Dee’s apartment was decorated simply, with just enough furniture to accommodate her, not enough to invite others in. Her couch was large enough to sleep on, and there were linens folded neatly on one side of it, so likely she had people crash here pretty often, but they didn’t stay to chat. There were groupings of candles on open surfaces, and everything was free of clutter.
All this, Joel barely noticed as his eyes were set squarely on her. She walked backwards, leading him by the wrist through the apartment. Her bedroom was all black and beige, with a hint of blood red on the curtains, a plush blanket at the foot of her bed, on the bureau in the form of a blooming coffee plant. Through the window Joel could see nothing but sky, and he left the shades open and turned on no lamps, wanting to see her in natural light. She sat on the end of the bed and he kissed her again, his hands roaming this time, slowly, beneath her scrub top, against her smooth skin. She reacted to his touches with counter-actions, arching to him, grinding against him, pulling him closer.
She crawled back on her back as he moved with her, on his hands and knees, until her head rested comfortably on the pillow. His hands gripped the edge of her shirt and he pulled it up over her head, revealing her. Dee had tattoos of peace swallows on her lower stomach, swooping just below her belly button, resting just above the edge of her pants. They were a new-school design, all in black-style. “Nice,” he breathed, touching them as he sat back on her hips.
“You should see the rest of me,” she commented as she unbuckled his belt and zipped it out of his pants.
He smirked slyly. “Yes, ma’am.”
Joel leaned down and devoured her head to toe, finding the ink on her back that formed an entire piece, reaching halfway down her buttocks. He wrapped her in his arms as he entered her, and he went slowly so she wouldn’t gasp. He had many times mistaken that gasp for pain, and it made his heart flutter every time. Dee simply arched toward him, burying her teeth in the soft flesh of his shoulder while she opened herself to him. She touched every line of tattoo on his body, kissed the spot over his heart he saved for someone special. And when they lay filmed in sweat, the sun falling over their skin to warm them, Joel realized they were still holding hands.
This from the man who thought holding hands was asinine and dumb.
They lay like that, breathing hard, not wanting to sever contact, staring at the blank ceiling for a few moments ... what seemed like a few moments but was probably longer.
Then Dee was on top of him, kissing his neck, his chest, down to his crotch. His fire renewed, he sat up a little to watch her. He placed his hand on the back of her head and reveled in her expertise. It wasn’t long before he threw his head back and called her name to the sky. She licked his belly button before she collapsed on top of him, her cheek against his chest, and they dozed.
Dee awoke first and rose, went to get them some water, walking around the apartment unabashedly nude. Joel surreptitiously watched her move. She was graceful, like a dancer. She returned with a Brita pitcher and two glasses and noticed he was awake. “Hello, there,” she murmured with a slight smile.
“Hi.” She sat down next to him and handed a glass to him. He put his head on her lap as she leaned against the head board. “I like your place,” he sighed. “I haven’t slept like that in ... in weeks probably.”
“You’re commenting on the sleep?” She raised an eyebrow as she took a gulp of water.
He rubbed her legs beneath the covers. “You’re amazing, Dee.”
She placed her hand affectionately on his head, stroking his hair. “So are you, Joel.”
Joel wandered back to the hotel a little before they were supposed to leave for the venue. “Christ, Joel, I called you like eighty times. Where the fuck were you?” Benji’s face was red and he gripped his brother’s arm tightly.
Joel looked lazily down at his brother’s hand and removed it, walking past him and into the room. He plucked a few grapes from a bowl of fruit and looked at himself in the mirror outside the bathroom. He looked perfect. His clothes were perfectly tousled, his cheeks perfectly ruddy, his hair perfectly awry. He didn’t want to wash the smell of her off his skin, so he decided to go as is. He smiled at himself. “Life’s good,” he said.
“Well that’s fucking great, Joel. I’m so super stoked you had an awesome, restful day while I had to take care of everything. Fuck you too.”
