Fix It for Us (7 page)

             
HeartSmash is being held at a small local ballroom off campus.  Music acts – local, regional and national – sometimes perform there when they are trying out new stuff.  When it’s not being used for concerts, it’s open for dance parties or rental.  The paparazzi don’t hesitate to get in our faces after Davis parks the car and we all get out to walk into the venue.  It’s not a huge crush of photographers or anything, just something I’ve never experienced before.  Davis and Kathleen are in front of us, bearing the brunt of the flashes.  Smitty and I aren’t garnering much attention, which is fine with me.  I am pleased that every few moments, Davis looks over his shoulder to check on me and say sorry with his gorgeous green eyes.  I mean, how could I be upset when he looks at me like that?  Catching my attention at an angle nobody else can see, he mouths to me, “Sorry. . . Love You.”  It melts my heart.  Once we are inside the building, we’re safe.  There are no cameras allowed inside, except for the people attending and Weldon University photographers, like Smitty.

***

              The ballroom is gorgeous.  The columns around the outside of the dance floor that hold up the surrounding balcony above are draped with long lengths of dark red velour fabric.  The lights are dim and there are large round paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling in shades of dark red, black and cream.  The tables are covered with red and black paisley. There are small lamps on the tables.  Real lamps with black shades.   The ballroom walls and columns are made of rich dark wood.  The room itself is a throwback to the 20s or 30s, and with the addition of the decorations, I feel as if I have stepped into an illegal speakeasy – dark, dangerous, a little dirty.  It makes me laugh to myself that my panties and bra actually match the décor tonight.  I hope Davis thinks they’re dark, dangerous and a little dirty.

             
Not ten steps into the ballroom I am greeted by a very enthusiastic hug from Jules.    She’s practically hopping up and down, blonde curls bobbing.  “You’re finally here. What took so long?  Never mind.  Come on guys … Hi, Davis, Smitty  …”

             
Smitty pipes in, “Jules … this is Kathleen, Davis’, umm …”

             
I finish his sentence, “really good friend,” and give Kathleen a look of support.

             
“It’s really nice to meet you, Jules.  Biz and Davis have told me all about you and… Charlie, is it, your boyfriend?  His band is playing tonight?”  Kathleen points up toward the stage.

             
Jules shakes Kathleen’s hand, but then decides to really welcome her by giving her a hug too, “Great to meet you Kathleen.  Yeah, Charlie’s my guy and YES, Boxwood is playing tonight and they are tearing it up.”

             
We all turn to wave and smile at the guys in the band.  The are dressed in black and white striped shirts, pants and hats, old school prison garb with big red hearts on their upper left chests embroidered with their “inmate numbers.” 

“G
et it?”  Jules asks, “They are Prisoners of Love.”

             
“That is great!”  Kathleen approves.  I nod my head in agreement.

             
I look Jules up and down.  Well, she is just adorable.  She could be straight out of The Great Gatsby.  Light blue sparkly dropped waist dress with a matching head scarf that covers her forehead and ties in back, her gorgeous blonde curls tumbling over the top of the scarf.  She looks as sweet as can be, except for the fake Derringer tucked into her bustline and a purse shaped like a Tommy Gun over her shoulder.  She sees me looking at her gun purse and, giggling, tells me, “I’m packing heat.  I gotta protect myself since my guy is incarcerated.”  She jerks her thumb up toward the stage to indicate Charlie.

             
“You are an adorable gun moll.  I hope he gets paroled for at least one song, so he can dance with you” I say.

             
Putting the back of her hand up to her forehead, she dramatically says, “Such is the life of a prison band widow.”  We giggle some more.

             
At some point during my silliness with Jules, Davis, Kathleen and Smitty have headed to the bar.  It’s fine.  I wanted some time with Jules.  Seems like we have less and less of it.  Davis knows to get me a Diet Coke.  He needs to celebrate.  It is his birthday after all.  And if he is a little drunk my birthday present for him might be a little less embarrassing (for me, not him.)

