I’m surprised to see him at the pizzeria, sitting at one of my tables – alone. Perhaps he changed his mind about Brody? I walk up to him, feeling nervous, not knowing what to expect.
When he sees me, he smiles. A sheepish smile. Again, he’s wearing a long-sleeve black shirt, dark jeans, dreads tied back, and a stud in his ear. He has no other jewelry on.
“What’s your pleasure, sir?” I ask notepad and pencil in hand.
You.
I smile.
“What do I have to do to get you to get on the bar and do a Coyote Ugly for me?”
I look at the ceiling, then at him. “You’d have to dance with me.”
“No way!” he laughs. “I’ll just have a beer.”
“What kind of beer, sir?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You choose. Impress me.”
“O … kay. One ginger beer coming up.”
“Ginger beer? What the fuck?!”
“And how would you like your ginger beer, sir? Rare, medium-rare, well done …?”
“Lemmee think …on a long body shot.”
I giggle and walk away to fetch the beer. When I return, it’s with an icy-cold Stella Artois and the entire staff.
His eyes flit around. “What the …?”
To his absolute horror, we clap and sing Happy Birthday to him.
He sinks lower into his seat and eventually puts his hand over his eyes. “Burn, I’m gonna fucking kill you!” he mutters as Tong Carlos and Madonna link arms and dance around.
My response is to “Yip! Yip!”
“Hooray!” they chorus.
When they leave, he tries to glare at me and fails. “I’m gonna get you back for this,” he warns, sinking further into his chair. “I promise.”
“Whaddyamean? You want them to sing in Chinese? I can arrange …”
“No!”
“Okay, okay!”
“So, what are you doing here?”
He shrugs. “Was in the neighborhood. ‘Sides, you promised me a drink and …”
“Ah.”
“It’s my birthday on Saturday and I’m having it at Danes. I’d like you to come.”
I wasn’t expecting him to invite me to a party.
“I want you to come. Bring your friends too.”
“Danes? Bring my friends? Wow! Really? Man, am I impressed!”
He nods. “I’ll send a car for you guys.”
My jaw drops. He’ll send a car! This is just too good to be true. Hang on, I’m underage. Has he forgotten? Danes won’t allow me in.
“What? You need a written invitation or something?’
I shake my head. “Only one problem – my age. I tried to get fake IDs, but the guy stiffed us for our money and …”
“Why ya trippin’? Just be there. I got it covered.”
“Whaaaaat?!” I feel faint with excitement. “You can get us in? Really?”
“Really.”
“I …” Wow! My friends will worship me for life if I can get them into Danes. How do I pass on it?
I look at him with one eye closed. “What’s the catch?”
“Catch?” He thinks about it. “One body shot.”
“Fuck off.”
He laughs. “I’m kidding!”
“No strings attached?”
“None whatsoever. But …this …” He wags his finger between us, “it don’t count as a date. We straight?”
I nod. “We straight.” Hell, the dude’s getting us into Danes – no more trippin’ from me.
“Say yes.”
I smile. “Yes!”
His turn to smile. “Cool.” He looks pleased.
****
Overnight, because I’m getting into Danes, I’ve achieved celebrity status at school.
News of Trojan taking me and my girls out on Saturday night to Danes has gone viral and everyone wants to suddenly talk to me, wants to invite me to parties and wants to be my friend. Even Kate Spelling, Brittany and gang try to wrangle invites out of me.
But fuck them – I take my three best friends as well as Harjoon and Fung.
I take the boys because they are so excited about our good fortune and nobody ever invites them to parties. Plus, I like them, I trust them. They like me, they can trust me. Guess we’re real friends.
“Now remember, HarLo, bring your asthma pump and Fung, don’t use the word ‘fucking’ unless it’s a verb.”
“What?” Confusion reigns in Fung’s face and his eyes turns to slits, smaller slits, that is, as he stares at me.
“Never mind, Fung, just no headbands.”
“What about Justin …?”
“No, no, no! Not even JB.”
To get me looking half decent, we go shoplifting. Eh, shopping. I score a luck – I get a slinky black mini with a black and silver corset-style top for …nothing. How lucky am I?
Shoes are a problem. I don’t have enough money to buy a pair right now. So I decide to pinch Daisy’s when she’s not looking. To ensure she doesn’t wear them, I put them into a bag and hand them to Tina with instructions for her to bring them the night of the party.
As if I’m handing her the latest unreleased Breaking Dawn, Part Twelve book or something, she holds the bag containing the shoes close to her chest and says, “Burn, I will guard them with my life.”
