by Jessica Pots
I believe we will be a success. Yet, I know with every new start-up venture, there is a high possibility of its failure within the first year.
But I won’t let that worry take away from this quiet peace we don’t usually get to savor when we first wake. Because even though we don’t get the pleasure of observing the sunrise this morning because the cloud cover is so thick, and snowflakes are beginning to fall from the sky, still it’s spectacular.
Honey rises from where she’s sitting and heads for the bathroom.
The flush of a toilet follows. The trickle of water. Then the unmistakable buzzing of an electric toothbrush. And I know she’ll be leaving soon. The way she always does…and heading off to our business venture.
It is what we live for these days—plans, logistics, budgets, bookings.
They’re all coming out of our ears!
In all my years of loving music, I never knew that house techno should only be played after soft pop and only when the second shift of bartenders—the wild and crazy ones—are on duty. I never knew that there was an art to getting people to party… Measuring exactly how much alcohol they’ll drink before they get too drunk and getting their heart rate to rise on the dance floor in stages by playing the right tune. Serving the right hors d’oeuvres—no onion or garlic—to make sure that guests won’t be breathing fire which ensures that the likelihood of them being kissed by the person they came with or even a stranger for that matter is insanely high.
There’s pure beauty to running a nightclub, I’d learned.
We’re now in the business of making sure that people have the time of their lives when they step through the double doors of Crush. And when they leave, if they can remember it…that it will be a night that goes down in their history books.
I slide my gym bag out from beneath the bed, rummage through the pockets and find the tiny jewelry box I’d kept my little secret in since I’d purchased it six months ago. I flip the top and peer at the yellow-gold ring and the simple princess-cut diamond that I knew had been made for her the second I saw it. I swipe my hair away from my face and huff unable to understand how or why I hadn’t managed to make my spiel and beg her to marry me. And by God I had tried…
On Honey’s birthday a few months back.
On Christmas morning.
Last night at Crush over an ugly stack of bills, endless schedule drafts and stale pizza.
I had tried many times to ask the question, but I could never get the words out.
Each time, I managed to be interrupted, cut off, shoved aside, or something more important trumped the speech I had written and rehearsed far too many times in the bathroom mirror after I’d first scribbled it down. I recite it over in my head…
Honey,
Do you remember the first time we met?
You asked me if I wanted your Jell-O.
I ignored you.
Until you asked me a second time.
And I remembered thinking then: What kind of girl gives her Jell-O away to a complete stranger?
I knew then that you were someone I could never forget.
Kind.
Pretty.
Sweet.
Like honey.
Smiling and bouncing on your toes, you nervously told me that I likely didn’t know who you were. I agreed, even though funny enough, I had been eye-stalking you for the entire semester at Northwestern, too terrified to ever walk over and say hello. But that day when we were crammed up in that awful cafeteria that served boxed mash potatoes and overcooked, slimy green beans and when the temperature outside was at near Antarctic levels, we talked.
And although my toes were frozen, and my nose was running, it was one of the best days of my life.
The ease.
The comfort.
The way we talked about absolutely nothing for hours and were still content together.
I knew it was something I could never let go of.
Honey Anna Tripton, I love you so, so much.
Will you marry me?
I sigh.
What can I say?
I’m a romantic.
Hell, my first name is Love.
A name given to me by my hippie father who told me it was all anyone ever needed in the world. And by that he meant, me. So, now, I, Love Amber Gray, live for love. However, with the pace of the new life which Honey and I seem to have eased into, romance oftentimes just isn’t an option.
We speed along with life and try our best to ensure we can keep up with it.
With a long exhale, I toss the ring in the bag, zip it up and shove my secret away back under the bed. I sink into the Christmas tunes which float from the radio. They help to relax my frantic nerves just a little. Today is destined to be the longest ones in history. We have photographs to take. An interview to give. An Instagram and Facebook page to update. Menus to confirm. And lest I not forget, we must select the drink of the night.
I push it all out of my mind, for now.
The commotion in the bathroom ceases, bare feet pad along the wooden floors and slowly Honey’s weight eases down on the bed. A little breath leaves her as she taps out messages into her phone. Long breaths, scoffs, groans. It’s her symphony. One I hear every-single-day and usually at this hour.
Shifting across the sheets, I reach a hand out and brush it over Honey’s hair.
With the contact, a breath leaves her. A smile follows and then her sleepy baby blues are on me, dousing me with their color, sucking me in. “I didn’t realize you were up.”
“You should sleep a little longer, with me,” I beg.
“I wish I could, but there is just so much to do.” Groaning, she lies in the middle of the bed, starfish-style.
I curl my fingers around the soft skin on her arm, nudge her back toward me and press my cheek to hers for a short moment. Then, I practically catapult from where I’m resting, rush to the bathroom, brush my teeth, ruffle my hair and try my very best to look as sexy as I can. Then, I’m back in bed, bouncing on the pillowtop mattress, hair swaying everywhere and on my knees.
Honey’s phone buzzes.
She ignores it and huffs out a loud breath. “You look so beautiful this morning.”
