by Joey Bush
I pushed at the door, hearing it creak throughout the hall. My eyes blinked up at him, unable to rip themselves away. His want for me emanated on my skin; it was hot in my stomach. I longed for him to take me, right there in the grimy hallway. But I knew it wasn’t time.
“So. Next Friday, then,” he whispered. He started to back down the hallway, all the while removing his bow tie, unbuttoning his tuxedo shirt.
“Next Friday!” I responded timidly. He tucked into his apartment door, grinning out at me. I ratcheted into my own apartment, feeling the warmth of familiarity take hold. I flounced into bed, allowing the passion, the drive of the evening to fold around me and place me in a coma of happiness, of hope.
I didn’t wake up the next morning until noon, when Boomer trounced on my head, and I remembered that an entire week had to form; a week of hard work, of preparation for the new studio, before I could laugh and dance with Drew again. This knowledge forced me into a frenzy of continuous work. I was always on the phone, always tracking down new ballerinas, always looking for more money—money that could work me out of this hole. Soon, I knew, I would have to start paying the loan back. Not this year, sure. But in the next one. This knowledge made me nervous, made me wide-eyed and committed. I wouldn’t lose another studio. I wouldn’t lose it to that fast-talking, spirited woman—Carol—who owned the Goat. This was my dream, and I was going to make it work, no matter what.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After a week of this frenzy, I was entirely ready to fall into the world of Drew once more. In this world, I knew, there were no worries. Everything was easy; everyone knew how to dance, how to dress. I paused in front of my closet, naked, tracing the dresses over and over again. I wasn’t sure where we were going for this overnight weekend trip. He had simply called me, out-of-the-blue that morning to tell me that I needed to pack something elegant for the next evening’s festivities. I had heard drilling in the background. Had he called me from the worksite, from the excavation of my old dance studio? Also, I had thought this was going to be one overnight; not two. I furrowed my eyebrows, becoming nervous. I knew I couldn’t fall in love with this man (not more than I already was).
I had to put it out of my mind. I dipped my hand into the closet and brought out a fiery red dress, one that showed far too much cleavage. He hadn’t told me if the next evening was a grand benefit or a goddamned concert. Either way, I would be prepared. I slipped the dress over my slim frame, admiring the way it held tight to my body, showing the outline of my breasts. I could see a flash of my nipples, as well, as they glistened in the bright light from the Friday sun.
I packed the dress in a suitcase and chose some black leggings and a cute top for the travel. I knew we were leaving the city, but I couldn’t be certain where we were going. In my head, I was worried we were going to Indiana for some reason. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t bear to see my home state again, not wrapped in the arms of Drew, not in the sleek Porsche.
Drew knocked on my door at around six. I stepped toward it and opened it only for a moment, revealing him in his long winter coat, a nice, warm winter hat. “Well. Aren’t you prepared for snow?” I teased him.
“It’s going to be rather cold there this weekend. I’d grab a hat, if I were you.” His eyes looked bright, excited. I decided to play his games. I grabbed my suitcase, my coat, and followed behind him into the hallway, locking the door behind me.
“Where are we going, anyway?” I asked him, smiling.
He raised his eyebrow, taking my suitcase. “We’re actually going to Iowa.”
My heart sunk in my chest. What the hell was in Iowa? Was this guy going to take me out to the boonies and murder me? As I tapped down the steps and out onto the whirring streets, I felt regretful, sad to leave my home behind. Chicago! Leaving for Iowa?
I sat in the Porsche and brought my hands together timidly, looking over at Drew as he pumped the engine. He noted my wayward expression and laughed. “It’s not going to be that bad,” he said.
We shot west toward Iowa. I watched as the sun dipped low in the sky, leaving us in a quiet darkness on the Friday night highway. I tapped at my leg quietly, peering out the window. “It’s been a long time since I was out on the road.”
“You don’t travel much?”
“Can’t afford it. I don’t know if I would, anyway. Sure. Maybe Europe, Australia, or something. But not in the Midwest.” I cleared my throat, watching the signs pass us as we whirred by, going eighty, then ninety.
