Sitting at my desk, my fingers drum with impatience waiting for the video to pop up. When it finally does, I speed it up to 10:30 last night. It is when I, in my pajamas, went to bed.
THE PLAYBACK SHOWS movement not fifteen minutes later with Marvy getting out of bed. I watch her flat-iron her hair, style it, and do her makeup. Leaning closer to the monitor, I try to pay close attention to the technique, even though I’ve watched Marvy do it a million times through past video replays. She makes it look so easy. Bitch.
Marvy does her nails in the wretched black nail polish, then I see said ugly-ass nails flip through my clothes until they get to the little black dress.
Humph. “Dress, what dress? It looks like one of those build-your-own stuffed animal dresses.”
Once the black rhinestone stilettos heels are on, Marvy stands at the mirror to admire herself.
“Okay, she can really make me look hot.” A twinge of envy sulks through me.
Marvy bends over and cups under her breasts, plumping them up as much as possible before straightening. This helped pronounce my barely average cleavage in the tight black dress. Stepping away from the mirror, Marvy walks over to the desk. She pulls two things out from the top drawer and sticks them in the black clutch handbag. One was a small can of mace my mom had bought, and the other was a small silver pill box.
With a slight head tilt, my eyes narrow. “What the hell are you getting me into?”
The video pans down to show Marvy looking at the math homework. To my surprise, I watch her adeptly finish the complicated calculation.
“Oooohhhh! I see…wait a minute. How did she know that?”
It’s a curious action. Marvy had never shown an interest in my school work before. She began solving the next computation, but then the pencil stopped and began tapping the page.
Then I watch in horror as Marvy shreds the worksheet. “Flippin’ Bitch.”
Frustrated, I fast forward the playback. Images of a split second conversation with Jones, and Marvy slipping past my mom speed by. I watch the scene at the valet station and chuckle at the boy’s reaction to Marvy’s key trick. Since there’s no audio, I can only imagine what Marvy said to him. Painted on the valet stand, The Rush elegantly scripts the club’s name so I make a mental note.
The screen shows her going directly to the door without waiting in the queue to get in. Without checking ID, the bouncer held the black velvet rope open for her and then the door.
Well, aren’t we special? I grimace sarcastically. Apparently, we’ve been here a few times.
In actuality, I’m annoyed at my own lack of diligence. I haven’t checked the videos for a while, since Marvy hadn’t given me any signs indicating a need to worry. Or so I thought.
Flashes from the playback draw my attention. The pulsing lights from the dance floor illuminate faces on feverish dancing bodies in the dark club. Barely dressed girls with glowing neon wigs and painted phosphorescent bodies dance on platform stages. I stare hypnotized by the air-blown funnels of silk surrounding the dancers as they suggestively move their hands over their bodies. Many of them turn when Marvy enters. Men’s eyes pierced through the dim with an initial look of surprise, but quickly turn lurid. Their blatant regard eclipses her, as well as the daggering glares from the women they are with.
My ears heat and I shift awkwardly in my seat. Closing my eyes, I purposely slow my breathing. Once my heart steadies its beat I force myself to watch. I have to seek out clues and any signs of recognition. Thankfully, no one in the crowd looks familiar.
Marvy walks up to the massively crowded bar but the sea of people part like she was Moses.
She’s like a freakin’ rock star here or something.
The view moves down the length of the bar to a bartender standing at the other end. The sort of handsome blonde guy finishes off a drink and hands it to someone. Walking back to put the cash in the till he looks up and tips his dark blonde stubbled chin to acknowledge Marvy. Loose curls toss back from his forehead with the movement before he waves and delivers a megawatt smile. Little golden spirals hover just above the nape of his neck even with the top half of his hair pulled back into a funny ponytail. Walking his lean frame toward Marvy, I figure he’s quite dedicated to his body based on the taut t-shirt stretched across his chest.
Standing in front of her, his mouth moves with silent conversation, talking to Marvy as he simultaneously makes her drink. The ice-filled glass has little clear crystal rocks crusting the top of the glass. Perhaps it’s Marvy’s drink of choice. He places the drink in front of her and leaves to tend to another patron. I blink and think back. Marvy neither paid her cover to get in, or for the drink.
