Thomas was waiting for him at the entrance to the parking structure a block from the club, eating something fluorescent from a small plastic bag in his palm.
As Robert approached, Thomas held the bag out in offering. “Gummy bear?” Thomas’s tongue was green.
Imbecile. “You look like a fucking leprechaun,” Robert said.
The drone of music and lively chatter swelled as they neared the club. Each drew IDs for the muscled door attendant who was hulking behind rope chains and currently squinting at the license of a skinny blonde wearing stilettos and a miniskirt that left half her ass hanging out. Slut. The bouncer waved her through and stared Robert down over the top of his fake license. Robert stiffened.
“Twenty apiece, pay at the door.” The guard handed Robert’s ID back and nodded at Thomas.
They walked to the entrance, handed the cover charge to a grim-faced skinhead with barbed wire tattooed around his left bicep, and entered the club.
Inside, the warehouse-like expanse stunk of stale smoke and the rank tang of sweat. The place was already teeming with bodies, a mix of men and women in sharp business attire as if they had come straight from work, and casually-dressed young people who gave off “regulars” vibes. A few slouched men in cargo shorts and women in spaghetti straps scrutinized other patrons as if deciding whether anyone there was worth fucking.
At the bar, a young woman in a tight halter dress approached a stodgy Tom, Dick, or Harry in an expensive suit. She rubbed her breasts on his arm and whispered in his ear. Robert narrowed his eyes in disgust. The succubus always found her prey early.
“There’s a table near the back,” Thomas said. “It must be our lucky night.”
They threaded their way to a small table with a wraparound leather bench across from the bar. The polished wooden tabletop was littered with empty glasses and wrinkled napkins. A few tiny stirring straws were set up in a tic-tac-toe formation in the center.
“Wanna play?” Thomas gestured to the straws.
“Nah. I hear leprechauns suck at that game.”
Thomas stuck out his tongue and it glowed eerily yellow under the black lights. He really was an idiot.
A redheaded waitress appeared wearing tight pants and a harried expression. Her lithe hands scurried like rabbits, clearing the table into a brown bin. She set the bin at her feet and whipped out a small pad of paper from her back pocket. “What can I get you?”
“Vodka and Red Bull,” Robert said.
Thomas shrugged. “Whatever you’ve got on tap.”
She scrawled the orders, shoved the pad into her pocket, and flashed them a tense smile. “Be right back, guys.”
Robert watched her over Thomas’s shoulder as she walked away, her hips sashaying more than seemed necessary. Maybe that was for his benefit. Maybe not. He frowned as she disappeared into the back with the bin and their table scraps.
Thomas was focused on the televisions behind the bar. Robert glanced at the screen where a common-looking woman in a blue suit yammered into the camera about something surely as tiresome as her flaring nostrils.
“CNN, huh?” Robert said.
Thomas met Robert’s eyes and grinned. “Nothing says it’s time to party like stock market updates.”
Robert looked past Thomas again, but the redhead did not reappear. When he drew his gaze back, Thomas was staring at him with knowing eyes, and Robert resisted the urge to throttle him.
“You looking for our waitress?”
Panic chilled Robert’s marrow. “Yeah, I’m thirsty.”
“Aw, come on, man! You were staring at her when she walked away. Not that I blame you.” He winked, tarnishing her.
No, he could not let Thomas take this away from him, not if she was The One. There was no time to dwell; Robert felt her return in every cell of his body. She emerged through the doors, eyes alight with passion and the promise of resurrection, of atonement, of a chance to prove himself worthy and noble. He had been noble once.
He could do it again.
For love.
And he had loved her, if only for a day during his senior year in high school. Mindy Haliburton. Each twist of her fingers, each bite of her lip had been a sure indication that she was trying to control herself. But she was Reverend Haliburton’s daughter.
