City of Singles (13 page)

“I own several Vincent Gauthier originals, including his much heralded Gogh Stereo piece,” Eric quips with a smirk. I know the piece, a print of it hangs on my studio’s wall. Devon laughs, “Eric do you remember when we picked it up?” she squints while holding her stomach, her laugh half shriek, half belly laugh. “Oh Mish, we were in the Ferrari coming out of Kelowna with the top down, the piece was sticking waaaaay up past the windshield and we were trying to hold onto it. Then SOMEONE thinks it’s a brilliant idea to stop for slurpees.” Eric chuckles.

I try and not smile, but Devon warms my heart.

“
THEN!
” Devon holds her drink in one hand and puts her other arm out on an invisible steering wheel. With ballerina grace, she extends her arm and uncurls her hand, such elegance puts her upper class roots in centerfold. “Eric is driving like this and we take turns holding the canvas in the car, neither of us can see each other. I’m trying to drink my slurpee and hold onto this huge ... Square THING that’s like a big sharks fin!” She reaches up with her hand and makes a fin, cutely wiggling like a fish between Misha and Kiki.

Eric squints and grins, waving his hand in the air while he talks. “To be fair, my plan would have worked if she didn’t need vodka to survive hanging out with me.” Devon puts her arms around Kiki and Misha’s shoulders, taking care not to spill her beverage.

“Oh like I have a choice when you’re putting mickeys of grey goose in my purse!” Devon retorts. Eric laughs nervously.

“So yeah, I put my slurpee down between my legs and open my purse to pour in a drink, and whoosh! Gogh Stereo is gone!” She throws her free hand up in the air and leans her upper body back with a grin from ear to ear. Kiki laughs while Misha finishes her third flute of bubbly.

Eric’s friend’s mouth drops open “Oh, my, GAWD!” in the most flamingly stereotypical gay voice possible.

“Gogh Stereo, It just fell out of your Ferrari!”

Eric rolls back on his heels and puts his free hand in his pocket. “Yep!” Devon kisses Kiki on the cheek and looks right at me.

“If you have the original still, it survived hitting the pavement at highway speeds?” the other friend asks.

Eric’s smirk grows into a monstrously large Cheshire cat grin, a sneering smile. “We turned around and drove back to get it. The frame was cracked and it had been driven over a few times, but I have the number to a specialist in ancient art maintenance and repair. I sent it to Europe and had them get the tire tracks off of Van Gogh’s face. All of the local restoration specialists claimed it was ruined, but my guy was able to save it.” Eric beams at Devon. “Yeah, and because it was so trashed, we put it in the trunk and I got to have my vodka slurpee without being some sort of cargo handler!” She finishes the last sip of her drink, gracefully turns, and steps a few feet to exchange the empty for another.

Eric doesn’t take his eyes off her, neither do I.

16 Dbaggins Is Not a Hobbit

The place is packed. There’s standing room only, almost shoulder to shoulder with only a few gaps to walk through. An announcement comes on over the P.A. “Attention ladies and gentlemen, the first show is set to begin in half an hour. Doors will be opening in 15, so get something to sip and we’ll see you at the runway!” The gay friend flicks his golden mane back. “I have to go get ready to take care of business!” he turns to Devon, “Honey, you’re going to have an amazing first show, I’ll see you guys after the intermission, holla holla!” Eric turns to Misha and Kiki, “Ladies, I have a chilled bottle of Vueve in the car, and a treat for Misha if she can find it. Here.” he hands Kiki a BMW fob. Kiki’s eyes light up.

“Oh you got your new 5 series!” Eric shakes his head. “750i, Devon helped me pick it out. She fell in love with the silver and I just had to get it.” Eric’s chubby sausage-hands reach down to pat Devon on her bottom. “Let’s go, we have priority seating.” Devon loses her smile for a moment, “Ok guys! We’ll be right at the stage, meet by the bar at the intermission!” she waves. Eric looks right at me and says, “Cya!” He has his hand on her lower back and guides her through the crowd, looking back at me once with a smirk.

