Cold Summer Nights (5 page)
Read Cold Summer Nights Online
Authors: Sean Thomas Fisher,Esmeralda Morin
Chapter Five
Ke$ha’s
Blow
assaulted the warehouse-sized room. Visible air ducts and metal girders ran the length of the tall ceiling above. The driving beat slipped in and out of the rotating flashes of colored light as young men and women danced like they might rip off their clothing and start screwing on the dance floor at any second. They grinded against each other with the beat, sweat glistening from their skin.
Nick’s mouth hung open as he stared at Rusty with narrow eyes. “What do you mean you could see your breath?” he shouted over the music.
Rusty grimaced. “I told you, I don’t know what happened! All I know is it threw my whole game off and I might need you to stick it out till one,” he said, knocking back a Jack and Coke.
Nick’s face soured in the spinning bursts of bright lights. “What?”
“I told
ya
though!” Rusty shouted, nodding to the throbbing dance floor.
“Ass-soup!”
Nick shook his head and took a pull from a bottle of
Coor’s
Light, the club’s deep bass vibrating every inch of his body. He wondered how the DJ could see anything with shades on in here.
“It’s barely eleven-thirty!” Rusty said. “And it’s already packed.”
“Well, you better start
pullin
some digits before your ride splits in five minutes,” Nick replied coldly.
“Give me a minute to get into a groove here, Nick. Will
ya
?” Rusty said, letting his eyes roam free. “I
gotta
tap into the bar’s vibe.”
Nick gestured with his beer towards the bar. “What about those two brunettes over there.”
Rusty followed his gaze and smiled. “Oh, I’d like to tap into that too! Nice spot. What else we got? They’re way
outta
my league and not near drunk enough yet.” His head bobbed with the music as his eyes drifted across the room.
Nick watched the animated crowd, primarily made up of bartenders and easy waitresses, who danced like strippers and usually went home with the bartenders after it
was all said and done
. It was their one night off a week to let loose and they didn’t call it S.I.N. for nothing. He took another drink and decided he didn’t miss this scene.
The constant game.
Loving it that night, hating it the next morning.
He pulled his cell out again and subtly checked the screen. No messages. He exhaled a long breath and slipped the phone back into his pocket, formulating the perfect text to send
Summer
real quick. Something brief, yet witty. He took another drink and discarded the entire idea altogether, refusing to fall into that trap again.
“How
bout
those three in the booth?” he suggested instead, nodding in the opposite direction.
Rusty followed his gaze and grimaced. “Wow, you really have been out of the game! You know better than to roll up on a three-top, Nicky. The fat one will always end up wanting to go home early and ruin it for everyone.”
Nick grunted. “Sounds like her and I might have something in common."
“Go get her then, killer! Your secret’s safe with me.”
Nick snorted, nonchalantly checking his watch again. When he looked back up his eyes met Amy’s big blue ones, making him regret coming even more. His heart fluttered and things promptly went into a three-drink slow motion.
With Stacey at her side, they bounced across the flickering room, their boobs doing the majority of the bouncing. Amy stuck her hand up into the air and smiled at them, her trim black leather jacket fitting almost as tightly as Stacey’s red one. Both blonds strutted across the dance floor in high heels, cutting through the crowd with authority and looking like something out of a modern day Warrant video.
“Sweet Jesus!”
Rusty said, pointing with his rocks glass and nudging Nick in the side. “Here comes the gruesome twosome!”
Nick shifted in his stance and straightened his shirt.
“And would you get a load of Stacey! I am so going to pull that tonight,” Rusty grinned as the fit blondes closed the gap.
“Hi guys!” Amy smiled brightly, giving Nick a big bear hug.
She squeezed tighter than he did, her thick perfume making him wonder if he should burn his outfit later.
“How are you?” he asked, pushing away as Rusty pulled Stacey closer.
Amy grinned, the blinking lights reflecting off her teeth. “I’m good. Single again!”
