“I won't use it unless I absolutely have to.”
He musses my hair. “You looked great dancing out there. Wherever you've been has been good for you.”
“Thanks. You look like a rock star.”
“It's pretty exciting, huh? “You and Me” has been getting a ton of airtime. The label thinks we’ll hit the Billboard chart this week.”
“Seriously? Damian didn't tell me that.”
“He has some new tail he's after. But I'm not complaining. He's written some seriously amazing shit this week.”
“He's in love.”
“Apparently. Okay, so get down there. You only have a few minutes.”
In the dressing room with the paid dancers, I get a quick makeover by Marla, the woman in charge. She cakes on more makeup and glues on the huge glow-in-the-dark eyelashes the dancers are known for.
Then she adds glow-in-the-dark paint to strategic locations on my body. Stripes fanning out from my eyes. Four stripes around the clover tattoo on my wrist. A swirly stripe across my left shoulder blade. Filling in numerous diamond shapes in my fishnets.
She stands back and looks at me with an artist’s eye, trying to decide where else to put the paint, when she spots my tattoo.
“Oh, I like this,” she says, outlining it. “What’s it mean?”
“Chaos.”
“Love that. We should all have those. I’ve always said that if they ever give this place a name, it should be called Utter Chaos.”
After a few words of advice, I’m being locked in a cage and swung out over the now jam-packed dance floor.
I look through the neon sunglasses I’m supposed to wear to start the dance and quickly see Vincent standing in his former spot, his calculating eyes searching the dance floor.
I hang onto the bars of the swinging cage until I’m lowered onto a six-foot-high platform just to Vincent’s left.
When all the cages are on the platforms, the music screeches to a halt and a new song plays, causing the Plexiglass bases of each cage to light up, flashing with the beat.
The more we dance, the more people cluster around the cages.
I draw a little crowd, which makes me dance even naughtier.
I use all the moves Peyton told us we could never tastefully do in our dance competition.
Then I remember a move that Vincent will surely recognize.
And one that will probably piss him off.
I bend over, shake my ass, and then blow a kiss over my shoulder, straight toward him.
He immediately stands up and pushes through the crowd toward me.
I put my sunglasses back over my eyes so I can watch him while I shimmy.
He gestures to one of the two bouncers whose job it is to keep drunk boys from trying to climb the platforms.
Vincent hands him a folded bill. I can’t read his lips, but I definitely catch the word
VIP
.
The bouncer smiles at the money and says something into a headset as Vincent goes up the steps.
A few minutes later, my cage starts moving upward.
The girls usually dance in the cage for thirty minutes, then rotate to a VIP lounge platform. Which, obviously, I wasn’t planning to do. The dancers, though, love the VIP area, as it’s where they earn the majority of their tips.
I notice that my cage is the only one moving.
Were supposed to all come in at the same time.
I glance at the timer that counts down my shift, and see I should still have twenty-two minutes left.
That means Vincent requested me.
I try to imagine what his impromptu plan might be. I'm sure he's planned out what he'd do if he ever saw me here.
But I doubt his plans included me being in a cage.
At least I know I’m safe backstage.
But as I’m being lowered, I see Vincent coming backstage, a bouncer escorting him.
I look in every direction, searching for Cooper, but not seeing him anywhere.
My heart starts to race and I tell myself to calm down. It’s not like he’s got a van sitting out back every week. The valet told me he drives a Porsche.
The bouncer’s job is to protect me.
Look, don't touch
is what they always tell people.
I should have thought about this before. If he found me, how would he get me out of the club?
Then I remember Miami.
He'd drug me.
Slip me a roofie.
Use a needle.
Help his sick friend to the car.
She just had a little too much fun,
he’d say.
Maybe I should go back to the VIP area with him just to see what he’d do.
But then another possibility pulses through my brain. Vincent hurts, drugs, or kills the bouncer. In his slick suit, it would be easy to underestimate his strength.
Where the hell is Cooper?
And why did they let Vincent backstage?
I bend down, pull the duct tape off the gun, and slip it into the back of my shorts.
The bouncer stops Vincent from coming any farther and walks up to my cage.
“I have twenty minutes left. You're going to get me in trouble with Marla.”
He lowers his voice. “I know you're new, but the gentleman here is a VIP.
Big
VIP. And he requested you now. You know the boss man is all about customer service.”
“Fine. I'll go powder my nose, then I'll head up there.”
The bouncer looks back at Vincent, who shakes his head.
“I think now would be better.”
“Um, okay.” The bouncer opens my cage and takes my hand to help me out.
The second my feet hit the concrete floor, Vincent starts moving quickly toward me.
My eyes get huge.
I point and go, “Um . . .”
The bouncer turns around and says to Vincent, “Go back to the VIP section now. We’ll meet you there.”
“I just want to talk to her. I'm a producer. This could be her big break.”
“I don't want a break,” I whisper, putting my hand behind my back and gripping the gun.
Suddenly, Vincent charges toward the bouncer.