There is so much excitement among us and in class. Everyone seems excited for us. Except Nick.
“I didn’t expect you to start dating him, you know,” he says, sounding really pissed.
“It’s not a date,” I say.
“It is a date, Burn. And he’s doing it to get back at my brother.”
“So what? I’m using him too – to get into Danes. Works both ways. No biggie.”
“It’s a fucking big biggie!” he snarls.
“Hey! What the hell is your problem, Nick? I’m not going out with Brody? Duh!”
“Yeah. He’s just what you need. Have fun. Give him a good BJ and you’ll become a back-up dancer for 50 cents by Monday.”
“Fuck you, Nick!”
“Slip you a roofie and you’re good to go.”
“Go fuck yourself!” I say and storm off.
I’m pissed off with Nick for saying all those mean things. But his words bother me and put a damper on things. Sure Trojan is using me to get back at Brody. He’s made it clear from the beginning. I accepted the terms, so what the hell?
And where is Brody right now? Probably with Alicia.
Fuck them all. I’ve got one chance to get into Danes and I’m taking it.
Fuck everybody.
****
We’re all in my house, loading on the bronzer and fighting over the bathroom mirror. We’re all channeling some celebrity – Sultana’s going for Kelly Osborne, (the one on Fashion Police, not the one on the Osborne’s years ago). Laura’s going for Taylor Swift, Tina’s going for Eva Longoria and I look like … well, I don’t know. I haven’t channeled anyone; I just make do with what I got. But I think I look good and most importantly, I feel good. Even more importantly, I’m looking twenty-something which is a huge plus.
Also fighting for the mirror are Fung and Harjoon. Both take turns to stand in front of the mirror, narrow their eyes at the handsome dude looking back at them with equally narrow eyes, then strike different poses. Although both will deny it – we suspect they’re channeling Justin Beiber.
Fung is dressed (as per my strict orders) in a black shirt and regular black pants. No colorful, weird clothes tonight. His hair is flat though, so Carlene puts down her glass of Bacardi and steps in to lend a hand. She adjusts his hair to a mini Mohawk in no time. He’s thrilled with it – very Karate Kid.
He’s also our lookout for the cab Trojan’s sending over, which we’re all gonna have to squeeze into, as none of us have dough for a cab.
Harjoon wears a white shirt with a pair of brown jeans and he too looks fairly presentable. His hair gel is minimal and I’m happy with that. Carlene pulls and tugs until he too gets a spiky look. He just loves it and he can’t stop grinning at my aunt.
I get cheesed off when I hear him say that Carlene is hot.
“Remember now, Harjoon, don’t use the ‘n’ word ever, even when they use it, okay?” I warn. I don’t want some dude to knock his lights out for using that word.
“Got it.” He pulls out his phone-cam. “Can all you bitches hang around me so I can post this on Facebook?”
“Okay, sure, but lose the ‘bitches’,” I say.
“No, no! I want you bitches in the photos.”
Never mind.
I round up the other “bitches” and we drape ourselves around him for the photos, which he immediately posts, hoping Sunita is logged onto Facebook.
Next, it’s Fung’s turn. We do the same for him and he too posts it on Facebook.
Then we all take photos and have fun posing for them. The kids at school are going to be green with envy when we brag on Facebook. For once it’s others who are envious of me and it’s a greeeeaaat feeling!
“You sure we don’t have to pay for the cab?” Laura says.
“I … I don’t think he’d expect us to,” I say feeling unsure.
“What about club fees?” Sultana asks. “You sure he’s not gonna be cheap ass and expect us to have to pay entry fees?”
I shrug. “Hope not.”
“Drinks?” Tina asks. “Do we buy our own or will he …?”
“Look, guys, I’m not sure, but we get to see inside of Danes and …”
Suddenly, Fung goes ballistic. “Islimoo! Islimoo! Islimoo!” he screams and jumps up and down.
We stop with our bronzing and exchange confused glances, then peer at him.
“I think he’s talking Chinese,” Sultana says.
“Islam …Islamic, perhaps?” Laura says, her eyes scanning his face.
“No, no Chinese, not Islamic!” he cries, battling to contain himself. “Is … lim … oo … out … side!”
I cock my head. “Out …?”
We all dart outside and gasp. There is a limo in our driveway. A stretch limo!
“Ohmigod!” we chorus and jump up and down with Fung like morons.
“He’s trying so hard to impress you!” Sultana says.
“Boy is he succeeding!” I cry.
Neighbors stream out of their houses to see the limo, while Carlene, Daisy and Lanie look like they sucked on a slice of lemon without the tequila.