“If I didn’t know you better Dyl, I’d say you have the hots for her!” Misha just stares at me. “Pfft, I don’t think you know me, she’s such a gold digger.” I reply, turning my head to sip sparkling white, which might actually be champagne. Devon’s perfume leaves me wanting.

Misha smiles, “Yeah well, if she is a gold digger, you can’t really compete with Eric. Just enjoy the bottle we’re gonna get out of his car later.” I nod and pretend to check out the scenery. Devon is one hell of a woman, pisses me off to think that money matters that much to her. The $20 in my wallet and the $18 champagne flutes remind me why money might matter to the urban female. A smiling young girl walks through the crowd with crackers, a crab pate it looks like. I snatch one off the tray and throw it in my mouth, quickly grabbing another before her stern look finds my eyes.

Penguins and pretty ponies line up gracefully and file into seating around the runway, Misha and Kiki are both double fisting drinks and throwing elbows to get good seats. The rustle of chairs continues for about five minutes, or however long it took me to finish another flute. Devon and her cash with legs take a seat right at the end of the runway while we’re sitting in the middle. Her eyes glitter and call to me. Desire felt, teasing me the way sandy beach and sun billboard ads do while standing at a rainy bus stop. Envy has never squeezed my chest this tight before. “Dyl! I knew it!” Kiki whispers. I turn and she’s got a huge grin. Misha is looking away. I can’t help but smile.

“Heheheheh,” I chuckle, caught.

“You know she’s probably so fucken frustrated with limp dick over there,” Kiki is drunk.

I love drunken Kiki, she starts being so real and so honest. I don’t think it’s the booze talking when I say that I am attracted to her more when she’s drunk, she drops her persona and speaks her real mind.

“You should totally get her number!” Kiki’s doing her best at staying hushed, but it isn’t working, half the row heard that. Before I can answer, a bass note drops and the lights are dimmed. Red lights illuminate the stage and an announcement welcoming us to the show proclaims we’re in for a delight of the senses. My eyes casually wander back to Devon and I think I just caught her looking at me.

The first few ensembles of fashion come out looking like ribbons of clothes stapled to an anorexic’s frame. Kiki leans to Misha and asks where the boobs are. Another group of women strut down the runway in white dresses, various different exquisite necklaces and bracelets adorn their bodies. “Oh, these are Devon’s jewelry models,” Kiki whispers. One asian model strikes my fancy, she’s wearing the sexiest looking choker made feathers and jade. Her face, symmetry perfected, with hips that jump out of the dress and a pair of perky breasts. A few more pieces come out, each carrying a hoolahoop. Four women each in different coloured clothes stand completely still, staggered a few meters from each other on the runway. The electronic music reaches a frantic pace and the girls bend down and pick up the hoolahoops. They gyrate and spin the hoops which light up in different colours, a few ‘whoops!’ from the delighted crowd. A woman on stilts walks out from behind the stage’s curtain and slaloms through the performers. She reaches into a satchel she’s holding and throws large handfuls of glitter everywhere. Half of a handful lands in Misha’s drink, “Fuck!” sums up how she feels about it. Kiki has her hand over her drink as she cackles over the throbbing music.

Blue lights strobe over the crowd, flashes of Devon tease my eyes and hold me captive. I have to force myself to look away, her beauty so intense that my body cannot ignore such charisma easily. The dancers file off the stage in sync with men in black jumpsuits walking out from the curtains. Finding inspiration from soldiers on parade, a long black pole with a hook on the end over their shoulders, precise movements while stone faced. They walk to the sides of the stage and put the poles in the air, bundled fabric tied by rope gives way to the hook men in black. Two long, looped pieces of black fabric hang from the ceiling 30 feet above the crowd, and two women, body painted head to toe white, are aided by the men and climb into the loops. Spotlights shine on the women and the music fades into a captivating opera piece while the hanging women writhe and tangle themselves up in the cloth. The body paint rubs off on the black fabric and creates a marbled swirl of light and dark tones, the fabric itself must have had some black paint on it as zebra stripes form on the women during their routine. The set ends to applause with vigor normally reserved for politicians and sporting events.

