Pretty Remedy

by S. E. Hall

  “I absolutely would. But what I meant”—his hand finds my chin and lifts my face—“was I like you. I can get laid anytime. But I can’t get this.” He gestures between us. “Your spice, which you only break out when it’ll pack the hardest punch. Your kindness and strength. You intrigue me, every part of me, especially the ones others don’t take the time or interest to discover. So I’m glad I didn’t ruin it before it ever got started.”

  “Your, uh, sex is ruining?” I stammer faintly.

  His lips curl at one side, devilment in his eyes. “Remember how you felt in the hall? Angry, unappreciated?”

  Okay, so maybe he does know everything about everyone. I nod—no sense bothering with denial.

  “I didn’t even fuck you, yet I still somehow managed to make you feel two feet”—he smirks—“tall. So yeah, my sex is ruining. For everyone involved.”

  “Then why—”

  “Sshh. Counseling out of session for a while.” He starts the car back up, looks behind him, and pulls onto the street. “I’m sure they’re wondering where the hell we are, then I’ve gotta get ready for my gig tonight. You’re coming.”

  “I—”

  “Say yes.”

  Not that listening to Landry and Jarrett “rebound fuck” isn’t tempting. “Yes.”

  “Yes.” He glances at me from the corner of his eye and gives me a grin that’s… ruining.

  Good thing Thatcher’s the man at Goldsbury Casino Resort, or I’d have lost my gig here. I was late tonight for several reasons. First, I had to get Reece thinking about something that didn’t rival “acid burning her retinas.” Jarrett and Landry were rebounding when we arrived at “their” apartment. More specifically, they were two steps inside the doorway, fucking on the floor—quite the tripping hazard.

  When everyone was dressed and once again able to look each other in the eye—meaning Reece agreed to come back inside—Reece, Jarrett and I had to unpack the vehicles while Landry capitalized on the confidence my brother had just restored in her, via his dick, to scream her way through a handful of “wedding’s cancelled” phone calls. If it was even a handful- must’ve been some event they had planned.

  A dash across town to shower and shave later, I’d backtracked to pick up Reece… and arrived at my show fifteen minutes late.

  But Reece’s dress… fire engine red and molded to her curves as though she had been born in it? Taking the time to absorb and commit to memory every facet of that sight took ten excruciatingly worthwhile minutes all by itself. I’m doubtless that Landry dressed her tonight as well—Reece’s pinkened cheeks and constant tugging on her dick-teasing hem both big clues. And with the taunting smell of honeysuckle permeating my car as she rode with me, all I can figure is God’s testing me, seeing how long it’ll take for me to desecrate this girl’s integrity.

  I end my first set with a solo acoustic version of See You Next Tuesday’s original, “Unapologetically,” my eyes scanning the crowd for Reece. She was sitting with Jarrett and Landry, where they remain, but she’s vanished.

  “Hey, where’s Reece?” I ask them when I steal her unoccupied seat.

  Landry detaches herself from my brother’s mouth to answer, “Bathroom.”

  “How long’s she been gone? You couldn’t have joined her? I thought you always went in pairs?” I inject my frustration with their carelessness into my tone.

  “Man, relax. It’s been ten minutes tops. Good set by the way.” Jarrett offers me a high-five, which I return half-assed. “Oh shit, before I forget, you need to take next Friday off if you’re booked.”

  “I don’t want a party,” I snap, standing to go check on Reece. I’m well aware of when my twenty-sixth birthday is—he’s about as stealthy as a punch in the face.

  “Dude, I can’t tell you a lot without ruining the surprise, but listen to me when I say it’s non-negotiable. Take. The. Night. Off.”

  “Whatever,” I grumble as I leave, heading straight for the ladies’ restroom. “Reece?” I yell from the entrance. “You in there?”

  She squeals, and I can picture the bright pink heat of her embarrassment. “Rhett? What’re you doing? L-a-d-i-e-s spells ladies. Get out of here!”

