I remind myself again of the healthy deposit I’ll be expecting into my bank account in the morning. The lights swirl around me, and I’m twisting through the air, suspended in flames. As the music reaches a fever pitch, I breathe out a plume of fire, and when it goes out, I’m gone.
There’s applause; I’ll admit it’s enthusiastic. Still, the fuckers at the front are laughing and flicking food at each other like frat house kids. A good-looking youngster with slicked-back dark hair has buried his face in the cleavage of a shrieking brunette. The fucking dickhead’s snorting cocaine from her tits.
What the fuck?
I remind myself that it’s not my circus. The lights have dimmed and I’m ready to pack up. The adrenalin rush of the show is easing out of my system and I’m growing aware of the cool air on my bare skin. Behind the curtains, the crew is racing through the motions of clearing our gear. Sound equipment, lighting, pyrotechnics – it’s a jumble of cables and boxes but they make sense of it. They’ve been doing this long enough.
So have I.
On nights like this, it feels like too long. Too long since I performed for the admiration of those I truly care about. They’re all gone now. The ones who matter. Although, Arielle… I shake my head. I don’t want to sully her image with the grime of this place. For all the glitz and glamor, there’s still no class in this room. Money just can’t buy that.I’ve purposely kept our interactions neutral since my return home. I gave her a few days off, with a promise to arrange a meeting to discuss upcoming tours. I’m being a pussy, and I know it. Right now, I just don’t know what to make of this new development. My life is already so damn complicated. I want to see her, though. Need to.
So, knowing she’ll be waiting with Munchkin when I get home leaves me feeling a little breathless. I can’t be too late since she had to arrange a sitter for her kid. Some guy who used to work with her late husband, she had said. We spoke the night we met but didn’t delve too deeply into things. Guess my head was still reeling at that point.
I head for my dressing room, shoving the door open with a booted foot and heading toward the brightly lit mirror over the dressing table. True to form, Buford’s pulled out all the stops. There’s a bottle of vintage Krug chilling on ice in front of the mirror. There’s a gold embossed card on the front of the ice bucket; I flip it open and grimace. Two words:Join us.
I pop the cork on the bottle, pour a foaming glass, and down it. There’s no way out of the invitation – which is more of a demand than an invite anyhow. I yank a t-shirt over my bare chest and reach for my trench coat, then pour another glass. If I’m going to mingle with Buford’s band of miscreants, I’m going to need all the help I can get.
By the time I head out from backstage and join the babble of the party, there are girls dancing on the tables. I doubt the Presidential Suite has ever looked less tasteful.
“Colt! Atticus Colt! Come on over, son,” a voice booms out. My host for the evening is surrounded by blondes, as usual. He’s dressed in a purple satin smoking jacket, his ridiculous toupé slicked back in a semblance of a wave. He exhales a cloud of cigar smoke as I get to him.
Damn fool believes he’s Hugh Hefner,I think.
“Evening, sir,” I say politely, raising my glass in a toast. Buford’s eyebrows shoot up. He’s not accustomed to me playing Mr. Nice Guy. But what the fuck; why not keep the asshole on his toes.
“Great show tonight, Colt, great show,” he says around another puff of smoke. A couple of girls are dangling off each arm like matching glitter balls. There’s a shriek from nearby as a topless dancer tumbles from a table and someone makes a grab for her. Buford chuckles. “Like anything you see?” he asks, then winks as he shoots a glance at one of the girls. I recognize the blonde from my last encounter with him and she grins impishly and licks her lips at me. Beneath the lights, she’s clearly wearing too much make-up and probably hit the Botox parties too young. I incline my head but look away. I have no intention of requesting a rematch.
“Everything looks excellent, Buford,” I reply vaguely. He must have dropped a couple of hundred grand on the evening. And I know that men like him set great stock in having their flagrant excesses acknowledged. “You really know how to throw a party. I can’t remember when last I saw this much sparkle in one room."
Buford chuckles and shoots a smug grin around the circle of onlookers. “Did ya hear that, folks? Sparkle? Did he say sparkle?” He starts laughing like I just made the best joke in the world, and for a moment, I’m confused. He almost has tears running down his florid cheeks. When he finally puts an end to the display, he hauls yet another blonde over to stand in front of him. The man is nothing if not consistent.
