Throb Page 4

  It was stupid. Why did Keanne have to lie? Why couldn’t he just say, Hey Becca, I’ve missed you, let’s catch up? Why did everything have to be wrapped in a lie or something fake? That was the one thing I hated about this part of Los Angeles, the part filled with glitz and glamour. It wasn’t “real”. It wasn’t really real, like the world I’d come from.

  Keanne was from fucking Canada. Although he decided he was a rapper and a hip hop artist, he wasn’t exactly as “Legit” as his song, “The Legit Prodigy” claimed. He had never lived on the streets or couch surfed like people I’d known in high school had to do. He’d never had to make a choice to do something like sell drugs or his body to make end’s meets even though he was morally against it, like a lot of girls from back home had to. I knew how blessed I’d been, living in Compton with two parents who had worked so hard to give me an education, who had been so proud the day that I’d gotten not only my acceptance to University of California, Beverly Hills, but scholarships to cover the bulk of it, with loans for the rest, and who continued to be proud of me. What would they think if I brought a guy like Keanne home, who thought that because of the color of his skin, he had some claim to the narrative of streets he’d only been driven through in limos, whose feet had never even touched our same ground, not to mention walk our paths?

  I wasn’t about to pretend that Jason was any different. There was still so much I knew about Jason, but what I did know didn’t surprise me: that he was doing his “own thing” between his undergraduate and graduate degrees, that although he made a good amount at Club Grit, somebody else was bankrolling his fancy apartment, and that although he’d gone to fancy boarding schools on the East Coast, and that he tried to hide that from most people, that he sometimes came across as a “rich boy” nonetheless.

  The difference was, Jason never pretended to understand, the way Keanne did, and Jason never pretended we’d had the same life, the same struggles.

  When we got to Club Grit, Kim had some problems getting us into the club, but once we got in, there was a cocktail waitress with a plate of drinks who led us to the VIP area.

  “We didn’t order these,” said Kim warily. She wasn’t about to let the sorority get charged for something they didn’t purchase.

  “They’re on the house, courtesy of Jason,” said the blonde in the black dress, nodding her head to the bar. Jason was waving, obviously at me, and I blushed. The other girls giggled as they grabbed at the shots. Someone took two and Kim swatted at their hand.

  “Don’t be a fucking pig,” she said. “There’s one for each of us, and you wouldn’t even have them if Becca wasn’t friends with Jason. She hasn’t even got a shot.” The pledge put one of the shots down, but Kim glared until she put back the second too, and she still put a red dot by the pledge’s name, along with a furious scribble. She wasn’t in the mood to fuck around.

  I took a shot and downed it as I walked down the stairs, keeping the empty glass in my hand until I reached the bar. The shot was so weird: there was red maraschino juice at the bottom, a white coconut Jell-o in the middle, and on top, Blue Curacao. It seemed early for Independence Day themed shots, but I wasn’t about to look a free drink in the mouth, not that I ever had to pay when Jason was on duty. I still tipped him pretty generously.

  I reached the bar and passed the empty shot glass across the bar. “You know, if you leave the empties on the plate, your waitress will bring them down,” teased Jason, turning to me as he made a drink for someone else.

  “Maybe I wanted an excuse to come down here, but, if you insist, I can go back up to the VIP,” I said slyly, but instead, I popped a single into the tip jar which wasn’t as full as it would get by the end of night, filled with hundred dollar bills from ballers and baller wannabes.

  “What can I get you tonight, Miss Becca?” he asked. “The Freeloader Special?”

  “You know me too well, hit me up,” I said. ‘The Freeloader Special’ was the joking name for Jason’s list of secret recipes, ones that weren’t released to the public yet. He tested his drinks on me so I could give him some good, constructive criticism. I got to get drunk for free and he got honest feedback, there wasn’t anything better. “By the way, those shots were tasty.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yeah, really. You might want to make all three layers out of Jell-o, though. I know it looked cool but some of the top layer spilled onto the platter. Plus, it felt kind of weird in my mouth like one of those Gusher gummy things.”