  “I was worried. You were taking a while. Come ‘ere and make me laugh before I have to go back on stage.”

  “Go away! I’ll meet you at our seats.”

  I hear her stall door squeak open and catch a flash of red as she crosses to wash her hands.

  “You’re still out there, aren’t you?” She giggles, melodious and sweet.

  “Yep.”

  She groans. “I liked you better when you hated me.” She appears around the corner, trying to glower menacingly—all five feet of her.

  “Liar.” I tap her button nose as if I do shit like that every day—which I do not. But now that we’ve established fucking’s off the table, I feel as relaxed around her as I ever have any woman. Except Liz of course. I grab Reece’s hand, which is swallowed by my much-larger one. “Have a drink with me before I’m up again.”

  “K.” She simpers, lacing our fingers together.

  I stop and lean down until our noses touch. “And I never hated you.” Her squeezing my hand’s nice, natural and affirming, before it’s interrupted.

  “Hey, Rhett.” Melissa? Monique? Whoever rudely inserts herself between Reece and me, forcing Reece backward with a bump of her hip. She presses every inch of her brazen self against me, sneaking her hand in the non-existent space between our bodies to rub my dick through my jeans.

  “Um, hey, M, you,” I snarl, robbed of Reece’s hand. I’m left gazing at her back as she hurries faster and farther away.

  “Who was that?” what’s-her-nuisance asks in sickening baby voice.

  “None of your damn business. Why would you get up on me if you saw I was with someone?” I all but scream at her. “And where’s your sheik?” No shit. If I’m matching her up correctly—difficult with the myriad of nameless faces who matter not—her high-rolling sugar daddy is, in fact, an honest-to-God sheik.

  “Busy,” she purrs, rubbing impossibly closer to me. “And to hell with whoever that was. I want you for the night.”

  Another glaring confirmation—I have got to stop fucking them.

  “Rhett!” Thatcher calls, quick-stepping our way. “Get on stage. That’s what I’m paying you for, isn’t it?”

  No, I don’t get paid. But I do get interference ran when I need it.

  “And Ms. Marjorie”—he raises her hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it—“what can I help you with, beautiful?”

  I silently thank him with an ‘atta chin and get the hell out of there as if I’m being chased. I sneak up behind Reece and whisper in her ear, “Hey.”

  “Done so soon?” she jabs snidely, facing away from me, back pin-straight and tense.

  “Funny, but no. Talk to me.” I unsuccessfully coerce her to turn around with my hand on her waist.

  “You’re very good, Rhett. Your music, lyrics, talent. And you were right—Jarrett was talking earlier about how he’s ready to travel and play again. Said you’re actually a drummer at heart, which I’d love to hear sometime. I can’t imagine how amazing that’d be if it’s even better than your guitar.”

  “Reece, look at me.”

  She does, begrudgingly, with a manufactured smile and one last sip from her empty drink. “Does it still work?”

  I let out an uneasy laugh. Her eyes convey the rapid subject change I already know she’s focused on. “Does what still work?” Why did I ask? Masochism?

  “Sex, your escape, your coping mechanism. Does it still give you a rush of power, enough blessed numbness to outweigh the regret in your eyes right now? Or has it officially become just a really bad, unbeatable habit?”

  “As much as I’d like to hear how you have me all figured out, again, I can’t do this right now, Freud. I have to go on.” Why does this girl keep prying and openly analyzing the shit out of a guy she barely knows? And why am I not angry abo
ut it? Shit, because I’m too impressed to be offended. Not only does she have the brass balls to call me out, repeatedly, but she holds real conversations, with multi-syllabic words used correctly. “Later though. Hold on to all those big thoughts?”

  “I’ll be here. Unless of course another one of your friends comes along and butt bumps me off the chair.”

  Ah, that’s what’s prompted her “examine Rhett” replay. Yeah, I can see how that would get a chick’s dander up. And where the hell did Jarrett go? I’d rather not take the chance of that happening again with her sitting alone while I’m on stage.

