A Wicked Choice (6 page)

After dinner that night, a to-go meal from Whole Foods that I picked at and pushed around the plate, I prepared to go out dancing with Z. Since this was a “sacred outing” to us, we always poured through our closets for just the right apparel. Dressing up was a way to shield myself with a costume. I could hide behind my outfit and pretend to be someone else.

My choice for the night was black spandex leggings with a short, red, form-fitting dress with asymmetrical sleeves – one draped down to the elbow, the other a spaghetti strap. Two red garnet earrings adorned my left ear, while three silver hoops of varying widths draped from my right. The last piece was a silver snake curling around my neck, his mouth grasping his tail. I slipped into two soft leather shoes with open toes to show off my recent pedicure.  Scrutinizing myself in the mirror, I decided that this was as good as it was going to get. I grabbed my purse and threw my beloved battered leather coat over my shoulders.

Mac and Jack, who had been sitting on the bed watching this ritual with solemn eyes, each jumped down and rubbed against my legs.

I looked down at their furry bodies. “Is that a sign of approval?”

Not
, thought Mac.

We’re just marking you so you’ll be safe
, Jack added, with an extra rub against my leg for good measure.

I chuckled to myself over their declaration of protection. Why did little furry four-leggeds feel like they had to keep me safe?

You’d be surprised
, Jack thought.

I widened my eyes, always surprised when they caught MY thoughts.

You ARE naïve
. Mac flicked his tail at me and strolled out the door, his task accomplished.
We’re so much smarter than you think.

Tossing my phone in my purse, I strode to the door to head downtown.

At Zuri’s apartment, a sleek, modern glass and granite building overlooking the Puget Sound, I buzzed her number and heard the door click to allow entrance. Taking the elevator up to the 6
th
floor, I tried to brush off the day’s strangeness. When Zuri answered the door, she whisked me inside her contemporary apartment, all clean lines and bold colors. In the middle of her living room was a black leather wrap around couch covered with red, gold, and blue pillows. One side faced the Puget Sound through tall, sweeping windows. The other side faced a 50” TV placed on a low chrome and glass TV stand. A coffee table was festooned with a Chihuly glass sculpture, People magazine, and big books of photography by Richard Avedon, Helmut Newton, and Dorothea Lange.

“Here, have a drink.” She handed me a fruity rum concoction that she had just made.

I gave it a cautious sniff. “What is it?”

“It’s supposed to be a Zombie.”  Zuri had been learning how to prepare various cocktails from her latest in a string of boyfriends, Alec.

“I sure don’t want to be a Zombie tonight.” I took a polite sip and set the drink down on the colorful coaster on her coffee table.

Zuri laughed. “Yea, but you want to be loose and ready! The Sungods percussion is crazy hot!”

“I don’t need to be drunk to be ready,” I muttered.

“Then here, take this…” She reached out and handed me a smoldering joint.

“No thanks, Z.”

“Ahhhh, Cheerio, come ON. Let’s be on the same wavelength.” She inhaled deeply and fell back onto the mountain of pillows covering her couch, not caring whether I answered her or not.

“Remember I told you I need to tell you about something strange that happened today?” 

“Yeah,” Z replied dreamily. “Go on…” She picked up her Zombie and took a long drink.

When I relayed the story, one long lashed eyelid opened from her stoned reverie. “You’re shitting me, right, Chér?”

“No, I’m dead serious.” I started nervously chewing on my fingernails.

“That’s right out of a sci-fi book.  Are you sure you aren’t making it up?”

I picked up a couch pillow and tossed it at her head. “God, you sound like Mother Clarice: ‘You’re always making things up, Chérie.’ No, I did not make it up, it happened just like I told you.”

“Maybe she was just some homeless walk-in. Where did she go when she left the class? Did you see what kind of car she drove?”

“No, Z, I did not stick around to play detective,” I said sarcastically. “I just ran to the bathroom to get myself together.”

