Sugar Love

by Callie Bardot

  Effie bolted to her feet. She grabbed her harness, eager to make a hasty exit.

  “You’re going down,” Trisha said, in an imperious tone.

  “We’ll see,” Effie said, hurrying to push past her.

  Trisha grabbed her upper arm, squeezing tight. “You humiliated me at the party. Think I won’t ruin you? Think again.”

  Effie pried Trisha’s black and gold painted nails from her arm. Her heart hammered. “You humiliated yourself. Let me go so I can get out there.”

  Trisha leaned close to Effie’s face, seizing her shoulders.

  Effie arched backward.

  “You’ll be nothing by the time I’m done with you. Wait…” She let out a haughty laugh. “You’re already nothing. A bought and paid for piece of ass. You’ll be in the ground when I’m done.”

  Effie’s head jerked. “Is that a death threat?”

  “It’s whatever you think it is,” Trisha said.

  “Trisha,” Bryant called.

  Effie looked up to see him exiting the men’s room, still zipping up his fly.

  “You’ll smear her on the wall in front of everyone. Don’t waste your breath on her now,” Bryant said.

  Effie wriggled away from Trisha and shoved past her. She hurried into the climbing area, beelining toward Zander who sat on one of the gear benches at the far end of the room.

  “Are you okay?” he said, once she stood in front of him. He had on shorts, a t-shirt, and his harness, to belay her. He finished tying his running shoes then rose to stand.

  “Sort of.” Her voice quavered. “Trisha came into the women’s room as I finished dressing. She’s one arrogant bitch.” Her hands shook as she untangled her harness.

  “What did she say?” Zander said, holding out his arm for support.

  “She kind of threatened me. Said I’ll be in the ground once she’s done with me.” She stepped into the harness and pulled it around her hips.

  “Shit,” Zander said. “Shit, shit and double shit.” He reached back and squeezed his neck. “You can’t do this, Effie. She’s dangerous. Bat-shit crazy.”

  Fear shone from Zander’s eyes. His expression became pinched, drawn. Beads of sweat formed on his upper lip.

  Effie shivered. What the hell did she do to him?

  The crowd kept up a noisy cacophony behind her.

  “It’s a little late to back out, don’t you think?” she said in a small voice.

  “This is a bad idea, Effie. The Twitter feeds are already blowing up. She hates negative attention.” Zander practically vibrated with tension.

  Effie’s brow furrowed. “With what?”

  She busied herself with securing the straps around her waist and legs.

  Zander plucked his phone out of his climbing bag, scanned the screen, and showed her a picture of Trisha with her wet, beer-soaked hair hanging in her face.

  “With pictures like this one.” He read from the display. “Hashtag BitchBanks in hashtag catfight with hashtag mysterygirl. Hashtag clawsonfire hashtag revengeisimminent.” He dropped the phone back in his bag. “Shit like that. She’s not known for her kindness, I can assure you. I’m sure she’s livid. It’s not your fault, it’s hers. She started it. But, she’s going to want revenge.” He glanced around nervously.

  What’s he so worried about? Effie glanced at him while fidgeting with her harness. “I hate this kind of attention. I prefer to live in my own little cave.”

  Trisha and Bryant sauntered up next to them.

  Trisha looked five-foot-ten supermodel fabulous in some designer climbing attire.

  Effie rolled her eyes, feeling five-foot-two small and insignificant.

  “You lay one hand on her…” Zander growled to Trisha.

  “And you’ll what?” Trisha laughed. “We have an agreement.”

  Zander leaned in close to Trisha and spoke in a low snarl. “We do have an agreement. Which means, once this shit show is over, you’ll stay the fuck away from me and my girl.”

  Effie blinked. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  “Let’s get this show on the road and make some money,” Bryant said. He clapped Zander on the back. “What do you say, sport?”

  “I say I’m not your sport,” Zander said, shaking off the touch. He looked at Effie. “Ready?”

  “Once we get the belay rope in place, then I’ll be ready.” She strode away from him, heading toward The Ascent and the two dangling ropes waiting for her and Trisha.

