Love of Steele

by Ivy Raine

  “There it is!” Struggling to see over the throng of heads in front of them, Shelli jumped up and down. “I swear I saw it open and close!”

  Marco picked her up under her arms and held her up above the crowd.

  “I was right! They’re letting another group in.” She wiggled free from Marco’s grasp. “I don’t care if we have to jump line. We’re getting in there.”

  “Come on, Brad. Let’s see if we can pad that guy’s hand with a little green. We’ll be right back, ladies.”

  Brad looked at Marta with an apologetic smile as he and Marco were sucked into the living mass in front of them.

  “Marco, wait!” It was too late and the crowd too loud. “Well, shit.” The scowl on Shelli’s face would scare away the dead. “Now we’re gonna get crushed.”

  She and Marta linked arms and huddled in together.

  “So, where did you meet Brad?” Though Shelli said it innocently enough, there was a bit of crispness in her voice.

  “The restaurant. I was a waitress.”

  “Was?”

  “I’m hostess, now,” Marta clarified. “As a matter of fact, this evening was supposed to be a sort of working date.”

  Shelli’s dark eyes scoured Marta for deficiencies. “How so?”

  “The wine. Brad wanted to test it for the restaurant.”

  Opportunity lit a fire under Shelli. “You don’t have to worry about my wine. It’s the best in the entire northeast – guaranteed. I’ll send a case over to Brad on Monday morning. We have twelve flavors and three different sizes of bottles.”

  Marta wasn’t quite sure what to make of this creature. She could switch faces faster than the press of a button. “That’s great. Thank you.”

  “Look.” Shelli nudged Marta.

  The tightly packed line in front of them seemed to dissolve as people headed off in every direction.

  “What’s going on?” Marta pointed toward the burly bouncer. “Why’s that guy sending people away?”

  Shelli leaned up on her tippy toes. “Uh, oh. Looks like he’s hand-picking who goes in. Must be really crowded.” She turned to Marta. “Slip out of that coat.”

  A drop of cold rain smacked Marta on the top of her head. “But, it’s starting to rain.”

  “Hurry!” Shelly glanced over her shoulder. “He’s almost here." Not waiting for a reply, Shelli untied Marta’s trench sash and tugged at her sleeve. “Do you want in, or not?”

  “Is this really necessary?” It was too late to voice dissension; Marta’s coat slipped down over her shoulders just as a blast of chilly, damp air raced across the parking lot.

  “Sorry, but we’re not getting in on my assets.” She made a subtle gesture toward Marta’s blessed endowment. “But, we will get in if one of us is deemed attractive enough, if you know what I mean. Otherwise, we’ve stood out here for thirty minutes just to catch cold.”

  “This feels so…cheap.”

  “Shhh! He’s coming. Stand up straight, chest out. Make him take notice.”

  For as long as she could remember, Marta struggled to keep her breasts out of the line of fire, and now, here she was inviting attention. She was never one to do a shoddy job no matter the task, so she thrust her whole effort behind getting inside that coveted building.

  The bouncer locked eyes on Marta and brushed right by the raised hands all around him.

  “Good evening, Ladies. We have room for a few more. Have your identification cards ready for inspection at the front desk. Tell the doorman that Trixie sent you.”

  Shelli stifled a squeal and latched onto Marta’s arm, pulling her through the thinning crowd. They caught sight of Marco and Brad loitering around the entry.

  “We’re in!” she said, breathless from their mini adventure.

  Marco shoved his hands down in his pockets. “What did you do? Promise them our first born?”

  Shelli nodded her head toward Marta. “You can thank Miss Boobage, here. She played up her assets nicely.”

  That’s when Marta felt it – the stare. There was no way she was looking at Brad right now. Tears were standing guard and ready to fall at a moment’s notice, and seeing the disappointment on his face would be the catalyst. She felt dirty and cheap and no longer wanted to be anywhere near the nightclub.

  She felt a warm arm slip around her exposed shoulders. “This is a top-notch place. Next time we won’t come on a whim. I’ll call ahead and reserve us a spot.” Brad gave her a quick squeeze and slipped his hand down into hers.