Shit!!
I move to avoid getting knocked down.
When I do, the big cage swings, ramming Vincent and the bouncer, knocking them down.
Cooper grabs me, pulls me down the hall, and pushes through an exit door.
The bright streetlights temporarily blind me.
“Which car is it?” Cooper yells.
I hand him the gun. “Here, take this.”
“Where the hell do you get—”
I don’t answer, just pull him toward a sweet black Ducati.
“A motorcycle?” Cooper panics. “I’ve never ridden one.”
I hop on the bike, pull on my helmet, toss one to Cooper, pop the kickstand, turn the key, grab the clutch, and hit the start button, bringing the motor roaring to life.
“Just hang on!” I yell as both Vincent and the bouncer barrel out of the exit.
I pop the bike into first gear with my foot, crack the throttle, and speed off into the night.
I make numerous turns through the warehouse district, already having memorized the streets, and then shoot out onto the highway near the Santa Monica airport.
I drive fast, weaving in and out of traffic.
Once I’m sure we’re not being followed, I head toward the coast, merging onto the PCH, heading toward Malibu.
I try to stay close to the speed limit now, not wanting to get pulled over and end up a sitting duck on the side of the road.
Before the Malibu city limit, I make a right turn and pull into an unmarked parking lot. Then I hit the remote on the bike’s keychain to open a big garage door and pull in, dousing the bike’s lights and quickly closing the door behind us.
“I don’t think we were followed, do you?” I ask Cooper as I turn off the bike, pull off my helmet, and shake out my hair.
“I don't know how the hell we could’ve been. You were driving like a maniac!”
I roll my eyes at him. “I was only doing eighty on the highway. Vincent has a Porsche. Those things are fast!”
Cooper takes his helmet off and sets it on the bike. “Somehow when you said
stealth out the back
, this was not what I envisioned.”
“It worked, though. Come on, we’ve had our excitement for tonight. Let's get the hell out of here and back the airport.”
“What about your wig? Our bags?”
I point to a Mustang sitting in the bay next to us. “It's all in the car.”
“What is this? A chop shop? Is this all stolen?”
“No, it’s the concierge detail shop that does Tommy's car. They pick up his cars from the house every few weeks, detail them, and put them back under their covers all shiny. He dropped the motorcycle off, picked up Tommy's Ferrari, moved our bags to the Mustang, and already has Tommy's car safely back home. He's also going to drive it around town tomorrow. You know, just to be seen.”
“Did he not think it was an odd request?”
“Considering his clientele, probably not. Especially with the rumors of Tommy's affair.”
“Oh,” Cooper says. “That's smart.”
I find the Mustang’s keys hanging exactly where I was told they would be and replace them with the keys to Brooklyn’s bike.
Even though B knows nothing about it, there’s something comforting in the fact that his bike helped me tonight.
Cooper grabs my hand. “You’re shaking.”
“A little, but I'm fine.”
“Adrenaline rush,” he states. “It’ll stop soon. In the meantime, I’ll drive.”
On the way to the airport, I throw the dress I wore earlier over my club clothes, tuck my hair back under the wig, rub off the paint, and gently remove the eyelashes.
“I have to admit,” Cooper says, “I’m very surprised you know how to ride a motorcycle.”
“That wasn’t just any motorcycle. It was Brooklyn’s. The concierge service takes care of B’s and his dad’s cars, too. I knew we were going to have to make a speedy exit, so it seemed like the best option. Honestly, I’m really lucky that he knows me, or I never would’ve been able to pull it off. I didn’t exactly ask B if I could borrow his bike.”
“What made you even want to learn?”
“I was fine with just riding on the back. It was fun, felt romantic, you know? But after a couple times of us going somewhere and B needing to take me back home before he was ready to leave, he decided I should learn how to ride it. That way I could take myself home if I needed to.”
And once I learned how, he knew he could get high or drink and I could drive us both home. Although at the time that sorta pissed me off, I’m now really grateful I know how.
After we’ve taken off and gotten to cruising altitude, Cooper says, “So what do you think we accomplished? Seems like all it did was piss him off.”
“We made him think I’m back home.” I smile. “And remember, a pissed off, out-of-control, mistake-making Vincent is exactly what we want.”
“I was there the whole time. In the shadows. Waiting for the right moment.”
“I didn't see you.”
“You didn't look scared.”
“I had protection. Speaking of which, what did you do with it?”
“It’s in the bag.”
The flight attendant interrupts Cooper to ask us if we would like dinner or a snack.
“Dinner,” Cooper says.
“I’ll just have some water,” I reply. I might not be shaking as bad on the outside anymore, but my insides are still a wreck.
“My sister needs to eat,” Cooper tells the attendant. “Bring her a dinner along with her water.”
She quickly comes back with plates of grilled chicken in a mushroom sauce on a bed of risotto.
I eat a little and then lean my head against Cooper's shoulder.
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 2ND
Confidence and swagger.
7am