“Thank you.” I smile. “And so do you.” I take her hand in mine and place my palm atop it.
“You really look hot.” She giggles and shoves her fingers into my hair with her other hand.
I grab it quickly. “Honey.” I purse my lips. “Do you remember when we first met?”
Her tawny brows scrunch and her cheeks and lips pinken. “Why do you keep asking me that?” She sits up and eyes me strangely. “You keep asking me the same question, Love…”
“Yes, I-I-I—” My eyes follow her swift movements when she crawls across the bed and snatches her phone up after it rings.
“Hi, Honey, here.” She pulls her hair over one shoulder. “Oh, my god, yeah. I’ll be right there. Just give me about forty-five minutes and I’ll-be-right-there.”
A long loud exhale finds its way out of me.
Honey tosses the phone in the middle of the bed.
I press my hands together. “Do you remember when we first met?”
Honey inches closer to me on her knees and presses a soft kiss to my lips, mushing my words. “I only have a little while before I have to leave.” She offers me a silly grin before she nudges me to the bed. Her warm lips touch mine and her tongue delves into my mouth as she eases her weight down on top of mine.
I blabber some more between kisses.
“I swear I’ll never grow tired of you, Love, ever.” She buries her face in my neck and tickles my sides making me giggle.
But…
I want to spend the rest of my life with you.
I love you.
Just let me get the words out…
But they never leave my lips.
I’m nudged back, sleepshirt shoved up past my breasts. Honey pulls my panties off with a wicked grin plastered across her face. Her hair is everywhere and strewn
about just like her smile is along with mine.
With a flop, I fall to the bed.
And when her lips kiss along the insides of my thighs and her soft strands tickle my skin, I instantly relax. I know in less than a few minutes, Honey will hop in the shower, snatch up her thermos of coffee and she’ll be gone for the rest of the day. Then I’ll follow behind her just a little later.
There will be no breakfast in bed or lounging around the TV in the morning talking about nonsense before we start our days. This will be our lives indefinitely until Crush settles into hopeful success and the pace slows down. So, I try my very best to enjoy this moment, to savor the free time we have, even if it isn’t very much.
“Do you still want to ask me that question, again, Love?”
Yes!
But I can’t get the words out.
Only a desperate cry rips from me which is followed by a long breath.
A smirk touches Honey’s lips when her blue eyes smother me with something powerful and then her tongue is all over me, licking and sucking and consuming my flesh.
I bite back my moan then I let out a soft cry.
My fingers twist in the sheets and then they’re in Honey’s thick hair. My eager fingers sink into a sea of red. The tendrils fall over my bare stomach. They tumble out over the sheets.
I take my hand and brush it all away so that I can see her pretty blue eyes, her wicked mouth and that expert tongue as it slides along my pussy and suckles my clit ever so gently until I’m helplessly bucking against it. My thighs quiver uncontrollably. Mouth falls open. Desperate breaths leave me until I’m panting like a thirsty poodle.
Honey moans into my skin.
The vibration sends an interesting sensation through my bones.
My back arches!
Body begs like a slave.
Mind settles into euphoria.
With a smile, she flutters her tongue over my clit, sucking softly, teasing, tormenting.
A soft wail spills from me just as my insides twist up into the most agonizing knot. And then just like someone untying the most perfect bow…they tug. And in that one yank on the soft ribbon that is my soul…In that one perfect suckle, I explode. And the knot comes free.
I practically melt into the sheets. Boneless and sated, I lay still and just breathe.
“I’ll see you at Crush in a few hours.” With a sly smirk, she kisses my lips.
“Yeah.” The word slips from me on a breath as I lay here dazed and so in love.
Honey waltzes across the room and disappears behind the bathroom door. Soon, the squeak of the shower fixture being twisted fills the warm air.
Shifting onto my side, I giggle softly and mumble a few words to myself.
And then a sigh slips from me, exhausted and happy when I decide that everything that had just happened was better than breakfast in bed any day.
two
honey
THIS PLACE LOOKS A-MAZING.
Madonna’s “Santa Baby” rains down softly from the speakers above me.
In my sweats and sneakers and messy hair, I part the sequin-covered curtain and walk into the open space that spans five thousand square feet and two entire stories. The walls are as dark as midnight and so are the floors. It sparkles beneath any bit of lighting giving the illusion of twinkling stars in the dark night sky.
I run my hand over the smooth walls and smile.
Love had picked this tile out, said it would look cool.
I didn’t agree at the time.
But now, I see exactly what she saw then.
Red, silver and gold are the theme tonight. It’s the same colors of the strobe lights which will bounce around this place tonight. The VIP lounge is decorated tastefully and every few tables, large silver tins hold party hats and noisemakers. And banners which read: Happy New Year hang strategically throughout the place from the railings on the second floor.
I press a hand to the middle of my chest, impressed and amazed.
Spinning around, I take it all in and accept that in just a few hours the world will know this place now exists. They’ll know that Love and I had taken the biggest chance of all and ventured out on our own, embarking on one wild ride. The façade of this building would decorate half a single page in the Chicago Tribune and they promised that a photograph of “us” would be spread across the other half after the new year when they could squeeze the article in.
