Phoenix: The Beauty in Between (A Beautiful Series Companion Novel) (10 page)

The outfit I
bought is a sleeveless, skin-tight black dress that barely hits the
top of my thighs. It’s one of those dresses people make comments
about. They say things like ‘That girl is asking for it', and I am.
That’s exactly what I want.

My makeup is
dark and smoky around my eyes, and my lips are painted a deep red.
It’s the same red as my shoes. I look so much older than I am.

I put my denim
jacket on and leave the motel room with my backpack hung over one
shoulder. I haven’t settled my bill for today, but I’m not
expecting to come back.

I walk to the
train station and catch the train all the way to the city this
time. There are pubs and clubs on every street in there. Surely,
I’ll find one that will let me in as well as someone to let me
share their bed.

Walking along,
I notice a club with a long line up and move closer to get a look
at the bouncer. He’s checking every person’s ID before he lets them
in. God I wish I had a fake ID, but they’re not easy to come by,
not unless you have an older friend who looks enough like you.

After an hour
of trying to find a club, I give up and go into a regular pub. It’s
full of people, but no one is checking IDs at the door.

Moving slowly
through the crowd, I suddenly feel really silly with all my makeup
and shorter than short dress. The people inside look as though they
have come straight from work. They look classy. Compared to them, I
look like a hooker.

Embarrassed, I
immediately head for the bathrooms to at least remove some of my
eye makeup. I have to push through the long line of women waiting
for the stalls to get in front of the mirror.

Staring at my
reflection now, I roll my eyes. I look ridiculous. Pulling at the
paper towel, I run it under some water and start blotting at the
colour I had been so proud of applying earlier.

Beside me, a
couple of women are chatting about the men they’re having drinks
with, as they fix their makeup and check their hair in the mirror.
They appear to be in their early twenties and the one closest to me
has her hair dark brown hair braided tightly down her back. A few
loose curls escape and frame her Mediterranean features
perfectly.

I look from her
face to mine, and try to watch her without being caught.

There is no
ledge to put our bags, so they are all sitting on the floor by our
feet. I kneel down to look inside mine and glance over at hers. I
can see her purse, but I don’t for the life of me know how I can
get my hands on it without her noticing.

Someone
stumbles in behind us and knocks us all forward. I fall on my hands
and the girl I was watching, turns around to yell at the person for
being so careless because she just smeared her lipstick.

Seeing my
opportunity, I grab for her handbag and stand up quickly, hiding it
behind my back pack as I make my way through the crowd and out the
front door of the pub.

I don’t think
my heart has ever beat so loudly. I walk to the end of the street
and around the corner, never looking behind and never adjusting the
bags. I need to keep it hidden until I can get somewhere safe.

The familiar
golden arches glow up ahead, and I make a beeline to McDonalds and
once again head straight for the bathroom.

This time I
lock myself in the stall and put the seat of the toilet down, hang
my back pack on the back of the door, and sit down to search
through the bag I just stole.

My hands are
shaking so much that I can barely undo the clasp, but when I do, I
reach inside and take the phone out first, turning it off and
removing the battery before dropping it into the sanitary bin next
to me.

Next, I pull
out her wallet and study the photo on her license. Linda Alessi is
a twenty-two year-old woman who lives in Castle Hill. In her photo,
she is wearing glasses and her hair is pulled back. I don’t know if
we look enough alike. I pull out my own ID and hold them next to
each other. My hazel eyes are quite light and almost piercing in my
photo, and hers are brown. I’m not sure this will work.

My brother and
sister’s taunts about my unusual looks float through my head.
Compared to me, Linda Alessi looks normal. I hope that with my hair
out and makeup on, I’ll get away with it. I guess I can claim to be
wearing contacts…

I go through
the rest of her wallet and find $227.75 as well as a gift card for
David Jones. The original amount on it is $500 dollars, but upon
further investigation, I find a receipt that tells me that after a
purchase, the card still has just over a hundred dollars on it.

Resting my head
against the side of the stall, the reality of what I’ve done isn’t
lost on me. I feel guilty. I’ve just taken someone’s identity. I’ve
taken things that are personal to them.