Nick nodded, glancing over to see Stacey struggling to break free from Rusty’s eagle claws. A smile broke out across Nick’s face as he shook his head.
Amy stood on her tippy-toes and leaned into his ear. “But I heard you’re not.”
He frowned and she returned to his ear.
“Single.”
He tipped his head back and then shook it. “Not anymore.”
She puckered her brow and leaned in even closer, brushing his ear with her soft cheek, causing his muscles to tense. “Who is she?”
Nick shrugged. “Just a girl,” he shouted over the thumping tune.
She laughed.
“Just a girl?”
Rusty poked his head in between them with an arm still wrapped around Stacey’s waist. “Hey, how good does Stacey look? Did you say hi to Stacey yet, Nick?”
Nick smiled and waved.
She stuck her face in close to Nick’s, revealing some serious cleavage and a ton of make- up. “I heard you have a girlfriend, Nicky!” she said, with a laugh that smelled like tequila.
"Yeah and soon they're
gonna
need a good priest!" Rusty cackled.
"Ooh," Stacey cooed.
"That serious, huh?"
Rusty laughed. "That's just to get rid of the flies and glowing pig eyes! His girlfriend is bat shit crazy!”
Nick frowned. “She’s not crazy, and I don’t see what you’re problem is,” he said, taking a serious tone.
Rusty’s face stiffened, his drink sloshing in his hand. “My problem, Nick, is that your girlfriend tried to kill me with some kind of Mr. Freeze bullshit today and I don’t appreciate it!”
Stacey's face wrinkled. "What?"
Nick looked to Stacey and Amy and laughed. “
You
hearin
this? Guy loses his job and now he’s
losin
his mind.”
Rusty stepped closer, almost nose to nose with Nick, who held his ground with a steady smirk. “You just don’t want to hear it, Nick! Just like always!”
Nick closed the distance between their noses. “Just because you
wanna
end up all alone doesn’t mean you have to drag me down with you!”
“Boys!”
Amy yelled over the music, pushing in between them.
Rusty’s face soured. “I never said I wanted to end up all alone!”
Nick laughed loudly. “I thought you said you were getting a cat!”
Stacey and Amy turned to Rusty with matching looks of puzzlement gripping their fake-baked faces.
Rusty pushed past them and grabbed Nick around the back of the neck, pulling him so close, Nick could feel Rusty’s warm whiskey breath on his ear. “All I’m saying is something is off with that girl. Just take tonight to collect your senses and enjoy the company of the lovely Miss Amy,” he said, pulling back and gesturing to Amy who smiled coyly.
Nick snorted, feeling his face getting red and hoping it blended in with the dance floor lights.
Stacey carelessly swung a Limon and 7, spilling on the floor between them. “Do you love her?”
Nick laughed and started coughing into his hand. “We are very much in love,” he said sarcastically.
"No wonder we never see you anymore," Amy shouted.
Stacey grinned and brushed long blond hair from her face. "How many times have you sent her flowers?”
Nick’s face fully flushed and there was no hiding it this time, even in here. He had sent Amy a dozen red roses after she had dumped him for Brad.
Twice.
It was something this group would never let him forget, even Rusty, who called it one of the top three rookie moves of all time.
“Only six times, but I have something special lined up for our three month anniversary.” Nick replied, feigning a weak smile.
Stacey threw her head back and laughed, spilling more of her drink. “Oh Nicky!” she said, just before Rusty swept her back into his arms.
Amy leaned up to his ear again. “So tell me about this
Summer
.”
Nick stared into her blue eyes, wondering what he ever saw in them before. “What do you want to know?”
“Well,” she started, playing with the straw in her glass. “Where did you meet?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Why?” he asked, taking a drink.
This time she shrugged.
“Just wondering.”
“Barnes and Noble.”
“Ooh,” she grinned.
“So romantic!
It’s like a movie.”
He laughed, remembering the night he had met Amy on a crowded rooftop bar called Wellman’s Pub. It was one hour before last call and he still managed to drag her back to his place. He turned to Rusty, who was lost in Stacey’s eyes and going on and on about something that seemed very monumental.
