Kiss the Stars (Devon Slaughter Book 1) (7 page)

WE HEADED down
the boardwalk.

Groups of people
passed by. There was a fire on the beach. Someone plucked a guitar. The
boardwalk smelled of wood baked by the sun, corroded by water. The heavy aroma
of fried food drifted from the bars, and the dank sweetness of alcohol wafted
from human flesh.

Her mood was so
effervescent. I was reminded of how she had laughed at her own joke in the bar.
I hadn’t heard her laugh since.

“Hey, listen,” I
said, stopping.

She gripped my
hand tighter, her little fingers clamping down, like she sensed me pulling
away.

“What about your
friends back there?” I said.

Her hair was
coming undone, falling out of its sparkly clips. She looked so innocent,
dressed in black with her make-up worn off and her freckles exposed. She let go
of my hand. “My
friends
?”

“I think you
should go back there.”

Her eyes
smoldered. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m serious.” I
thought of the first time I’d seen her, how she mistook me for someone nice. “Henry
likes you,” I said.

She blinked. “Are
you trying to dump me off on him?”

I’d felt his
yearning when I shook his hand, a kind of hope and regret, as if they’d had an
argument and he didn’t know how to make it up to her. The
Guns N’Roses
song had got to me. She had got to me.

“I don’t
understand you,” she said.

I didn’t know
how to explain. We were like parallel realities, two straight lines that could
go on forever, side by side, but never touching. “You ran off the dance floor,”
I said. “As soon as you saw Henry. And he followed you.” It sounded like an
accusation but it wasn’t.

Above us, the
sky was velvet. A satellite made its way toward the moon. Beneath the murmur of
human voices, I heard the river lapping at the shore. I did want to dump her
off on Henry. For her sake. I had the feeling it was now or never.

HE WAS always
showing up, every time I turned around. He was practically stalking me and now,
suddenly, he couldn’t wait to cut me loose. He was right. I had run off the
dance floor. He was being so nice, it felt too good to be true. And it was,
wasn’t it?

I backed away.

“Ruby,” he said.
Above him, the streetlamp flickered.

I shouldn’t have
begged him to kiss me, I thought. It must have been disgusting. Deep down, I
knew it had nothing to do with kissing.

It was me. I
didn’t know how to get the things other people took for granted—friendship,
family…love. I had crossed family off my list when my grandmother died. And I
was used to having no friends, but some part of me always believed I would fall
in love, magically.

“Where are you
going?” Devon said.

“Back to the bar.”

At the door, I
glanced over my shoulder. He was still there, under the streetlamp, watching
me, like a parent making sure their child gets on the school bus. So I went
inside, thinking, I hate you, Devon. I wanted to cry, but I was sick of myself
crying, so I didn’t.

I saw Henry and
Georgie buying drinks. Georgie kept leaning into Henry and he didn’t push her
away but he kept glancing up and his eyes swept the crowd. Was he looking for
me?

I stayed in the
shadows.

I used to come
here and sit at the end of the bar, in the warm glow of the beer sign. No one
stared, like I was a stranger. Sometimes interesting things happened. I caught
snippets of conversation, insight into how other people lived.

If only Georgie
would quit tossing her hair and touching Henry. Didn’t she have to go fix her
lipstick?

The band was
coming back on stage and plugging in their instruments. The singer wore a
T-shirt that said: What Goes On Tour, Stays On Tour. I went up to the edge of
the stage, before I lost my nerve. Devon had put such a huge ache inside me; I
didn’t care if I made a fool of myself.

I waved to the
singer and he came over and leaned toward me, his longish hair falling in his
eyes. “I just wanted to tell you how much I love you,” I said. “I have your
record.”

“Yeah? Bring it
next time. I’ll sign it.”

I started to
turn away but he said, “Hey, wait. What’s your name?”

I’d only wanted
to tell him I loved him. My mouth went dry. “Ruby…”

As soon as they
began tuning their instruments, people crowded onto the dance floor. I heard, “This
one’s for Ruby.” I almost fainted but the crowd pressed in from all sides and
held me up. I moved to the music.

The song merged
into the next one and the next. I danced a whole set, not leaving the floor
until it emptied. I wiped the back of my neck and felt sweat. The band was
packing up, one of the bartenders yelled, “Last call.”

I checked my
watch. 1:39.

“Hey,” Henry
came up behind me. I recognized his voice. I thought he would ask what happened
to Devon but he didn’t. He handed me a water bottle. “Thirsty?”

I cleaned the
rim off with my sleeve, and wished I hadn’t. I drank and gave the bottle back.

“Great band,” he
said.

“You think so?”

“Yeah. So you
like to dance. You’re good.”

I didn’t believe
him. “I guess I’m a better dancer than a kisser,” I said.

He looked
confused. “What?”

