moved all the clothes over from Zane’s bedroom into mine and I’m grateful because I can’t go in that room. Not without Zane.
“I know you don’t believe me, but I swear I’m okay with John and Scarlett being together.” I don’t mention that their togetherness will probably only last as long as the movie production does. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe those two are made for each other.
“Sure,” she says, handing me a pair of metallic stiletto heels that have a string to wrap up your leg like ballet shoes.
“You think?” I ask, looking at them.
“Hmmm, you’re right, not wild enough.” Down at the bottom are the boots. “No fucking way,” she says, pulling out a pair of thigh high black boots. They hug the thigh. “These. They are definitely wild and totally sexy. You’ll look great in them.”
“No, you’ll look great in them. I’m too short for thigh highs.”
Jessica pulls the boots on and walks over to the mirror. She poses, popping her hip and pursing her lips. “Fuck yeah,” she says.
With her long legs, she looks amazing. “Now all you need is clothes.”
Jessica giggles. “I thought I’d just wear this.” She ruffles her hair.
“Or,” I say and hand her a pair of black satin shorts with a tee shirt and red belt, “You could wear this outfit.”
She takes them from me, slides off the boots, pulls on the shorts and the shirt, and buckles the belt. Then she slips on the boots. Her wild blonde h
air and her long, lean body make her look like a rock star supermodel. “You’re a genius,” she says, kissing my cheek.
“Thanks. Now can you please focus on me? Because I’m a mess.” I feign sadness and then we both start laughing.
“It’s alright, Cade. I’ve got it figured out.” She digs through the pile of clothes on my bed. “I’ve decided you have to wear red. It’s the perfect color for your skin.” When she finds what she’s looking for, she holds it up. It’s a short tight fitting dress. The sleeves are a three quarter length, but they’re cut out at the shoulder and the back is completely bare except a small piece of string that ties at the neck.
I pull it on over my bra and undies. The material hugs my body, showing every curve. I look fucking hot. “So far so good,” I say, admiring myself in the mirror. I head back into the closet. “I need shoes.” There are at least a dozen lining the shelves, but more are in boxes.
Jessica pulls off the lids to several and finds a pair of stiletto red strappy ankle boots. They’re the exact color of the dress. “These. For damn sure,” she says, holding them up.
I take them. “Ooooh,” I say, sliding them on. They fit perfectly. Most importantly, they look amazing on my feet. I walk over to the mirror. Even though I’m short, my legs look long. “Gorgeous.”
Jessica comes up behind me. “We make quite a pair.”
I reach out and grab her hand. “Fuck yeah.”
She brushes some loose hair out of my face. “Hair and makeup. Let’s go,” Jessica says, directing me into the bathroom.
There are two sinks in the bathroom. Jessica stands in front of one and I’m in front of the other. Jessica lines her eyes in thick dark liner. I go for a more natural look on my eyes.
“So are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and Zane?” Jessica asks out of the blue. I glance over. She’s applying mascara.
“What do you mean? Zane is gone.” I brush on some smoky eye shadow.
Jessica closes her mascara and uses a thick brush to wipe off the excess makeup. “I’m not buying it. You seem too calm, too happy. Even if you didn’t really like Cruze, you seem altogether too serene.” She’s studying her face in the mirror. “Three days of alone time can’t make this much of a difference.”
I use my mascara and put it on thick to make my eyes pop. “I… don’t know what to tell you.” My hand goes to the pearl necklace around my neck. I touch it absently.
“Where did you get those, by the way? I’ve seen them on you a lot lately.”
I look down, studying them. “They were a gift. I think they’re pretty, don’t you?” I can’t tell Jessica I wear them to feel close to Zane, to let him know I want him in my life, that I want him to come back to me.
“Sure, they’re pretty.” She shrugs and gets to work streaking black wash-out hair dye in her hair. “They just don’t seem like your style. They’re too… what’s the word?” She snaps her fingers several times.
I ignore her and put some blush on the apples of my cheeks.
“Pretentious,” she finishes.
I glance over. “They are not. They’re classy.”
“Yeah, maybe if you’re fifty.” She sprays on some hairspray and puts on my lipstick and dabs it with a tissue. She leans against the counter, her focus on me.
“You’re twenty-one.” She takes the pearls between her fingers. “Zane? Right. He seems like the pretentious asshole type.”
I carefully remove the pearls from her hand and cling to them. They might not be the style of Cadence the Hooker, but they’re totally the style of Cadence, Business Owner. Plus, they make me feel special. I like them.
“Please tell me you aren’t choosing him over Cruze. He’s bad news.” She starts throwing her makeup back in her bag. “He had one of his goons break down our door and drag you off to who knows where. He…” She touches my shoulder and I turn to face her. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
I sigh and nod. I get where she’s coming from. She’s a good friend. “When I’m with him I don’t feel like a whore. I feel like a person worth loving.” Tears well in my eyes and I clear my throat, forcing them away. “He’s never brought up what I did for a living.” I grasp her shoulders. “He believes in me, in my abilities as a person. He really sees me.” I drop my hands, turn back to the mirror, and apply a coat of bright red lipstick, then cover it with shiny gloss. “Does that make sense?” I finally ask.
