by Cary Hart
“OK, but promise me. No hook-ups.”
“Promise, babe.”
Looking into the mirror, I take a step back to examine myself. I don’t look like me. Well, I look like me I just don’t look like Mrs. Doug Harris.
Doug never criticized my looks. Actually, he used to say he loved my dark hair and porcelain skin, but a few years ago he started to show otherwise, making comments about random women.
“Did you see Kristy’s new hair color? Why don’t you get something like that?” So the next day I went and had my hair foiled with blonde lowlights.
But that wasn’t enough. Just a few months before we separated, he convinced me to bleach it all. Well, he didn’t really try hard. I think it was over dinner one night. Reece was at Doug’s parents’ and our waitress happened to be blonde. The next thing I knew he was complaining about his new assistant, but then somehow it turned into a compliment and me agreeing to bleach my hair.
“I can’t believe my new assistant took an extended lunch to color her hair. I don’t know who she thinks she is, but we have an hour. AN HOUR! Although I do have to say, it looked good.” He said it as he was taking a sip, but he made eye contact. I knew what he wanted, but he was afraid to ask.
So, the next day, I scheduled an appointment and surprised him with a new look and a scandalous outfit. That night was some of the best sex we had ever had.
Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath and open them to see Niki behind me holding up a pair of red hooker heels.
“What are those?”
“These,” she shoves them into my hands, “are the compromise to the red dress.”
I caved on the dress. Well, not the red one, but one similar and I do have to say this little black number has all the class with a little sass, but these shoes...these will scream sex appeal.
I could fight this battle but honestly, she knows me. Sometimes she knows exactly what I need before I need it. Grabbing onto the dresser with one hand I slip on the death traps with the other. I right myself and check out my reflection again. She was right.
“Dammmmn! You are on fire!” Niki saunters over, giving me a slow applaud. “You are smoking hot, my friend. This dress will be sure to—”
“NOOOOO! No pick-ups.”
“Slow your roll girl, and let me finish.” Her eyes soften as she gets in between me and the mirror. “You are hot and all the men will be flocking to our table, but this is for you. You need to feel like a woman again. Not a mom. Not a wife. Just a woman, who is sexy and confident. You lost that and tonight you are getting it back.”
Bringing her hand to my chin she lifts it and steps out of the way so I can catch my reflection once again.
“You are Aubrey Harris, a 32-year-old, insanely sexy, SINGLE mother. Own it.”
“OK, OK, you’re right. Let’s get our party on!” I do a little dance, throwing my hands in the air.
“Ummm, let’s get you some drinks. That,” she waves her finger around, “is mom dancing, but don’t worry. It’s nothing a little liquid courage can’t help.” Niki throws a couple crystal-studded hematite bracelets my way.
Sliding them onto both wrists, I fluff my hair up one last time before we head out. For once in my life, I’m going to let myself go and enjoy just being me.
Aubrey
“HEY SEXY LADIES!” GAVIN’S voice booms over the rest of the crowd as he stalks toward us.
Usually this doesn’t bother me, but tonight something else is in his eyes and I’m not sure I like the way it makes me feel: heart racing, nerves flaring. Do I want him to want me? I think I’m going to get sick.
“Hi! Gav...” I squeak out, stopping myself before I say or do something stupid, like maybe vomit all over his shoes, but I’m not even sure he noticed.
He gives me a once over and nods, then continues toward his intended target. Niki.
“Hey kid!” Gavin picks Niki up and twirls her around before he sets her back down. He kisses her forehead as he wraps her up tight against his muscular frame.
I never thought much about their relationship before, but the look he gave her didn’t go unnoticed by me. I may have been out of the game for more than 12 years, but that look made me feel...
Excited?
Niki claims they are just friends, but this is anything but.
I met Niki when my daughter started preschool a couple years ago. Reece was what Niki called a stage five clinger. Never forcing me out the door, she encouraged me to stay and participate. I figured this would make it worse, yet to my surprise, after a week Reece was jumping out of the car excited to see what Miss Niki had in store for them.