Amy crept back to Nick’s ear. “I miss you.”
He chuckled and looked down to his brown Adidas, smelling her strong perfume already floating off his shirt and jacket.
This time she came so close, her lips brushed against his ear, sending a volt of electricity shooting throughout his entire body. “Do you ever think about me?”
Nick cringed and tried to hide it. “Things have actually been
kinda
crazy lately.”
Disappointment washed over her face.
“My grandma is real sick,” he said, playing up the sympathy card.
Amy’s eyebrows dropped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” she said, taking the opportunity to hug him again. This time she squeezed tighter and for much longer, nearly turning it into a slow dance.
He rolled his eyes behind her back. When her hug waned, he tried to lean back but she pulled him close and tenderly kissed him. He tensed, tasting rum on her lips and pushed away.
Her brow wrinkled. “What’s wrong?”
“You’ve got the wrong idea,” he yelled, over Usher’s latest hit.
Her red lips reached his ear again, the smell of her perfume stinging his eyes. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me,” she said softly.
He smiled politely. “I’m probably all good, but thanks.”
She stepped back, hurt glistening across her face which quickly turned to anger. She put a hand on her tiny waist and looked him over from head to toe. “You know what?” she said, wrinkling her nose like he had some bad body odor. “You’re right. I do have the wrong idea. Let’s go Stacey!” she yelled, pulling Stacey from Rusty’s arms.
There was a brief tug of war between the two but, grudgingly, Rusty gave up and watched them strut away, disappearing into the bouncing crowd on the dance floor.
Nick smiled and took a long pull of cold beer. After everything she had put him through, he had no idea how good that was going to feel.
Rusty casually leaned into Nick’s ear. “I should've stuck with Dallas.”
Nick got home at quarter to one and the first thing he did was check the remote. It worked just fine so he shut the TV off and went into his bedroom. Despite his triumphant turn with Amy, his buzzed thoughts kept returning to his grandma’s eerie warning. Unanswered questions made his head spin. Stay away from whom? Amy? And what the hell did his mother have to do with anything? Had his grandma even spoke to begin with? After all, that would be impossible. She hadn’t uttered a single word in nearly four years. For all he knew, it could’ve just been that old coot babbling incoherent thoughts out in the hallway about his secret identity. But deep down, Nick knew it wasn’t. Either way, the crackly voice replaying in his head gave him the chills as he belly-flopped into bed with his shoes on.
He rolled over onto his back, feeling guilty about kissing Amy, and kicked his shoes off. They thumped onto the floor, one after the other, as he pulled his phone from his front pocket and checked for any texts or missed calls. He dropped his head back into the pillow and wondered if he should call
Summer
right now and just come clean about the whole thing. Hell, maybe she wouldn’t even mind coming over tonight after finding out how firmly he had dealt with his ex.
Before he knew what was happening, his phone was connecting to hers. He took a deep breath and held it, almost hanging up. But it was too late; he had already left caller ID tracks all over the place. He scrambled to collect his half-drunken thoughts, each ring of her phone making them grow more distorted. He cleared his throat, wondering what he was doing. Her voicemail answered and he hung up before he could dig himself in any deeper. He wasn’t that drunk. Still, he’d have to be ready to explain why he had called so late on a Sunday night. She was probably staring at her caller ID right now with sleepy eyes, shaking her nappy head and wondering what she had gotten herself into.
Amy stumbled into her apartment and shut the heavy wooden door with an inconsiderate slam. The deadbolt clicked home and she crossed the living room, bathed in parking lot lights slipping in through the sliding glass door that led to a small balcony outside. Her keys jingled into a fancy dish from Pottery Barn resting on top of a slim sofa table with straight edges.
“He’ll call,” she muttered, unzipping her leather coat and tossing it onto the couch without looking, nearly taking out a lamp. She kicked off her high-heels, going from five feet eight inches to five foot four, and dropped her short black skirt to the carpeting below. Her bare feet stepped out of it and tromped into the kitchen where she whipped back the refrigerator door and grabbed a cold bottle of Miller
Lite
.
