1. Enzo #2
She nods, rubbing one arm as if she’s cold. “I’m fine.” She’s short, five-two maybe, if that, with pale skin and huge dark eyes that remind me of those Margaret Keane paintings from the 1960s, of kids with wide innocent eyes.
“What the fuck!” The asshole is still talking. “You accusing me of assaulting her now? Anyone else see me touch her?” His voice has risen a notch, like a politician, vocal in getting his sycophants on board with his narrative.
The rest of his group simply shrug and shake their heads. A couple murmur, “Nah, didn’t see a thing.”
And this is what tips me over the edge, the assholes at the bottom of the shit pile, balancing the loudest asshole on their shoulders.
I don’t even try to talk myself out of it. I swing my right arm in his direction, taking great pleasure from the look of sheer surprise in the douche’s eyes when he realizes I’m not intimidated by him and his nodding-dog pals, who all choose this moment to take a step backwards.
But before my fist can collide with his jaw, strong hands grab my arm and skew the momentum.
Andy.
“I’ve got this.” He’s stronger than he looks, gripping my arm tightly. “Go sit back down.” It isn’t an order, but there’s no room for me to protest.
I nod once, glance at the young woman, who gives me a small smile of thanks. I turn back to the bar as the asshole pipes up, “Do as you’re told, there’s a good boy.”
Anger flares inside my chest. I barely even register his face through the red mist before Andy’s fist follows through on my original intention. The crack of knuckles against jaw bounces around inside my skull. The asshole sprawls backwards, and this time, no one catches him.
It takes him a couple of beats to blink the room back into focus. Then he scrambles onto his feet, rubbing his face, trying and failing to blink back tears.
“You can’t—”
“Out!” Andy grips his arm and marches him towards the door.
“I’m calling the cops. You punched me. I have witnesses.” The slimeball tries to wrench himself free to no avail.
“Go right ahead.” Andy’s voice is calm and steady. “I’m sure they’ll be interested to hear that you assaulted one of my customers, and rest assured that I will have more witnesses than you.”
Someone opens the door, and Andy shoves the guy outside where he sprawls forward across the sidewalk barely missing a passing pedestrian. “My jacket—”
The door closes behind him.
“Finish your drinks and leave,” Andy warns the guy’s friends as he walks back to the counter. “You’re all barred.”
They don’t protest. One downs his beer and slams the empty glass onto a table. The others grab their jackets and head straight outside, shooting glances at Andy’s back but keeping silent.
I go back to my seat at the bar and down the drink I’d hardly touched before the douche caused a scene. Gina isn’t there. Maybe she left while I was wearing my superhero cape. She was good company even if I hadn’t come here looking for any.
“Hey.” Another woman slides onto the stool Gina vacated and smiles at me. She’s blonde too, but that’s where the similarities end. Where Gina was natural, this woman is groomed and glossed to perfection. “I saw what you did back there.”
Time for me to leave.
I signal for Andy to bring my check, as a voice whispers in my ear from behind me: “I know what you’re looking for.”
Goose bumps pop on my arms and the back of my neck from her breath.
Demi?
I turn around, but she’s already walking away, heading towards the restrooms at the rear of the building.
Heart thumping, I half-fall from my stool and stumble after her.
People move out of my way again, their faces blurring into one, but this time they’re avoiding me in case I crash into them.
Through the doorway and into the dimly lit corridor, all I can hear is the voice whispered in my ear, “I know what you’re looking for.
” All I can smell is Demi’s perfume, light with a hint of musk.
How did she find me?
Has she been following me around all this time, one step behind me while I was looking in the other direction?
Why speak to me now?
The corridor is empty. I lean against the wall, my thoughts spinning and my heart racing, and it occurs to me that Gina must’ve slipped drugs into my drink while I was preoccupied elsewhere.
I fell for the classic trick: attractive woman pretends she isn’t interested, gains your trust, and the rest is easy.
I take a deep breath and start counting, as the exit door at the opposite end of the corridor clicks shut.
I didn’t imagine it. She was real.
Faster, I dodge a guy leaving the men’s restroom, my shoulder brushing the wall on the other side. I can’t let her get away. Not when she’s so close.
Yanking open the door, it bounces on its hinges as I step outside into the cool night air. The backyard is small, unlit, overgrown with nettles and knee-high weeds, two mini dumpsters pushed up against the back wall.
I trip over a metal container half-blocking the path, my footsteps heavy as I regain my balance. The yard is surrounded by a high wall with a rusty metal gate that wouldn’t deter a kitten, and beyond that, a narrow walkway separating this from the backyards of the premises on the next street.
There’s no sign of Demi.
If it was even her.
I stare left and right and wait for my pulse to regulate. Demi has avoided me for the last twelve months; if she wanted to be found, she would ride the private elevator up to my penthouse apartment and say, “I’m back. Did you miss me?”
I know her. That’s the fucking problem. I know her better than I know myself sometimes.
After talking to Gina, I heard what I wanted to hear.
I wanted someone to tell me that Demi is safe, even if she doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.
No one slipped drugs into my brandy. I’m still lucid, even standing outside in the cool night air, I know exactly where I am and how close I came to making a fool of myself by following a stranger.
This was all my own doing. The conversation stirred up feelings I’ve fought so hard to suppress, and I manifested Demi’s voice in my head.
“First sign of madness,” I mutter under my breath. “Talking to yourself.”
I turn around and head back towards the bar. I’ve still got a check to settle.
Something small and white on the back step catches my eye and I stop to pick it up. It’s a business card. I didn’t notice it on my way out, but I guess I wasn’t paying attention.
Written on the front of the card in shiny green font is the name and address of a club in Tribeca. JADED. On the back of the card, it says simply: Where fantasies come true.