“Oh, my poor baby,” Z crooned, putting her arms around me. “What are we going to do with you?” She stroked my back and murmured, “I will not let you go down the dark rabbit hole, Chér. I will reach down in there and pull your head out by the hair when you start to go down.”

The image was slightly comical but there it was: that protective edge…cats, dogs, now my best friend…always trying to stick up for me. Couldn’t I take care of myself? I pushed her away.

“Let’s get out of here.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her up from the couch.

I drove us to Cam’s old haunts, Green Lake, since Z was more than a bit buzzed. We searched for a parking spot near Re-Fly High, the club where the Sungods would be playing. It was around 9 pm, early enough to get a drink and a good spot on the dance floor, front and center. That’s where I liked to be.

The club was a favorite among the non-pretentious, Seattle twenty-somethings who just liked to watch, drink, and dance. From the outside, it looked small.  Once you entered the front door, a spacious dance floor, flanked by a bar on one side and tiny round tables and chairs on the other, allowed plenty of room to move. An actual photo booth stood in the back of the room, inviting Kodachrome proof of the night’s debauchery. A unisex bathroom was down the hallway, and the line usually stretched around the corner as the night wore on. Z and I had, on occasion, used the tree-lined vacant lot behind the building when the line was too long to wait. One of us would stand in sentry duty, watching for passers-by, while the other frantically attempted to do her business in the fluttering newspaper, paper cup, soda can, bottle strewn field. We carried toilet paper in our purses, just in case the need arose.

We ordered a couple of cocktails from the bar and stood talking, at the edge of the stage. Stagehands were bustling about moving the drum set and setting up amps for the opening band, Without a Prayer. One of them tapped the microphone, calling “check, check, one, two, three, check.”

I sensed a bristly feeling at the back of my neck, like someone was staring at me. Sipping my drink, I looked around the space. There, in the back of the room, stood three guys, eyes fixated our way. I looked to the left and saw two more. I had the uneasy feeling of being the main course in a shark tank. One of the guys, a good looking dark haired fellow in tight jeans and a black t-shirt, was gesturing in my direction. His 6’4” body had huge biceps and muscular thighs, perfectly evident through his body wrapping, tight attire. Abundant, glossy hair trailed down along his shoulders. His hair made me think of being in the middle of the woods at 2 am and looking up at the night sky, all blue black, twinkling stars and quiet mystery. I wondered what it would feel like to let those silky strands fall through my fingers. An odd feeling of excitement and fear moved down my spine as he waved his hand towards me. He leaned in towards his friend, and they both laughed.

“Cheerio…” Z was saying. “Are you with me?”

“Hmmm..?  Oh yeah, I’m right here.”

“I was saying, it looks like it’s going to be a good set tonight. Be prepared to shake it, ‘til it hurts.” She cracked up and shook her hips like a dog shaking off water.

“Oh, got it. No problem. ‘Shaking it’ is my middle name.” I joined her giggles.

I turned back to look at the guys. Now the dark haired guy looked straight at me. Again, the fear and excitement stirred in me. An electric shock shot straight up my spine. I closed my eyes and the room started to spin. I reached my hand towards the stage to keep from falling to the floor.

“Cheerio!” Z shook my arm, a note of alarm creeping into her voice. “What the fuck, girlfriend?”

“Sorry, Z... Must be the crazy day. Maybe I shouldn’t be drinking this cocktail.” I set it on the lip of the stage.

Z looked at me, her forehead creasing. “Should I be worried about you? You’re kinda freaking me out.”

“No, no. It’s nothing. Just feeling a little light headed.” I glanced over to the corner where the men had been. I craned my neck to see where they went. “I just need to sit down a sec.”

We sat on the floor against the front of the stage and watched the growing crowd assemble. It was getting too loud to talk so we just sat, leaning against one another in familiar friendship. Finally, it was show time.

After the first set – a nothing special blend of rock and reggae – we waited impatiently for the next act. That first band, Without a Prayer, had an apt name. Their sound was off, their songs were ho-hum, and their lead singer was loaded, stumbling all over the stage.
They truly did not have a prayer of a chance at making it
, I thought as the throng of people pressed us closer towards the stage.

