Dream & Dare (3 page)

But she’d altered it for Gina, who had a lot less up top than Bibi did. If she wedged herself into that dress, she’d have to stop breathing for the rest of the night.

On the plus side, it made her tits look
great.

“You’re on. Gimme a tab, and thirty minutes.” It took awhile to turn the makeup specialist into a punk bitch.

“Make it twenty. I want to stop for a slice first. All I’ve had to eat today is a Dr. Pepper.”

“You need a minder.”

Gina kissed her cheek. “I got you, babe.”

~oOo~

‘Their’ club was called The Hole. Located just a few blocks from their apartment, it was both safe—because they were close—and dangerous—because they lived in a shitty neighborhood, and even a few blocks’ walk could be an adventure. But they had a big circle of friends and fellow freaks, and it was rare that they were left to walk home alone.

On this night, while they were at the New York-style pizzeria that was a couple of blocks in the wrong direction, their duo became a group, as some of their friends had already been standing at tall tables, shoving pizza into their maws. By the time they headed to The Hole, they were a band of hooligans, all tripping noisily.

Bibi was having a happy little trip, and she felt good. The lights of the streets and shops swirled and sparkled as they walked, and everybody’s laughter sounded like music. She would have sworn she was floating to the club.

One of their friends, Gil, put his arm around her waist and pulled her close, nuzzling his nose under her denim jacket, but she didn’t want to be held to the ground, so she pushed him off and ran ahead, her vintage white lace-up boots clunking on the sidewalk like bass drums.

“Don’t go far, Natchez,” Gina laughed behind her.

Bibi just giggled and flew.

~oOo~

A couple of hours later, after the band had done its first set, her trip was leveling off to a mellow, soft-focus daze. She’d danced until she was a sweaty mess. She was sure her makeup was a horror, and her hair would have been a lank mop if not for all the sculpting spray keeping it where she wanted it—big and spiky. Because of her job, she couldn’t dye it the rainbow colors Gina dyed her naturally-red hair. Then again, pretty soon, she’d be out of that job. Maybe she should go back to work on Sunday with blue hair. Or green. Or both. That would give the rich cunts a start.

She leaned on the bar and nibbled out of the garnish tray while she waited for the bartender to work his way back to her end. When he got there, he slapped her hand away from the cherries. She took the one she’d last snagged and bit it off the stem while he watched.

“Don’t be such a grump, Jackie.” Swallowing the cherry, she put the stem in her mouth. While his eyes fixed on her mouth, she did her thing, tying the stem into a knot. Then she plucked it from between her teeth and dropped it onto the bar.

He grinned and picked it up. Putting it in his own mouth, he said, “Only so long that cute little trick gets you free fruit. This ain’t a salad bar, Scarlett.”

Everybody had some kind of Southern nickname for her. She’d tried to lose the Mississippi in her voice, she was still trying, sort of, but it was a lot of fucking work.

“Anybody even order fruit drinks here?” The club was a dark, grimy hole. Aptly named. And the clientele wasn’t the happy-hour crowd. This was the kind of place that had an actual room in the back for the bouncers to beat on assholes.

“You’d be surprised. You need a drink, or you just standing there robbin’ me blind?”

“Yeah. Coupl’a beers.” She’d bring one to Gina.

She wasn’t of age yet, but nobody got carded here. Jackie poured the beers from the tap and slid two glasses to her. She dug her cash out of her bra—damn, the dress was tight—and slid some bills back Jackie’s way. Then she picked up the glasses and turned.

And ran right into a leather wall.

The wall grabbed her hands, steadying the full glasses before they spilled.

He was smiling at her—a smile that caught her off guard. It was quiet, if a smile could be quiet. She got stuck in it.

“Careful there, sweet cheeks.”

His mouth moved around the words, showing more of his nice white teeth. At the sound of his voice, she freed her eyes from his smile and looked up. Oh. Oh, very nice. He was older, maybe by a lot. There was a little bit of grey threaded through his black hair. But he was
fine
.

The leather he wore was a kutte, but it was different from what most of her friends wore. Instead of buttons and patches all over, it had simple patches. Her trippy eyes didn’t want to let the letters be still, so she wasn’t sure what they said, but she had just enough familiarity with other parts of the outside-the-margins world to know he was a biker.

She’d never known a biker. She knew people who rode motorcycles, but that was different.

“S-s-sorry. Sorry. Shoulda watched where I’s goin’.”

His eyes—dark, so dark they were black in the low light of the club—sparkled, and he tipped his head to the side. “You’re from Miss’ippi.”

He pronounced it like she did, like all her people and everyone she’d grown up with did, eliding the second syllable. But otherwise, there was no accent in his voice. He was making fun of her, which killed the magic of his smile as well as her moment of admiration for pinning her accent so quickly. She shook his hands off of hers, sloshing cheap beer over her hands and his fingers.

“And you ain’t. But y’are in my way.”

He stepped to the side. “Sorry.”

As she walked past him, he caught her arm in his. “Don’t go far, now.”

