Ignite Me (The Annihilate Me Series)

by Ross, Christina

  “And thank God for that,” Blackwell said. “Your hair alone looks as if an eagle has been nesting in it for the past several weeks.”

  “Please.”

  “As in, ‘please help yourself to some conditioner’? As in, ‘please, somebody help me because my hair has become a horror show?’ Or as in, ‘please, God, if you’re listening to me right now, could you just toss down a really good wig for me’?”

  “You’re horrible. And while I’d love nothing more than to spar with you, Babs, we need to get a move on.”

  “Don’t ever call me ‘Babs’ again.”

  “It’s better than what I’ve called you in the past.”

  “True enough. And just be lucky that I adore you,” Blackwell said as she checked her watch. “Now, look, ladies. Bernie is already here. As we speak, he’s waiting for us in our pseudo dressing room.”

  “There’s a pseudo dressing room?” I said.

  “It’s that office over there,” Blackwell said, pointing to a door that had been closed ever since I started at Wenn. I’d just assumed that it belonged to someone who was on vacation and the door was shut because of that. “We’ve long used it as Jennifer’s dressing room. And at this point, Bernie is probably bored to death when it comes to waiting for us. So, you know, let’s kick this up a notch and turn Jennifer into the queen she needs to be tonight. But first, I need both of you to listen to me—if only to assuage him, we need to bring energy into that room. Excitement. Vibrance. Wit!” Her voice dropped a notch. “Anything that will spark his formidable creative juices, because looking at Jennifer right now, she clearly needs every ounce of talent if he’s to fix that.”

  “I look fine,” Jennifer said.

  “Really,” Blackwell said. “Is that what you think?”

  “How about if we give Madison some insight into Bernie before the drama begins?”

  “Fine,” Blackwell said. “He has his own salon on Fifth. Wildly popular. Everyone who’s anyone goes to Bernie. That is, of course, if they can get an appointment. It’s solely by the grace of God that he even agrees to come to us at all. But he does so because he loves me, and because for some unknown reason that continues to baffle me, he appears to adore Jennifer.”

  “Hilarious,” Jennifer said. Before we entered the room, she said, “Let me tell Madison something that will put everything into perspective for her when it comes to Bernie.”

  “Make it quick.”

  Jennifer lowered her voice to a mere whisper before she spoke. “Bernie is the one who suggested that Madonna wear her iconic crucifix when she first started her career.”

  “He knows Madonna?” I said.

  “He did when she was first starting out. He worked with her during her early days—the crucifix, the Rosary beads, and her street-urchin look? All of that was him. It was because of him that every girl wanted to dress like her when she first hit the scene. It’s something you should know if only because Bernie is so humble that he’d never tell you any of that on his own. But Madonna was just the beginning for him. Many other celebrities followed. You’re about to meet fashion royalty.”

  “And someone who has done lines of blow with Grace Jones at Studio 54,” Blackwell said. “And on a gold razor blade, nonetheless.”

  “Now I’m terrified,” I said. “Madonna. Grace Jones. Coke on a gold razor blade at Studio 54. Now, I’m intimidated.”

  “Don’t be,” Jennifer said. “He’ll adore you immediately. When I first met him, I just wanted to hang out with him instead of going to whatever party I was going to. You’ll see,” she said as we entered the room. “I promise. Bernie’s fab.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “I’m what?” a well-preserved, silver-haired man said as we walked into the room. Like Blackwell, he was dressed completely in black, and he was standing beside a dressing table with an attached lighted mirror. Looking at him now, I knew that in his youth, he probably was so good-looking, he’d weakened many men’s hearts. And probably a few women’s too.

  “Fab,” Jennifer said.

  “Just ‘fab’?”

  “Beyond fab,” she said.

  “I can get behind that,” he said as they embraced. And it wasn’t just for a quick second. I saw that there was real meaning behind the way they held each other. But then Bernie paused, took a few strands of Jennifer’s hair and rubbed them between his fingertips. “What happened to you?” he said. “I just saw you three weeks ago. Your hair feels over-processed.”