  “I’m surprised to hear you, of all people, complaining about Gushers,” said Jason wickedly, a gleam in his eye perceptible even in the crazy lighting of the bar. The LED strip lighting was a deep blue tonight, and the fact he could work in those conditions was crazy. I always needed good lighting when I worked and his apartment was so well lit in contrast to Club Grit.

  I watched as Jason spun bottles and shakers, impressing people at the bar as well as on the dance floor, luring them in like an angler fish. I knew he’d practiced, he’d told me how hard he worked before shifts with barware coated in electrical tape, tossing and twirling the items as if he worked in a circus instead of the “food” industry, being careful not to drop them, even though that’s what the tape was for: if a bottle or pitcher or anything hit the ground, and it was wrapped in tape, the shards were held together by the tape and didn’t make a mess.

  However, as Jason worked, with actual glass bottles of expensive liquors, there was no failsafe, no safeguard, nothing to stop the items from crushing and slicing open his toes if he made the wrong move. I winced just thinking about it, as I watched him pour me a drink which I couldn’t see well in the light, at least, until he pressed a bottom on the bottom of the glass, which he screwed a lid onto.

  “Woah, what is this?” Jason had taken a reusable black plastic cup, with a built in straw, and put in what looked like a burnt umber slush. The cup had multiple walls so it looked like a skull. How could I tell in the dark? The bottom of the cup lit up the rest, with red LEDs kept separate from the beverage by a layer of plastic. The drink looked crazy, like something I’d get at a So Cal theme park’s bar, as a souvenir, but it also looked crazy delicious.

  “It’s early, it’s for the Halloween season, but I thought you might get a kick out of it anyway. It’s my take on a pumpkin spice latte. The syrup is from Torani and I made it like a daiquiri, with two shots of Kahlua, so take your time drinking it,” he warned. That was Jason: always protective. I knew he’d already tried this himself, he always did, but the fact he was looking out for me...it’s what complicated things. Guys didn’t look out for girls they were just meeting for quickies.

  But Jason also wasn’t my boyfriend.

  It wasn’t something I wanted to think about at Club Grit, so I took a sip of the beverage, which came up the straw slowly before melting on my tongue. It tasted just like an iced pumpkin spice latte, except even colder. SoCal was experiencing an early summer, and it was always even hotter in Club Grit, so I took a longer draw and then another and another.

  “Slow down,” warned Jason, but he was too late. I got a brain freeze and held my head. “Becca, I told you to be careful!”

  “You’re not my dad, Jason,” I slurred. I’d already had two shots worth of alcohol and I’d only been in Club Grit for about thirty minutes. Jason pulled the rest of the half-filled cup away and put it below the bar station before pouring me a glass of water.

  “Here. Have this, and some peanuts. It was stupid adding that much Kahlua, in a drink that’s already so sweet. I’m sorry, Becca. We can try again later, if you want, but that was too much alcohol for you, too fast,” he insisted, but I only took a sip of the water before getting up from the bar.

  “I’ll see you, Jason,” I said, my voice still too slick from the alcohol, before I headed up to the VIP. Nobody there would tell me I’d had too much.

  “Wait,” he said, but I was already gone, staggering up the stairs to the VIP. Thank God the stairs were covered in red carpeting, it m
ade walking up the stairs in my heels so much easier. Although my UNIF Vapors had a thick Lucite heel, with a gradient from black at the top to glass clear at the bottom, and the tread on the bottom of the front platform made them easy to walk in, I was still feeling pretty lightheaded from having so much to drink so quickly. I hadn’t had time to grab a meal between the time at the salon and the time we got to Club Grit, instead worrying about what sort of outfit to pick, but right now, I found myself regretting that. Choosing the right black bandage body con dress seemed a lot less important than having grabbed at least an apple on the way out.

  “Back so soon?” teased Sam as I got to the VIP.

  “Ugh, I don’t want to talk about it, just pass me a flute,” I said, reaching as she passed me a thin, tall glass filled with champagne, with a strawberry at the bottom. My head was starting to throb but it didn’t matter. I just wanted to get thoughts of Jason out of my head. Things had gotten so complicated and talking to the girl about it hadn’t helped at the spa.