They were in the Reverend’s basement when Robert had pushed her to the floor. “Don’t worry, Mindy. I understand,” he whispered
Of course he’d understood. He understood that by fighting him, by making the lust his alone, she might absolve herself of guilt and save herself from Hell. He understood that her thoughts were as deep as his, or she wouldn’t have asked him there. And he surely understood that she wanted this, no matter what she had to say to protect her reputation and her soul. Each desperate sound she made mirrored his own desperation, their mutual desire mingling with fear of repercussions, their need for one another overriding their terror.
“No! Robby, stop!”
But he heard what she really meant: Yes! Robby, harder!
When it was over, she lay still, eyes bloodshot, face ashen and laced with tears. He stroked her cheek and ran his tongue over her bottom lip.
You’re welcome.
He had admitted to the rape, despite their mutual need. He had saved her from her own sins by sacrificing himself to hordes of inmates who had offered no remorse, no leniency, no forgiveness. There was nothing more noble one person could do for another.
Pride welled in his heart.
“Here you go, guys.”
Robert refocused his attention on the redheaded waitress as she set Thomas’s glass in front of him. She had a tinkling voice that grew a little hoarse as she increased her volume to be heard, as if Pollyanna were trying her hand as a phone sex operator. Robert met her eyes. She did not look away. He touched her wrist as she put his drink down, and electricity zipped up his arm, through his chest, and down into his groin. She pulled her hand away, too quickly. Her eyes, once warm, now emanated surprise and fear—and revulsion.
She knew. She could feel it in his touch.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked, her voice suddenly not so much sultry as irritating. Robert shook his head.
“No thanks,” Thomas said with an idiotic smile, oblivious to the whole exchange.
But Robert was not. I am a doomed man, and she knows it.
The waitress picked up an empty cup, her eyes wide. Watching him. Marking him. The mark of Cain.
No one will ever offer me forgiveness. He kept his gaze on her, memorizing her features as she retreated.
Especially her.
“Earth to Jim! You hear what I said?”
Robert blinked at Thomas.
“Two just walked in, our age, both of them gorgeous. The blonde looked right at me.”
Robert ground his teeth together. They’d surely sense his wickedness and mark him like all the others. But if there was any chance, any at all …
His jaw relaxed.
“They’re in the booth next to us. We should say hello.”
“Yes,” Robert said, plastering on his best come-hither smile. “It would be cruel to make them wait.”
The Hangout was a posh establishment, but the bouncer shooed Noelle and me in without asking us to pay the cover, which made me feel attractive and also a little like a prostitute flaunting her wares to save twenty bucks. The music pounded through immense speakers and strobe lights pulsed flashes of red and yellow, green and blue, in time to the music. Noelle stood on her tiptoes to scour the seating situation, then dragged me to a back corner booth across from the bar. The vacating couple was still collecting their drinks when she clambered into the seat. I waited until they disappeared into the crowd, and sat as our waitress approached.
Noelle ordered a daiquiri. I got a cranberry juice with lime.
“I better take it easy on these,” I said when the drinks were delivered. “I don’t want you to have to carry me out of here.”
Noelle laughed, but it was hard t
o hear her over the music. I watched her face, trying to decide if I was supposed to be making conversation as she scanned the room. I settled for working on my drink.
Within minutes, the booth began to feel like a prison. A gopher in my chest clawed at my rib cage. I pictured the rodent from Caddyshack and squinted at the subtitles on the muted television behind the bar, half expecting Jake’s face to leap onto the screen, eyes radiating disapproval. I really need to get out more.
“Hey, need some company?” Two men stood next to our table, drinks in hand. The one who spoke was blond, with chiseled features and a wide mouth. His taller, darker companion looked like he had just stepped off the cover of G.Q. His eyes were sharp like a hawk’s and ringed with aqua, the unique coloring visible even in the dim light of the club. As our eyes met, a pang of memory flittered across my mind and disappeared. My breath caught, but I could no longer remember why.
“Sure.” Noelle scooted toward me in the booth and the blond slid in beside her. I moved to the end to avoid being squished.
“I’m Thomas,” the blond said, offering his hand. Noelle took it and smiled at him.