“I love to drive. I feel so powerful, you know. Like the entire world is mine, before my feet.” Drew kept his eyes on the road, maneuvering the manual stick of the vehicle as we climbed in speed.
The drive took five hours. He exited the interstate at around eleven in the evening and whizzed us up in front of a grand, sparkling hotel. I looked at it wide-eyed, with a bit of bliss. It was possibly the largest hotel I’d ever seen, and cornfields surrounded it on every side. “Who comes here?” I whispered to Drew.
“Only those who know it’s here,” he murmured back.
A valet driver, similar in dress to the one from the previous week, emerged from the hotel and came jogging toward the car. He saluted Drew, who he seemed to know. “Sir,” he said as he escorted me from the vehicle. “I see you’ve brought a very beautiful woman with you this time.”
I blushed. I’d never been referred to as more than just a “pretty girl.” “Beautiful woman” brought me to the next level; a level of stark grandeur and richness.
Drew took my arm and led me into the foyer of the remarkable hotel. The lights were dimmed as we entered. The man at the desk stood tall in a subtle bit of light over his papers. “Sir Thompson,” he announced through the cold of the foyer. “So lovely to see you this evening.”
Drew nodded his head toward the man, not bothering to check in. I wondered about this—if he forgot. I remembered my mother continually heading to the desk, having to enter in her credit card information, her address, possibly her soul—I never knew. But here, everyone seemed to know Drew, to respect him. He seemed almost a part of the hotel, although I thought that was impossible. After all; he lived in Chicago, and we were five hours away.
Drew led me to the double-doors of the shining glass elevator. He pressed the button and the doors opened automatically. He led me onto the glass floor and I peered down, nervous already about seeing all the way to the bottom of the shaft. My eyes were large, alarmed.
He laughed at me as the door closed. “Don’t be nervous.”
The elevator glided upwards through the enormous foyer. I could see everything; every person working, every person drinking, every person talking. Fires lined the remarkable study, further away, toward the bar. I squeezed Drew’s hand. “What is this place?” I asked him. He didn’t answer.
We reached the eighteenth floor. The elevator opened and we marched directly into the grandest hotel room I’d ever seen. We walked down a few stone steps to where the floor was open. It led us to the bedroom, which was next to a great window that stretched from floor to ceiling. A kitchen, to the right of the bedroom, featured two glasses of already poured champagne, glistening in the soft light of a pre-lit candle.
I gasped, looking at it. I stepped forward. “Drew. What?” I was half-laughing, half-crying.
Drew reached forward and picked up both glasses. He brought one of them toward me and held the other in his own hand. I accepted it by its skinny stem and clinked the glass into his. The bubbles skirted up my nose, down my throat, nearly tickling me. I felt the beautiful color of it, the life of the drink in my stomach. I sighed, looking at him—this remarkable man. I couldn’t fall in love with him. I couldn’t fuck him. But this champagne—this room. It was so much more than anything I had ever known.
I noticed, then, that there was only one bed behind me. I turned, looking at it, shaking my head. I felt my eyelids begin to close after the long drive, the long week of work. I couldn’t sleep next to Drew. I wouldn’t be able to keep myself of
f him. If he leaned toward me; if he kissed me, I would simply dive into his arms and never get out. As a result, I was certain he would hurt me. I knew I would hate myself. It couldn’t happen.
I turned back toward him, noting that his eyes were on me. “Only one bed?” I asked him.
He shrugged his shoulders, looking at me stoically. “We’ve slept next to each other before.”
“Sure. But we were always naked.”
“I like sleeping naked. It’s good for the skin,” he answered cheekily, allowing his dimples to show.
I hummed, unsure of what to do. “Are you—are you tired?”
“I was thinking we wouldn’t go out tonight, if that’s what you mean,” Drew began. “I want to go out tomorrow night. To this most remarkable place. You’ll love it.” He grinned at me once more. He couldn’t keep his dark pupils off me. He looked toward the bed once more. “Do you mind if I sit on the bed for a moment and take off my shoes?”
Suddenly flustered, I gestured toward the bed, unsure of what to do. “Of course. Of course. Take off your shoes.”