But I don’t
know what else to do.

I take the
wallet and put it in my bag, then remove the lid of the sanitary
disposal unit and put the handbag and the remainder of its contents
inside. The smell of the bin wafts up to my nostrils and turns my
stomach sour, so I replace the lid quickly and exit the stall.

In the mirror a
wide-eyed girl, trying to look grown-up stares back at me. I’m
almost seventeen years old, but I look like a frightened child. I
have no idea if I’m going to be able to pull this off, but I can’t
go back to sleeping in children’s parks. I’ll do anything to stay
off the street.

I spend a bit
of time memorising the details of Linda’s ID, in case I’m asked any
questions and then tuck it and $50 inside my strapless bra. After
one more check of my appearance, I head off in search of a night
club.

It isn’t long
before I find one with only a short line and join in, standing up
straight and trying to look confident.

“ID” the
bouncer at the door says when I reach the front of the line.

I reach into my
bra and pull it out to hand to him, taking note of his eyes as they
linger on my chest a little longer than they should. I don’t even
really think he’s paying much attention to the ID. He hands it back
and nods his head toward the door.

I step inside,
and the smell of artificial smoke and stale liquor is strong in my
nostrils. To my left is a desk manned by two blonde girls who smile
at me and offer to check my jacket and bag after I pay my entry
fee.

I’m handed a
small plastic disc attached to a safety pin which I secure to the
inside of my dress before heading toward the next set of doors.
Behind them, I can hear the muffled beat of loud music playing. The
moment they open, the music bursts through as though trapped and
desperate to break free.

Longingly, I
wish I still had an E or two to help me through this, or better
still, I wish I had some coke. I wouldn’t feel so nervous if I had
a little help.

I make a
beeline for the bar and order a vodka and orange juice. I’ve never
really drank before, and I have no idea what to order. But I’m
nervous and drink it so quickly that I don’t even taste it.

“Another one?”
the woman behind the bar offers kindly.

Nodding, I turn
my attention back toward the bar and watch her pour the drink.

“How do you
even hear orders?” I ask out of curiosity. It’s something I’ve
always wondered, but never been able to ask. Jeff would have killed
me if I’d approached the bar at any of the clubs we used to
work.

“You get good
at reading lips and following eyes,” she yells over the music,
handing me the drink. I go to pay, but she shakes her head. “It’s
on me. You look like you need it,” she tells me with a reassuring
smile.

“Thank you” I
smile and sip my drink more slowly this time as I watch her moving
around the bar, serving other people. Her nature surprises me. It’s
unusual to come across someone who does something kind without
reason.

Her tag tells
me that her name is Kim. It’s hard to make out her features
properly in the coloured flashing lights, but I can tell that her
wavy shoulder-length hair is most likely red, and her eyes appear
light, so I think they're blue. She’s older than me. Maybe she’s
someone’s mother. She has a kind and friendly face, and I find
myself wishing that I was surrounded by people like her who did
things to be nice instead of expecting something from me.

I watch her for
a little longer, imagining what life would be like as a normal
teen, with a mother who actually cared. When my drink runs dry, I
snap out of my reverie.

Hovering around
the bar, isn’t going to get me what I want out of this night, so I
turn away and push thoughts of a different life out of my mind.
Then I start scanning the room.

Feeling
slightly bolstered by two drinks on an empty stomach, I move toward
the dance floor, searching the crowd for eyes that are following me
with interest.

My eyes land on
a group of guys who look like they’re in their early twenties.
They’re standing around a pylon that features a small ledge for
their drinks, as they talk to each other and watch girls dancing
with great interest. I go to the dance floor, positioning myself in
their line of sight and start to move with the pulse of the
music.

Closing my
eyes, I sway my body in way I imagine would look enticing to anyone
interested in me. Truthfully, I’m nervous. I’ve never purposely
done this before.

It doesn’t take
long before a guy moves his way along the dance floor and starts to
dance near me, inching himself closer as he gauges my reaction to
his advances. He isn’t one of the guys from the group that was
watching me though.