“Ladies and gentlemen, there will be a 30 minute intermission between shows, please exit the seating area as we prepare for the next show. Thank you.” Curtains part in such a way that the crowd filing through resembles a white vagina birthing wealth. A particularly hot and well-dressed woman holds the arm of a fat, balding older man, ‘You pay for it in one way, or another’ is a sentiment I don’t tend to share, but tonight it certainly stings true. Funneling out from the curtains my eyes catch a flickering light across the wide open hall, overhead shine hitting a martini shaker and beckoning me to pay a visit. Kiki clipclops behind me, her hand touches my shoulder “Dyl, we’re going to go get the booze from the car!” I nod. Feeling the effects of several drinks in my bladder, now is as good of a time as any to break the seal, I guess.

Walking through a crowd is an art for some, pinball for some others. I’ve always been good moving through one, picking up on cues and the movement of the whole. Little cliques of men and women are scattered throughout the hall, usually one person talking with all sorts of body language and gestures. Rounds of laugher, cheers and toasts abound. Repeat and substitute celebrity gossip or bragging for the subject matter. Silver platter girls wait while hands snatch off delicious appetizers. A waitress with crackers, cheese, and crab cakes spots me, but it’s too late. I already have two crab cakes, one just jumped into my mouth. I exchange a wink for her scowl. I don’t understand why she’s pissed, she’s still getting paid the same whether or not the crab cakes make it to other people, or to just feed me. Maybe she’s scowling because I’m getting fat, and I’d look better if I lost a few pounds. Yeah. Maybe.

Down the first flight of stairs I walk, sliding down the banister of the second flight, the basement dark with moody blue lighting. Shadows and exposed piping make the low ceiling look ominous compared to the brightly lit hall above, two girls outside of the women’s washroom give me stranger’s glances. Piping and electrical boxes tucked into the various nooks and crannies of this basement-tomb come restrooms make me think of the building as a living object, I’d like to admire it’s anatomy a bit more, but my bladder is pissed. Ducking inside the men’s room and it’s beautiful, the way a chain restaurant’s bathroom should be. Chrome, mirrors, cocoa wood. A fresh urinal cake, pristine and deep blue, I blast it with piss. A giant crab cake fart exits me with a satisfying rip, I smile and dribble, dribble, shake shake shake! If you shake it more than once, you’re playing with it. In my 30s, if I don’t give it more than a few shakes, some piss dribbles back out and stains my pants. Nothing says sexy like groin stains.

Washing my hands and checking the mirror, it’s tough not to notice I look particularly good tonight. I smile and nod at myself. Not bad Dylen, not bad. Stepping out of the restroom, a tall figure turns the corner from the women’s restroom across from me. It’s Devon. I stop and she’s adjusting one of the earrings, she sniffles a little, her head is down and she can’t see me. “Hey Devon” I say, drawing out her name, almost a growl.

She stops and smiles “Oh, hi! … Damnit!” she says frustrated, trying to get an earring back in.

“Here, let me,” I step to her side and look at her earring. Its gold, curved with hints of the feminine shape, a studded spiral of green and purple jewels. Standing so close to her I can smell her enticing perfume and natural pheromones, my nose fantasizes of being between her thighs and taking a whiff of her certainly warm and moist pussy.

Brushing back her hair I can see why it’s not staying on, the backing is broken off. “Here, it’s fucked, look,” holding up the little gold trinket to her eye level. “Oh shit. This is so embarrassing.” Devon folds an arm across her chest and holds her head with the other hand. “My first show and my signature jewelry piece broke.”

Taking her by the arm gently, I’m not sure if I backed up into the shadows or they extended out knowing my immediate privacy needs.

