The Trouble With Bodyguards: Part 1 (3 page)

              “What was that all about?” Barry asked as they walked through the back part of the house, toward the lot where all the cars were parked. Not many people were still hanging around, and those that were were thoroughly inebriated. Chauffeurs waited in the back lot, visiting with each other, smoking cigarettes in the dark behind the house, waiting for their employers to drink themselves into a stupor and be ready to be hauled back to their own mansions and poured into bed to sleep it off.

              “My father still thinks he needs to take care of me,” she said, her tone harsh and ugly, like a petulant child’s. “Even after all I have accomplished, one little thing comes up and he thinks that he needs to come to the rescue.”

              “He's your dad,” said Barry. “He cares about you.”

              “I know,” she said, slowing her pace. “Maybe I'm being an idiot. But it just makes me angry that he won't listen to what I have to say. Once he has his mind made up, there is no arguing with him.”

              “True that,” said Barry, lighting a cigarette.

              Her car was nestled between two of the dormant limousines, and she and Barry slid into the dark, leather seats. He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine purred to life. Alex opened her window, pulling the pins from her hair and letting the wind blow through it, causing it to whip around her face. The situation with her father had pumped her blood full of adrenaline, and the cool air blasting the skin of her face felt wonderful.

              “So,” Barry said, taking a drag on the cigarette and handing it over to her when she beckoned for it. “Off to your house?”

              “I'm so awake,” she said, “and I look fantastic. I don't want to go home just yet.”

              “You don't?” he said, chuckling. “Where do you want to go?”

              “I don't know,” she said. “I want fun. I want adventure. I want more booze.”

              “I got an idea,” he said, pulling out onto the main road and gunning the engine. They flew along the darkened highway, heading for the expressway that would take them downtown. As they crossed over the river, the lights of the city spread out before them, glittering brightly, a bright silhouette against the stark expanse of the night sky.

              Alex relaxed into the plush seat, putting her bare feet up on the dash, the wind blowing gently across her face as she watched the world fly by her open window. The radio played a haunting melody, a woman's voice, cooing words of love gone wrong, over the thudding beat of a broken heart.

              Barry took the freeway exit, slowing to a crawl among the busy traffic of the downtown streets. The sidewalks were crowded with people. Couples, arm in arm, dressed for an evening together, strolled past, oblivious to the homeless street kids resting in groups against the feet of skyscrapers near the town square. The doors to bars were thrown open to the night air, the raucous sounds of laughter and loud music spilling out onto the streets, beckoning for others to come in and join the fun. A group of women stood, waiting at a cross street for the light to permit them to walk, laughing and poking fun, centered around one woman who was wearing a crown, as if she had won the pageant. She must be getting married soon, thought Alex, and was out with her girlfriends, celebrating the last bit of crazy freedom before settling down.

              “Where are we going?” she asked, sitting up in her seat and realizing that she had never been to this part of town. She didn't recognize any of the streets or buildings that they were passing.

              “I know this club,” he said. “It's super fun, and the drinks are stiff.” Turning a corner, he pulled into a parking space and parked, turning off the car. Alex tossed her door open, reluctantly lifting her heels off the floorboards. She looked at them with disgust, not wanting to put her poor feet back into them.

              “Fuck it,” she said, leaning into the back seat, reaching back and extracting a pair of flip flops that she had chucked back there after a day at the beach with her girlfriends a few weeks ago. She didn't care what anyone thought of her, and she wasn't interested in spending any more time in the shoes that her mother had picked out for her.

              “Nice,” Barry said, chuckling, as she stepped up next to him on the sidewalk. Her pink sandals stood out in contrast to the luxurious black gown that she was wearing.

              “Don't care,” she said. “Lead on.”

              Barry hooked his arm around hers, and they walked side by side down the block, the night air still warm, caressing her bare skin as they made their way a few streets over. Alex could hear the music before they saw the club. A heavy beat vibrated through her, a sweet melody already giving her the urge to dance. The building was old, the paint peeling and many of the lights in the marquee burnt out, but a row of rainbow neon lit up the air around the building, giving it an air of celebration. A round man in a white tuxedo sat at the door, large sunglasses covering his eyes beneath a broad-brimmed white fedora.

              “Hey, Tito,” said Barry, leaning over to hug the large man.

              “Barry,” said the bouncer, smiling broadly, a mouth full of gold teeth surprising Alex for a moment. She had never seen anything like him. She was overwhelmed with an urge to photograph him, to put this image, this man, to print. She wished she had brought one of her cameras from the car.

              “This is Alex,” said Barry, introducing her to Tito. She reached out to shake his hand, and he offered her a long-fingered hand, adorned with many glittering rings, the nails of which were lacquered in ruby red polish.

              “Honored,” said Tito, smiling coyly as Alex took his hand.

              “Nice to meet you,” said Alex, a little astounded.

              “Go on in, you two,” said Tito, lifting the rope covering the entrance, allowing them into the belly of the club.

              The air was thick inside the club, heavy and pungent with sweat and the sweet smell of incense. Thunderous music rendered speech nearly impossible, and Barry led Alex through the dark maze by her hand, pulling her through the crowds to a quieter area of the bar, where he found them a table in the corner and slid into a chair. Alex sat down, her eyes constantly moving around the place. Neon and laser lights danced everywhere that she could see, keeping time with the music. Every free space was filled with people dancing, young men in jeans and t-shirts, young women in skimpy dresses and ridiculous shoes. On a stage at the front of the club, a group of women were dancing, showcasing themselves to the audience, mockingly squeezing their breasts or showing their panties to the crowd.

              “What's with the chicks on the stage?” Alex hollered over to Barry, who, even only a few feet away, practically had to read her lips to understand what she was saying.