Everyone was talking loud or yelling to be heard over the increasing din. One of the reasons I liked to be up front was that the stage always felt like space to me – like a place to escape, when the crowd got thick like this. It loomed like a fire exit, making me feel safe.

Zuri was in her element, preening, smiling her crooked smile at all the guys flirting with her. She allowed her curves to be curvier, her smile to be wider, and the chasm between her huge breasts to beckon a great fall into their depths. She loved the boy-toy devotion and commanded it like a madam at a House of Ill Repute. She had no problem telling a guy to get lost, if need be, or come closer if the mood arose. I, on the other hand, shrank from the attention, introverted and shy. When a guy would ask me to dance, I just stared at the floor until he gave up. All I was here for was to dance…with myself, by myself, or with Zuri. Besides, I had a boyfriend at home.

Suddenly, all the lights in the room were extinguished.  A couple of people gasped. A hush spread through the darkness. We all stood there, uncertain what to do next. Nervous laughter erupted and then was quashed with a “Shhh!”

Then, a sound burst the silence: a single drumstick on a single drum made a deafening crack. CRACK!  Then POP, SLAP, POP, SLAP, POP as hands slapped a djembe and the sound of percussion filled the room. The crowd roared with approval. Everyone started to move, writhe, and shake. This was what we came for. This, this primordial beat of deep rhythm, this heartbeat, this groove was the god we prayed to. This was our nourishment. This throbbing sensation was like the body’s fluids pumping through our blood vessels…whoosh…whoosh…whoosh.

I lost myself in the sensation of dripping perspiration and scintillating rhythm. Intoxicated with the beat of the drums, I turned, swayed, and jumped, bumping arms, legs, knees, and elbows with my fellow dancers. We were one giant pulsating ball of sweat and energy, one immense beast of vibration. When the tribe of pounding humanity around me constrained my movement, I closed my eyes, planted my feet and shifted side to side. It was then that I felt something…someone, rather, all muscles and heat…pressed a bit too close to my back. I started to turn my head for a look, but two strong masculine hands pushed on each side of my cheekbones, preventing my head from turning.

“Hey, sexy girl, just keep moving. I like the way you move.”

I wriggled against his hands, but they held firm.

“You’ll never get free. Let it go. Don’t bother.”

I had this bizarre feeling of being safe, while being caught in the hands of a stranger. It was like, I KNEW this guy. A shiver pulsated in my solar plexus.

“I’m gonna tell you a secret” he uttered, stressing the “s” in secret. “You’re going to like it. A lot...”

“Okay. What is it?”

“Not here. Not now.”

“When?” The music seemed to recede into the background. The writhing, sweat-soaked bodies faded out of sight. In this moment, there was only him and me in our own private universe.

“I’ll find you…when you are ready.” His hand caressed my face. A shudder went down my spine.

“I’m ready right now.”

“Not yet. Not here. Not now.”

“Puh-leeease,” I whined, cringing at my weakness.

“Not…yet.” He said each word slowly and distinctly. I could feel them embed inside me like a splinter.

His hands left an ache of longing when they left my face. His touch left me quivering like a spotted baby deer without her mama in the middle of a meadow. I took one bottomless breath and turned quickly to see the back of the dark haired guy I had seen earlier, as he disappeared into the crowd.  I just stood there, stunned, as the crowd moved around me. Zuri forced herself through the tightly knit pulsating figures to stand next to me.

“Chér!” she yelled. “That scene made me HOT! Who was that guy?”

“I dunno,” I yelled back. “Just some dude...he must have mistaken me for someone else.”

“Dude, indeed. I could feel the energy between you, too. You’ve got some ‘splaining to do.”  She laughed her irrepressible laugh.

“Nothing to ‘splain, Reecky...” I mimicked Lucy Arnaz of the old Lucy-Desi Comedy Show. “He just got a little too close.”