He sat silently, gazing up at me. I thought about placing my body over his, kissing his lips. I backed away toward the champagne, and poured us two more glasses. I would fall asleep soon if I kept drinking, I knew. I nearly choked on the bubbles this time as I drank.
“You know. You’re still the most beautiful woman I think I’ve ever seen,” Drew whispered, his toes now wiggling softly on the ground. He paused, considering. “You can get comfortable. I’ll sleep wherever you want me to sleep tonight. All right?”
I nodded, feeling a pull, a hesitation about myself. Should I just let him do whatever he wanted to do? He was giving me so much; he was taking me all over, from benefit to luxurious hotel. And yet; I couldn’t find it in my heart to forgive him for taking my dance studio. I cleared my throat and spoke. “I think you should sleep on the floor.” A pause emanated throughout the room. We couldn’t make eye contact.
Drew got up from the bed stoically and pulled the blankets down from the top of the bed, giving me a space to lie down. “Good night,” he murmured. He began to remove his clothes on his route to the bathroom, tossing them this way, then that. “Sleep tight.”
I lay down in the bed, feeling the way the mattress gave beneath my back. The blankets were an alarmingly wonderful fabric, one that made me feel at the height of all things comfort, all things fashion. I inhaled and exhaled a few times, feeling a plaque of regret deep in my stomach. But I couldn’t linger on it; I couldn’t think about it. I fell into a deep sleep, allowing myself to dive into a beautiful feeling of freedom.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning, I woke up alone in the grand hotel room. The Iowa October light was filtering in from the outdoors and I rose, pulling the curtains to the side to see the lines and lines of dead corn from the previous harvest resonate throughout the land. It looked so much like Indiana it nearly made my skin crawl.
I walked around the hotel room, peering at everything. I found the mat on which Drew had slept the evening before. The mat’s bedding was completely made, as if he had left a long time ago.
My stomach grumbled, and I searched for the hotel phone to order up some breakfast. I dialed the number and someone immediately answered. “Monsieur Thompson?” the person answered.
“No—no. I’m his—friend.”
“Ah, Madame,” the man said knowingly.
“Right. Anyway, I was hoping to order up some breakfast.” I thought about Drew, what he would want when he got back. “How about some eggs. Some pastries. Some mimosas.” I paused. “Perhaps some fruit?”
“Yes, Madame. Right away.” He hung up the phone and I felt the whirr of excitement, of activity erupt beneath me. The kitchen was making its grand many-course breakfast feast.
I paced around the room, waiting. I had no idea where Drew was. I wondered if he was upset that I hadn’t slept with him the evening before, if I had ruined everything. I wondered if he was going to simply take me home and never speak to me again. I wondered if this breakfast would be my last bit of finery for the rest of my life. My heart beat loudly in my chest. I felt like a strange alien. I felt so very alone.
About twenty minutes later, the hotel elevator opened, revealing a whole host of hotel workers, all holding grand trays filled with breakfast items. They displayed them on the counter and the large dining room table. They poured two mimosas for us both, and then bowed to me as they exited. When the elevator door closed, it was as if they had never been in the hotel room, as if the food had simply appeared.
I removed the lids from the food, finding the cheese-y eggs, fried potatoes, fruit, and beautiful French pastries. My stomach growled and I reached toward one—one that was oozing with crème and frosting.
Suddenly, the elevator door burst open once more. My hand on the pastry, I looked up in alarm to see Drew marching toward me. Sweat was glistening on his body and his face. He was holding a water bottle, and he was wearing exercise clothes. “Morning,” he said cheerfully. “So glad you ordered breakfast. I was just working out and I’m famished.”
My eyes were wide. I took my hand from the pastry and tried to smile naturally. “Oh. Gosh. Hello,” I murmured. “So good to see you.” I felt awkward, formal.
But Drew sat down and began filling a plate with the food. I sat on the other side of the table, my mimosa in hand. “What did you do?”
“Oh, you know. Just a bit of running. A bit of swimming. I can’t go a day without exercise, especially when I eat like this.” He winked at me, taking a large bite of pastry.