If he thought he was at some tacky pickup bar, he had another think coming. Maybe her heart was pitty-patting in her chest, but he didn’t know that. She was a punk, dammit.

She turned and pulled her arm free, sloshing more beer. “Dammit! Fuck you!”

He laughed. “That’s what I’m angling for, yeah.” Nodding at the beers, he added, “I’ll bring you a couple fresh ones.”

“Don’t bother. Hit the road, Biker Boy.”

He tipped his head again, this time in a gesture that looked for all the world like concession. But his eyes said she hadn’t seen the last of him.

And that didn’t piss her off as much as she pretended it did.

~oOo~

Later, Bibi found herself sitting alone. Gil and Gina were off fucking in the bathroom. Everybody else was off doing whatever. Bibi had been off doing whatever, too, until Tony had gotten pushy. Gina slept with everybody and their sister, and that was fine and dandy, but Bibi was a little more discerning, and she didn’t like Tony much. He had the good shit, it was true, and he was liberal with it, but he was always trying to push harder shit, especially coke, and Bibi and Gina could barely keep the roof they had over their heads. The last thing they needed was a grand-a-week snow habit.

Plus, he liked to hit. Gina didn’t mind that, but Bibi definitely did. She might have been a part of this scene now, but she was still, deep down, the girl who’d worn a pink Gunne Sax dress to her junior prom.

Biker Boy had never brought fresh beers over, but he was still around. Bibi’s eyes kept finding him, and every time they did, he was looking at her, smiling that smile. He was with another guy, wearing a kutte like his, even more gorgeous than he was. But that guy looked like an asshole.

Not that Biker Boy wasn’t an asshole. She wouldn’t know one way or another.

What she did know was that her trip was over, and she’d never gotten around to getting drunk. Now she was alone in a crowded bar, surrounded by people who’d gotten around to getting drunk. The band was done, and she couldn’t think of one good reason to stay where she was.

She shoved her way back to the bathrooms, looking for Gina. Gil had her at the end of the hallway, and they were fucking right there, Gina doing her operatic soprano routine. Bibi stormed down and poked Gil in the back. “Hey!”

He stopped thrusting, and they both looked at her. “What?” Gina asked.

“I want to leave. I’m straight again, and now I’m bored.”

“Find Tony.”

“I don’t want to find Tony. I don’t want anythin’ more. I just want to go home.”

Gina had obviously reloaded at some point; her pupils were pinpricks. “So go.” She looked at Gil. “Can I crash with you?”

Gil was couch surfing, staying with his cousin or something like that. But he grinned and thrust his hips, making Gina moan. “Yeah, baby. Plenty of room on the fold-out.”

Bibi ignored him. She was too stunned at the idea that Gina was going to send her off to walk home alone. Through Hollywood. After midnight. “Gina, come on. We stick together, right?”

“It’s five blocks. Get somebody else to babysit your debutante ass.”

Well, this night had just bottomed out. Fighting back the tears that, if freed, would make it the worst night of her life, she backed away. When she turned, she ran straight into the bathroom door that some guy had just opened and smacked her forehead.

She was going to cry. No, no she was not. No, no, no.

Okay. Walking home on her own. She knew the way.

She’d almost made it to the front door when the night got even worse. “Bibi, hold on.” A hand grabbed at her jacket.

Tony.

She turned and put on her Southern smile. “Hey, Tony. I’m headin’ out.”

“I heard. Gina wants me to walk with you.”

Gina knew how Bibi felt about Tony. Now she was moving from hurt to good, old fashioned furious at her roommate and supposed friend. “That’s okay. I can make it on my own.”

When she tried to free her arm, he changed his hold, closing her upper arm in his fist. “Nah, I’ll take you. We can party. I’ve got some special stuff.”

She tried the direct approach. “Tony, I’m not interested. I’m just goin’ home. On my own. I’ll see ya.”

His hand tightened, but before he could say more, Biker Boy was there. “Lady says she’s not interested.”

Lady says she’s not interested?
What, were they in a Sam Spade novel?

Tony thought that was ridiculous, too. He released Bibi and turned to the biker with a contemptuous laugh. “Who the fuck’re you?”

Biker got close and made a slight, subtle movement, and Tony’s eyes went wide. Bibi couldn’t tell what had happened. But Biker snarled, “Guy who’s gonna slice open your kidney right here unless you back the fuck off.”

Tony backed off immediately, backed all the way across the club, and Bibi saw the biker fold a knife and tuck it in his jeans pocket.

“D’you think you just rescued me? He didn’t want anythin’ you weren’t lookin’ for earlier.”

He smiled. Sheesh, she had to stop looking at his mouth. “Yeah, but I know how to take no for an answer.”

Feeling nervy and insecure, Bibi compensated with sass. She put her hands on her hips. “Do ya? Then what are you doin’ here now?”

“You’ve been watching me. Thought I’d come over and see if you’d changed your mind.”

“I ain’t been watchin’ you.”

He only lifted his eyebrows. Satirically.

“Well, I ain’t changed my mind, anyway.”

“You need a ride home?”