She popped the top and grinned. “How could he not?” she smiled brazenly, admiring her tan, toned legs in the soft refrigerator light. She took a long drink and sighed with satisfaction. She smacked her lips, shut the fridge door and screamed when she saw a dark figure standing on the other side. It stared holes in her with its cavernous eyes.
Amy’s breath caught in her throat, paralyzing her entire body. The beer bottle slipped through her fingers, shattering on the parquet flooring around her red painted toes. The shadowy female’s long hair was as lifeless as the face staring back at Amy. It stood there, quietly observing the pretty blond. Horror ransacked Amy’s mind, mixing with the alcohol already coursing through her veins. The combination made it impossible commanding her body to any kind of action other than clumsily backpedalling. The smell of rot and decay wrapped its mushy limbs around her. Without moving a muscle, the silhouette leaned forward and slowly began coming closer. It moved with the greatest of ease, like it was standing on a lazy conveyer belt.
Amy backed into the kitchen wall with a small window. The intruder stopped in the light slicing through the mini blinds. Amy found herself inches from the dark,
pupiless
eyes watching her every move, seeming to grow more satisfied with every wrinkle cutting through Amy’s face. She turned her head to the side, desperate to put more distance between them. The woman’s face inched closer. Her skin was cracked and streaked with soot. The black dress she wore was frayed and too short. Then she twitched.
Amy screamed again, knocking the back of her head against the window.
In an instant, a gray arm thrust out and grabbed Amy around the neck with an icy claw, driving her backwards. Amy heard the glass crack behind her. She gasped for breath as her manicured hands shot to the squishy limb around her throat. Frantically, she wrestled with it, choking and desperate for a gulp of the ripe oxygen resting just outside her cherry lips.
The woman leaned in and rubbed her scaly cheek against Amy’s. Amy squirmed harder, which only made the need for air that much stronger. The woman pulled back and tilted her to the side, studying Amy with the wonder of a child. Amy gasped and struggled with both hands clawing at the bony fingers around her neck. Her painted toes left the floor. She thrashed wildly, kicking and hitting to no avail. The woman’s colorless lips pulled back into a wide crocodile smile, revealing chipped teeth. Amy’s eyes
bulged
as bloody veins wormed their way through the whites of her frenzied orbs. Her fingers clawed at the woman’s face, which peeled away like dried clay. The woman’s grin suddenly faded into an angry sneer. Her grip tightened and Amy kicked one last time before going limp as a sleeping cat.
Rusty dashed across his apartment living room, tripped over a basketball and grabbed his cell phone off the ratty couch. The screen indicated
unknown
was calling but he hit the talk button anyway, thinking it could be a friendly booty-call from Stacey, or maybe even some other girl he wouldn’t be too picky about right now.
“Hello?” he said, squinting in the silence that followed.
He checked the screen to see if the call was still connected, and it was.
"Hello?" he said louder, then taking a swig of Budweiser.
Still no response.
He was just about to hang up when someone started coughing. Or were they choking? He turned to the TV, staring at a Stone Sour video with unfocused eyes. “Who is this?”
More gagging answered him.
He considered the possibility it was Dallas or Nick trying to punk him, but didn’t think they could disguise their call as
unknown
without calling from a pay phone, which neither would be up for at this hour on a Sunday night.
The wet hacking continued in his ear and then stopped.
Rusty muted the TV and held his breath, the phone tightly pressed to his ear. His eyes roamed the room without seeing anything. “Hello?” he whispered.
The silence that awaited him
was suddenly broken
by more coughing, louder and more rampant.
Rusty frowned and pulled the phone from his ear. “Okay, good luck with the lung cancer, pops,” he shouted, hanging up and dropping the phone like it was poisonous onto the dark green couch. He stared at it for a moment, waiting for it to ring again. When it didn’t, he tipped the red and white can back and wiped his ear with his shirt sleeve.