Behind the bar, the mirror above the liqueur bottles reflect the furious dance activity behind and around Marvy. It doesn’t take long before she’s shooting down the advances of men left and right. Some of the reactions of the persistent, overly confident ones trying to stick around make me laugh. The sharp angles of Marvy’s face softens with the shyer ones that happen to wander up to the bar. With them she strikes up lively conversations, eliciting big smiles, and she even dances with a few.
Humph. Maybe she’s not as much of a bitch as I thought.
Watching Marvy at work is fascinating. I find myself transfixed by the interactions, part of me hating that I’m a bit in awe. Marvy’s subtle movements are seductive and inviting. The way she nurtures her drink, fingering it until she lifts it to her lips, is entrancing. Marvy slides the tip of her tongue up the short glass. I guess to mix the beads of condensation with what I can only assume is rock salt. Marvy rolls her tongue into her mouth and then takes a sip. Licking her upper lip, she sucks in her lower as if to cleanse any lingering salt from them. That, in and of itself, is a performance. Unconsciously, I mimic Marvy and sample my own. Although bare, I can almost taste the brine mixed with citrus and tequila. Not that I know what the mixture would taste like.
Before she finishes her drink, another slides in front of her by a strong hand with beautiful long fingers. Through the reflection, I see a jaw-dropping example of a man in a black suit with a white dress shirt, two buttons casually undone. His face comes into focus as Marvy impassively awards her attention. The dance floor lights turn half his face different colors, but it does nothing to diminish his striking features.
I sharply inhale and hold it; my eyes so wide, they begin to water. Slowly, I exhale bit-by-bit studying his face and the hair on my arms prickle to a stand. His strong jaw line and defined cheek bones move as he speaks to Marvy. I can’t hear him, but yet the déja vu baritone of his voice is a distant haunting.
His lower lip, a little fuller than his upper, sparks something in me. An image of pressing my lips to his makes me wonder what that would feel like.
Running my thumbnail across my lower lip as if it were his lips, my mouth begins to water. I’m not an expert in kissing, but I’m pretty sure he is. My cheeks warm, flushing at the thought.
Holy moley, mother of all things hot!
Confidence is a second skin on this guy. His short, thick, wavy black hair fails the restraint of being slicked back on the sides. The top falls into unmanaged locks like a turbulent ocean. When he takes a swig of his iced amber-colored drink, a pleasurable shiver shakes me watching his Adam’s apple move. I hit pause on the playback, stopping on the image of his face and stare at the most spectacular hazel-green eyes.
Slowly my mouth falls open letting a gasp escape. I know those eyes!
Misty reflections cartwheel in my mind like a photo book. After a few seconds of trying to clear the fog, I take a resigning deep breath with no conclusions and hit the play button.
The image moves from his face to the drink he slides in front of Marvy. The bar mirror reflection shows her still talking to him and drumming her nails next to it.
I’ve never seen Marvy nervous in any situation before, but I can tell she is—I can feel it. In order to stop herself from exhibiting the anxious habit, she begins caressing the glass. Repeatedly, they tense a
round the drink for a beat and relax. Tense, relax, tense, and relax, over and over as if she is struggling for control. The action is small, probably not noticeable to anyone but me.
Turning back to the man, Marvy grabs the lapels of his jacket pulling him to stand between her legs. With her black painted nails, she runs her hands up his chest. When she puts her hands on his stomach, he catches her wrists before she successfully untucks his shirt. Taking advantage of his hold, she pulls him closer. The view tilts as the handsome face grows bigger on the screen. Marvy is moving in for a kiss. The man’s eyes close and his nostrils flare.
My own heart hammers and warmth grows from my stomach to my chest. I close my eyes enjoying the sensation, taking deep breaths, trying to feel his touch.
I catch myself and snap my eyes open, splicing the fantasy.
“What the heck am I doing? Oh God! I’m a frickin’ voyeur!”
Below my disgust, buried under thick propriety, something breaks loose and intermingles in my blood. I like it…a lot.