  Instead, I sat on the other side of Kim, who was looking out and over the pledges, making marks on her clipboard carefully, designating which girls had done well and which were just done. Although I was social chair, Kim was the one who made notes about all the pledges so that, when the older sisters met, we could figure out who was ready for life in the sorority as a full-fledged member, and who wasn’t.

  This year, I didn’t have a little. I didn’t have time this year, and I knew I wouldn’t next year.

  But what Kim and I had never talked about was the fact that, because she was the one responsible for my Little from last year not being allowed to become a member of the sorority, the two of us were no longer as close as we’d been before, years ago.

  Janet, the girl I’d taken under my wing, was wild and brash, from New York City, and she’d been a lot like Emma was this year, Sam’s Little who was wild and out of control, except unlike Emma, Janet didn’t have a black card to act as a carte blanche: she had a free spirit, a wild side that I couldn’t tame, and she never really bonded with any of the other members of the sorority.

  That’s why, when Kim went over the list of pledges during the deliberation of the Bigs, and she mentioned that Janet was one of the worst pledges that year, I hadn’t been able to argue for her. Kim was right: Janet wasn’t sorority material, and it wasn’t personal.

  That was the problem: it wasn’t personal.

  Nothing she ever did was.

  Sam and I knew it, that Emma had many checks by her name, denoting good things, but she had far more negative marks, x’s by her name, and it was always like that. She’d pick up the tab (check) and then get drunk and throw up in the bathroom (x). She’d pay at the salon (check) and then she’d start drama with another pledge about how their Chanel purse was a knockoff and not real like hers (x). She was constantly doing this to herself, and we couldn’t have someone that volatile in the sorority. The money didn’t make up for it.

  Speak of the devil: Emma walked up the stairs with the boy toy bouncer from the night before and chatted with Kim and Sam, but I still kept looking out at the dance floor, and sneaking glances at Jason. I felt a buzz and opened my purse: it was my phone. I had another text from Keanne, even though I hadn’t answered the last two. I didn’t need to deal with that.

  Instead, I joined the conversation with Emma and the bouncer. “So, where are you two going on your first date?” I asked, looking up from my phone and sipping at the champagne flute instead. I needed a drink if I was going to deal with Jason and Keanne tonight.

  “Our first date?” asked Emma. Her sexy boy toy moved closer to her and wrapped his arm around her. She had a good eye for guys, but the bouncer wasn’t my type. He was sexy, just not the kind of sexy I usually went for, shorter than Jason but with thicker arms, entwined in tattoos.

  “Yeah, you two have to go somewhere,” I insisted. “But your schedule is booked through the week. We have a lot of socials this next week on campus so you can’t come to the club after this weekend, at least for a while. You’re going to have to start doing more activities with the other frosh. A day date would probably be best.” I was blabbering, but didn’t care. I didn’t have a Little this year, and would likely not have anyone to mentor for a while, so it was understandable that I’d treat Emma like she was my Little, in these small ways. I did this with the other freshman too but they weren’t like Emma, in terms of needing more guidance.

  “Coffee,” said the man beside the pledge.

  “What?” said Emma.

  “There’s a Starbucks around here, right?” he asked.

  “There’s a Starbucks everywhere,” said Kim, rolling her eyes. I lightly pushed her shoulder against Kim’s. As always, I was the only person that Kim would take that shit from and I pushed that limit all the time. Kim needed to lighten up, there was more to life than the pledges. She needed to worry more about herself and her own rather lackluster love life.

  “Starbucks is great, she’ll be there,” I said with a hiccup. The champagne was already getting to my head.

  “Great, should we go dance more, babe? I can fit in one more song on my break,” asked the bouncer, looking into Emma’s eyes. I never thought the two would really make a good couple, but I’d been wrong about that before. I wasn’t one to talk, given my situation, but if it worked for them, it didn’t matter.