She’s staring at me. Her face is serious, and she isn’t saying anything. She crosses her arms. “You love him,” she whispers quietly.
My heart starts to pound rapidly. Is what I’m feeling: love? My heart soars with one answer. Yes. To Jessica, I smile and say, “I adore him.”
She pulls me into a hug. “My baby is growing up.” She sniffles and I laugh. “I never thought this day would come.” She holds me at a distance and looks in my eyes. I swear she’s reading the hieroglyphics on my soul, the ones that tell a truth I’m not willing to share with anyone—even myself. “He’s a lucky guy.”
I hug her again, mostly because I don’t want to cry, and seeing the happiness on her face makes me want to happy-cry. But I can’t. Because there’s nothing to happy-cry about. Zane is gone. Maybe not for good, but he isn’t letting himself be with me. And it hurts.
The limo lets Jessica and me out at the curb near the entrance to Studio 45. It’s a little after ten, but there’s already a line around the block. Jessica told her friends to wait in line until we arrive. As soon as we step out of the car, several familiar faces leave the line and walk over.
The night is overcast, but warm. A slight breeze ruffles my hair and I get goose bumps.
Tonight is going to be special, I think, rubbing my arms.
The bass coming from the club is loud even from the street. People are moving to the beat, talking and laughing. The whole vibe is exciting. Several of those in line are smoking and I catch a whiff. For some reason it reminds me of Cruze.
“Ready?” Jessica asks, giving me a once over. I had let my hair dry naturally and then used a curling iron to give it some curl, giving it a softness to contrast with my bright red lips, dress and heels.
“Fuck yeah,” I say with a smile.
Hand in hand we walk up to the bulky bouncer. He looks like a young Dwayne Johnson but meaner, if that’s possible.
Jessica leans in close. “We’re the Norton party.”
He doesn’t even bat an eyelash at her or me. I guess he’s used to seeing lots of pretty people. “I need to see Cadence Norton’s ID to verify.” His words come out low and menacing, like we might be lying and, as I open my wallet to get my driver’s license, I wonder if I might be.
Jessica plays it off cool. She’s even flirty. “Sure.” She turns to me but I’m already unzipping my purse. Jessica goes on. “It’s my friend’s twenty-first birthday. You should come upstairs with us and party.”
He keeps a straight face. “I’m working.”
I hand over my ID. He looks at it, then at me, then hands it back. I put it away as the emotionless bouncer stands, unhooks the red velvet rope, and smiles. “Welcome to Studio 45. Enjoy your party.”
“Um, it’s me and her and these…” I trail off and count in my head. “Twenty,” I finally say.
“Sure.” He lets them all in.
There’s another bouncer at the door. He’s blocking our entrance. “How many?” he asks in a deep voice.
“Twenty-two so far,” I say.
He nods and then speaks into something I can’t see. “Alicia, the Norton party is here. Please escort them to the VIP.” He barely raises his voice. I’m shocked I heard him.
While we wait for Alicia, I turn back to the bouncer near the red velvet rope. He’s hooking it back up and dealing with a couple of obvious teenage girls who have on less clothes than me. They’re trying to get in.
“Come on. We’ll do whatever you want.”
“Go home and study,” he says. “You’re aren’t getting into this club on my watch.”
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They walk away, their bodies swaying into each other. As soon as they’re gone more bombard him. Several people from the line are shouting that they’re part of the Norton party too. I stand next to him and whisper in his ear. “I believe everyone’s here but John Cruze and his date, Scarlett.”
He gives me a strange look. “Really?”
“What can I say?” I shrug and smile.
He looks at me like I’m lying. “Okay,” he finally says, giving me a once over. “Be safe.”
“I will,” I reply and walk over to Jessica, who’s waiting by the door.
A tall waitress with frizzy red hair appears. “Norton party?”
“That’s us,” Jessica shouts.
“Follow me.”
“Here we go,” Jessica says, and we walk in together.
The VIP room is huge. Black velvet curtains cover all the walls except the one looking over the dance floor. It’s only half a wall and made of glass. There are black and white and gray leather couches and chairs placed along the edges and right in front of the wall overlooking the main club dance floor. The tabletops are made of thick tempered glass. The ceiling is painted black and covered in thousands of tiny lights so it looks like stars. Near the entrance is a buffet table lined with all sorts of yummy hors d’oeuvres. There are three other VIP rooms upstairs, but they’re off limits.
Private, the waitress said.
Jessica, my friends, and I dance, drink, and party until just before midnight. A caterer wheels in a two tiered birthday cake. It’s red—the color of my dress—with black polka dots. On top stand a pair of shiny black stilettoes made out of modeling chocolate. They have glitter on them so they sparkle whenever they catch the light. Twenty-one red candles surround the shoes.
My friends sing happy birthday and I make a wish. Zane! His face. His name is all I can think.
Once the candles are out, several waitresses pass around shots. Then I cut the cake. Underneath the red fondant is chocolate cake layered with strawberry mousse. It’s the best fucking cake I’ve ever tasted. I ask the woman who brought the cake out if I can keep the shoes. She sets them aside and tells me she’ll have them for me at the end of the night.
