Chapter 1 #2
"Girl." She stabs her index finger toward me before I can say anything, signature bright red lipstick and wild black curls on full display.
"Don't, Elodie. I can see it in your face.
You are coming to my bachelorette party tonight.
No excuses! “She’s been a fixture in my life, a steady structure that has given me most of the wildness I'm allowed — mostly when my parents aren't watching.
"I'm just—" I start, stammering, trying not to look at her narrowing eyes. How does she always know?
"Uh-uh." She cuts me off. "No. No, no, no, no, no. You're coming. We are picking you up at seven-thirty. Be ready, and I want you to wear something scandalous. Do you hear me? Nothing gray."
I scoff. "I thought we were getting manicures and pedicures and eating pizza."
"Well, I want us to at least dress like we're in Vegas. We can't go to Vegas, but we're gonna ride this ride like we're recreating The Hangover. You got me? Wear red. Something short and tight. Show off that body to the world in something other than leotards and tutus."
My pulse kicks up, my heart rapping against my rib cage.
When I get home tonight, Rye will be here, and what will he think if I come in late in a scandalous red dress?
My skin heats like his eyes are on me right now.
Would he look at me as something more than the sweet niece he’s spoiled his whole life?
Would he be tempted to do more than take me to a thrift store or let me eat fried rice when mom wasn’t watching?
Even if he did look, I’d know it was a false hope. Hope is not always a helpful emotion.
"Is she coming or not?" Jeremy, our other friend from grade school, chimes in from the background, bombing Anna from behind her head. "If you say not, I’m coming over there and dragging you out, and I’ll dress you myself. Because I have some ideas, sweetie pie—"
"I'm coming!" I turn on my signal and ease onto the interstate looking over my left shoulder at oncoming traffic. Jeremy does a Z-snap behind Anna’s head.
"You guys, fine.” I concede. “You got me. But I cannot eat pizza."
Guilt creeps up my throat as they both give me a pitiful look.
"Get me a salad. And Anna can bring me something to wear."
"Fine," they say in unison, both rolling their eyes.
“A slice of pizza once in a while won’t bring down the great house of McAllister you know,” Jeremy adds.
"Have you met my mother?” I smirk, accelerating as a buzz o excitement about the upcoming evening starts to prickle over my skin. “Dancing requires sacrifice. I have enough going on without pizza coming into play."
Anna's look softens. "How's your dad?"
I take a long moment, a semi zipping by on my left as I merge.
"He's okay,” I lie, more trying to convince myself than them.
The thought of my father secretly drinking these past few months, to the point where HR at the school told him it was either rehab or lose his job, is terrifying.
“Mom's on her way to him. It'll all turn out fine. "
I fill my lungs with a slow breath, knowing this whole situation puts even more pressure on me to be the perfect daughter. To not expose our dirty little secret — with Rye sleeping here, acting like my stand-in father for the next two weeks.
Anna hesitates, “Well, when you come out tonight, we are just going to forget all about that. This is about me and my last hurrah. “I’m all in.” I smile.
“But, I gotta drive. See you later.” I click off and grip the steering wheel with both hands, straightening my spine against the warm leather seat.
Anna’s my best friend and even though the idea of marriage at our age terrifies me, I'm here for her science experiment, however it ends up.
Wet shame gathers between my legs as Anna and Jeremy grill me about my uncle in the back of the limo.
"So, he's going to be staying with you, pretending to be your dad?
" Jeremy squints one eye nearly shut. "I mean, let me tell you, if that man was sleeping in the bedroom next to mine, I'd be climbing that tree. All night, every night. That man is fine. I mean, your dad looks just like him but there’s a hella difference between them. Talk about X factor. It’s all in the energy, ya know? And if he wanted me to call him Daddy, I’d be offboarding my load before I could get my fly open.
" He throws his head back on a literal howl sending Anna into a giggle fit.
“Jeremy!” I squeal with a snort.
Anna claps and urges him on with an encouraging nod as the limo moves smoothly down Main Street, all of us sporting matching fresh pink-to-black ombre fingernails and toenails. Jeremy included.