  “It’s like straw from a barn,” Blackwell said.

  “I might have run out of hair conditioner,” Jennifer said.

  “It’s more than that. Since she hails from the bowels of Maine, where barns abound, it wouldn’t surprise me if cows had defecated in it.”

  “Really, Barbara? Is that the best you’ve got for me?”

  “That was the family-friendly version. I could go on, you know?”

  “How about if you don’t?”

  “And how about if I do? After all, I was about to say—”

  “And who is this portrait of beauty?” Bernie interrupted them as he turned to me.

  “This is Madison Wells,” Jennifer said. “Barbara’s new assistant.”

  He took my hand and placed it over his heart. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that, love. How long have you been working for the devil?”

  “The devil my ass,” Blackwell said. “I’m a gift from God.”

  “A gift that was meant for the Kraken,” Jennifer said.

  “Don’t answer my question,” he said to me. “It’ll only get awkward for you if you do. But I must say, Madison, that you are something to behold. Look at you. That sharp jawline. Those fluid brown eyes. And your figure—those breasts! Sublime! The things I could do to you if I only had the chance!”

  “Well, you don’t,” Blackwell said. “So, settle the hell down before you burst into a rainbow flag. The clock is ticking. Jennifer? Get your ass in that chair. We don’t want to keep Alex or Peachy waiting.”

  * * *

  When Bernie started to work on Jennifer, Blackwell retrieved a bottle of champagne from a small refrigerator that was across the room and poured each of us a glass. With the three of them all talking at once, the atmosphere soon became like a party, and as time passed, I was nudged into the conversation because Bernie had taken a particular interest in me.

  “Where are you from, Madison?” he asked as he started to remove the makeup from Jennifer’s face.

  “Wisconsin,” I said.

  “A Madison from Wisconsin? Are you even on speaking terms with your parents?”

  I giggled at that. “I know. It’s awful. I hear it all the time.”

  “Talk about cruel,” Blackwell said. “Setting up a child like that.”

  “You know,” Bernie said while he treated Jennifer’s hair with some sort of lotion, “I once knew a young man from Wisconsin.”

  “Oh, God,” Blackwell said. “Is this going to be another one of your sordid little sex stories?”

  “I certainly hope so,” Jennifer said. “I can’t get enough of them.”

  “Depends on what you consider . . . ‘sordid,’” he said.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Then I’ll let you be the judge. And besides, what fond memories Buck brings back to me right now, possums. Memories, my dear, Barbara, are what men like me eventually have to fall back on.”

  When he said that, she put her fingers to her lips. “Your fruit hasn’t dropped from the tree just yet,” she said. “It’s still there. Still ripe. Still ready to be plucked when the right man comes along.”

  “The hell it is,” he said dramatically.

  “But it is.”

  “I already know that it isn’t—and after several years of drinking martinis alone by myself in the dark, I’ve since come to terms with it.”

  “But you mustn’t give up—ever. There is someone out there for you, Bernie. I know it in my heart. My soul! You’re too special not to find love
again.”

  “Once I was special,” he said. “You know—in that certain kind of way that paved the way to my getting laid. But at this point in my life, the dew has long since fallen from my lily.”

  “Je ne suis pas d’accord.”

  “Je suis un vieil homme. C'est ce que c’est.”

  “Anyway,” Jennifer said, ending their overblown banter with a bang, “who in the hell is Buck?”

  “A cowboy from Wisconsin,” Bernie said. “I met him at the Mineshaft back in the day. He’d just graduated from university, and he’d come to Manhattan to stake his claim in more ways than one. This was back in the early eighties, Madison, long before you were even a pearl in your parents’ eyes. But what a passionate love affair Buck and I had, even if it did last only for a few hours during one heated evening. I can remember the night we met as if it were yesterday.”

