Killing The Sun: Part 1

by Mara White

  I fall to my knees.

  “Take your big tits out and pull your skirt up over your ass.”

  He’s not fucking around. Danny is really showing his true colors, but I don’t know how to say no to him. I unbutton my shirt and pull my breasts out of my bra, then yank my skirt up around my waist and berate myself for not locking the door.

  “Crawl over to me,” Danny says, stroking his huge cock that he pulled out of the zip of his tailored slacks. “You want some dick, Sunshine?” he says as he strokes it aggressively.

  I nod my head yes.

  “Say it, Sunshine. No dick for you unless you convince me you want it.”

  Part of me just wants to reiterate that I’m missing the meeting. Can’t dick wait until later? But I can see that Danny is serious. I wonder what Wade would say if he could see me crawling across the floor like a dog?

  “I want to suck your cock. I want you to come in my mouth.”

  I hope I convinced him, because listening to myself I didn’t sound that believable. Danny looks old to me, looming with his giant erection. I summon elevator guy to mind and try to imagine what it would be like to crawl over to someone happy and gorgeous. Someone who I stood on equal ground with.

  “Take my balls in your mouth,” Danny says as he strokes my cheek with his cock. “Do what I say and I’ll give you what you want.”

  Despite thinking I didn’t want him at all, my body responds. I’m turned on by his demands and I’m kind of disappointed in myself. My folds are slick and throbbing even though I feel apprehensive.

  I drag my tongue up the underside of his shaft, then take the head in my mouth and gently suck and play with the tip. He’s dripping precum already and his balls are cinched. Maybe if I get him there fast enough I can still sit in on the last part of the meeting.

  I bob my head but Danny yanks my hair and forces me to slow down.

  “Don’t rush me, Sunshine. I’ll come when I’m ready to come.”

  I slow down because I have no choice. I should have never come back. I could have eventually gotten over him. Who I’ve come back to isn’t even the same person. I suck hard on his cock and he responds with deeper thrusts.

  “Anything you want to tell me about, Sunshine? Made any new friends?”

  His voice is full of malice. Wade. He’s onto me. He knows about my new camaraderie with my neighbor. I pull my mouth off of his penis.

  “Are you talking about Wade? He lives in my old apartment. He’s just a friend. A neighbor.”

  “Oh. I’m supposed to believe you? Looks like almost every night you two are spending quality time in each other’s apartments.”

  “Is that what this is about?” I ask him, pulling back and looking up at him from my knees. “You don’t have to mistreat me because you think I might be cheating on you. Wade is really a friend. I’m not so stupid that I would move halfway across the country to get back together with you and immediately start banging someone else. I’m not that kind of person.”

  “What am I supposed to think when I see something like that?”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be looking,” I state, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. “Are we done here? I really don’t feel like fucking you.”

  Danny strokes his cock and looks at me coldly. “You’ll finish me off if you know what’s good for you.”

  “If you wanted a prostitute, I’m sure it’s in your budget. There are also tons of clubs that specialize in submissive sex partners if that’s what you’re looking for. But last time I checked, we were boyfriend and girlfriend, or at least something like lovers. I don’t know what I came back for but it sure wasn’t this.”

  “Oh, now you’ve got a backbone.”

  “And a little self-respect. You lied to me. You lied to me for six whole years.”

  “It wouldn’t have changed things.”

  “Obviously it has. I’m not into cheating. I’m not into making other people miserable or messing up families. And I’m not into your cock right now so you might want to go ahead and jerk yourself off,” I say as I straighten out my clothes.

  Danny seems to have lost his words. His ever-at-attention penis has withered a bit. I just want to go home. I turn and walk across his office toward the door. My feet are silent on the carpet and the door seems so far away, I start to wonder if I’ll make it.

  I hit the button on the elevator and pray that he doesn’t come storming out after me. I wipe my lips again and smooth my hair back from my face. When the doors open, elevator guy is inside. His blond hair is sun-kissed and falls into his blue eyes. He smiles that wholesome smile at me which feels, above all things, very honest.