I do my best to hide my own clenching femininity and the shameful thoughts I keep having about the man who shares my father's face.
Though he's not actually my father. Scotch is my stepfather, yes, but he and my mother married when I was only four years old.
Since my own father passed away before I have any memory of him, Scotch has been my dad.
He's done a great job, and I love him. So why did he have to have an identical twin brother who, for some reason, turns my innards to hopeless girl goo?
"Where are we going for pizza?" I try to change the subject.
Anna is having none of it. "Look, let me get this straight. He has to pretend to be your dad because you have some big meeting with that horrible Sophia and the even more horrible, what's his name, that director? Mikhail Baryshnikov?"
"He's not Mikhail Baryshnikov." I sigh. "Alexander Patrykov. One of the best company directors the Ford Center has had in a three decades. So making the cut for the trial residency would really be a boost for our family."
Jeremy rolls his eyes. "It's always about them. What about you, girl? Do you want to do this?"
I nod, my defensive walls rising when it comes to my family. "Yes. It's what I want. It's what I've trained for since I was four years old."
Anna waves her hands, reaching for the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket then bringing it to her lips, taking a long pull before handing it to Jeremy, who does the same.
They don't bother offering it to me because they know I have a hard no-alcohol rule. Not because of my father, it's just that I've watched dancers take their entire careers down trying to trade food for alcohol. It's not pretty, and it never gets them what they want.
Besides, with a father named Scotch and his identical brother named Rye, there's already enough alcohol in our family.
"Alright, so where are we going for pizza?" I try again, tugging at the hem of the scandalously short red tube dress with two shoestring straps that Anna brought for me. She knows me well enough to know I wouldn’t refuse her tonight.
At least she didn’t let Jeremy choose. The hem barely covers my ass but if Jeremy had his way, I’d be in something worthy of a BDSM advertisement in the back of the Metro Times.
They exchange a long look that makes something cynical curl inside me.
"Well, don’t freak out." Jeremy leans back in his seat, legs spread, knees beginning to jiggle. His red leather pants and black tank top should have been a clue that maybe this mani, pedi, pizza outing is not what I imagined. "You're going to love it. Don’t worry, I’m sure they have salad."
"You guys.” I groan, looking at the LED lights blinking on the ceiling of the limo before lowering my eyes back to my friends with a scowl. “Spill it. Where are we going for pizza?"
Anna tightens her smile into a shrug. "It's a new place," she says, too innocently, eyebrows bobbing. "It's called Club Echo."
She slaps her hands over her face just as Jeremy starts clapping.
"What is Club Echo?" I half-yell, turning to watch the scenery zipping by outside. We're heading down Woodward where the buildings are becoming less lit up and more abandoned. This is not a casual pizza joint part of town.
"You'll love it, girl. You'll love it." Anna makes prayer hands in front of her chest. "It's my bachelorette party. Just do this for me. Everything's going to be okay. We have a safe ride home. I just wanted to do something crazy tonight. It'll be great."
“So, no pizza?” I shake my head, squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them again, the limo is pulling up in front of a black cinder block building with a black door and an extended gold awning entryway lined with red lights.
"Is this a freaking brothel?" I throw myself back in my seat. The six-inch black patent leather pumps Anna insisted I wear are, annoyingly, more comfortable than my pointe shoes.
Wherever this is, it's somewhere I should not be.
“No.” Jeremy smirks. “Not a brothel. Better.” He reaches across the open area between him and Anna, holding his palm out and she smiles and smacks his hand in a high five.
As the limo rolls to a stop, the driver is out and around to the door before any of us move. The three of us sit in a staring contest.
"I'm going to kill both of you," I mutter, but the hammering of my heart is not anger.
It’s excitement.
Wherever we are, I have no choice in the matter. Plausible deniability, I think they call it.
The chauffeur swings open the back door. Jeremy launches himself out into the night air and extends both hands back inside. One for me, one for Anna.
"Come on, girls. It's time to get our freak on."