Not even in my wildest dreams did I think Miss Niki, the young and eager preschool teacher, would become my wild and sassy foul-mouthed best friend.
I’ll never forget the day we bonded. She listened and made me laugh, on a day I was convinced would end in tears. A group of women who I have since nicknamed the Stepford Wives decided I needed an intervention. Apparently they thought having my daughter in a public preschool was degrading to our social culture. I on the other hand disagreed and that didn’t sit well with them, causing me to endure two hours of them explaining why I was a bad mom.
After they left, I quickly called Doug, only to be told, “Umm? Your point is?”
My point? There wasn’t a point. I just wanted my husband to listen. To be an ear and let me vent, but instead he rushed off the phone so he could take his secretary out to lunch for Administrative Professional’s Day. What a slap in the face.
Rushing to school to pick Reece up early for a dentist appointment I ran right into Miss Niki, literally, with enough force to knock her small frame to the ground and send all the artwork she was carrying flying everywhere.
“Holy shit! My ass will hurt tomorrow.” She looked up at me. “Well, you going to help me up or just stand there?”
My mouth hung open, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. After helping her up and picking up the papers, she took me to the classroom while they called for Reece to be brought in from the playground. I don’t know why I talked to her, but I explained my whole situation, and she listened. Something I craved that my husband didn’t give me. Quickly we became fast friends, the six-year age gap not making a difference.
“Screaming orgasm or blowjob?” Niki’s voice brings me back to the present.
“Excuse me?” I look over and see Niki and Gavin up at the bar.
“Drinks, babe, whatcha want?” She tilts her head to the side, examining me. “You know what? I’ll pick,” she says, turning to the bartender. “Give us three shots of tequila, two cosmos and one margarita on the rocks for this pussy.” She points over to Gavin.
“Hey, I’d like to say, for the record, they are made with tequila and damn if those don’t taste good.” He laughs, pulling Niki in close again.
The way his laugh rumbles through the room, she has to feel every muscle ripple, every vibration. Hmmm. Have I just been too wrapped up in self-pity that I didn’t see this happening? I’ll have to give her the third degree about it later.
Placing our drinks on a tray, Niki grabs it and carries it with grace, weaving through the growing crowd to find our spot reserved in the VIP section that overlooks the other levels.
Thanks to Gavin who manages the bar, and Niki who works here during the summer and fills in some school-year weekends, we had no trouble securing a corner section.
Spotlight is pretty amazing, really. Located in the heart of Jonestown, an up-and-coming city on the outskirts of Chicago, it’s a modern chic take on your local everyday bar. From the outside, you can see two levels. The entrance is aged brick that was obviously here when the structure was first built nearly a century ago, but the second level is all smoky glass with cool steel beams securing the roof. Once you walk in, it’s so much more than it looks from the outside. Three levels, decorated with a combination of dark woods and stained glass. Sleek metal lines the walls and the floors are a polished concrete. Strobing neon lights puls
e around the room, reflecting off of the various mediums, bringing the bar alive, lending a club vibe to the classic old world establishment.
Level one, which is really level two, is the ground level, where the main bar and dining are located. The wood and metal theme carries throughout the entire place, and the dining room’s worn leather seats offer a sort of old-world charm, while the etched glass tabletops keep it modern. Everyone who is anyone has dined here. The food is your typical bar food but with a high-class flair.
Level three is the VIP section. No one is allowed up unless you have a barcode bracelet on. This is scanned every time you enter or leave and is connected to your tab. It’s nothing to see the Hollywood Elite in here, taking a break from the silver screen or busy performance schedule. The security in here is outstanding. Even though the floor is made up of glass, it’s frosted, keeping the clientele and their woo-ha’s hidden from the general public. Nothing but shadows and lights are seen from below. TVs displaying the dance floor and stage line the area. Wide steel beams rise from the level below, caging in reclaimed wood slats for stairs. More frosted glass lines the side and acts as railing.