The closest I can come to a limo is to be knocked down by one, so I’m like, super impressed and thrilled. Absolutely thrilled.
The limo driver greets us cordially, introduces himself as Gus, and ushers us into the limo.
“I can’t believe Trojan sent us a limo!” I whisper. “I was expecting a cab.”
“Well, if he expects us to pay for this limo,” Laura says, “he’s gonna have to wait a lifetime.”
“Don’t worry, I will issue him with an IOU,” I say. “I’m an expert at issuing them.”
Before we get into the limo, we do what probably every teenager would do – we take more photos next to the limo then Twitter like crazy.
We take photos outside the limo, then getting into the limo, then inside the limo, then of each other inside the limo, then of …well, we go crazy with our cameras.
“Sorry, Gus,” I say. “It’s their first time in a limo.” No need to declare that it’s my first time as well.
“Sure, miss. No problem at all. Take all the photos you need.”
Finally, we’re on our way. I reach into a bag, take out Daisy’s shoes and slip them on. Perfect!
“Help yourselves to drinks,” Gus says.
There’s all kinds of hard stuff in the bar so we look at each other, unable to believe what Gus just said. Unable to believe that nobody’s asking us for our ID. And, of course, after a nanosecond of hesitation, we help ourselves to drinks. It’s so much fun, and of course, we take photos of ourselves drinking.
“Don’t post these guys or we’re gonna get in trouble for underage drinking,” Laura says.
We all post it.
“Got the gift?” Laura asks.
I nod and point to my bag. I managed to get Trojan a black and silver thick hoop earring. It’s pretty and fashionable and …cheap. But it’s all I could manage on my “no-string” budget.
By the time we reach Danes, we’re a little warm in the toes. As we pull up at the entrance to the club, I see Trojan standing at the entrance with two girls, deep in conversation. When he sees us, he rushes over to open the door for me.
“You look great,” he whispers in my ears. I get a whiff of his aftershave. Nice.
“Thank you. You look good too,” I say a little shyly. “Where’s …?”
“She’s abroad, so don’t worry.”
“Good. I didn’t feel like having a punch-on tonight. Unless I get paid for it.”
“Ha ha!”
I introduce everyone to him, before he leads us in. He takes my hand in his as we walk. From the corner of my eye, I see my girls nudging each other at the sight of him holding my hand. I feel awkward and think about shrugging off his hand, but I don’t ’cause Trojan seems a little nervous; like he’s trying to make a good impression. He needn’t worry; he had me at the “Islimoo!”
He leads me over to a group of guys and girls and introduces everyone to me. Compared to the women he introduces me to, I look like I’m going to Mass. They’re dressed in the skimpiest of clothes, lots of make-up, false eyelashes, glitter on their faces and body and they look amazing. Very Jersey Shore, but not so Guido.
When I look at my friends and the way we’re dressed; sadly, Prom Night minus the corsages comes to mind.
Trojan wears a silver-grey tight-fitting Tee and charcoal-grey jeans. He looks nice, approachable. By that I mean, he’s not wearing dark glasses and twenty chains around his neck like his friends are.
We hang around his friends for a little while, and I feel really uncomfortable as everyone here is so much older and so worldly. Maybe my discomfort shows, because Trojan holds my hand tighter as people stream over to us to wish Trojan happy birthday.
As I stand with him, I get the feeling I’m Trojan’s date for the night. I don’t see any other girls around.
“Too hood?” he whispers. My ear tingles at his warm breath.
“No, no, no, no,” I lie. They’re all bloody hood. And they’re probably wondering what Trojan is doing with such a hillbilly.
“Hey, baby!’ a woman says and plants a kiss on Dread’s cheek.
‘Hey!’ Trojan says.
At the sight of her linking her arm to his, I shift in Daisy’s tight shoes.
“Burn, meet Tia,” he says. “She’s my P.A. Tia meet Burn.”
My eyebrows dart up. P.A?! Wow! What the fuck’s a P.A?
“Well, hello there,” Tia says, her almond-shaped eyes sweeping slowly over me.
“Hi, nice to meet you,” I say.
Like me, she’s obviously mixed. I’d say Chinese/African-American. Her skin is tanned and her hair is long and wavy. She’s slim, tall and she looks older than Trojan.
She oozes confidence. She has to be – she’s wearing a white dress that clings to her curves. White! Her stilettos are higher than I ever dare wear and she carries a Coach bag. I’m assuming it’s expensive because she looks expensive. If she was on Fashion Police, she’d be “starlet”, not “streetwalker”.