  “What were you wearing?” Blackwell asked as she sipped her champagne.

  “Back then, it was all about leather. So I wore a black T-shirt, tight Levi 501s, a cock ring, no underwear, and black leather boots.”

  “You did not wear a cock ring,” Jennifer said.

  “Oh, but I did. Everyone did. Back then, it was all about the bulge, sweetie. You know, before everyone started wearing their pants halfway down around their asses, and thus denying the world the opportunity to see their junk.”

  When Bernie said that, my thoughts flashed back to a few days ago, when Brock had entered Wenn Fitness in his own tight 501s. With that delicious image forever burned into my memory, I knew exactly what he was talking about.

  “But back to Barbara’s question—I pretty much wore what people were wearing at the time, but because even then, I couldn’t bear the thought of looking like everyone else, I probably also had on a full face of makeup and a trace of eyeliner—not that anyone could ever tell, because I’m that damned good.”

  “Tell us about Buck,” Blackwell said. “Even though the thought of what’s coming makes me feel itchy.”

  “Then get ready to scratch,” he said as he started to comb out Jennifer’s hair. “Because what we had was nothing short of a sizzling five-hour love affair. I was about twenty-eight when I first met Buck—and yes, I realize that I’m giving away my age, not that I give a damn—and I have to say that what we had between us was magical. I can see it now. There I was leaning against the bar trying my best to look as butch as possible—which often was mission impossible for me. Still, I did have my bag of tricks, and I used them that night. I learned that if I just kept my mouth shut and stood perfectly rigid, I could pass for something close to butch. After all, I was built like a brick back then—and Buck noticed it at once.”

  “Tell us everything,” Jennifer said.

  “Everything?”

  “Everything.”

  “Then gird your loins, girl, because Buck, much like his name suggests, was nothing if not aggressive.”

  “Goodness,” Jennifer said as he started to blow out her hair with a dryer.

  “Goodness had nothing to do with it. Buck was a raw cowboy who hailed from the wilds of the midwest. He wore faded Levis like mine, but he’d adorned them with black leather chaps, which were enough to make me catch my breath. And then there was the lasso he’d attached to his belt on his left hip.”

  “A lasso?” Blackwell said.

  “That’s right, Barbara. Buck had a lasso. And he wore no shirt, thus revealing to everyone in that club exactly what he was made of.”

  “Which was formidable?” I said.

  Bernie turned to me, his eyes gleaming with memories of the past.

  “It was, Madison. Those pecs. Those abs. His thick, meaty thighs. When I saw him, I was done in. And then he approached me—and without saying a word to me, he just kissed me. I can still taste the stale beer on his tongue, feel his hand on my ass. And then there was later, when I took him home with me. It was as if we’d known each other for a lifetime. I have no shame in telling all of you that he took his lasso, swung it around his head, and snared me with it the moment we stepped into my bedroom. And then? Then he stripped me bare, he used the rope to hogtie me, and then he broke my brokeback mountain. Together, we had what might have been the best sex of my life.”

  “He did what to you?” Blackwell said.

  “Are you not listening to me? I said that he broke my brokeback mountain.”

  “I heard you,” she said. “I just can’t believe that you went there.”

  “Well, believe it.”

  “There are things I should never have to envision, Bernie. And the idea of you being hogtied by someone named Buck is one of them.”

  “Then shade your eyes from the truth of my life, darling, because our brief love affair is something I’ll never regret, Barbara. And now it’s yours to either believe or throw away forever.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  When Bernie was finished with Jennifer, only fifty minutes had passed, and Jennifer was right—the man was a genius. I had no idea how anyone could improve upon Jennifer’s looks, but with a deft sleight of hand, Bernie had. As Jennifer leaned forward and looked at herself in the mirror, Blackwell asked me to retrieve the dress she’d purchased for her.