I had thought he was gone; I had thought he had disappeared. But here he was before me, eating heartily, gazing at me like a friend would. Like a friend should. I shivered, feeling the unfortunate understanding that this man before me was very nearly perfect.
I shook it off. “So. What are we doing tonight?”
“Now. Didn’t I tell you that was going to be a surprise? Why don’t you eat up? You ordered enough food to feed eight people.” He handed me the pastry I had nearly grabbed in the moments when he was walking through the door. “Come on. Eat up.”
And I did.
That evening I draped the red dress over my body and prepared my hair and make-up. I watched as, on the other side of the room, Drew rustled himself into his tuxedo and his bow tie. He combed at his hair, creating that subtle side-part of the previous week. Something inside me stirred; I wanted him so badly. But I couldn’t allow it to happen; I shouldn’t.
I turned toward him, allowing my breasts to bounce in the dress. I could play with him, couldn’t I? Even if I didn’t allow anything to happen? “You look handsome,” I murmured.
“And you look beautiful.” He walked toward me, bringing his arm out to me. “Shall I escort you to the Porsche?”
“Why, darling. I’d love to go,” I whispered, laughing at the sudden false sophistication. He had a humor about him—something I loved in anyone. If he couldn’t laugh about this grandeur, about his high style of living, then I didn’t want anything to do with him. Perhaps this was part of the reason I was here.
We walked into the elevator. I gazed at the remarkable hotel beneath us as we rushed to the ground floor. Leon, the valet, had brought the car out front for us and stood, dangling the keys for Drew, until we brushed past, excitement brimming in our bones. I hadn’t a clue where we were going, and Drew seemed so adamant on a surprise.
We hopped into the Porsche and fled into the country roads, dust and sand rollicking all around us. Drew played fast and loud music on the speakers, and I nodded my head in time with the music. It wasn’t Tchaikovsky. But it was truly remarkable how the music emanated with the raucous nature of my soul.
I opened the car window, allowing the chilly October air to roll over my arms and through my hair. I yelled into the wind, and Drew yelled as well. We were just two physical beings, propelling ourselves into the nighttime sky.
Finally we pulled into a large parking lot. At the
helm of the parking lot stood a remarkable building that was reminiscent of an old castle or a Greek temple. My heart beat quickly, gazing at its incredible wonder. We pulled up—fast—in the front, waiting for the valet driver. At this point, the realization struck me like a rock.
We were at a casino.
My eyes were wide, and I spun toward Drew. My heart was beating too fast now. It was out of control, mashing itself with the beat of the rock music. I reminded myself that he couldn’t have known; he wouldn’t have known. I couldn’t go in casinos; I couldn’t gamble because of my past. It was too rocky. It was too fresh in my mind. “I’m so sorry, Drew,” I whispered. The valet driver opened the door and helped me from the car. All the while, Drew’s eyes were on me, confused, perturbed. What was wrong now? I was sure he was wondering. Could he please this peasant girl in any way? He had brought her to the ball; he had taken her into the world. Did she just want to go back to the kitchen to scrub the floors?
Drew rounded the car and took my hand, looking at me deeply. “What’s wrong, Mol?” he asked. “Please. We don’t have to go in here if you don’t like gambling—” His voice was hushed. He wanted to respect me. I somehow recognized this in him. I reminded myself that he had grown up with Mel—that he and Mel had been a sort of team. I could trust him. (Or could I? I was always on the fence about this.)
“It’s not that,” I said. I felt the cold October wind glide through my jacket, through my slim red dress. “I just. I’ll find something else to do while you gamble. Okay?”
Drew pulled in front of me, blocking me from entering the casino. He shook his head, disallowing me to take another step forward. I could hear loud music and the sound of slots from the inside. I felt like my heart was going to explode. I thought only of my father; never at home, always at the casino. Always spending our money away, leaving my mother and I with nothing after he died of that goddamned heart attack. My mother, her face teary-eyed, blotched. She hadn’t allowed me to drink or gamble. Once, a friend and I had played a scratch off game at the kitchen table, and my mother had cried in the other room. The memories were too deep. The innocence bled into terror too quickly.