  The sting that was assaulting her face faded away. That’s it? No chastising? Marta knew exactly how Stash would have reacted. She’d be the gold-digging woman using her body to get what she wanted. But, not Brad. Though Marta knew he was most likely a bit disappointed, she also knew he wasn’t judgmental like Stash. God! Why couldn’t she get that man out of her head?

  “Come on, people! The night’s not getting any longer.” Shelli unlinked her arm from Marco’s and hurried ahead to open the door before they locked down. “Trixie sent us.” Shelli’s high-pitched voice cut through the rhythmic beats pumping from every orifice of the nightclub, and for a few moments, Marta was sure the doorman would turn them away – she almost hoped he would.

  The doorman took a step back and gave them a thorough eye-roving. “Okay.” He stuck out his fat fingers and wiggled them at the girls. “I’ll need identification. Some of you look underage.”

  Yeah. Marta knew that one was coming. Being barely legal will cause that on occasion. Digging down into her bag, Marta’s fingers jammed straight into her cell phone, lighting up the screen. There he was. Stash – all six foot two of him sans shirt and lounging on the old, black leather sofa at the cottage. Marta remembered back to that lovely day. They’d spent all afternoon lounging around – feeling around – one quick touch at a time. It was the last photo she’d taken before he disappeared.

  “Who’s that hunk?” Shelli peered down into Marta’s glowing bag.

  Punching the off button, Marta stuffed her driver’s license into the doorman’s hand, hoping he’d hurry them along. “Just a friend. Former roommate, actually.”

  “My ass!” Shelli looked at Marta with complete disbelief. “Friends with benefits, maybe.”

  Marta’s anger flared and she pinched her lips together to keep from saying something she’d later regret. Why couldn’t pixie-girl just shut the hell up? She’d already used her to get what she wanted, so what was her angle now?

  “Come on,” said Shelli, snatching her identification from the doorman’s hand. “You can tell us. We’re dying to know.”

  “No, we’re not.” Though Marta had seen Brad angry before, this was different. His voice rumbled with an octave straight from hell, sending a chill through the air and silencing everything but their breath.

  Shelli shrugged. She knew she’d pissed Brad off, but by the look on her face, she’d be back at it as soon as his head was turned.

  “Yep. I told you about that mouth of yours, woman.” Marco slapped her ass. “It’s gonna get you in trouble one of these days. Maybe this day.” He reached out and snatched her to him in a bear hug. It was obvious that he adored her, though Marta couldn’t quite figure that one out. Apparently he liked playing the fool.

  The doorman, however, felt no adoration for the tiny, wingless creature, and made sure to glare at her as he flexed his neck muscles and nodded down the dimly lit hall. “Ladies, straight through, bar’s on the left. Gents, that’ll be sixty each."

  Ouch. Marta winced at the amount of money Brad shelled out just to get himself inside where they were sure to waste even more money. More than a bit of regret shot through Marta. Sure, Marco and Shelli were nice – well, Marco, at least, but she’d rather have had their quiet evening tasting wine – even if it was Shelli’s wine.

  The blaring music churned to a stop and the deejay mumbled something into his microphone. Whatever it was, the crowd came to life.

  “We don’t have to stay long,” Brad whispered in her ear
as they meandered down the long hall toward the black, double doors at the end. “As a matter of fact, we don’t have to stay at all if you don’t want to.”

  Taking a deep breath, Marta vowed not to let Shelli get under her skin. “Nope. I’m taking this working date very seriously,” she teased. “Besides. We haven’t gotten to sample any wine, yet.”

  Brad used his forearm to push open the swinging door. “We’ll have to remedy that.”

  “It looks a little crowded.” Grabbing at Brad’s arm, Marta stuck like glue until they finally found an empty table near the back of the body infested club. “Smells kinda funny in here.”

  Shelli laughed. “Haven’t you ever been to a dance club?” she yelled above the music. “They all smell like this. It’s called sex and sweat.”

  Marta logged that one for later use. Though she found the tiny barbarianesque woman a little brash, she also happened to be a great source for advertising ideas.