  Before they’d even reached the bottom of the stairs, a cocktail waitress came up the stairs, with a small bowl, with two sides. One side was filled with strawberry slices on toothpicks, the other, with whipped cream. “For Becca, from Jason,” she said, passing me the bowl and heading back down.

  Jason knew me too well. He wanted to help me sober up and knew my favorite food was strawberries and cream, so he’d sent them as a peace offering. It worked. I looked down at the bar, and he waved.

  “Girls...don’t wait up,” I said, getting up from the VIP area once I’d eaten, and heading back down to the bar.

  Chapter Four:

  I GOT TO THE BAR BUT JASON WAS ALREADY GONE. I was about to ask one of the other bartenders where he’d gone when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and of course, there was Jason.

  “You ready to head out?” he asked.

  “What? But it’s early,” I said. “It’s barely midnight.”

  “Yeah, well, I had a short shift tonight. I wanted to spend more time with you. If you want, we can stay here, but if you’d prefer to go back to my place...”

  “Your place. Definitely your place,” I said. “All the Omega Mu stuff tonight...it’s all drama, no fun.”

  “Becca wants something fun, eh?” he teased. “Then I’ll make sure and show you a good time.”

  “You always do,” I teased, as we walked outside. I was steadier with food in my stomach and although I was still slightly tipsy from having champagne, it wasn’t like it was the other night, where I needed Jason to steady me. I still liked the fact he insisted on letting me wear his large burgundy v neck sweater over my dress as we waited for the cab.

  When we got back to his place, Jason turned on his PlayStation 3 and loaded up Dragon’s Crown as he moved the light coffee table to the side so that we could sit on couch pillows on the carpet. Nobody at the sorority knew but I really loved video games, and most of the frat guys, who played Call of Duty or Halo, weren’t the kind of gamers I got along with well. It always turned into a dick measuring contest over stuff like killing stats. The other guys at college that were into the kinds of games I liked tended to be weird and awkward and decided I was a “fake nerd girl” based on what I wore and the fact I was in a sorority, so being able to play with Jason was really a lot of fun.

  “Do you want to slip out of that?” asked Jason as I tried to adjust my skirt so that I wasn’t showing too much skin as I sat, but only managing to look awkward.

  “I don’t have anything else to wear, unless you mean...”

  “Oh, no, I meant do you want to get more comfortable? I have a tank and pajama bottoms in my
room for you, if you want,” he said. Usually, I was either in my clubbing clothes or naked with Jason. I hadn’t borrowed his clothes before. I headed into the bedroom. Sure enough, there was a jet black ribbed tank top and a pair of dark blue plaid pajama bottoms. I lifted the clothes up to my face and inhaled. They weren’t just clean, they were new. I slipped them on and put my other clothes in a pile.

  I went to the bathroom to see how I looked. The straps of the tank top fell on my mocha shoulders loosely, shoulders with freckles just like the ones across my face, before the fabric tightened over my generous bust. The pajama bottoms fell to my hips, even at their tightest, and I redid my hair so it was in a loose ponytail. Most of my eye makeup had flaked away so I removed the rest with Jason’s face wash, which smelled musky and metallic like most men’s products, but I didn’t care. I looked back up at my clean face and saw someone I rarely saw around others: me, Becca. Becca, without the fancy clothes. Becca, without the caked on makeup. Becca, without the masks, without the shields. I was just Becca again.

  Inside the medicine cabinet was my toothbrush, the one that he’d started leaving for me a month into our “arrangement”. Right now, that was the last thing I wanted to see: a reminder that things between us were getting complicated, and it was something I had to confront. I went back to the living room without brushing my teeth and I picked up a controller. Jason started the game and we were well into the dungeon before I brought up the topic.

  “Jason, about the other night...” I said, moving the dwarf character to kill a beast. I always played as the ugliest male characters I could find, as a novelty, at first, but soon, my gaming style developed so that I always played fighter characters and tanks.

  “Yeah?” Jason moved the purple female character, raising minions from the dead as her breasts bounced up and down comically on the screen. The sorceress was ridiculous, feeding skeletons with breast milk, but Jason insisted he liked the game for its art style. Right.