Cost Defective
“So go inside and dance.” Derek took a drag from his clove cigarette.
“Aren’t you even going to come keep an eye on me?” I didn’t want an overprotective boyfriend – I had been there, done that. But I wanted him to worry, at least a little. I wanted him to be bothered by other guys touching me.
“I trust you,” he said, smiling down at me, “go have fun.”
I took a step back and tried to read deeply into his expression. Derek wasn’t like anyone I had been with before. He was part of a counterculture I was fascinated by; one of piercings, tattoos, and indie rock music.
Most of his piercings had been removed by the time I met him. All that remained was a back-set tongue ring that I only discovered when we kissed for the first time. As for tattoos, thus far he had settled for one. It was a big, beautiful sketch of his family crest on his back. I was breath-taken when I saw it, tracing the lines with my finger.
“I’ve never dated a guy with a tattoo before,” I told him.
“I’ve never dated a girl without one,” he replied.
Reading into his expression was a waste of time. He maintained his cool, self-confident smile and knowing him only a couple of months, I could not tell what, if anything, was behind it. Was he resentful I had dragged him to this club – the kind of pop-trendy place he detested? Did he hate feeling banished to the patio in order to keep his sanity?
None of that seemed to be true. He was smiling. He trusted me. He was confident I could go it alone.
Oh, well.
Reluctantly, I left the smoky patio and stepped inside the raging club. It was Lauren’s birthday and we had all agreed to go dancing somewhere within walking distance of my Hollywood apartment. The Highlands had two bars, a large dance floor, and a couple dozen TV monitors where the club’s website claimed ‘a never-before-seen fusion of music and video’ was taking place. In short, abstract swirls of color rearranged themselves on the screen while a DJ played the latest hip hop songs.
I found the girls pretty quickly. They were dancing in a closed-off circle, the way women do when they are building an alliance against sleazy men. And this Hollywood club wasn’t lacking. Rachel grabbed my hand and spun me around; my body was ensnared by the beat. I fell into a seductive trance; hips gyrating, ass shaking, body rolling. The ribs of my corset dug into my waist while my jeans slipped dangerously low.
I was feeling thoroughly sexy, caught up in the unrestrained waves of rhythm. Then, I spotted him. It was midnight in a darkened club, but he was sporting out-of-style, opaque shades. His chest, clad in a checkered button down shirt, was leaning back, his pelvis thrust toward us. As he approached, he shimmied violently like Tevye in Fiddler when he dreams of riches. He was inviting us to join. I raised an eyebrow.
He headed straight for me, hoping for some sort of entanglement. I was prepping, trying to make a snap judgment of his threat level. Just before he acquainted his jeans with mine, he reached into his front pocket and produced a piece of paper. He held it out as he beckoned me closer.
It was a one dollar bill.
Utterly shocked and appalled, my confrontational side sprung forth. I snatched the bill out of his hands and shoved it in his mouth. He spat it out into his hand and tried to offer it again.
“What the fuck do you think I am?” I demanded. But he was not deterred. He began to shove the currency down the front of my corset. Seeing his hands so close to an off-limit zone, I snapped into action again. I laid my hands on either shoulder and pushed him as hard as I could. As he stumbled backward, I sent the dollar bill sailing after him.
I watched him struggle to his feet then shifted my gaze toward the patio door. Where was that boy when you needed him? How did my boyfriend miss all this when he was just a few yards away?
Regaining composure, the guy decided to try his luck with Rachel. Bad move, Buddy.
Rachel was the best and worst person to go clubbing with. She was the best because she could get us in anywhere and out of anything. With crystal blue eyes, lean body, and long French vanilla hair, she had a line of suitors that seemed to grow daily. But, to be fair, she wasn’t a pixie-perfect beauty. Maybe it was her sense of style. A Coach bag clutched tightly to her side, Louis Vuitton sunglasses twinkling on her head – Rachel always looked like a million bucks. If only she didn’t have to spend it to look it.
All this male attention made her the worst person to club with as well. She seemed to suck it away from the women surrounding her. Certainly no one wanted Mr. Cool Shades pawing at their chest, but to be visually obsolete in a tempest of hormones was a blow to the self esteem.
No one watching that tiny, designer-clad frame would have guessed Rachel was a geologist. On days when she wasn’t in Gucci, she was rock climbing, camping, and excavating. In both situations, Rachel knew how to handle herself. Whether in the urban jungle of quick hands with an eye for designer items, or in the desert sprawl peppered with rattlesnakes, Rachel was always vigilant. That’s why I wasn’t too surprised when a bouncer confiscated a switchblade from her purse.
And it was quite to this young man’s rescue that he did. As I watched him approach her, I knew she wouldn’t let him get as close as I had. But my gaze shifted again and fixated on the patio door. Before the confrontation could begin, I was making my way outside and into Derek’s arms.
I told him the story and he just laughed, enjoying himself immensely. I couldn’t believe it. I looked up at him with big, pitiful eyes. Where was my knight in shining armor?
He softened at my distress, lovingly tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. In a charming tenor that belied comfort, he chuckled softly.
“I would have at least have offered you twenty.”