  Trisha strutted toward them, Bryant by her side, looking like a prizefighter and her manager. She pumped her arm up and down, fist raised high.

  A few cheers sounded from the onlookers.

  Bryant bellowed to the crowd, “Who’s ready for The Ascent?”

  He twirled his fist in the air.

  “We are,” the crowd roared.

  “Your contenders are…” He began, but then leaned toward Effie. “What’s your name again, darlin’?”

  Zander glowered, while he fitted the rope into the belay device.

  “Effie D’Archangel,” she said, affixing her chalk bag to her waist.

  He raised his voice back to the crowd. “Your contenders tonight are Effie D’Archangel.”

  He seized Effie’s wrist, yanking it over her head.

  The crowd rejoiced.

  She picked out Dante’s voice from the others, shouting, “Go, Effie!”

  Then, another voice—a woman who sounded like Kennedy—whooped.

  Effie wrenched herself out of Bryant’s awful grip. She tied a figure-eight in her end of the rope, then threaded the end through her harness. With deft, sure fingers, she looped the free-end through the figure-eight, matching the knot exactly until she was securely attached.

  “And, the beautiful supermodel, gracing more covers than anyone, Trisha Banks,” Bryant roared.

  The audience erupted in cheers and boos.

  Trisha put her hands on her hips and walked a few steps, as if on a runway.

  Effie studied the wall while Trisha worked the crowd.

  Zander stood before her, murmuring suggestions in her ear. “Remember, look for the less obvious hold above the overhang.”

  “Right,” she said. “And keep my center of gravity against the wall. Remember my backstep. Step, swing, step, swing.”

  “You’ve got this,” he said, squeezing her shoulders. “And stay the fuck away from Trisha. Don’t let her near you.” He backed away from her.

  Effie reached for a hand hold, her knuckles growing white.

  “Let’s make the bitch eat dust,” she said, not believing her words for one second. She glanced over her shoulder.

  Zander clutched the other end of her climbing rope, his face grim. He nodded to her.

  When Trisha had secured herself to her ropes, Bryant stood at the ready.

  “Quiet, everyone. Let’s give these gals the attention they need to climb this difficult run,” he said.

  The crowd lowered to a murmur, then hushed.

  Effie mapped her first few steps, rehearsing in her mind.

  Trisha stood a couple of yards next to her. She turned and said, “You’re never going to make it.”

  Effie ignored her.

  “Okay. Who’s timing this?” Bryant said. “Where’s my timer?”

  “I am, sir,” said the pimple-faced teen who’d taken Effie’s coat. He held up two stopwatches.

  “Climbers, are you ready?” Bryant said.

  “Ready!” Trisha called.

  “Ready,” Effie squeaked. She looked up. Can I do this? Her success rode on her own abilities. Her life, literally, lay in Zander’s hand. Sure, the gym had padded floors, but a fall from the top of the fifty-foot wall could be deadly, were Zander not securing her from below as her belay buddy. He seems so nervous. What if his grip fails?

  “I’ve got you,” Zander said.

  She glanced over her shoulder and nodded. Butterflies swirled in her tummy. Her nerves were stretched taut. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm he
rself.

  “On your call, climbers,” Bryant bellowed.

  “Climbing,” Trisha said in a clear, confident voice.

  “Climbing,” Effie said in a quiet voice.

  “Climb on,” Zander and Bryant said at the same time.

  With every nerve in her body firing, Effie began her ascent.

  Chapter 31

  Effie

  Effie’s limbs shook as she ascended the wall at Rock Nirvana. All these people—watching me—and Zander below—watching me. Her nerves were wound tight. She had to shake it off and focus on the climb.

  Trisha scrambled up the first ascent. Her moves were sure and graceful.

  Effie climbed slower, calculating each move, keeping her tummy close to the wall. She glanced over at Trisha.

  Trisha had a significant lead on her. She climbed up the wall like a lizard.

  Effie sighed and focused on her own route. At least I’m trying. She seized a hold, maneuvered her foot onto another hold, and lifted herself up. Slow and steady. She got into a rhythm of step, swing, step, swing, pressing her hips close as the wall angled outward.