I should stop watching. I already have a good idea where my car is, but the intense craving to know more is relentless, to the point of desperation. Rapidly scanning every detail, I continue to watch Marvy lead the man into an elevator. The mirrored walls and doors give an all-angle view, which is both frightening and alluring. Marvy wastes no time, not even giving the chance for the doors to provide privacy, before she is all over him. Without pausing her advances, he fumbles around with a card to scan through a card reader and then hits the PH button.
I roll my eyes, slightly miffed. “Rich and handsome? Well, she does have good taste, I’ll give her that.”
Their kisses are aggressive in nature as she pushes the man against the mirrored side of the elevator. Her breath creates a steamy mist behind his head as he kisses her neck. She moves her hand from around his neck to grip his hair, pulling him closer. Tilting her head, she exposes her neck to his lips. One of his hands cradles the back of her neck, the other moves down her back, tightly gripping the flesh below it. He pulls her upright until his lips meet hers. As his hands move from her lower back to upper, Marvy presses her hips forward. His tongue is at her ear, teeth gently pulling at it and then back to kissing her neck. She must say something, but I can’t make it out in the foggy mirrored reflection. As it begins to dissipate, I decipher Marvy’s words, “Touch me.”
A tremor cascades through my body, splashing me with a wantonness I’ve never experienced before. Both my pulse and breath quicken to the point where I cannot maintain normalcy.
His appetite for her unappeased, he kisses her neck making his way to her collar bone. Marvy arches her back and unexpectedly the image flips upside down.
“Shoot!” I hiss, fumbling around to upright the playback. Am I that flexible?
The look on Marvy’s face is of devilish and sinuous pleasure. She flashes her eyes open. With lowered lashes, she seductively looks at her reflection as her lips turn up in that tight, smirky smile. She slowly winks and then blows herself a kiss.
Marvy’s signature staggers me back. Was that for me? Did she know I’d be watching this?
“Nah, couldn’t be. She’s probably feeding her narcissism.” Unconvinced, my pulse remains racing.
In the reflection, the man’s mouth moves from her collar bone to her chest. Bit-by-bit, he drags down the shoulder strap of Marvy’s dress to expose her–MY–breast.
Another tingle electrifies me from the inside out. There is not one section of my skin that isn’t vibrating and a small bead of sweat trickles down my temple.
Cupping her breast, his mouth explores every inch with insolence. He licks the peak of her nipple before tugging at it between his teeth and then takes it into his mouth. Marvy’s hand slides up her throat and her finger slips into her open mouth. She lifts her leg and snakes it around him, making her dress rise too high for my comfort. The man’s other hand glides along her inner thigh moving up between her–MY–legs.
Just then, the elevator doors open. The image flips upside down again causing another aggravated yell from me to echo in my room. “Mother plucking crud buckets!”
I watch as Marvy tries to hit the Door Close button, but the man pulls away from her and abandons her in the elevator. Following his exit, Marvy kicks off her heels making herself at home.
Taking a deep breath through my nose, I exhale with inflated cheeks.
“Blooah!” I exclaim, and shake out the shivers from my body. My gelatinous body sinks so I sprawl my legs out and fan my face trying to catch my breath. Jimmney crickets!
The softly lit penthouse is massive and filled with a tastefully inviting decor. Not a style I would have thought of the man. He looks more like a modern contemporary kind of guy; the kind that has all white furniture with razor edged tables and strange lamps. Instead, the lights cast a warm glow over the fine furnishings welcoming its owner home. It’s homey, relaxed, sort of a comfortable easy feel to it. A place like I would have whenever I graduate from Baylor.
He takes off his suit jacket as he walks, Marvy closing in on him from behind. She must have pushed him down on the couch as he lay beneath her now; his gaze intense. She begins unbuttoning his shirt while he reaches for a touchpad. Most likely a remote control, because a second later the lights go dark.
Fanning myself more, I let out a, “Woosha!” sagging and lean back into my chair.
Blinking a few times, I find myself dizzy as I look at the black screen. I try to stand, but my legs are shaking and I collapse back into the chair. There is still another hour and forty-seven minutes on the playback, but I don’t want to know what fills that time. Cursing myself, a sick pang of jealousy needles my body.