  “Girls on the inside.” Marco waved his arm at Shelli, directing her into the rounded seating area. “We wouldn’t want you ladies trampled by the sex crazed drunks stumbling around.”

  Brad slid in behind Marta, grazing her knee with the back of his hand.

  “If this gets too loud for you, just say the word and we’re gone,” he whispered in her ear.

  Marta nodded, wondering how loud the noise level had to be before she could use that excuse. She felt the leather bench seat shift and pixie woman saddled up next to her.

  “So, you’ve never been to a nightclub before, have you Marta?” Shelli looked her up and down, just waiting for Marta to open her mouth and profess what a baby she was – at least that’s what Marta surmised she was thinking. What happened next was unexpected. “Well, you’ve not missed very much. You apparently have good parents. Mine…not so much. My first experience in one of these places was at the ripe, old age of seventeen.” She picked up the drink the waiter sat in front of her and downed it in one gulp. “God, I wish I could climb back into the womb and start life with different parents.”

  Marta almost laughed, but the look on Shelli’s face stopped her in her tracks. The glint of pain in her eyes revealed more than she intended, and Marta found herself drawn in with morbid curiosity.

  “Why?”

  There was something inside of Shelli desperate to get out, but she withdrew back into her tough shell. “You spill it about the sex god hanging out in your bag and I’ll divulge my gory details.”

  Marta opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Yep.” Shelli gave her the eye. “Just as I thought. It’s okay. I won’t prod. We all need our secrets. They keep us sane.”

  Brad’s laugh rang out in the vibrating din of music and voices. He and Marco were deep in restaurant talk. Marta turned back to Shelli. “It’s not really a secret. I’m just not up to talking about it right now.”

  Shelli nodded. “I understand. I’ve been around the block quite a few times, myself.” She twirled the empty shot glass around with her finger. “Well, what the heck. I’ll give you a freebie.” She brushed a curl from her face and gave Marta a sidelong glance. “My parents were drug addicts. Not the stereotypical kind,” she added quickly, “but the white collar kind.”

  She waited to see just what kind of reaction that would elicit from Marta. When Marta didn’t even flinch, she continued.

  “A pill here and there – the legal kind for pain. Back pain, so they told the doctor. When that wasn’t enough they turned to needles. They’d have parties and invite their influential friends. They’d bring powder and booze and have a high old time until the early morning hours nearly every weekend. Then, come Monday, they’d head back to their board rooms until the next weekend.”

  “I’m sorry.” Marta felt bad that she couldn’t muster up any wise, comforting words, but what else was there to say? Her parents had created a safe nest for her to grow up in, sheltered from the reality that Shelli went through. “But, I’m sure they loved you.” Marta knew when she said it that it didn’t mean to Shelli what it did for her.

  “Yeah. In their own sick, twisted way, I’m sure they did, but they loved their friends more. We can’t disappoint Reed and Judy, I remember them saying.” Shelli’s face turned black. “Reed was never disappointed. He always went away with a smile on his face, courtesy of little Shelli, and little Shelli couldn’t say ‘no’ unless she wanted to see her daddy go to jail for embezzlement.” She grabbed Marta’s shot and threw her head back. A streak of glitter mixed with tears ran back toward her ear. “Good, old Reed. The world was his until he found out I was expecting his only heir.”

  Marta nearly choked. “Oh, my god!”

  “Yeah,” she snarled. “Imagine that. And when I tried to tell them that Reed was the father, they kicked me out of the house and accused me of purposely trying to sabotage my dear daddy’s career. Needless to say, I got an abortion and they graciously allowed me to come home. If I were to do it over again, I would’ve kept the baby and forced the bastard to fork over some of the millions he’s got stuffed in his mattress. He was generous enough to pay for the procedure, of course, so I guess I can’t say he was all bad.” The sarcasm was palpable. Shelli took a deep breath and glanced at Marta. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.” Her weak smile showed her exhaustion with life. “Actually, I do know. It’s been on my mind all day.” She tapped her shot glass against the table. “Today would’ve been my baby’s thirteenth birthday. Can you believe it? I’d be mom to a teen!”

  Gone, washed away were all the misconceptions she’d had of Shelli. Marta understood exactly why she put on the tough, in-control shell.