“I’m Jim,” said Mr. G.Q. He was watching me, presumably waiting for me to tell him my name, but my mouth was too dry to speak. When I said nothing, he parked next to Thomas.
Noelle raised her voice over the pounding music. “I’m Noelle, and this is my shy friend Hannah.”
Thomas waved, and it was so exaggerated and goofy that I almost smiled. Jim bowed his head once. “Nice to meet you, Hannah.”
I picked up my juice and put it to my lips instead of responding. Social awkwardness was a bitch. Dammit, Hannah, act normal!
Noelle glanced at me and turned back to the guys. “So, Thomas, what do you do?”
“Yoga.” Thomas’s voice was strained, speaking over the music, but it was still mellow somehow. Calm. “I also play on the jungle gym whenever possible. Buy catnip. Not for me, mind you, but that doesn’t make it less true.”
Noelle laughed. “No, for work.”
“We’re both in the automotive industry,” Thomas said, pointing to Jim. “Being in the Motor City, it was between designing cars and starting a Motown boy band. But I can’t dance.”
Noelle’s eyes were on Thomas’s face as she shifted toward him and put her hand on his arm. “Original. Most guys just go for ‘I’m a big-shot lawyer’ or ‘I’m an engineer.’”
Thomas’s smile was infectious: straight, white, genuine. “I have to play to my strengths. I’m better at creative dialogue than dancing anyway.”
Noelle laughed harder than I’d ever made her laugh and a pang of jealousy hooked my stomach.
“Did you go to school here?” Noelle asked him.
“Yep. University of Michigan,” Thomas said.
My head throbbed in time to the music. I set my glass on the table next to Noelle’s.
As if remembering there was someone else at the table, Noelle took her hand off Thomas’s arm and sat back in the booth. “How about you, Jim? Where did you go to school?”
Jim sipped his drink and watched me like he hadn’t heard her. It was probably my overactive imagination, but it didn’t stop the niggling at the base of my skull. There was hunger in his fixed stare, like he wanted to eat me alive.
“Cal Tech,” he said finally.
I turned my head and looked across the way, behind the bar, toward the television again—anywhere to avoid Jim’s eyes. The view wasn’t any better over there. On the flat screen, a spunky young newscaster feigned seriousness while, behind her, police officers walked by with a black body bag on a stretcher. It was the same shot that had been on replay for weeks as the media exploited the murders of two young women. Jane and what’s-her-name. Meredith. I winced.
“Scary stuff,” Jim said.
I turned toward him but kept my eyes on his forehead.
“Don’t worry, they’ll catch him,” he said.
“What makes you think it’s a him?” Noelle asked.
Jim’s head cocked to the side. “It always is, isn’t it?”
Noelle’s face darkened so briefly that I thought I
imagined it.
“Things aren’t always as they seem,” Thomas said, and his voice was solemn, all trace of humor gone.
The hair on my arms stood.
Jim painted an abstract in the condensed water on his glass. “I mean, it’s always some dude who is so fucked up in the head that no one else wants anything to do with him. Look at Dahmer. Same story, different guy.”
Noelle elbowed me lightly. “Hannah, you okay?”
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I guess I … feel a little sorry for some of those guys. Not the murdering part, but the part where they’re so desperate that they think their only option is to kill someone.”
There was a pregnant pause. Did I just say I feel sorry for murderers? If only I were a magician so I could disappear. Behind us, the black lights flickered off and neon strobes swept over the room, like searchlights seeking to highlight my stupidity.
“Hey, how about another round of drinks?” Thomas asked, summoning the waitress with his trademarked goofy wave. Noelle giggled and nodded her agreement.
Thomas was my new personal hero. I’ll call him Captain Awkward and he can come to my rescue in ridiculous social situations. It was an ingenious plan. So why was my skin still crawling?
I twisted toward Noelle but she was whispering in Thomas’s ear. In my peripheral, I saw Jim, openly staring at me, his eyes alert and sharp and … famished. My heart backflipped. No. Don’t panic. Not now.