The basement level is where another bar, stage and dance floor are located. The rustic brick walls are adorned with vintage concert flyers and various mirrors, reflecting more light. The long, aged wooden bar is suspended from metal cables and is surrounded by leather barstools. Bands play after dinner hours and end around 10 when a local DJ comes in and works the dance floor.
Spotlight got its name partially from spotlighting bands from all over the world, new albums or breakout stars who are getting hype on Twitter. The name also comes from the famous flocking here when they need a break from playing the huge venues.
There are spotlights located on the VIP level. Swipe your card and you can beam a spotlight on someone working it on the dance floor.
“Here we go.” Niki sets the tray down, distributing our drinks and shoving a double shot my way.
“Yeah, not happening. Switch me.” I gently scoot it toward her, avoiding spilling any on the table. The one thing I hate more than anything when I go to a bar is a sticky table or floor. Nasty.
“Skank, pull up your big girl panties.” She smirks. “Oh that’s right you aren’t wearing any.”
“NIKI!”
“That’s hot!” Gavin shoots me a look while he leans back, pulling Niki with him.
“What? It’s true.” She settles into his side, crossing her legs.
“Only because you hid all my panties from me stating they were too parachute-ish.” I down the shot not, waiting for those assholes.
“Well, look what you gone and did. It’s bad luck to do a shot without friends.” She reaches over to a kiosk and orders another shot.
“Says who?” I give her the evil eye, trying not to make a face from the slight burn of the tequila.
“Says me! Now wait this time or we will be at this all night,” she demands as the waitress comes up and hands me a glass matching theirs.
“Fine. What should we drink to?”
“To new beginnings!”
We raise our glasses, clinking them together.
“To new beginnings!” Gavin and I repeat.
“And to no panties!” Gavin sneaks in.
“Lick.”
Lick. Salt. Lick.
“Drink.”
Down. Burn.
“Suck.”
Done.
“Bam!” I slam the glass down. “To new beginnings, bitches!” I shout, only to see Niki sucking a lemon from Gavin’s mouth. They are one second from going too far, but she pulls away.
“That’s right girl. Now, let’s go dance!” She gets up, pulling me with her.
“You promised me food.” I plop myself back down in the navy velvet chair and grab hold of the arms, bracing for the fight.
“Fine.” Sighing, she looks toward Gavin. “Order us a variety of the appetizers and get this crybaby a burger.” She nudges my leg.
“Now, come with me. I want to introduce you to Grady James, actor and model who is traveling the promotional circuit with his wife, Heather Young, who co-stars with Ronan Connolly in the big indie film, A Thousand Words which has just been released to the big screen. Rumor has it he is a gem, but Heather a major cunt. Just don’t make eye contact with her and all will be good.” She winks.
I’m not surprised she suggests this. Niki makes an impression on everyone. Athletes, politicians, actors, musicians, priests, mothers, grandmothers, everyone loves her. It’s hard not to fall in love with her personality. Some may think this is part of her job to attract bigger tips, but it’s just her. One minute sophisticated and classy and the next minute sassy and down-to-earth. Gotta love her.
Umpteen drinks later, I’m feeling good. I didn’t plan on drinking this much, but when Grady James offers to buy you drinks, you don’t say no.
We had Vegas Bombs, Jager Bombs, Irish Car Bombs. If it had the word bomb in it, we had it. Which is probably why I’m drunk and energized.
Stupid Red Bull.
Not sure how I made my way out here, but the dance floor is packed. Tonight’s band, Broken Euphoria drew in one hell of a crowd and DJ Wicked is playing all my favorite songs.
A song ends and another begins. The bass is steady and repetitive, working up the crowd. I would know this song anywhere, it’s Reece’s favorite. She’s too young to know what it means, but recites all the words.