I glance toward
the group of guys and see one, in particular, watching me. His
expression as he watches me move is dark and hungry and causes my
insides to skitter about excitedly.

The gyrating
guy in front of me is blond and young. Too young. I can’t imagine
that he has a place of his own, but the one who is watching me
seems older. He’s my best bet.

I step away
from the dancer and walk toward the bar, making sure that I make
strong eye contact with the one watching me and smile as I
approach. I can tell that he thinks I’m heading straight for him,
but I walk right by. I’m playing him.

By the time I’m
at the bar, he’s standing behind me.

“Can I buy you
a drink?” he asks close to my ear. My stomach dances about inside
me as I attempt to suppress the grin that is trying to force its
way to my lips. I’m trying to be cool.

I turn around
and look up into his eyes while I study his face. His dark eyes are
intense as they look directly into mine, his full lips curve up in
a smile. My fingers itch to reach up and touch his facial hair,
which is thick and dark like the hair on his head, and makes him
more appealing to me.

“I’d like
that,” I reply and tell him I’ll have a vodka and OJ, not wanting
to mix my drinks. I’ve heard that it makes you sick and the last
thing I want to do tonight is start throwing up.

“I’m Ed,” he
tells me.

“P...Linda,” I
say, correcting myself before saying the wrong name.

“Nice to meet
you Linda.”

Ed isn’t much
of a dancer, but after a few drinks and a lot of talking, I’ve
learnt that he’s twenty-three and lives with a friend in Petersham.
He’s perfect. Even if it’s only for tonight.

Before long,
we’re in the back of the night club, with me pressed up against the
wall as he works his mouth against mine. I can feel his erection
pressing into me and wrap my arms around his body to pull myself
closer to him.

He breaks the
kiss and rests his forehead against mine. “God you’re beautiful,”
he comments.

Grinning, I
slide my hands up into his thick hair. “Do you want to get out of
here?” I ask boldly.

My heart thuds
nervously against my chest as I wait for his answer.

A smile curls
the side of his lips as he brings his mouth back down to mine,
kissing me briefly. “Yeah. I want to get out of here. Yours or
mine?”

“Yours.”

Taking my hand,
he leads me past his friends and leans in to tell one of them that
we’re leaving. The friend leans around him to get a look at me. His
eyes drag up and down my body slowly. He gives Ed a curt nod, but
keeps his eyes on me. My heart stops for a moment. He’s intense.
Even more intense than Ed was when he was watching me. Although he
kind of seems annoyed. I’m getting a strange vibe from him. He
snatches his eyes away from me and smiles at Ed, giving him one of
those congratulatory man handshakes.

I feel as
though I’m being watched as Ed leads me out, but I don’t dare turn
around. I need to focus on the man I’m with.

As we pass the
coat check, I’m about to stop and get my jacket and bag, but
realise that if he sees me with a backpack full of clothing, it’s
likely that he’ll figure out exactly what I’m doing with him.

Instead, I walk
straight past and hope that when I come back, everything will still
be there.

I’m not
completely naïve. I know that not every man is good in bed, and I
always suspected that Jeff was the exception. But it wasn’t until
last night, that I actually understood why some women complain
about sex.

Ed was all over
me in the cab on the ride back to his place and the moment he
brought me into his apartment, we were all hot and heavy. His
kissing is amazing. I at least have to give him that. He moves his
tongue around my mouth harmoniously with my own and sucks gently on
my lips as he comes up for air. It’s all very sensual and had me
writhing under his touch, as his hands started to roam my body, and
cup my breasts and buttocks.

He held me
firmly against his body, so we fit snuggly together, and I was
eager to get him undressed.

But, once we
were naked. Everything went downhill. We lay down on the bed
together, and kissed and touched some more. But when he moved his
hand between my legs, his fingers entered me briefly, testing my
level of wetness before he moaned a little, applied a condom and
then entered me missionary style. He pumped for less than a minute
before blowing with a shudder of his body and a hiss of his mouth.
Then collapsed in a sweaty heap on top of me.