  “Here to see Montclair?” I ask him.

  “Unfortunately,” he says, and his bright eyes crinkle up in the corners.

  “Watch out. He’s in a bad mood. More bully than usual.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” he says still smiling. “What did you say your name was?”

  “I’m Aimee, from accounting. I didn’t bring any candy.” I blush when I say it. I’m stupid to bring it up, immature—he probably doesn’t even remember me. As if I didn’t just finish crawling across the floor on my knees like a slut for my boss. I wonder if he relives the moment when he touched his mouth to mine, because I certainly do.

  “Next time,” he says. He seems to hesitate and take a breath as he walks toward Danny’s office. I know just how he feels. It’s like going into the lion’s den, or diving head first into the shark tank.

  I feel so much better for telling Danny off, I should do it more often. I need to make a plan and break up with him. Who wants a sadistic lover? There’s no excuse for violence and I don’t want to see how far he’s going to take it. At this point, I’d be pretty stupid to stay with him.

  I have to walk into the meeting an hour late, with wrinkled clothing and messed up hair and an I’ve just been fucked face. I need to get a new job, I’m qualified now. Get the hell out of Montclair and away from his reach. I won’t let Danny, his power, or his piles of money control me.

  It was the end of an eight-hour shift and my legs felt like tree trunks. I had Béchamel sauce crusted onto my black apron and it looked like somebody blew their wad in my lap. Probably would have been more fun than the loser ad execs who sent their steaks back twice. The second time they didn’t even make it to the kitchen. I stopped at the condiment bar and ground pepper from the ridiculously huge mill onto their stupid, bloody massacres.

  “The chef says they’re on him,” I said, glowering.

  The dribbling-chin jerk—the drunkest of the bunch—looked like he was about to grab my ass but suddenly remembered it wasn’t 1964. I heard his steak knife grate against his plate as he dug into his meat, then the word “voluptuous,” and I had to fight the urge to whip around and confiscate his knife, “accidentally” thrusting it into his jugular. My whole life felt like a disaster that had gone from bad to worse.

  I punched out on an old-fashioned time card, and Daryl the dishwasher offered me a ride home. He chain-smoked in his Jetta and there was ash and cigarette butts in every possible beverage container imaginable.

  “Aw, thanks, that’s sweet. I was thinking of staying here and using my discount at the bar. Drink away my sorrows in my least favorite place in the world. Or at least San Francisco. ”

  “Suit yourself, but you know Brandon is on duty and he gets salty when employees use their discount at the bar.”

  “What are we supposed to use it for? The all-you-can-eat salad bar? I get that every day for free before my shift. Drinks in the Mission are almost as expensive as New York City. Besides, Alvin is working and he makes some killer margaritas.”

  “Okay, then, see you on Monday.”

  “Bye, Daryl,” I said, squeezing his shoulder. I didn’t quite yet have friends there but, at least I was pleasant with everyone I worked with.

  I rolled my dirty apron into a ball and changed into a light sweater in the dressing room. My button-down red shirt got hung up i
n my locker instead of getting the trip to the cleaners it truly deserved.

  “I smell like bloody steak and fish,” I muttered to myself, blonde curls resisted the ponytail holder but I managed to show them who was boss. I called my home phone and left a voicemail for Priss and Elvis to hear. I refused to get a digital device because I knew my cats liked the messages I left them. I liked to imagine them trotting over to the machine at the sound of my voice. They wanted their canned food, no doubt, although they had a bowl of dry food to last them clear into next week. I sat on the bench to yank off my work shoes and chucked them at the wall, then shoved my swollen feet into some plastic Havaianas and groaned out loud at the state of my own life.

  My black jeans were stained with every sauce and dressing known to man, but the pockets were stuffed full of my hard-earned cash. I unrolled and flattened out the bills, estimating I could do about four drinks with my discount and still stop off at the Chinese joint for garlic chicken and broccoli. I couldn’t help but be nostalgic for the amount I used to be able to send back to my mom before I left Montclair. In San Francisco I was lucky if I could send a hundred a couple of times a month.

