Last Call (3 page)

I stand in protest, “N
O
! There’s no way in hell I’m wearing that tonight.”

“Shut the hell up,” Shelby slaps my upper arm and scolds me. “Yes, you are. I am so tired of sitting here watching you become a crotchety, old hag. It’s your birthday, and we are going to ring it in with style. We’re going to dance, drink, dance, and then drink some more. And if we are
all
lucky, you will get slammed against a wall and fucked ten ways until Sunday.”

“This won’t fit me. I haven’t worn it since I was nineteen. I had a kid, remember? And now I’ve got these.” I point to my hips and give them a little shake.

“It’s exactly why you need to wear this dress. You’ve got the perfect form now. You’re no longer a stick-thin bitch. You’ve got tits and hips, just what the guys like nowadays. Besides, it’s been far too long since you’ve been fucked, and I’m afraid your vagina is going to dry up and die if you don’t get it wet. You’ll thank me later, trust me.”

“But this is an eighties party, and this dress doesn’t fall into the eighties fashion. Can’t we go to a thrift store so I can get something that’s a hideous color with shoulder pads?”

Shelby looks up toward the ceiling and thinks for a moment. The more she looks up, the more I feel like she’s going to allow me to simply look stupid or give up on the night altogether.

However, my hope is diminished when she reaches into her duffle bag of clothes and pulls out a sweatshirt. She walks to the kitchen, grabbing the scissors from the drawer, and begins to cut the neck of the shirt. Then she takes the scissors to the bottom of the cotton and crops the length. She hands it to me and motions at me to put it over my head. The left shoulder hangs off and exposes part of my arm. It’s very Jennifer Beals in
Flashdance
.

“There, now you look a little more eighties and sexy as fuck! You’re straight out of that one dance movie… Damn, what the hell is it called?”

“
Flashdance
,” I say and she smiles.

Shelby tosses me the dress and she and Giselle go to the bathroom to get themselves ready while I take off the sweatshirt and reluctantly unzip the dress, stepping inside the fabric. The softness feels good against my skin and a small twinge of pride peaks on my face because I can pull it up over my hips without having to jump up and down. Although, I do have to do a little shimmy and a twist to the side to pull it in place over my breasts. The zipper is located on the side, and I can feel my heart pounding when I start dragging it up. I make it up most of my side, then I come to my tits and realize this is going to suck. I draw in a huge breath to make myself slightly skinnier. I pull the fabric out as much as I can, without falling over, then pull the zipper up until it’s in place. I still haven’t let out a breath; I’m too afraid to. If I let out the air, I could bust the zipper, and then my pride will inevitably follow.

Unfortunately, I feel like I’m going to pass out, so I finally release my air. The dress is tight, but not too tight. Granted, I don’t think I will be as comfortable in it as I was back in the day, but it’s not as bad as I thought. Now, I need to find a mirror. The only thing I’m worried about is back fat rolling over the top. If I see the smallest roll, I’m ripping this dress to shreds and putting on yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt.

I go to the mirror that hangs on the closet door and gawk at myself. I look like someone completely different, yet someone quite familiar. Here I am, dressed in a very short, strapless black dress. It hasn’t seen the light of day since my wild college days, and I’m inwardly kicking myself now for not getting rid of it when I moved to my apartment.

I turn to the side slowly to face the opposite way. I close my eyes, praying I don’t see the evil back roll, and when I open them again, that bitch is not there. Thank freaking God!

Turning back around, I gaze at the rest of my body. Giselle took my long, dark brown hair and loosely braided it over my shoulder. My blue eyes are covered in smoky gray shadow and my eyelashes are cloaked in black mascara. Not hooker makeup, but much more dramatic than I would wear.

Shelby comes walking in with a bottle of lotion in her hands, then proceeds to rub it over my exposed skin. I say nothing, as I cannot stop looking at myself. It’s been forever since I’ve tried to look pretty, and the sight scares me a little. I slip my feet into the pair of black stilettos Shelby brought with her and continue to stare at myself in disbelief.

Giselle’s tall frame stands behind my five-foot-four body and her radiant smile sparkles in the mirror. When she hands me a tube of shell pink lip-gloss, I unscrew the cap and run the wand over my lips. They glimmer in the light, but only subtly.

“You look amazing, Mariah. Simply beautiful.”

I smile slightly, but allow my sarcastic self to takeover. “Are you telling me I don’t look sexy, otherwise?” I turn around and glare at my friend.

“Shut up, bitch. You know that’s not what she meant.” Shelby runs the comb through her straight hair and stands beside me. “Here, put this sweatshirt on and now, you look totally eighties, but sexy eighties, not the big hair, whore eighties.”

I slip the cut cotton over my dress, hiding part of my body. I let out a sigh and feel the anxiety of going out start to consume me. Both of them can feel the insecurity gleaming off of me; as a result, I try to mask it with my wit. However, before I can get it out of my mouth, they both know me very well and my strong façade crumbles.

“You guys, I’m twenty-six and a single mother. I have no business going to a dance club with girls five years younger than me whose only responsibility is to remember the correct way to swipe a credit card. This dress”—I point to my old, favorite dress in the mirror—“is not who I am anymore. The slut died inside of me a long time ago.” 

“Stop it,” Shelby interjects and rolls her eyes. “We are all twenty-six, bitch, and we all have responsibilities. If I don’t take my medication regularly, I will get really sick or die. If I don’t, then I will be really sick. You saw that nightmare a few of years ago, right?” Shelby always likes to hit me where it hurts. I nod my head, knowing I will never forget it.

