A Graceful Mess (4 page)

“Brrr, it’s freezing!” My teeth chatter from the breeze. Iowa isn’t normally cold at night this time of year, but for some reason the air has a steady blow, a reminder that the mugginess from the day is long gone.

“Honey, come on. You know we won’t have to wait. We never do.” Maci extends her hand to me. I grab it and she leads us to the front of the line. I hear girls fade into the background the closer we get to the door. Their moans and obscenities make me chuckle as we approach Henry, the bouncer. I look up to see the words ‘The Red Saloon’ printed in the center of a steel door. I have never seen him before, but his name is penned on a white badge on his shirt.

“Well, look what we have here: my one true love and her blonde friend,” Henry says while holding up a black and maroon rope, gesturing for us to duck under it.

“Thanks, baby, we owe ya one!” Maci winks in his direction before her dainty hand grabs me by the elbow and guides my chilled body inside. I never understood the power that woman has over men, or where that power stems from. It’s like every guy she looks at she controls with a blink of her eye. I’m not complaining tonight though, because it was frigid out there. We approach the large black steel door and go inside. The music’s volume vibrates the floor beneath my silver heels. As much as I complain and gripe, if there’s one place other than the courtroom where I feel alive, it’s on a dance floor. Maci pushes the double doors open, and it’s like we’re magically in another place. There are beams of bright lights glowing on the walls and steam rising from the floor under the feet of barely clothed females writhing to the music. There are several pairs of eager male eyes staring at girls while they dance, like they are prey just waiting to be attacked by their groping hands. The entry way is on the second floor, so we do a quick glance from above before we glide over to the steps and make our way down to the main level.

From the time I was tall enough to control the knobs on my parents’ record player, I used dancing as an escape. Eventually they decided to sign me up for a dance class at the local Y.M.C.A, after they caught me several times dancing in the mirror, spinning around and around until I was so dizzy I nearly knocked over my mother’s expensive china. Since then, music has been a passion. Not so much the actual lyrics but the sounds that are produced, the waves and beats that blare out of the speakers signaling my body when to move. Being how I felt like an outcast at home, it was nice to go somewhere where everyone was interested in the same thing. I met a lot of different types of people in my dance classes, especially the director of the program, Dorissa. She was an older African American lady, with long brown hair she kept tied back with an old scarf. I remember being so excited every day to see which scarf she was wearing. When we moved from Maine to Iowa for my dad’s job the summer before my freshman year in high school, I hugged her while crying my eyes out, begging her to make them stay.

She unwrapped her hair and wrapped her orange and purple scarf around the top of my head, tying it at the base of my neck, so it was held in place like a headband. I remember her words like they were spoken yesterday; she said, “Now don’t you go forgetting how pretty you are, Gracie, just ‘cuz I ain’t here to remind ya every day. And promise me you won’t stop dancing. I see the glimmer in your eyes every time your body sways to the music.” I can still see the sadness in her eyes when she bent to hold me in her arms. Her lips grazed the top of my hair that was pinned back in a tight French braid under the scarf. She said, “My little graceful mess, I will never forget you.” The thought makes tears swell up in my eyes, but I quickly brush them away remembering we are standing in the middle of a nightclub.

“Over here.” Maci guides us through the crowd of bodies as my eyes take in the surroundings. I’m no prude. I’ve been to a bar before, but it was nothing like this. The crowd is so big that people are rubbing and brushing up against me. I clench my clutch close to my body scared to death it will get stolen. Not like there is anything of importance in it, other than a tube of nude lipstick, my credit card, and a piece of spearmint gum, but still I’d rather not get mugged.

“Hey, look, there’s Spencer.” Her bronzed hand rises as she points to the corner of the dimly lit room. I notice two attractive men standing, surveying the room, their heads nodding to the beat of the melody being played by the DJ.

“Spencer Ramsey, as in the tattoo shop owner?” I see her eyes widen and then it hits me.

This was all a set up!

“You have got to be kidding me, Maci! You knew he was going to be here!” Taking a deep breath, I say, “Yup, you did, didn’t you? That’s who you were on the phone with earlier, isn’t it? Well played, Maci Barker. Well played. I thought you were reading that trash you call news!” I tease in defeat.

“Shh.” She doesn’t blink, as she stares past my head. Her glossy lips are pressed together, and I see her head slowly tilt to the side as her eyes grow wide once again. I turn to see what has caught her attention, as the two men walk towards us. I quickly turn back around to face Maci. I scowl at her, but she ignores me.

“Shh,” she whispers again, as her mouth opens slightly, allowing her tongue to glide across her bottom lip.

I shake my head. What else is there to do? She coaxed me into coming, now we’re here, probably about to hear the worst pick-up lines in history. I take a deep breath and I turn back around, facing the men that we came here for – unwillingly, might I add.

“Well, what are the chances of meeting you here, baby doll?” the taller one of the two, with short hair and a neck covered in ink, asks. His voice reminds me of a singer in a rock band who has played on too many stages in his time. I try to hide my distaste. He has tattoos all over the visible portions of his body and his lip has a strange metal ring sticking out of it. I bite the outside of my lip in a desperate attempt to prevent myself from giggling at her lover-boy’s appearance.