Joel turned and looked down into his brother’s face. Then he leaned forward and gave him a long hug. “You should take a walk. It soothes the soul.”
Benji stood stock still, not hugging back. “Are you high?”
“A little.”
“Let me see your pupils.” He stared into Joel’s eyes, seeing the same stare that confronted him every morning in the mirror. He frowned when he noticed no marked difference in dilation.
“I’m fine, Benj,” Joel sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“You smell like a girl.”
Joel grinned, that goofy grin that crinkled his eyes, and stuck his nose inside his shirt a moment. “Yeah.”
Felix, their drum tech knocked on the doorframe of the open door. “Load up,” he said, then walked away to knock on everyone else’s doors as well.
“You sly devil,” Benji laughed, pulling his brother to his feet and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Was she a star-fucker, or did she really dig you?”
The show went off without a hitch. Joel’s voice was particularly on point, despite the fact that he grinned through the first few songs. After he’d settled in, though, he picked out a few people in the front row to sing to, one on the left side of the stage, one middle, one right, and did his thing. Occasionally he looked up into the darkness and imagined the mass of humanity seething there. He was glad the bright lights shining into his eyes obscured them, as he could feel panic sitting idly in his belly, waiting for the chance to wreak havoc again.
Nerves. The one thing that could kill you on the road.
After the show, in the backstage area, all the guys were milling around, thinking of what to do next. Being in a teen-aimed band made your shows end very early. A stark difference from the old days, when playing a show at the 9:30 club took them well past midnight. Now it was 9:15 PM and there wasn’t a damn thing on the roster. “Let’s go to a strip club,” Benji said.
“Nice!” Paul replied and got a quick high five on it.
“I’m down,” Felix said. “You?” he looked at Billy.
“I usually like the music. Joel?”
Joel shrugged. “Why not.”
And it was set. As they walked down the sidewalk to their black van, Benji let them know where they were going. “I got this flyer today.” Benji showed it to them. It was an ad for Rock n’ Roll Runway. Every Friday night they had hipster chicks, rockabilly hoes and punk-rock princesses gracing the stage at Stampede Jim’s gentleman’s club. Piercings, tattoos and attitude guaranteed. “It’s like Suicide Girls in strip club form.”
As they got into the van and put on seatbelts the flyer was passed around. When Paul looked down at it and saw the picture of two tattooed girls in Catholic school girl outfits he said, “Dude, Benj, have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“Not lately enough,” Benji said. Paul laughed and leaned forward, grabbing Benji out of the front seat and kissing him repeatedly on the face. “Alright,” he spluttered, pushing the bassist away from him. “Alright.”
The drive was short, and the boys all bounded out, up to the front door where the bouncer immediately stepped aside and waved them in. “I called ahead,” Benji said.
“Good thinking,” Joel replied.
Inside the light was dim, but the stage was fully lit. Around them were men in suits, having gotten off work and come here to unwind. Joel looked around curiously, not sure why places like this generally creeped him out. Billy was riding in the same boat, walking carefully, trying not to touch anything. But this was, admittedly, one of the more up-scale clubs, a gentleman’s club, after all, as opposed to a strip a joint with a big neon sign that said “Live Nude Girls.” As though anyone would pay to see dead nude girls.
Well, maybe that guy. Joel brushed against the fat, balding man with intense eyes, who sat with his fists clenched in his lap, a drink forgotten and sweating on the table next to his elbow. He recoiled, running into Felix. “Whoa, dude,” Felix said. “Relax. You need a drink?”
“God, yes.”
Felix broke away from the group and went to the nearest waitress, pointing at his party as they found a table. He carefully went through which drinks to bring and when, made sure she had it right, then joined his friends sitting up front.
The DJ announced the next dancer named Felicia.
And out she came, wearing camouflage pants and an army green jacket. She walked out, and saluted the open air, then flung off her cap and swung her hair out. She threw off the jacket revealing a black, sequined bra underneath, along with a healthy smattering of colorful tattoos all along her upper body.