Three years ago, she was diagnosed with Addison’s disease. I will never forget seeing her in the hospital after she fainted. She had been losing weight, barely eating, and was very irritable. Giselle and I had begged her to go to the doctor, but then her blood pressure went dangerously low, and the shit got really serious. She woke in a hospital bed and started puking her guts out. I have never been so scared in my whole life. Now she manages her disease with daily shots and is living a very normal life. However, if she misses her meds, it will cause her to be very, very sick.

Shelby redirects my wandering mind once again. “As for her,”—she points to Giselle—“she’s the vice president of a very successful company. They make millions of dollars every year. That’s a huge responsibility for someone her age, yet here she is—here we both are. We are ready to let loose with our best friend on her birthday. Do you think it was easy healing from my disease or easy for her to get where she is today in five short years? I know those fucking bitches Giselle works with think she got there sucking the boss’s dick, but you and I know different. She earned her keep and her boss took notice.” Shelby turns to Giselle and puts her hands on her hips. “If you’d fuck up a major account, how fast would it take for you to lose your job?”

“I’d be fired on the spot. He’s kind of an asshole.” Giselle smiles and wraps her arm around me.

“Responsibilities, Mariah. We’ve all got ‘em. So I don’t wanna here this ‘I’m a single mother, I’ve got a kid’ shit tonight. Even the best mothers in the world deserve a night out.” Shelby slaps me on my ass and walks from the room. “Train’s leaving in five minutes, sluts!”

She’s right, and I hate when she is right. Shelby will always hold it over my head. I look at myself one more time and decide I will channel the nineteen-year-old girl I used to be when I wore this dress. Tonight, I’m not twenty-six, I’m nineteen, and I’m going to live it up for all the single mothers out there. I’m going to party, dance, and maybe even talk to a guy. I’m going to do just enough to help me survive another seven years without the comfort of a man.

M
ariah

I
t’s been almost a year since the three of us have gone to a club, and although I’m only twenty-six, I feel way too old to be here.

As we step from the car, I smooth my hands over my dress. I’m freaking out because this dress hasn’t been worn since the night I got pregnant, or the weekend I got pregnant. I don’t freaking remember anything—what their names were or how many guys I fucked that weekend—because I was out of my mind. The entire weekend, I downed booze, took hits of ecstasy, and fucked my brains out. It was my first and last experience with an orgy. I had felt straight out of the sixties, all happy and making free love. Yet, when the light had shone on Monday morning, I had known my life was about to change forever.

I told you I was a reformed slut. It was my first experience with X and definitely my last. I mostly smoked weed back in the day, and there are still times when Shelby, Giselle, and I will get high on my mommy-free night. However, that, too, is a very rare occasion.

My feet start to feel heavier as we walk closer to the front door of the club. The four-inch, black stilettos are strapped over my toes and around my ankle. I feel really uncomfortable, and all I want to do is turn and go back to my car. Yes, I do only get one night a month to hang out with my girlfriends, but I never want to go out. I only want to talk about the old days when we used to go out, watch dirty movies, and drink a little. Ever since I had Royce, I feel like I’d be a horrible mother if I got back into my old, slutty ways.

I check out the club as we walk up to it. The large, brick building is pretty simplistic on the outside. All it boasts is a large, illuminated sign with the words
Toxic
displayed by the door. The black awning provides some cover to the waiting line of party-goers, but not much considering the line is at least one hundred people deep, who are all dressed in the colors and clothes of the decade. I roll my eyes, knowing I will have to wait in line in these Godforsaken shoes.

My feet feel like they’re being pinched between two vice grips while the delicate skin is being sliced open by the unforgiving leather. I loathe these shoes, and right now, I loathe Shelby for making me wear them. Fucking girls, why the hell do we think wearing these clutching death traps is sexy? Oh, I’m sure we look real sexy by the end of the night, walking like zombies with sticks rammed up our asses, leaving a trail of blood with every step.

“Toxic is the hottest club right now. It’s all over the entertainment section. There’s no way in hell we are getting in so we might as well go back to my place. I cannot stand another second in these shoes, anyway,” I whine, knowing I might get my way with Giselle, and then we can go back to my place where I’m comfortable.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch. You’re going in there, and you’re going to have fun tonight. And that fun better be in the form of making out with a hottie or something. Remind me how long it’s been since you tasted a man’s lips, again,” Shelby snaps back and puckers her lips, kissing the air.

Right now, I really want to snatch her bald-headed. Then she smiles her big, electric smile, and I can’t help grinning back at her. She’s such a spoiled brat sometimes, but I wouldn’t have her any other way. 

“How about this, genius.” I pull out my cell phone from my clutch purse and check the time. “It’s already midnight. By the time we get in there—if we even get in there—it’s going to be almost closing time. My vote is, we go to a little hole in the wall and get wasted. Or just take me home so I can get wasted on my own. Either way, I’ll be happy.” I tuck my phone back into my clutch and place it under my arm, knowing I have a case.

“You’re right, Mariah. This line is going to be the death of our good night. Hang on.” As Giselle abandons us and strides like a fucking fashion model to the door, I immediately know I’m in trouble. If anyone can talk us into this club, it will be Giselle. With her sultry, Italian accent and flawless smile, yeah, I’ve just lost my argument.

With every sway of her hips, Giselle is proving I have no rebuttal because she’s making her case one sexy step at a time. Her very clingy, white cocktail dress accentuates her trim waist and curvy hips. It makes her tan skin glisten under the light of the club. Again, I fucking hate her sometimes. She’s so beautiful and perfect.

We all decided to go the subtle route when we got dressed, only adding little details to blend us into the crowd. I had my cut off sweatshirt, Giselle added chunky jewelry and teased her hair up a little, and Shelby wore a hot pink dress with neon yellow leg warmers and her five-inch black heels. I almost asked her why she had all this shit at her house, but thought better of it. She’d probably go into a story about some freaky sexual thing she used to be into.