  “Play me something good.”

  “Stay put and I’ll see what I can do. Yes?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m fine, go.”

  Play her something good, she says. That narrows it down. I do love a challenge though… let’s see if I can get inside her head the way she’s snuck into mine. I take the stage, adjust the mic unnecessarily, and say hello to the crowd as I sit, still contemplating the perfect song choice.

  With the strap of my Martin six string over my head and body settled in my lap, I clear my throat. “Thanks for sticking around. This first one goes out to a tiny blonde with emerald eyes that see more than they should.”

  I play her “The Fear,” an eclectic rendition of Ben Howard’s styling with a bit of Rhett blended in—aptly appropriate I’d say. More importantly, I’d rather put it out there myself than have her boast anymore in revelation. I’m not a mystery to unravel; surely we can find something else to talk about.

  She squirms in pinned unnerve, but those eyes of hers bridge the space between us and tell me that the gravity of my blatant, complicated message isn’t lost on her. She orders another drink but remains focused on me—every note, every word—so I keep right on hitting home with my next choice. Funny thing is, I’m no longer convinced that I’m trying to get in her head, but rather my own.

  “This is one I wrote, called ‘Make Me Believe.’ Hope ya like it.” I close my eyes, letting the strum of the chords ignite me and each word rasp out with all the provocation I intend.

  “Do you wonder what I haven’t told you?

  Are you scared I’m not all that you need?

  If you knew I’m a shell of a liar

  Would you long for a different sort of me?

  It can’t all be exciting

  Brand new wears away

  And you’re left with the old, the plain, the mundane

  Can you keep inventing reasons to stay?

  You beg me to open my soul and give you my pain

  You swear that you see me, all that I hide

  And you say you won’t run, won’t fall apart

  And I want to believe you,

  So make me believe.

  If it somehow came down, to only the two of us

  Our storm to face, our wounds to bleed

  Nothing can touch us that we don’t let in

  And we both find the who that we’ve always been

  Are you strong enough to hold me up

  Stronger still to fall

  Are we brave enough, when war comes to call

  To sacrifice it all

  You beg me to open my soul and give you my pain

  You swear that you see me, all that I hide

  And you say you won’t run, won’t fall apart

  And I want to believe you,

  So make me believe.

  I need you, to make me believe.”

  I’m not sure if the crowd liked it, nor do I care—it’s white noise if they’re even making any. I am sure I’m supposed to play another song, still wondering what the hell I was thinking playing that one. But when she wriggles her finger for me to go to her, I do. Well, at least we know I’m not pussy whipped, and I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as “haven’t been anywhere near the pussy” whipped, so it’s just a walk then.

  Just a walk.

  I saunter up and give her a loaded smile. “You need something, Teaspoon?”

  “What was that?” she whispers, eyes wide and appraising.

  “Couple songs.” I shrug, shoving my hands deep in my pockets. “Why, you didn’t like them?” Fuck me, I’m a fisherman now too? I need to get laid. This is why you don’t “talk.”

  “They were both incredible, especially the one you wrote. No surprise there. But you know what I mean.” Her head dips.

  I do nothing to move her face up, needing reprieve from… whatever. “Honestly? I have no idea what you mean. Or why I played ‘em.” I expect her to respond, but she doesn’t. Much like before, she’s fascinated with her straw—I’m on to her hiding spot. “So where the hell are Jarrett and Landry? I can’t seem to keep the three of you in one place.”

  “I doubt I want to know the answer to that.” She snickers, finally glancing up. “What now?” she asks as though I, and I alone, hold the answer to life’s every riddle.

  “Now we have fun. What sounds good first, gambling or heading over to the club?”

  “Surprise me,” she whispers, her expression alive with delight.

  I offer my hand, and she slides her own in it without thought, letting me guide her to the counter. I cash in money for a slot machine card and one hundred dollars in chips.

  “Do you have a particular poison?” I turn and once again take her hand.

  She beams. “It’s my first time gambling, so you lead the way.”