Benji was enraptured. He sat forward, his eyes wide. She came right up to the end of the stage and smiled at him, dropping her belt on his lap. He picked it up and pressed it to his cheek. It was still warm. Paul punched him in the arm. “Don’t be creepy, dude.”
“Sorry,” he murmured dreamily, barely audible over the pulsing music.
“Hey, look at that.” Paul gestured with his chin at the table next to them, where three girls sat. “Chicks come here.”
“Oh, man, that’s awesome,” Billy said, following their eyes. “Joel, Felix, look.”
All eyes were on the next table, even as Felicia took off her pants and danced in a black thong. Somehow, these normal, everyday women were more exciting than a woman who did this sort of thing for a living. “What do you think they’re here for?” Billy asked.
“To see the show. They’re hot lesbians,” Benji said.
“Maybe their friend is dancing and they’re showing support,” Billy suggested.
“Or they’re here to get off, just like the rest of us,” Paul murmured into his glass of water.
“Chicks are hot and great to look at,” Joel said. “If it’s a guy or girl watching, whatever. It’s undeniable. Chicks are just ... gorgeous.”
The whole party nodded, agreeing to that as the first round of drinks came: shots of tequila backed by rum and cokes. And for Benji, just a coke, with lemon. “Skoal, gentlemen,” Felix said, raising his shot glass. They downed their shots and sipped their drinks through straws.
“Next to the runway is our own little punk-rock nightmare: De-licious!” the DJ spouted, starting the next song, a remix of “Smack My Bitch Up” by Prodigy.
She walked out in a uniform as well, with black-framed glasses on her face, but none of them instantly recognized her outfit. She wore black pants, a button-down white shirt, a black tie and name tag. “What’s she supposed to be?” Felix asked, watching her walk down the runway in monster stilettos.
“I dunno and I don’t care,” Paul said in one breath.
She loosened her tie, revealing a little more of the milk-chocolate colored skin beneath her shirt. She was almost at the end of the runway, on a mission, face blank and stare empty. She tossed her tie onto the women’s table. All the guys looked over, mouths slack as the woman sitting more to the front stuffed it down her shirt.
Joel squinted up at the dancer, trying to undress her with his eyes before she did it herself. Trying to take away the blonde wig, the glasses, the collared shirt ... Something familiar there. Something.
“She’s a Mormon!” Billy exclaimed. “She’s dressed like a Mormon! The nametag’s a dead giveaway.”
“Aww, totally!” Paul said. “That’s fucking hilarious.”
Delicious tugged on the two sides of her shirt and it ripped open. She slid the shirt between her palms a few times before she discarded it. And Joel saw the peace swallow tattoos on her lower stomach. Dread froze ice-cold in his guts.
Dee discarded her pants next and danced in a red bra and red garter-belt and thong. The fishnets she wore were black, with a seam running down the back, into her black stiletto heels.
“I think I just died,” Benji said, staring up at Dee, not blinking, afraid he’d miss a second of it all. When she gripped the pole on the far side of the stage and swung around it, they all got a glimpse of the black-style tattoos covering her back. “Holy Christ, dude,” Benji exclaimed. “So awesome.”
“I think I’m gonna need the bathroom first tonight,” Paul said to Benji.
“You and me both.” Paul paused to look over at Benji after that comment. “Shut up, you know what I mean.”
“Oh, no,” Joel murmured, only to himself as he watched Dee gyrate toward their end of the runway, leaning down to retrieve her tie. The woman from the next table stood up and Dee reached into her shirt, pulling the tie out slowly as the woman shook her chest. In the end, Dee leaned down and kissed the woman firmly on the lips.
Joel looked down and away, to see Paul, Billy, Benji and Felix’s hands all gripping the edge of the table firmly while they watched. He felt sick. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” he said to Felix and stumbled away from the table without another word.