“I could have asked you the same question,” she replies in a seductive tone. The sexual tension in the air is thick enough to make me cough. I would normally feel like a third wheel, but in this situation there is another outcast: lover-boy’s friend.

“Ahem,” I say while clearing my throat. “Hi, I’m Grace. And you are?” The tall one whose eyes are locked on Maci’s stay in place; he doesn’t even blink as I ask him his name. I might as well be talking to a brick wall.

“Sorry about my friend.”

The other guy notices me talking and extends his hand in front of him. He is normal, at least from what I can tell. No visible piercings or tattoos, although his pants are a little baggy and I can see the top of his boxers sticking out. I try to hide my blushing face by secretly scratching my cheek.

“I’m Carson, and you are?” His expression now matches mine, curiosity overwhelming us both. Our hands meet in the middle as we shake.

I slowly pull mine back out of his tight grasp as I answer his question. “Like I said before, I’m Grace. It’s nice to meet you, Carson. Care to buy me a drink?” I might as well get something out of this little ordeal. Lord knows, it won’t be what Maci is getting, so a free drink will suffice. I can tell my bluntness shocked him. It did me too, if we’re being honest. I am normally very quiet, especially in the awkward situations I always seem to find myself in with Maci.

“It’d be my pleasure. What’s your poison?”

I stare at him dumbstruck for a few seconds.

“What would you like to drink, is what I meant?” Clarifying that issue, I crinkle my nose to think. I’m not a big drinker so I go with one I know Maci normally sips on.

“A Long Island Iced Tea, please.”

“Wow, I didn’t peg you for a feisty girl. One LIT coming right up, princess.”

I shake off his dumb remark because, frankly, he is no one, at least not to me. I’ll use him to buy me some drinks tonight, and I won’t ever have to see him again.

The bar is packed tonight, but I know the bouncer, Henry, from the gym so he ushers me in as I skip the long line waiting outside. Walking into the building I stand on the balcony so I can see everything, taking a moment to survey the area. My eyes find Spencer talking to a brunette, and then I see my brother shaking hands with a blonde.

Score.

Nodding my approval of his choice of woman for the night, I make my way down the stairs and approach the bar.

“What can I get ya, baby?” the bartender shouts over the music from behind the wooden counter.

“Whiskey and Coke, on the rocks.” I fumble in my pocket for my wallet, hand the girl a ten-dollar bill, and then make my way to where I saw my brother tucked away in the corner. As I approach Spencer and Carson from behind, I see the two females walking away in the opposite direction.

“How the hell did you run them off already?” I joke as I walk up from behind them.

“Ah, my long lost brother. I see you finally came out of hiding. And to what do we owe this pleasure tonight?”

Given the little punk he normally is, why would I have expected anything different from him tonight? I bite my tongue knowing this isn’t the time or place to get into it with his lowlife ass.

“Shut the fuck up, bro.” I eye him, seeing if he is going to erupt like the volcano I know he is.

“I’m just playing, Park. Just ‘cuz you went and got all old on me doesn’t mean you can’t take a joke, right?” He elbows me in the ribs, as amber liquid flows over the rim of his glass.

“Right,” I mumble under my breath. I wonder how long they have been here and how he is already toasted enough to be spilling his drink.

“Who were those chicks you were talking to?”

“I don’t know. Ramsey,” he says, referring to Spencer, “met the brunette one a few weeks ago at the shop, and the blonde just tagged along with her.”

I see the pair emerge from the ladies’ room a few minutes later. Recognizing her face, I am shocked, but my eyes are instantly glued to her. Her smile is so wide, the sounds of laughter coming out of her mouth echo in the small hallway. I raise my glass to my lips and take a draw. The burning sensation reminds me this isn’t a daydream. Although I wish it were. I can only picture the naughty positions I would lay her toned body in underneath mine.

“Which is fine by me because she is smoking in that blue dress. Wait, do you know them or something?” I hear Carson talking, but I don’t understand a lick of what he saying. The blonde captivates me in ways I thought weren’t humanly possible.

“Parker, what the fuck, dude. You listening?” he barks before he notices where all my attention is.

Forcing myself to look away a second too late, he catches me red-handed. “Sorry, bro, what?”

“Do you know that piece of ass?”

“No. Not yet anyway.” Remembering her beautiful face from the file, Grace, the woman I was hired to track, is now only a few feet away. Squinting my eyes, I wonder again if this is real life or a daydream. Who the hell am I kidding? She is real and she is here. I can almost feel her presence, and then realization hits me. She’s here with Carson. How fucking stupid. Carson of all people? I look over to see him mind-fucking some redhead whose black skirt is so short you can see the bottom of her ass cheeks. Perky little ass cheeks, I might add, but that’s not my point. There is a blonde bombshell walking towards us and he is ready to dry hump some skank. She’s a sure thing, I know that, but nothing good comes out of mindless hookups. I’ve learned that lesson time and time again, ever since Kristy and I broke up.