A little flutter happens in my belly when I think about that.
I ignore the incessant buzzing of my phone and then a distinct beep occurs which tells me the message is from the woman I left only less than an hour ago.
Love: I’m on my way.
Me: Good, need you here.
Love: Honestly, I thought you would have called by now since you had to leave in such a rush and get there sooooo soon. I guess I was under the impression there had been an emergency.
My brows knot as I look around, confused, since everything looks perfect.
Me: No, no emergency, everything is fine.
I think…
Love: Okay, great. I’ll be there soon.
Me: Sounds wonderful.
I press the phone to my lips before I shove it in my pocket and inspect the rest of the place. I stroll by the bar area and swipe a hand over the smooth countertops. Everything in here is pristine. Everything in here looks perfect. It is all one amazing canvas for a New Year’s Party/grand opening.
I run a hand through my hair and find my reflection’s eyes in the mirror on the wall across the dance floor. I’m a far different sight than I’ll hopefully be tonight. And although my eyes look tired, still they shine with something that is the direct result of simply standing in this place.
Perhaps it’s pride.
Excitement? Gratitude? Fear?
I’d say it’s all the above.
I grin.
A door clicks.
A walkie-talkie goes off and soon a familiar voice fills my ears.
I spin around to the sight of the woman who really is in charge heading toward me.
Gemma Isobel Holland—divorcee, mother of two of the cutest four-year old twin girls—May and June, Chicago native, graduate of Harry S. Truman College, visionary, slightly neurotic, a woman who grows on everyone in one of the greatest of ways as soon as they meet her. Organized to a fault. And patient…one of her best qualities.
My phone buzzes for the umpteenth time since I’ve been here. I extract it from my pocket and stare at the faceplate. I scroll through all the messages from the caterer, the florist, the reporters, the photographers and the rest are from our assorted friends who promised they’d be here tonight. If one more message finds its way through cyber world and to my cellphone, I fear it might explode.
I shove it back in my pocket because I truly don’t want to look at this phone anymore.
Those footsteps I had heard so long ago finally get closer.
Gemma trots toward me, covered in sweat and with her curly chestnut hair everywhere. When she comes to a full stop, she huffs and wipes the perspiration away from her forehead. She looks just as messy as I do.
My brows are arched as I wait for her to stop panting and speak!
“Hey, good morning, again.” She laughs and then smiles but it’s weak. So weak that I wonder why. “I’m glad you’re here.” Another huff.
I glance down at the plunger in her hands and then my eyes flicker back up to her face.
“I’m so, so glad you’re here, Honey.”
“What happened?” The words leave my mouth slowly, painfully.
“Well.” She exhales. “I was going to call you right away, but I thought since I’m going to be the full-time manager soon and so forth, that I should try to see if I could fix the problem myself.” She shows me the plunger and smiles. “So, I got here really early to see if I could fix-it-myself.” A giggle. “Anyways, it turns out I couldn’t, so…”
“Good morning, ladies. Did someone call a plumber?” A woman strolls in who’s dre
ssed in overalls and carrying a bucket and a tool kit. Two men trail in behind her.
Gemma waves her hand around. “Yeah, I did. I mean, we did. I mean, yeah.”
The plumbing team disappears down the dark starry lit hallway which leads to the…
My eyes swing back to the plunger in Gemma’s hands.
“So, anyways, yeah, there’s a problem.” Her brown eyes bulge out of her head.
My chin dips down toward my chest.
She smiles half-heartedly, possibly about to burst in tears. “The toilets aren’t working, Honey.”
“What?”
Elvis Presley’s “Blue Christmas” drifts softly from the speakers which surround us.
Gemma swipes a lock of hair away from her face. “Yeah, the toilets aren’t working.”
I glance just behind her, urged by all the commotion going on somewhere deep in the nightclub.
CRASH. BANG. BOOM. SPLASSSSSH!
My eyes narrow.
Gemma flinches and then she babbles out a few incoherent words then goes on and on and on for so long I have no clue anymore about what she’s talking about because my eyes are only fixed on the floor at our feet.
Then her voice suddenly cuts into my frantic thoughts…
“I called a plumber…”
A tiny breath escapes me.
“The toilets won’t flush…”
A gasp.
“Technically, we don’t have any working bathrooms in this building right now…”
What
in
the
ever-loving
F
!
I swallow down a rock and then get all sorts of dizzy when a thin layer of water makes its way toward us on the floor, drowning the twinkling tiles.
Gemma is still rattling on about her managerial responsibilities. All I can do is try not to pass out at the impending flood that is about to take Crush and all our dreams down to Davey Jones’ locker with it.
“Ma’am.” The plumber marches toward us, boots squishing in the inch of water on the floor. “Ma’am.” She thumbs over her shoulder. “You have a serious problem back there. We’re going to have to shut this place down for a few hours. Your pipes are backed up.” She makes a face.