  I walk her around the place, holding her hand. Lots of people know me here, and I’m positive if I paid attention to anything other than Reece, I’d find looks of shock upon more than a couple faces. I just don’t give a fuck—what they think, who sees, or what it means that her hand entwined with mine feels as if it’s always been there.

  The virgin gambler, everything fascinates her. I don’t even have to try to show her a good time. She flits around and creates the good time. In fact, it’s not long at all before she’s actually dragging me from one game to another, asking how to play each and finally deciding we should get comfortable at… a nickel machine.

  “Reece, these are five-cent bets. You can’t win any big money on them.”

  “I don’t care if I win a lot or not. I just want to have fun. Look!” She points at the pay scale at the top of the machine that’s caught her eye. “If you get five Nemo fish, they swim into little caves for a bonus round! How cute is that? Sit down.” She pats the seat beside the one she’s already warming.

  Please let her get five Nemo fish. She’ll be thrilled, which I won’t mind watching, then we can move on to something else.

  “You want a drink?” I ask as she fumbles through sliding a twenty in the feed tray.

  “Sure, something refreshing.” She doesn’t look at me, mesmerized by the bells dinging and lights flashing as the machine tallies up her credits. “I’ll be right here.”

  Quite a while later, she’s hit the bonus game several times, and I’ve refilled our drinks at least as many. Her starting twenty has become $486 and her ass is threatening to fuse with the seat. But her face is illuminated, her little hands clapping as she bounces up and down and liquor loosens her tongue—which has run non-stop the entire time. No way will I so much as think about grimacing in boredom.

  “There you guys are!” Jarrett yells, walking—a generous description considering she’s more laying on his side—over with Landry. “Y’all about ready? This one’s done for the night.” He tips his head her way. “I need to get her home.”

  I laugh, partly for the predicament quick-to-recover lover finds himself draped in, but more because Reece is completely oblivious to the fact they’re even standing here.

  Her nose is an inch from the screen as she rubs her hands together, chanting, “Here, fishy, fishy. Come to Mama.”

  “You two go ahead. I’ll drive Reece to your place when she’s caught her limit.”

  “Really?” my brother asks, overstatedly mystified. Subtlety is nonexistent in his repertoire. “You’re just hanging out?”

  “Yes, re
ally. You okay to drive? I can get you a cab.”

  “I’m straight. One of us had to do the walking.” He chuckles. “So I guess I’ll see ya later then?” He glances disbelievingly between Reece and me.

  “If you’re still standing here in ten seconds, I’m scheduling you a Pap smear.”

  “Aight”—he puts the hand not holding Landry out in surrender—“we’re going.”

  While I watch him drag her out, it humorously dawns on me that neither of the girls—Sloshed and Spellbound—know any of that just happened. Thank Christ, because they’d think we were far too in touch with our feminine sides. Jarrett was giving “Best Dramatic Actress” a hella try.

  I sit and watch Reece play a little longer. Any time she doesn’t win in three consistent spins, she asks me to push the button to “change her luck.” It doesn’t, and in just over another hour, she’s out of credits. Gotta give it to her though—she might’ve just set the record for the longest-lived twenty-dollar investment in the history of Vegas.

  She squeals, standing up, wincing, and rubbing her ass unashamedly. “That was fun! What do you wanna play now? Your turn to pick.”

  “I’m good. We can head out if you’re ready.” My phone chooses then to chime with a text and I hold up a finger while I dig it out of my pocket.

  Jarrett: Landry’s sobering up, take your time.

  Two of the most inconsiderate, self-serving people on the planet… I never think like that of my brother. But damn, Landry invites Reece here for a visit and abandons her twice? From what I’ve seen, Reece is a damn fine friend. So far she’s helped Landry move, with no lingering anger whatsoever from being abandoned, consoled her with empathy and kindness and offered to loan her money. Jarrett should know better than this shit. Tap out your however many minutes of fun, then give the girl a place to sleep. And Reece should seriously consider making some new friends.