  Trisha had already reached the overhang.

  Effie had a few more yards to go.

  Someone shouted, “Well, I guess I lost that bet.”

  Dante shouted, “It ain’t over yet.”

  “You’re doing great, Effie,” Zander called.

  Buoyed by the encouragement, Effie clipped herself to one of the pins and kept going.

  Trisha seemed to be stuck at the overhang. She worked herself up over the edge, lost her grip, and fell.

  The crowd collectively gasped.

  Bryant secured her rope, and she dangled like a spider.

  “Want me to lower you a little?” Bryant called.

  “No!” Trisha called back. She jack-knifed her legs until her toes touched the wall. Then, she pushed away, and swung into the wall, snagging a hold.

  “Thatta girl, Banks,” someone from the crowd yelled.

  Effie kept climbing. She reached the overhang as Trisha still struggled to her right. Taking a moment to collect herself, she mentally mapped her route, repeating all the instructions Zander had given. Hook my heel over the edge. Remember my feet. Kneebar brace once I’m over the ledge. She huffed out a sigh and reached for a grip. Her fingertips explored the unseen edge to find a good hold. Her fingers locked around one that seemed to have been waiting for her to find it. This must be the less obvious one. Zander’s right, it does sing. Poised beneath the artificial outcropping, she swung her leg over the edge, hooking it in a sturdy hold.

  “That’s it, Effie. Great move,” Zander called.

  It took every ounce of her strength to heave herself over the edge. She caught the whoops of Zander, Dante, and others in the audience far below. She afforded a slight glance in Trisha’s direction.

  Trisha hung from two sturdy grips, her feet dangling over the ledge.

  She forgot about her feet. Effie shoved her knee and thigh against a large boulders grip. Okay, I’ve got the kneebar. Exhausted, she shook out her trembling arms, braced against the wall with her knee. But she had made it over the ledge. A surge of exhilaration flowed through her.

  Below, people cheered and shouted.

  Effie dipped her hands one at a time in her chalk bag.

  Another cheer sounded.

  Effie sneaked a peek at Trisha.

  She had made it up over the ledge and clung to a couple of handholds, her legs stretched wide on footholds. She reached for a handhold and slipped, catching herself before falling.

  “Fuck,” she cried, then glanced at Effie. “Stop looking at me,” she snarled.

  Effie shook her head and continued her ascent, clipping her rope to the carabiners and pins affixed to the wall as she climbed. Her arms shook with fatigue. Her calves ached. She was certain her heels were blistering.

  Below her, Zander called out, “You’re doing great, Effie.”

  Dante shouted, “I’m writing a song, just for you, Effie.”

  Another glance at Trisha showed her fit to boil over.

  Effie focused on the wall. Center of gravity tucked close. Backstep here. There’s a good place for my foot. Hips swing tight against the wall, here. She’d gained about a yard on Trisha, but she couldn’t let up. One slip and she could fail. Only four more yards and I’m at the top. Her muscles all screamed in protest, but she powered ahead.

  Trisha seemed frantic as she climbed. She reached for holds too far apart. Her movements were sloppy.

  Effie stayed steady. In two more holds, she would reach for the top.

  “Come on, Effie!” people from the crowd shouted.

  “I’m about to gift a shitload of money to Zander,” a guy called. “Didn’t expect that.”

  Effie took the next hold, then the final. She strained to reach the top of the wall, slapping it with her palm.

  “Time,” she shouted, panting.

  Applause and shouts filled the gym, drowning out Trisha’s curses.

  “That’s my girl!” Zander yelled.

  Effie steadied herself in her footholds and shook out her arms. Her legs began to tremble with fatigue, the muscles firing like a sewing machine. I’m so ready to belay down.

  She yelled, “On belay?”

  If Zander responded, she didn’t hear him over the din below.

  “On belay?” she called again. Still nothing but shrieks and shouts. She filled her lungs with air and bellowed, “On belay?”

  “Belay on,” Zander shouted. “Everyone, shut up. These climbers are fatigued and need to come down.”

  The crowd hushed to a soft murmur.

  Effie pushed away from the wall.