             
We all dance as a group for the majority of the fast songs.  Boxwood has come up with a unique set list.  All the songs are about love, but with a twist.  They are also about injury, pain, bleeding.  Songs like Bad Medicine, Bleeding Love, Cuts Like a Knife, Tear Us Apart – all done in Boxwood’s aggressive rock style.  Finally, I have the opportunity to slow dance with Davis when the guys start playing Heart-Shaped Box.  Charlie sings it more articulately than Kurt Cobain did, but still with an edge.  When there is a break in the lyrics, Charlie hops down from the stage, swoops Jules up in his arms and kisses her with abandon.  We all witness it and whoop our approval.  He really is a prisoner of love for Jules.  When he dances with her, he never takes his eyes from hers until it’s time for him to get back up and finish the song.  When he
does
finish he leans down and kisses her again.  All the “Boxwood Groupies” that the boys have recently been acquiring, sigh with jealousy.  Lucky Jules.

             
I’m happy the songs have gotten slower because I’m more tired than I realized.  Davis is a little buzzed, having had more than a few beers and birthday shots of Jack.  I can tell because he is singing in my ear, and
he
actually does sound a bit like Kurt Cobain.  When he is not singing to me, he is kissing my neck, ears, my temples.  One of his hands is on my lower back, his pinkie creeping toward my bottom.  The other hand is laced in mine, tucked between us, pushed up against his chest and my breast.  He slowly moves his thumb back and forth, stroking the top of my breast.  I can’t help but sigh, the movement is arousing and torturous.  I feel a small trickle of moisture slide between my breasts.  I think it’s time to get out of here.  I pull back to gaze at Davis’ slightly loopy grin and then his beautiful eyes.   They are roaming all over my face, but then jerk downward toward my chest.

             
Shooting me a lopsided grin, he slurs, “DD?”

             
“Yes, Mavis?”

             
“I’m a little drunk.”

             
I flex up on my tippy toes to whisper sexily into his ear, “I know.  Let me do my job and get you back home, birthday boy.  You still have
my
present to open.”

             
Still embracing me, he leans back slightly to look at me, “I thought you said you didn’t get me anything.”

             
“I realized I had something after all.  I wrapped it before we came to the dance.  Come on.”  I give him a wink and then a peck on the lips. 

             
Davis becomes quite motivated at the prospect of unwrapping another present or maybe for some alone time with me.  He goes to gather up Kathleen and Smitty.  From where I stand, I can see an animated conversation between the three of them.  Lots of pointing back and forth between Kath and Smitty and then a big smile from Davis.  I wonder what they could be discussing.  Come to think of it, even though I have been wrapped up in Davis all night, I haven’t seen those two out of each other’s company for the entire evening.  Hmmm.

             
Like we did when we arrived, we walk out with opposite dates.  Me with Smitty.  Kathleen with Davis.  None of us are holding hands, or giving any signs of intimacy.  When we get to the car, Davis roots around in his pockets, pulls out the keys and then pushes them into my palm, sliding his fingertips across, sending a shiver through me.  There are a few flashes from photographers, but less than when we arrived.

             
Davis says loudly, “Smitty, I’m gonna sit in front.  I might get car sick … K, man?”  I know he’s said this for the benefit of the photogs, just so he can sit up front with me.  He’s never complained of motion sickness before.

             
I am filled in on the plan on the way back to the condo.  After we get into the garage, Smitty and Kath will take off in his car, so as not to attract attention.  If they leave in her Mercedes they’ll be tailed all night.  Neither Davis nor I bother to ask where they are going.  It’s really none of our business
and
this change of plans means we will have the condo all to ourselves.   The two of them practically sprint to Smitty’s Honda Accord once we get there. 

Kath shouts over her shoulder, “Bye, don’t wait up.  I’ll see you in the morning or something.”

I notice when they get into Smitty’s car that Kathleen ducks her head down onto his lap before they head out of the garage.  Davis and I both look at each other bug-eyed, eyebrows raised.

“Well, that developed quickly
.” he chuckles.

I join him in his amusement, “Yeah, so much for worrying or being jealous of Kathleen anymore.”

Davis narrows his eyes, tells me, “Nothing to be jealous of, Lizard Baby, nothing at all,” and kisses me on the forehead, nose and then the lips, lingering a bit longer there.  “Now, come on let’s go in and unwrap my present.  I’m dying to see what you got for me.” And with that he grabs my hand and tugs me into the elevator. I slam right into his body, wrap my arms around his waist and gaze up into his sparkly, slightly loopy green eyes.