              “Drag queens!” he replied, laughing loudly at her shocked expression. At first glance she had assumed that they were women. The dresses and high-heeled shoes, the lavish makeup and hairstyles. But now, when she took a closer look, she was able to see it: the broad shoulders, the Adam’s apples, the five o’clock shadow on the darker of the “ladies.” When one of them lifted her skirt to show her panties to the audience, Alex could make out the telltale bulge of a man's genitals tucked under the satin.

              “Gay bar?” she said, not shouting this time, but sure that Barry would be able to make out what she was saying by reading her lips.

              “Yup,” he said, waving his hand to catch the attention of a waiter nearby. “Problem?”

              She thought about it, glancing around again at the men and women, moving their bodies to the music, sipping at brightly colored cocktails, laughing hysterically. Everybody seemed to be having a great time, men and women alike. Nope, she thought, she didn't care what kind of club this was. It seemed to be an awesome place to be on a Saturday night.

              “Girl,” said the waiter when he approached their table, “your dress is amazing. Is it Vera?”

              “Oh,” said Alex, embarrassed at such a compliment from a complete stranger. “I don't know.”

              “What do you mean, you don't know?” demanded the waiter. “Who tramps about in a Vera and doesn't know? Barry, where did you find this girl?”

              “She's the boss's kid,” said Barry, chuckling.

              “Oh,” said the waiter, “those folks up on the hill. Aren't you some sort of bigshot photographer now?”

              Alex's face reddened. These people recognized her, knew her work. “Yeah,” she said, pride welling up in her chest. “Yeah, I am.”

              “Well, girl,” said the waiter, resting his hand on his hip, “I dig your dress, and you can take my picture anytime. What are we drinking?”

              Barry ordered drinks for them, and Alex relaxed into the chair, watching the pile of grinding bodies on the dance floor. She ached to be out there, moving with the rest of them, letting herself go, being that free. A moment later, a multicolored beverage with a long pink straw was placed before her, and she popped the straw between her lips and sucked deeply. A mouthful of sweet liquor flooded her tongue, warming her throat and belly as she swallowed it.

              “Yum,” she said to Barry, who was smiling at her as she downed half of the drink.

              “Easy, tiger,” he said, sipping at his own drink. “That thing has quite the kick. It's dangerous.”

              “Again, Barry,” she laughed, sucking down the rest of the drink. “I'm a big girl.”

              She stood, steadying herself against the table for a moment, her head swimming as the alcohol took hold. The dance floor was beckoning, the music calling for her with its sweet, caressing melody. She wanted to move, she wanted to sweat, wanted to be part of the roiling beast of bodies in this place. She slid into the crowd, wedging herself between people until she was at the very heart of the group, weaving back and forth, her arms thrown high into the air, her body swaying with the rhythm and heavily thudding beat. It was wonderful.

              She danced, and danced, letting her body be taken by the music, moved by the sound. Turning, she opened her eyes, her gaze blurred by the flashing of the lights and the alcohol flowing through her bloodstream, and spotted a man on the outskirts of the dance floor, seated on a barstool at a table alone, sipping at a frosted pint of beer. He was watching her, a hungry smile on his face, and Alex turned, swaying her hips, giving him a chance to feast on the flawless skin of her back, glowing now with the sweat of pleasurable exertion.

              She looked back at him, and he was still watching her. He was delicious. Tall and broad-shouldered with a narrow waist and hips, the well-defined muscles of his arms and torso visible through the tight black t-shirt that he was wearing. His hair was tousled, short, and dark, and she hungered to run her fingers through it as he purred in her arms.

              Too bad, she thought, that he most likely preferred the company of other men, for she would love to take him home and let him have his way with her. She had been so busy with work for the last few months that she hadn't had a chance to even think about a love life, and the sexual side of her had been ignored for entirely too long. She didn't know if it was the cocktails, or the dancing, or just this place, but now her beast was fully awake, and famished, and this lovely man who was smiling at her, he looked like a proper feast.

              She stalked him, as if prey. She moved for him, offering her body like a sacrifice, watching the blaze in his eyes as she danced. Each step, each turn brought her closer to him, and his eyes stayed on her each moment, even as he lifted his glass to his lips, cooling his heat with the chilled beverage before him. She made her way to the edge of the fray, dancing mere feet from him, and smiled wryly as she felt the sweat from her neck trail its way down her chest and slither between her breasts.

              “Hi,” she said, resting her hand on the edge of his table. What was she doing? Her senses were screaming. She had never been the type of girl who would go up to a man at a bar and proposition him. But then again, she had never been the girl who would go dancing at a gay bar on a Saturday night either, so maybe things had changed. Anyway, a part of her wanted him, badly, and she would never know if he was attainable if she never asked.

              “Hi,” he said, sipping again at his beverage. “Nice dress.”

              “Thanks,” she said, running her hands along her stomach, feeling the silken fabric cling to her damp skin. “My name's Alex,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table between them, displaying her breasts for him to glance at.

              “Rick,” he said, offering his hand.

              A handshake, she thought, weird. She took his hand, enjoying the warmth of his skin against hers. She slipped her other hand into his, petting the back of his hand with her fingertips, and smiled coyly at him from beneath her long eyelashes.

              “Care if I sit with you?” she asked, sliding onto the barstool next to him before he could answer, resting her thigh against his.

              “I…” He hesitated, surprised at her boldness. “I guess not.”

              The waiter approached, setting another of the colorful cocktails in front of her. She looked over at the table that she had been sitting at with Barry, and he was grinning widely at her. He gave her the thumbs up, mouthing the word “yummy” at her and gesturing toward the guy that she was sitting with. Barry himself had acquired a table full of friends, all laughing and sharing drinks together, pointing and gesturing as they talked among themselves.