I knew Marvy would take my body out to party, but that level of partying never interested me before. I want to focus on school–well, getting through school. Advancing grades in high school was hard enough, but being a second year student at Metro Community College is tougher than I expected. My plate is stacked with classes that will show well on my transcript so when I apply to Baylor, they’ll have to take me as a third year scholarship transfer. Yet in this moment, watching what I know is going to happen, for the first time ever, I’m ill with envy. There’s a new tightness in my stomach. That, I don’t like.
“Screw it.” Rubbing my eyes I sigh. “At least I know where my car is now.”
But the tightness doesn’t disperse; it constricts me.
Picking up my cell, I decide to call Mr. Peterson. There is no way I’m going to make it to Key Stone and be back on time for my shift. The shop phone rings a few times before the call goes to the answering machine.
After the beep from Mr. Peterson’s favorite relic from the early 1970s, I muster my best chipper voice. “Hey Mr. P! This is Trista. I’m going to be late today. Jones left his car at some club and I have to take him over there to pick it up. Call me on my cell if you have any questions. Thanks!”
The next call I make is to a cab company, but I hang up frustrated when I find out it’s going to be nearly a hundred bucks to get out there. If I took the bus, I wouldn’t be back till early evening. Pinching the bridge of my nose, realizing I don’t have another option, I dial Kitta’s number, preparing for a bombardment of questions.
“Hi bitch, why are you calling me so early on a Saturday?” my best friend groggily snipes.
Ignoring the rib, I hold my breath before responding. “Hey Kitta, I have a favor to ask. What are you doing right now?” I nervously ask picking at my lip.
Kittarin and I have been best friends since grammar school. She’s the only one that would hang out with the dorky, smart girl. Kitta said it’s because I was fascinated with the only black girl in school, which still offends me. Knowing me for so long, she was the one that started pointing out the weird things after the accident. Kitta is also the only one who knows about Marvy.
“Oh…my…God!” Kitta responds after I tell her what happened. I leave out the part about the guy and the elevator. I tuck that secret, six layers
under my skin inside the newly present tightness.
“Um…yeah, I guess she got too drunk to drive home so she left my car there and took a cab or something. I don’t know. All I know is I’m broke again thanks to her.”
It isn’t a shocking reveal that Marvy stole my money. Typically it would happen within a few days after payday. Discarded paper wristbands from clubs and valet tickets would be littered around my room. Atrocious new clothes I would never wear often show up in my closet. There are also about a dozen stiletto heels of all colors and styles neatly lined up at the bottom of my closet. The coolest thing I ever wear is a vintage Army jacket I found at my favorite thrift store.
“Oh that fucking bitch!” Kitta says through a yawn. “Okay, lemme get showered and I’ll be right over. See you in a few,” she concedes and hangs up.
WHILE WAITING FOR Kitta, I change into jeans, a t-shirt, and my super awesome Army jacket. I throw on my military boots and redo my ponytail. As I contemplate some kind of make–up, Kitta blares her presence with an obnoxious car honking melody. My neighbors love that…not.
“How is it that an outfit can look like shit on me, but you look like you stepped out of a fuckin’ magazine?” Kitta greets as I walk up to the idling car. I shoot her a stern glare and then look around for neighbors.
“Shut up, fool!” I teasingly greet back getting in the old, faded blue, tiny sedan. “The bushes have ears, you dummy.”
The door creaks as I slam it with a Herculean yank. Any lighter and it’ll fly open around corners—me to follow. Learned the hard way the first time I rode in it on Kitta’s sixteenth birthday. Thank God for seatbelts.
Kitta lifts a questioning eyebrow. “Where to?”
Folding my lips in, I cringe and rub my face. “Marvy valeted at a club called The Rush.”
“In Key Stone?” Kitta shrieks.
“Yeah, you know it?”
A wry, but disconcerted look takes over Kitta’s face. “I’ve heard of it and not all of it good.”
Irritated at having to ask my friend to drive me that far, I have to offer, “I know it’s far but I get paid next week so I’ll give you gas money.”
Pieces Of One, Part 1 (The Dark Life Collection) Page 2