  Zander fed her some rope.

  She landed several yards down the wall. She pushed away again. Belaying felt like free-falling exhilaration. Her legs easily caught her. She pushed away again, dropping farther down the wall.

  Once she reached the edge of the overhang, she paused for a moment, savoring the win. I did it. I won. I can hardly believe it.

  “Effie, look out!” Zander yelled.

  She glanced to her right.

  Trisha swung like a monkey in her direction. Apparently, she’d shoved away from the wall with a lot of force.

  “Trisha, what the fuck?” Bryant shouted.

  Effie cringed, bracing for impact.

  Trisha crashed into her, shoving her into the textured concrete. Her foot caught on one of the holds, and she twisted backward, smacking her head against the wall.

  Instinctively, Effie grabbed her with her left arm, steadying her.

  Trisha hung limply in Effie’s grasp. Shit. She’s out cold.

  “Call 911,” she yelled. “She’s unconscious. Bryant, I’ll steady her while you give slack.”

  Effie’s mind whirled. I can’t let her go. She would only swing like a pendulum to the right, inflicting more damage when her sack of a body landed.

  Pandemonium broke out below.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Bryant bellowed.

  “Logan. Get up there and help her,” Zander called.

  “Already on it,” Logan called.

  Effie glanced over her shoulder, looking down.

  Logan had begun his ascent to the left of her, traversing a vertical wall with no angle to it.

  She calculated her next move. Somehow, she had to make it over the ledge.

  “I’m going to try a little belay jump,” she yelled to Zander. “I can’t let go of her.”

  Trisha felt hot and moist pressed against Effie’s body. She stank of pricy perfume and body odor.

  Logan poised against the wall, several yards below. “Hold on. Let me climb a little higher. I’m not on a line, so don’t want to climb too high.”

  She waited, clutching Trisha’s sweaty body.

  Blood began to seep through Trisha’s hair. She let out a low groan but didn’t wake up.

  “Okay, Effie, push away,” Logan called.

  “You have us, right, Zander
?”

  “Steady and sure,” he called. “Bryant’s ready, too.”

  “Okay.” She eyed Logan.

  He clung to the wall a couple of yards below. He waved his free hand. “I’ve got an arm and a secure grip on the wall. See if you can belay this far.”

  Effie took a deep breath. She gripped Trisha tightly, bent her knees, then pushed away from the wall. Her rope gave and then pulled taut. Her body jerked. She tightened her hold on Trisha.

  Zander grunted with effort.

  She started to twirl to the left, with the weight of Trisha. In a panic, she extended her legs and touched the wall. The counter-pull of Trisha’s rope sent her spinning to the right. Her right shoulder slammed into the wall, while her body cushioned Trisha. She let out an oof.

  The crowd gasped.

  “You okay, Effie?” Zander called.

  “Yeah,” she said, getting her legs beneath her. A sharp sting of pain throbbed in her shoulder.

  Logan called, “Stay put. I’ll be right up to help.” He scurried toward her, traversing to the right. Once there, he steadied Trisha on his side. “Okay, we’re going to have to down-climb. No more belay hops. But we’ve only got a few yards to go. Zander and Bryant have you. If you slip, they’ll catch you. Ready?”

  “Ready.” She disliked down-climbing. But down-climbing while clutching one-hundred-ten pounds worth of dead weight proved extremely difficult. When she got within two yards of the ground, she slipped.

  Zander leaned back, catching the rope when she hung a yard or so from the floor.

  Dante reached up to grab her. “I’ve got you.”

  Kennedy seized her from the other side. “We’re here.”

  Effie and Trisha lowered to the ground.

  From there, Dante and Logan worked together to gently lower Trisha to the ground.

  She stirred and moaned, blinking.

  “What the…?” she mumbled. Her eyes opened briefly, then they fluttered shut.

  Bryant unhooked her harness from the rope. “It’s okay, baby. You fell. You’re going to be okay.”

  Right, fell. Effie shook her head while unfastening her harness.

  “So proud of you,” Zander whispered to Effie while removing the rope from his harness.

  “Fire department,” a man shouted from the front of the gym.