“You told
Georgie how awful I kissed, like a fish.”

He looked angry.
“I didn’t say that—”

I shrugged.

“What kind of
asshole do you think I am?”

“I heard you and
Georgie. Remember? In the lounge, making fun of me. So I figured it was true.
It doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, it
matters. Look, I’m sorry you overheard Georgie but—”

“But what? You
said things too. And you didn’t stick up for me when she said I was
Frankenstein’s bride.”

He raked his
hand through his hair. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

I dropped my
gaze. I pushed around a soggy peanut shell with the pointy toe of my shoe. “Why
didn’t you call me?” I said.

“Honestly?”

I glanced up to
see his face. His eyes held mine. “I was breaking up with my girlfriend.”

“Georgie?”

“No, Ruby. God.
Not Georgie. Forget about Georgie.”

“You told her
you would never
ever
sleep with me.”

“I didn’t, Ruby.
I swear.”

“I heard you,”
my tone had an edge. “When Georgie asked if you’d slept with me, you said, God
no.”

He shook his
head. “That’s not what I meant.”

I didn’t say
anything. We stood there, in the sudden quiet.

“I wouldn’t just
sleep with you,” he said. “I’d want it to be more.”

I WENT uptown, to
a swanky bar where a woman played a harp. The entry was protected by a
white-haired man who stood behind a podium, checking his list and making sure
everyone who entered was properly dressed.

I made myself
invisible and slipped past.

The muted
lighting cast a complimentary glow. Jewels sparkled on manicured hands. Glasses
clinked seductively and the Scotch was old. There was something familiar about
the scene and I began to feel tired, as if the sheer tastefulness of it all
would suck me dry.

At the same
time, the feeling stirred an image. I saw a kid, about fourteen or fifteen,
with shaggy hair. He fingered a knife, as the adults around him carved into
their filet mignon. The knife was so sharp; it gave him the urge to see if he
could make it stick in the wall, if he threw it like a circus performer. He wanted
to leap onto the bar and strip off his clothes, just to hear the blood curdling
screams.

What he did was
excuse himself to use the bathroom and just kept going, across the marbled
foyer, through the glass turnstile and out onto the busy street.

He loosened his
tie as he walked. He was so damn glad to be out of there and he knew he would
hear about it later, but it wouldn’t matter by then.

I went with him,
recognizing who he was. Me.

I wanted to
catch up to him, so I could get back inside myself, as if I’d escaped somehow.
I turned the corner, after him, down the block, toward China Town. The marquee
of the Chinese Theater cast a red light.
Dracula
was the feature.

I followed him
inside the lobby. There was no one behind the candy counter. The movie poster
caught me off guard. Gary Oldman played
Dracula
and he looked like the
devil. I went down a dark hall lit by arrows and pulled open a door to the
sound of screaming.

I cast my gaze
to the last row of seats. A girl sat there, in the middle of the row, by herself.
White light from the projector spilled down on her

I couldn’t see
her face. I walked up the red carpeted aisle.

When I got to
her row and saw her profile, my breath caught. The walls of the theater seemed
to close in. She turned toward me and I felt the most terrible ache. Like Ruby,
she wore too much make-up.

The movie
playing out on the screen cast demonic shadows.

I went to her. I
looked into her eyes and touched her cheek. She put her hand on my wrist. She
wore a short plaid skirt. She had such long legs. I knelt at her feet and laid
my cheek on her bare thigh. She put her hands in my hair.

Zadie
, I said.

Devon
, she said.

A repetitive
scratching, like a needle bumping the end of a record, cut through my
consciousness. I found myself standing at the end of an empty aisle. My eyes
were hot. The theater was quiet.

I stumbled out
the Emergency Exit, onto the sidewalk and into a crowd of people. I shoved my
way through them, eliciting gasps and murmurs. “How rude,” someone said. “What’s
wrong with him?”

I staggered into
glaring headlights. Tires squealed. Horns blared.

On the other
side of the street, I leaned against the side of a building. Nausea came over
me.

I stared at the
marquee.
Dracula
wasn’t playing. It was the Gothic Revival and people
were lined up around the block for the 1939 showing of
Wuthering Heights
.

* * *

When I reached
Ruby’s house, I was damp with sweat. A pale light shone upstairs in her
bedroom.

The walk across
town had taken forever. I’d passed by the front door of my building and thought
about crawling into bed. I was afraid if I went to sleep, I would never wake
up. I kept walking.

I rested my
forehead on the cool pane of her door. When I turned the handle, it caught. I
closed my eyes. Using my last ounce of strength, I broke the lock.

Inside, a low
murmur caught my attention. It sounded like a man’s voice upstairs. I couldn’t
hone in. My powers were waning. I felt sick, like I had on the long bus ride up
to Tikal, the night the woman in the back of the bus lifted her blanket and her
skirt.