“Come on, come on, turn the radio on...” The song starts and I can’t help but throw my hands in the air and move with the music. The words ring true. Losing myself, I let go and just dance.
Next thing I know, a spotlight is directly on us. I turn to Niki to smile, but she is nowhere in sight. Panicking, I spin on my heel, looking for her and finally see her glowing green eyes from the corner of room where she’s dancing with some suit and tie.
Realizing it was probably Grady or Gavin running the spotlight I decide to give them a show.
Bringing my hands down, I bend my knees and sway my hips to the deep bass of the beat. Slowly creeping my hands up I let them drag the hem of my dress up a little. Reaching my hips, I raise one hand in the air while my other feels every crevice of my body, putting on a seductive show for all to see.
The light’s a little too bright so I close my eyes and lose myself in the moment.
Drew
SPOTLIGHT. NOT EXACTLY MY kind of hangout, but Kyle Lewis, my lead foreman at WilliamSon Construction, insisted I come out for a drink after the shit day we both had. Kyle had the client from hell and I signed my divorce papers.
Not exactly how I planned for the night to go. And I sure as hell didn’t plan for my life to end up like this. Ignoring the vibration coming from my back pocket, I slap my credit card down and wave the bartender over.
“Hey sweetheart, I’m Cindy and I’ll be your bartender for the evening.” Cindy leans against the counter giving us her full attention.
“Start a tab. Not sure how long we will be —”
“We will be here all night,” Kyle cuts in, making plans I’m not sure I want to keep.
“Fine. Give us two Coors Lights, bottles please, and keep them coming.”
“And two of those burgers you guys are famous for,” Kyle orders, making sure he doesn’t miss out on the free meal I promised him earlier in the week.
“Got it. Two inside-out burgers, chips and keep the coldest Coors Light bottles coming.” Cindy turns and with ease pops the caps and slings the beers down the bar with perfection.
Dinner was pretty damn good. Kyle was right about this place. It has a little bit of everything for everyone. Dinner and drinks, a small in-house concert and now the dance floor is bumpin’, with people on full display.
Several beers later, Kyle nudges my shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “What do you think? Just what you needed. Am I right or am I right?”
“I don’t know about needed, but yeah.” I grab a bottleneck and start to peel off the label. “It’s d
ifferent.”
“Different good or different as in you’d rather be at home drowning your sorrows over your whore of an ex in a pint of Ben and Jerry’s chunky monkey like a little pussy?”
“Fuck you, Lewis.”
“Back at you, Williams. Shot?”
“Make that two.” I signal for Cindy, hoping this will do the trick and drown out the week from hell.
Cindy comes up to the counter and lifts herself up on the bar ledge to get closer. “Two more Coors?”
“Two shots of Patrón and we need to close out the tab.”
“Going home so soon? I thought we were just about to make friends.” She hops down and shoots me a wink.
Kyle, feeling a little too good, swings his arm with beer in hand around my shoulder, pointing with his index finger. “This guy here is a straight-up pussy.”
“Is that right?” Cindy hands us each a shot. “How about we toast to pussy? You are one.” She tilts her glass toward me. “He isn’t getting one and I have one.”
“Oh snap!” Kyle covers his mouth and smacks me on the back. “You my friend are getting laid. TO PUSSY!” he shouts.
“She can hear you.”
Not responding he just clinks his glass with mine and throws it back. I follow suit and the burn feels good.
“Hey, Andrew?” Cindy’s voice is normal but in this environment it’s barely a whisper.
“Yeah?”
“We aren’t supposed to do this, but...” She slips me a napkin. “If you ever feel like talking or just getting together to hang out, give me a call.”
Looking down I see her name and number scribbled down in red ink with a heart dotting the I. Totally childish and cute at the same time.
Uncertain what to do I accept the napkin and stuff it in my front pocket. Cindy watches carefully with a nervous smile on her face. I know I shouldn’t take it, but damn if it doesn’t feel good. Especially after everything that has happened.