  “Hey, Aimee.” Alvin waved, coming over to shine the bar in front of me with his mildewed bar rag. “What’ll it be? Saturday night special?”

  “Whatever gets me drunk and doesn’t taste like fire is fine.”

  “Fresh lime margarita, extra tequila no salt.”

  “Frequent flyer, huh?” the woman sitting next to me offered. She crossed and uncrossed her legs.

  “Aimee, meet Caramelo, my brother Angelo’s roommate.”

  “Hi,” I said enthusiastically and swiveled to take her hand. Long orange-painted nails, gold jewelry, Cher wig. Transvestite or possibly transgender, maybe—I didn’t really know the difference.

  “What are you having?” I asked her, eyeballing her interesting set-up.

  “Sangrita,” she said and took a shaky sip with her over-painted lips. Whatever it was looked blood-red and was served in a shot glass.

  “Since when do we do Sangria? I’ll have some! But in a wine glass.”

  “Sangrita,” they said in unison and Caramelo’s bracelets jangled as she ran her long fingernails through her hair.

  “It’s like tomato juice and orange juice with hot sauce to chase your tequila,” she said, her accent suddenly sounding thicker.

  “Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

  “Don’t drink it,” she said and shrugged.

  “No, I’m prepared to go out strong. Two Patrons with Sangrita,” I said to Alvin.

  “Careful, guapa,” Alvin says. “Brandon is on the floor tonight.”

  Four drinks later and Caramelo had told me her life story. How she came from Guatemala at fourteen and lived in a shelter. She’d had her fair share of difficulty and had plodded her way through homelessness, some jail time and a bullet wound garnered from just walking through a bad alleyway. My whole upper torso was curled onto the bar like I was spending the night at work. Caramelo didn’t have it easy and I was jealous of her self-esteem and resilience.

  “You are really brave,” I told her, my words slurring just a little. We toasted each other with yet another tequila shot.

  “What’s your story, blondie?” Caramelo asked as she diligently reapplied her lipstick.

  I told Caramelo my sob story through sips of tequila and nibbles of breadsticks that Alvin had forced upon me.

  “Well, mi vida,” Caramelo sighed when I caught her all the way up to my recent move to San Francisco. “Sounds like Danny loves you. He just wants his cake and eats it too, typical man with too much money and not enough word to back it up.”

  “What would you do?”

  Caramelo reached her large, manly hand into her tiny, feminine purse. She pulled out a small, well-weathered photo of someone who looked like a gang-banger standing with a group of bandana-clad boys in a park somewhere.

  “Love of my life,” she said, then put the picture back as carefully as she extracted it.

  “And?” I asked restlessly. I was hanging on the edge for whatever bit of wisdom she’d impart regarding my predicament. I was drunk and everything took on a deeper and more symbolic meaning. She flicked through business cards and receipts with her long nails that seemed as strong as hooves, then yanked out another photo, this one of a balding man in his fifties with outdated glasses frames and more hair on his knuckles than on his head.

  “This is who pays my rent if I can’t swing it. When I had to have emergency gallbladder surgery, this is who made sure the bills got taken care of and picked me up from the hospital. This is who makes sure I get enough fiber in my diet and who listened and comforted me when the man in the other picture crushed my heart.”

  I stared at Caramelo and nodded my head slowly. I wondered if I was a gallbladder surgery woman to Danny or if I was the heart crusher. I couldn’t really imagine Danny being as intimate with his wife as he was with me. I couldn’t imagine him sharing his secret desires with her, let alone acting them out in front of his friends. I was so wasted from the booze that my head was swimming, my thoughts struggled to the surface, trying to come up for air.

  “So, you’re telling me that it’s okay to have two? That maybe one meets the needs that the other one is incapable of?”

  “No,” Caramelo said and shook her long hair down her back. “Are these real?” she asked, gesturing to my chest and sort of flourishing her fingers around my belly area.