  “It’s over there on the rack, Madison, but as you’ll see, I’ve since decided upon another dress. It’s not the one we picked up at Bergdorf. It’s the one on the far right. The red one. The gown. The one I nearly died over when Chloe called me this morning and said that I must come to see it. Would you bring it over to us so that Jennifer can see it for herself before she gets dressed?”

  “Of course,” I said, walking over to the rack. I lifted it. “This one?” I asked.

  “Yes, that one. Bring it here.”

  I brought it over to her.

  “Would you mind removing the plastic wrapping?”

  I removed it and turned the gown this way and that so Jennifer could have a good look at it.

  “It’s stunning,” I said.

  “Oscar de la Renta,” Blackwell said as she stood up and took the gown from me. “May that man rest in peace. It’s a floral appliqué gown. Strapless sweetheart neckline. Fitted bodice. Full skirt. Beyond divoon. Let’s just hope that it fits Jennifer’s ass because it set Wenn back seventeen grand.”

  My eyes widened at that. Seventeen grand for a gown? And for a mere party? Even though they’d gone out of their way to make me feel included tonight, I was so not one of them, it was funny.

  “Turn to Jennifer,” Blackwell said.

  I turned to Jennifer as Blackwell held the gown in front of me.

  “I love it,” Jennifer said. “It’s formal, but the red is so deep, it’s also kind of sexy. You’d look amazing in it, Madison.”

  “She would,” Bernie agreed.

  Jennifer appraised me for a moment, and then she turned to Blackwell. “I know that you went to a great deal of trouble finding it for me, but I think that this gown is more suited to Madison than it is for me.”

  “Well,” Blackwell said. “After seeing it against her like this, I have to agree.”

  Jennifer turned to me. “I think you should try it on, Madison. Because here’s the thing—it is for you.”

  I couldn’t have heard her right.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You and Brock are joining us tonight at Peachy’s party,” she said with a wicked grin on her face. “And that gown? That gown is yours.”

  “I don’t understand. . . .”

  “Look,” Blackwell said. “I get it. Right now the shock is so great, your mind has probably been erased. But it is for you. We purchased it for you, my dear. And just by seeing it against you, I can already tell you with certainty that it’s going to fit, especially since you told me this morning that you were a size six.”

  “That’s why you asked me my size?”

  “I’m a clever woman, Madison.”

  “You had this planned? Even before you asked me to step into your office and we had that conversation?”

 
“Indeed, I did. I’m not completely evil, you know? Consider this the exclamation point on the apology I extended to you earlier.”

  “Blackwell was behind all of this, Madison,” Jennifer said. “After we learned that you and Brock were seeing each other, we talked about it, and she suggested that the two of you join us tonight.”

  I turned to look at Blackwell and saw that her face had softened.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Madison, you not only deserve it, but it’s my pleasure.”

  “Does Brock know about this?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “He’s with Alex now. Two cousins getting ready for the night. Probably straightening each other’s bow ties as we speak before they have a glass of bourbon. Or a martini. Or whatever the hell those boys drink.”

  “A martini for Alex,” Jennifer said. “No idea about Brock.”

  “I haven’t heard from Brock all day,” I said. “I thought that, for some reason, he was done with me.”

  And the moment I said that, I knew that I’d just given myself away.

  But instead of leveling me with a glance, Blackwell just cocked her head to the side. “You mean you were waiting to hear from him during your lunch break?” she said. “You know, darling, when you’re allowed to receive personal texts and phone calls?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “That’s it exactly.”

  “I thought so. And Brock is far from being done with you, so let’s have none of that. You and Jennifer need to meet him and Alex in forty minutes, which doesn’t leave us much time. So why don’t you sit in that chair while I I help Jennifer get into the gown that you and I picked out for her. In the meantime, even though Bernie’s head is probably still swirling with thoughts of Buck and his lasso, I asked him if he’d tend to you this evening—and lucky girl that you are, he said that he would.”

  * * *

  It was like something out of a dream, and to say that I was shocked to my core that all of this was somehow happening to me was an understatement.