“Is it bigger than a bread
box?”  He asks.  I cock my head and squint at him.  Who says bread box anymore?  Who even owns one?

“Are we playing 20 questions?” I counter.  He nods a wobbly yes. “Yes, it is considerably bigger than
a bread box.”

With a smirk, he asks another question,
“Animal, vegetable or mineral?”  Oh, so we really are going to play 20 questions.

“Animal, definitely animal.”

Davis’ hands are anything but still.  I am holding him tightly and his hands are all over me, running across my arms, up and down my back, and then stroking my ass and pulling me up close.  I can feel him harden.  The elevator dings and we are at the second floor – the floor to his condo.  Releasing my hands from behind his waist, I turn to walk out, but Davis isn’t letting me get away.  He encircles me and walks very closely behind me all the way to the front door.  It’s a bit awkward, but I don’t mind.  He is sniffing and kissing my hair.  It’s revving me up … and might help with the “present opening” I have in mind.  Oh, I hope I can pull this off.

***

“No, no, no, no,” I protest.  Once we get in the condo, Davis lunges for me.  As I turn in his arms, he continues to try and lean in to kiss me and I push him back.  “Take off your coat and shoes and then go sit on the ottoman.  It’s time for your present.”

He groans with frustration but
he does as he’s told and sits. “Lizzzerd … I am not a kid…” He stops mid-sentence, because I have switched on the iPod, already cued to Wicked Game by Chris Isaak, (It’s an oldie, but so sexy), and am standing a few feet right in front of him in a wide stance, still wearing my belted coat, one finger in my mouth and staring at all his gorgeousness.  It’s taking all of my will power not to laugh at how silly I feel, but I’m trying to be sexy for him.  I walk slowly toward him, dragging the toe of each of my sky-high black Christian Louboutin pumps with every step.  When I am an arm’s length from him and he is looking up at me, dazed with confusion, I rasp out, “Are you ready to open your present, Mavis?” and I point at the belt to my coat. 

Davis’ eyebrows raise in appreciative surprise, “Uh…yeah!” he says enthusiastically and shoots his hand out.  I move away suddenly.

Jeez, I hope I can do this, because actually with that quick move I am feeling a bit lightheaded and floaty.  I want to just jump him, but at the same time am feeling lethargic.  It’s odd.  I shake off the contradictions and focus.  Teasingly, I ask, “Are you a careful unwrapper or are you a ripper?

“I’m a ripper.”  Davis confesses with a faux frown
and mock sadness, “but tonight I can take my time.”  He crosses his heart with his index finger and then motions for me to come toward him.

His act is killing me as much as mine.  I am almost wishing he’d rip into me, but I want this to be special.  I
slowly advance back to him and allow him to carefully undo the belt of my coat.  I slide it off my shoulders and grab it with one of my hands. Then I throw it over his head onto the chair behind the ottoman.  Davis tries to reach for me, but I wag my finger in front of him and step back again.  I pucker him a little air kiss and the turn my back to him.  Reaching behind myself, I tug the zipper to the flapper dress down and slide my arms out.  I hold it to my body, my back exposed, then in one move let it fall to the floor.  As it hits, I hear Davis moan, “Sweet Jesus, baby … that is a great present.”  I assume he is talking about the little red with black polka dot bra and panties and thigh-high black stockings I am wearing.  His response is great and I am feeling much less self-conscious now that I’ve heard his words of approval.  As Chris Isaak croons in the background, with my backside still toward Davis, I bend over completely, running my hands all the way down my legs, rolling the stockings down with them.  My ass at Davis’ eye level, I can just see his lower body between my legs and can make out the growing bulge in his pants. He removes his tuxedo jacket, loosens his bowtie, takes it off and throws it on the coffee table.  In the time he’s taken to do that, I have removed my stilettos briefly, disposed of the hosiery, and in the sexiest way possible, put the stilettos back on.  Davis is getting into the swing of this, as I hear him command, “Oh, yeah … put those back on … and the wig … don’t lose the wig.”  Bossy.  Well, it is his birthday after all.