“Cast your eyes over that beauty, son.” He’s running a finger down between her breasts, and it makes me want to cringe. Until my eyes stop halfway down her chest as they reach a glittering gem the size of a robin’s egg. “Absolute perfection…the best money can buy…and I’m not just talking about the tits,” he laughs raucously. The woman is grinning as if she thinks it’s great to be the butt of his jokes. He’s curled his fingers around the stone and raising it towards my face.
“Very nice,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. I don’t want the man to notice that I’ve caught my breath a little. Yeah, I’ve done my homework…and I had my suspicions that he’d be flashing this around. Buford picked up the Eye of Isis on auction a couple of weeks back and he’s been bragging about it ever since. Makes sense that he’d put on a display to show the thing off – and haul me in to entertain his friends into the bargain.
“Nice?” he’s saying now, his eyebrows bristling. “That’s not just nice, Colt, that’s fucking spectacular. That’s fucking flawless! Nothing else like it on the planet, magic boy.” The words make my jaw clench, but I keep my emotions to myself. I’m still too excited to let myself fuck this opportunity up. I school my expression into something more suitable.
“Oh, it’s perfection, alright,” I say with a deep sigh. I don’t have to try hard to make it sound real. I’ve studied this thing for days, and it’s even better in the flesh. Oronthe flesh, since the poor girl is still standing like a human display cabinet. “I dunno,” a slightly slurred voice says from the sidelines. A curvy brunette has sidled up to us and is pressing closer. If she wasn’t so drunk, she’d have seen Buford’s hostile stare, but right now, she’s blinking at the diamond a little foggily. “I heard that thing was hauled out of some pit in Africa…whatcha call it? Blood diamond, I think?”
There’s a collective gasp from the group, and she totters sideways as someone tugs at her arm. Another woman nearby is clearly saving her from herself. She begins to disappear into the group, but not before the words, “Probably got dug out of the mud by some poor, beaten kid. I hear they starve those little children for days and make them work in the dirt till they die. Some of them even get crushed in landslides.”
I feel the words sinking in, knowing they probably aren’t far from the truth. Buford looks fit to explode. I don’t envy the poor woman. She’s probably been paid for her company – and it’s a career that won’t last long after this. I only hope he doesn’t decide to have her beaten for the mistake.
Despite the thump of the music, the silence of the group hangs as heavily as a lead weight. Now’s my chance… while Buford is preoccupied with his near embarrassment. I reach forward and close my fingers around the gem, hearing the proud wearer give a shocked gasp as I pluck it from her chest. I don’t move, though, standing directly in front of her as my fingers close and then part again…to reveal a small blue egg. Just like the robin’s egg I’d imagined from before. Now the gasp had rippled around the rest of the group.
“Hah!” Buford laughs out. And then barks out several more laughs when I flick the shell with a fingernail and crack the egg in two. Out of the shell flutters a small blue bird, which circles our heads for a moment, then shoots towards the wide doors that open onto the vast balcony.
“Oh my God, that’s amazing!” the blonde woman cries out.
“Oh, it’s adorable!” another one says, clapping her hands. “Do it again!”
“Do it again, my ass,” Buford butts in. His previous mirth has been replaced by a black scowl. “Bring it back…my diamond. Bring it back.”
I grin cheekily and reach my fingers into the woman’s dress to haul out a sparkling stone – as if by magic. There’s a collective surge of relief. Buford gives a wry chuckle and puffs on his cigar. He’d never admit it, but I know there was a moment of anxiety. With a comical bow, I shoot him a salute and then address the others.
“Well, that’s all, folks,” I say, sliding my arms into the sleeves of my trench coat. “Got an early start tomorrow; I gotta blow this joint. Mr. Buford, it’s been a pleasure.”
He inclines his head graciously. The man’s ego won’t allow him to ask me to stay. I turn and leave the rocking music behind me as I step into the elevator. It’s only when the doors close behind me that I allow myself a sigh of relief. I tap my top pocket and feel a hard lump in my shirt, where the Eye of Isis is nestled snugly against my chest.