  “Are you for real?” I burst out laughing, so loud that people turned to stare. I held my gut and laughed until my eyes watered and rubbed my runny nose on the sleeve of my sweater.

  “What?” Caramelo shrugged, looking peeved by my outburst.

  I wiped my eyes and tried to reel in my hysterics.

  “You think someone would pay for this?” I hissed, pointing at my body. I smiled at Caramelo through my teary eyes and spontaneously leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

  “Danny did,” she said and lifted her brow at me.

  “Oh, yeah, back to that.” I could hear my own words losing their footing in my mouth. “So you think maybe we need two to satisfy different aspects of life? Or some people need two?”

  “I didn’t say that, borrachita,” she said and moved my margarita away from my reach.

  “Sometimes there are two,” she intoned and nodded at Alvin as he dumped the remains of my drinks in the sink.

  I woke up at 12:30 with the sun streaming through my curtains. The light hurt my eyes and I cried to Elvis, who was on my chest, to fetch me water and aspirin. Those fat cats weren’t helpful with anything.

  Half an hour later, I trudged through the hall into my kitchen where the sticky linoleum tiles were peeling. I dumped cat food into the two bowls by the garbage can and pressed the red blinking light on my ancient answering machine.

  “Olsen, this is your shift manager Brandon. You were on for breakfast duty, your once-monthly shift. After your no-show and last night’s performance at the bar, I’m handing you walking papers. Clear your locker out by noon today or it all goes in the dumpster.”

  I put my forehead on the cool metal of the refrigerator door. The piercing beep from the message ending was enough to send knives boring through my skull.

  “Sunshine, it’s Danny. I dreamed about you again last night. This time we were walking in the park and you confessed that you’d never stopped loving me. I woke up a happy man. I wish you’d come home to me.”

  The second blaring beep sent tears streaming down my face.

  I was only good at one thing.

  Danny.

  Wade knocks on my door and I open it hesitantly. I take a step out into the hall and stare up at the ceiling, my arms crossed tightly under my breasts.

  “A hello would be nice,” Wade says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “I’m looking for cameras,” I whisper.

  “Most of them don’t pick up audio. But yeah, this building is wired,” he
says, whispering as well. Then he smiles at my detective work like it’s amusing.

  “He’s spying on us,” I say, giving Wade serious look.

  “Not surprised, really. He probably bribes the surveillance company. I don’t know, he’s a creep. I’m concerned for your wellbeing. Think it’s time you got out. Money isn’t everything—”

  I cut him off with my hand.

  “It was never about the money. I grew up in deep poverty. I know how to make ends meet with a pocketful of food stamps and three months’ worth of government-issued peanut butter—which doesn’t even list peanuts until the fourth ingredient.”

  “What the hell was it then, because objectively, he’s not cute. I’m not into guys, but let’s just say that Danny is no Prince Charming.”

  “Sexual chemistry can also be alluring.”

  “Why are we still whispering? And sorry, but the guy is fifty years old on a good day. He’s balding.”

  “Distinguished,” I whisper. “He’s got a full head of hair.” I have no idea why I’m arguing against him.

  “Leather-faced,” Wade says out loud. “Listen, are you inviting me in or do I have to go eat Chinese by myself?”

  “He warned me that he’s watching us.”

  “Pfft. We’re not breaking the law. We’re not even intimate. We eat crappy food together and the sexiest we get is me petting your cats.”

  “Let’s go out this time just to be safe. Let me grab my shoes.”

  There’s a fake waterfall and a koi pond in the restaurant. It’s fancy for Chinese, but I guess that’s midtown. Anything to justify charging twenty-four dollars for a steaming bowl of broth with some noodles and an over-fried egg roll.

  “So how come he never comes over? Is he going home to his family every night?” Wade asks, slurping up a spoonful of noodles with the flat spoon and long plastic chopsticks.

  “Fuck if I know. I don’t care. We’re breaking up. I’m going to ask out elevator guy. I just hope he comes back before I finish my two weeks at Montclair.”