Too late. I couldn’t breathe. I grabbed my cranberry juice to loosen my vocal cords and the cup slipped, splattering juice down the front of my shirt.
“Shit.”
Well, at least you can still talk. “I’ll be right back,” I croaked like someone who had just turned from a princess to a frog but without any of the royal pizzazz. I squeezed through happy women, angry women, and dancing couples to where a hand-painted wooden sign decreed Ladies above a little stick figure of a person in a dress. I was wearing jeans. I considered using the men’s bathroom to make a point but jerked open the door to the ladies’ room.
The bathroom was crowded but only for the stalls. In an alcove off to the side, I found a place at the sink and scrubbed at the stain with a wad of wet paper towels. The stain spread. I scrubbed harder, trying to avoid the buttons so I didn’t tear them off. Other women walked by to the other sink, but none acknowledged me. I kept my eyes on the bleeding stain.
Why couldn’t you just have a vodka tonic like everyone else?
Because you can’t handle being out of control even a little bit.
A little more water, some soap, and a ream of paper towels later, the spot had faded from maroon to a sickly pink—still visible, but better. My heart had slowed as well. I looked into the mirror.
Shit. Under the florescent lights my cream-colored blouse was almost completely see through. Shit, shit, shit. At least the stain had covered my undergarment. Now, the outline of my bra was clearly visible to everyone.
I stepped to the hand dryer and jabbed the button, half squatting and stretching the blouse as best I could to get the fabric under the airflow. The dryer stopped humming. I pushed the button with my elbow and frantically tried to get the material back into the perfect place before the hot air stopped again. By the sixth round, I was smashing the button, less worried about the shirt and more consumed with the desire to kick the dryer into space. Why couldn’t the thing just keep going? Like anyone’s hands really got dry in one push!
“Hannah? What are you doing?” Noelle stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised. I desperately wished for a sudden power outage so I could make a groping, awkward run for it.
“I was … trying to get this blouse to work again.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror: hair askew from the errant dryer wind, cheeks flushed with exertion, and that fucking shirt stretched and hanging off my front, a
disarray of transparent ripples.
Noelle began to laugh. I joined her, and once I got going, I had no ability or desire to stop. Tears rolled down my face and mingled with the sweat of panicked shirt drying. Three other women walked into the bathroom and tossed each other knowing looks. Wow, look who’s already had one too many, their pursed lips said.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “Can we take off, please? This is enough excitement for one night.”
“Aw, come on! We’ve only been here for an hour! Plus, with your invisible shirt, you’re finally in something club appropriate. Maybe you’ll even get laid when you get home! Nothing like a little ooh and aah to make the embarrassment worth it, right? Though I’m not sure Jake knows how to get you to make those noises anyway.”
Point taken. “What’s the difference between ooh and aah?” I said.
Noelle raised her eyebrows.
“About three inches.”
We collapsed into laughter again. Noelle was the first to catch her breath. “Let’s get our stuff. I already got their numbers, but I want to say goodbye. Here, take this.”
She handed me her cardigan. I pulled it on and followed Noelle out of the bathroom toward the table. The guys stood when they saw us—impressive, actually—but it didn’t change anything.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but we have to head out,” Noelle said.
Thomas’s face fell. “But it’s so early! Is there anything we can do to change your minds?”
Noelle shook her head. “We had a little wardrobe malfunction.”
Their banter faded in my ears. Jim’s eyes roved over me, as engaged as if I had suggested we strip naked and hula hoop. The prickle of goosebumps I’d felt earlier returned with renewed ferocity. I touched Noelle’s arm and jerked my head toward the door.
“Hopefully we can get together again soon,” Jim said.
I tried to force a polite nod, a grin, some kind of acknowledgment, but my body was shouting no way in hell. Noelle and I weaved toward the exit through throngs of club-goers smelling of Axe Body Spray and desperation. It wasn’t until we reached the street that I felt my body relax as if an invisible wire had been cut.
[Ash Park 01.0] Famished Page 10