“No, not broken, stolen,” I grin as the earring finds my pocket. “Problem solved.”

She laughs through a pout. Her eyes flutter and she’s trying to keep her mascara from running. To me it’s just a piece of jewelry, to her, it’s the reputation of her craftsmanship.

“I’m going to need that piece back, of course. You’re friends with Kiki?” Devon gets right back to business.

“I heard about you, she said you have a certain style to everything you do. So do I.” She relaxes and puts a velvet-gloved hand to her hip.

“Yeah, and you’re the property of that stuffed suit I met?” Way to bring a hot girl down a notch or four, Dylen.

“Hah!” she laughs to hide being so offended. “That’s actually my boyfriend,” Devon stares into me.

Her eyelids close and squint a little just over her irises, her mouth thins at the edges into a slight smile as her brow tries to remain mad, but relaxes. Tell tale signs I struck a nerve, lusty tension a sure sign a girl wants you to kiss her. I step forward and put my hands on her hips without hesitation, locked on her gaze. “Is that what they call that these days?”

She trembles for a moment. Those beautiful wet, big sapphires shoot cupid into me, her high caliber womanhood enough to leave a goatse-gaped exit wound.

“A girl has to survive in this city, and I’m not some whore.” she replies, matter-of-fact.

“Far from,” I whisper.

My eyes closing, lips touching hers, the dart of her tongue meeting mine lights up my senses. Time slows and all I can feel is her hands on my back, mine falling off her hips and grabbing a handful of large, bountiful ass. She breathes out and the warm air from her nose tickles my face. My left hand slides up her back and I grab a handful of the hair at the back of her head. I can’t help but lose the passion at this point when I realize the irony of our bullshit conversation. Of course she’s a whore, she just made out with a complete stranger while dating a man for his money, I just knew what to say and when. We’re the same type of person.

Our lips come apart and we both look around to see if anyone noticed. Devon adjusts her dress and then opens her purse, a hand up to her nose to sniff back something. “You got a bullet?” I inquire. “Yeah, here,” she hands me a little stainless steel tube, the size of a brazil nut. A bullet is a little bullet shaped device you can fit in your pocket. It has two chambers separated by a knob on the side or a disc on the bottom. It has a hole on one end to snort coke from a chamber that you load by plugging one end, turning it upside down, turning the knob fully once, and turning it right side up and snorting from it.

I prep it for a hit and snort it back. She sniffles.

“Here,” she hands me a business card. “Text me after the show, I need my earring back.” She smiles, steps out from the shadows and heads up the stairs. Backing up against the wall, I can feel my dick pulling my pants tight around it.

“Wow,” I whisper to myself, noticing that I’m still breathing a little faster. I don’t know if it’s the coke or her kiss, but my soul feels like it’s on fucking fire now. I take off my jacket and lean my back up against the cold stone wall for some relief. What a rush.

My phone is eager to interrupt the nice moment between relieving wall and hot back. Misha and Kiki have texted me six times looking for me. Just as I notice their messages, I hear the familiar clipclops of Kiki and the cackling laugher of Misha shuffling towards the ladies’ room. “Hehehe! I can’t believe I was one of those server girls back in the day, oh my!” Misha laughs. Kiki giggles. “Dyl is going to freak when he sees how much we drank, he’ll end up paying for $18 watered down drinks here!” “Suckerrrrrrr!” Misha bellows back. They both laugh and holler as they enter the white light streaming out of the bathroom. I prefer shadows and silence for now.

Time crawls by while skulking. Devon’s cocaine and kiss feel radioactively passionate, I’m a walking ghost. Here. Now. My hands feel around my pocket and I pull out her earring. I put both her card, and the earring, into my coat pocket to keep them safe. I want some more of that, and I doubt Eric can light her up like I could. My coat goes back on and I duck into the men’s room. Cold water on, a handful of paper towels, patting my face dry. I don’t even want to think about having to watch her sitting next to him for the rest of the show. Fuck. Especially not right after what just happened.