I thought of her
breath in my ear, her ecstasy filling me with strength.

I gripped the
banister, as I went up the stairs. The man’s voice carried down the hall. Was
it that bastard, Henry Thorne? I had the idea to smash my fist into his face. I
had told her to go to him but she should have known I didn’t mean it.

Or had I?

She should
know better
.

Her bedroom door
was closed. I leaned against it and listened.

“Come here…sit
next to me,” the man said. I tried to remember the sound of Henry’s voice. “Don’t
be afraid. That’s nice, baby. Now let me see your pretty little stockings.”

I didn’t like
the way he talked to her, like she was his plaything, but I was too weak to do
anything about it. I stood there, on the other side of the door, disgusted by what
was happening inside and knowing I couldn’t stop it.

We missed the
ferry to the island and caught a ride on a fishing boat. Huge waves rocked the
boat from side to side.

The memory
slammed behind my eyes. Maybe I didn’t want to remember. Maybe I wanted to feel
nothing except Ruby’s naked body next to mine. I wished like hell I hadn’t sent
her back to the bar.

I heard her
giggle.

“The first time
I saw those great big gorgeous…
lips
of yours, I knew we had a real
connection, doll. They don’t make dames like you anymore.”

Dames? I could
barely make a fist, let alone throw a punch. I flung open the door.

My gaze bounced
crazily off her empty bed, across the room, back to the bed and to her radio. “And
that’s it folks. Join us next week for another episode of
I Was A Private
Dick
.”
Funky music blasted. Christ, it was a farce. I groped for the
volume to turn it off, before my head exploded.

A slant of light
from the door made a skinny rectangle on the floor. I crept closer. Water
splashed. I heard her intake of breath and felt her fear.

I put my eye to
the opening.

She was in the
bath, sitting up, erect and staring, waiting. Her breasts glistened. I pushed
open the door.

“Ruby, it’s me…”

She reached for
a towel, and tried to wrap it around her body. The ends floated out. She got up
and almost fell, losing the towel when she grabbed the sides of the tub with
both hands. Water swept out.

Little kids
cried and hid under the seats. Zadie vomited over the side of the boat.

I had to lean
against the wall so I wouldn’t collapse. I slid down and sat on the cold tiled
floor. My heart beat like it was going to jump out of my chest.

She sat down in
the tub, drawing up her knees and hugging them. I wondered if I had changed
somehow, turned into Quasimodo, the way she looked at me with her big eyes.

Had my
extraordinary powers of attraction evaporated? And now I was a regular guy
slumped on her bathroom floor?

Yeah, not
that sexy
.

When she finally
spoke, her voice was tender. “Are you sick?”

“I needed to see
you, that’s all.”

“You’re a wreck,”
she said.

“I don’t think
it’s contagious.” I lowered my head.

“You don’t?” she
sounded doubtful.

I could envision
her pout, like the night we met, though I couldn’t look at her because I was
holding back another wave of nausea by keeping my eyes on a spot on the floor.
For all I knew, I could turn her into what I had become just by kissing her,
though she seemed to have come through the first kiss intact.

The rush of
water going down the drain reminded me of something.

Her bare wet
feet came into my line of vision. My gaze came up to her slender calves, the
backs of her silky thighs. She wriggled into a white nightgown with a high lacy
neck. I reached out to grip her ankle.

She turned to
me. Her gown, clinging to her damp skin, showed me the outline of her nipples.

“Want me to call
an ambulance?” She knelt on the hard floor and put her hand on my face. “Did
you take something dangerous? Like heroin, or…I don’t know. You’re burning with
fever.”

“I didn’t take
anything,” I said. “I’m not on drugs.”

I managed to
stand up. The nausea had eased and it was from her being next to me in that
see-through gown. But when I caught sight of the drenched towel lying at the
bottom of the tub, my gut wrenched.

Zadie’s pink
dress washed up on the shore.

* * *

She smoothed the
sheets on her unmade bed. “Don’t you want to sleep?” she said.

“With you.” I
took her hand and pulled her toward me.

She held back
but I felt her hunger, like mine. I wrapped my arms around her waist and held
her. Her heart fluttered, like the wings of a trapped bird. My lips grazed the
crook of her neck. “Get in bed,” I whispered.

The sheets were
cool. We lay facing each other.

I pushed up her
gown and she shivered. Her breath came fast. With every frantic beat of her
heart, I felt my strength coming back.

I guided her
hand to my jeans. She undid the buttons, like I wanted. I put her hand inside.
I liked the way she seemed to be waiting for me to show her what to do next.
When I paused, thinking of what would give me the most pleasure, pain sliced
through my ribcage.

I cried out.

“Oh, God, did I
hurt you?” she sounded panicked.

Another blow hit
me in the stomach.