  “I just – I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry you had to go through that. I feel like such a jerk for wallowing in self-pity over my own pathetic problems.”

  “Anything to do with hot stuff splashed across your phone?”

  “No. Nothing. Well,” Marta said, backtracking, “a lot, actually, but in a completely unrelated way.”

  Shelli laughed. “I know I’ve had a couple of drinks, but that didn’t make one bit of sense.”

  After years of keeping her innermost feelings to herself, Marta didn’t have the skills to verbalize what she was feeling with the blunt elegance of Shelli. “Sometimes things happen and it feels like it’s impossible to move on.”

  “Bullshit.” A deep crease streaked between Shelli’s brows. “That’s all in your head. The only thing keeping you from taking a step is yourself. No one, nothing, and no past event can keep you from putting one foot in front of the other. It’s all a mind game you’re playing with yourself. Trust me – you won’t win unless you take your ball and go home.”

  Marta wondered if that’s how Shelli dealt with her pain. “That sounds too easy.”

  “It is. That’s why so many people are wasting their time sitting in therapy. They think the tough problems need a complex answer, but they don’t. It’s all about acceptance. You accept what happened, what is, or what will be, and then you can move on. You don’t accept it, and you’re stuck spinning your wheels.”

  Marco wrapped his arm around Shelli. “Speaking of spinning, how about it?”

  Shelli eyed up the dance floor. “Seems pretty crowded, but why not.” She grabbed Marco’s hand before glancing back at Marta. “Remember that, Marta. Look it in the eye before you kill it and then shove it as far away as possible.”

  Marta watched the tiny whirlwind of sparkles and spunk move out onto the dance floor, and marveled that she was able to keep going in spite of everything that had happened to her in her relatively short life.

  The warmth of Brad’s breath curled down Marta’s shoulder. “How about you? Do you like to dance?”

  “Sure. Don’t you?”

  The left side of Brad’s face contorted into a twisted mix of a smile and a grimace. “Well, I’m not the best dancer that’s ever graced the polish, but I like it. You may not want to be seen with me afterward, though. I’m a bit of a showstopper
.”

  Marta shrugged. “How bad can it be?”

  Ten minutes later, her question was answered.

  “Sorry about the ankle.” Brad reached under the table and massaged the sore spot on the top of her foot. “I tried to warn you.”

  A burning streak went through her foot when she slid her heel back on. “You certainly did,” she said, smiling through the pain. “We’ll have to work on that – in steel-toed boots, of course.”

  Brad leaned in and kissed her shoulder. “You can step on mine, if you’d like.”

  “Come on, dummy. No one’ll see us.”

  “I’m not worried about me,” Marta spat back. “It’s your precious image I’m concerned with.”

  Kyle scrunched up his nose and grabbed Marta, pulling her close. “I’ll be more concerned if I get to the dance and look like a fool in front of Brit.”

  “Brit. So that’s who you’re taking?” A bit of jealousy ran through Marta. Not that she cared who he took, but the dance was the biggest thing to happen all year and she was just one year shy of being old enough to go without being invited by an older student. “Just out of curiosity, why her?”

  “Boobs.”

  Marta smacked at his roving hands. “That’s it?”

  “What else is there?” Seeing that his man-talk was having zero effect on Marta, he rolled his eyes and dropped the act. “She’s nice. Okay?”

  For once, Marta had to agree with his choice. “Yeah. She is.”

  This time, Kyle’s arm slid gently around her back. “Show me, Marta.”

  “Well,” she said, trying not to laugh. “I’m probably not the best person you could have asked for dance lessons, but I’ll try.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Seriously.” Brad bumped his shoulder against Marta’s, bringing her back from a place deep in her past. “You can step all over me and I won’t utter a peep. Promise.”

  “Ha! You don’t want my…heel in your foot.” That wasn’t exactly what Marta started to say, but she managed to pull the self-punishing fat comment back inside before it got out. She knew how Stash hated it, and she didn’t want to let Brad in on her twisted mindset – at least not yet. “So,” she said, “hoping to change the subject. “What sent you into the restaurant business?”