Everything about her makes me look fat. Everything. She stands next to Trojan for a while, arm linked with his and talks to everyone that he talks to. Like a wife or a partner. People hug her hello and she seems to be very popular and even important. Nobody notices me. Feeling insignificant and out of place, I stand slightly behind Trojan and scan the place for my friends.
After a while, Trojan swivels to look at me. “Would you like another drink?”
“Eh, no thanks. I’m okay. You having fun?”
“Yeah. Are you?”
“Yeah. This place is awesome!”
When someone grabs his attention, Tia hones in on me. “Hey Burn, where you from?”
I tell her.
“How did the two of you meet?” she asks.
“Eh …” I’m not sure what to say. “At my work.”
She asks a lot of questions even though the music is loud and I can hardly hear her. As she does, her eyes flit all over my face, my clothes, my shoes.
“Coke?”
“Coke? Sure,” I say. With all those questions, my throat feels dry.
She jerks her head for me to follow her.
“Okay,” I say and turn to tell Trojan who’s deep in conversation with a guy.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she says. “He won’t miss you. He’s too busy to miss all his girls.”
All his girls. Wow! He must have a lot of girls. She takes my hand and negotiates our way through the sea of bodies. A lot of effort just for a Coke. As she moves, she greets and is greeted by everyone and I’m impressed at how popular she is. Some of the girls she talks to follow us and soon I find myself in the ladies bathroom with four of her size zero friends.
In the bathroom, we freshen our make-up and fuss over our hair. Then she pulls out a packet of white powder from her bag. I watch her whip out a mirror, tip some powder on it and chop it up into a line.
Cocaine! I’ve never seen someone do it and I’m both fascinated and uncomfortable.
She rolls up a bank note, blocks a nostril and inhales through the note. After she finishes, she sniffs hard and holds out the note to me.
I look at the bank note as if it’s gonna sting me. “Oh, no … no … no thanks. No thank you.”
Weed is one thing, but hard stuff is a no-no for me.
All the girls look at me with big eyes.
“You don’t want it?” Tia asks, sniffing and wiping her nose with her palm.
I give a dismissive wave.
“I thought you said you wanted some.”
“Yes, but I …” Suddenly, I’m embarrassed. How could I have been so dumb?
After exchanging surprised looks between themselves, one of her friends, a Kiera Knightly look-alike (size zero too) but with an orange face, rolls her eyes, snatches the note and inhales.
I stand on the sides and shift in Daisy’s tight shoes as they get high.
Finally, we leave and they all dance their way out of there. Dance, twirl, shout out and become very confident and happy.
Tia links her arm in mine. “I must take you shopping,” she says, her eyes flitting over my cheap clothes.
Shopping with her? Not a chance. “Oh no, I have no … I’m a student and …”
“It’s all on me. Or should I say, Trojan?”
“Oh, really? Wow, thanks.” She’s nice.
“So, are you and Trojan an item?”
“Eh, no …no …”
“Really?” she frowns. “And he invited you here? To meet all his friends? It don’t make no sense, girl.”
“We’re eh, just friends. I’m seventeen …”
“You’re seventeen! Do you know how old Trojan is …?”
“Yeah, he’s old – I think twenty-two …?”
“That’s old?” she laughs and looks at all her friends. They all laugh.
“Come dance with us.” Tia says.
I dance for a while, but they are so confident and so happy and so outgoing, that I feel uncomfortable with them. When they start to kiss each other with tongue, I hightail it out of there. Not my scene.
After a while, Trojan finds me and leads me to a booth where we sit and try to talk. He scans my face as if he’s looking for something.
“What?”
He doesn’t answer.
“I didn’t do stuff,” I say.
“You didn’t?”
I shake my head. “I’m not into that.”
He exhales. “Really?” He seems relieved.
“Do you?”
It’s a while before he answers. “Sometimes.”
His answer disappoints me. I’m not into druggies. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking – I’m a pothead. I am, I am. Yet, I have double standards. I suck, I know. “Tonight?”
He smiles and shakes his head. “Relax,” is all he says.
“Ok …ay.”
We smile at each other.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” he says.
“Anything going on between you and Tia?”
“Nope. Nothing at all.”
I run my lip over my bottom lip. “Nothing?”
“Not a single thing.”
“Not even in the past?”
He shakes his head. “We work together. I try not to mix business with pleasure.”
I believe him. I mean, I have to – I don’t know how to tell if someone is lying. His face scans mine. “Any other questions?”
“Nah. Hey, I have a present for you!”
‘You do?” His eyes light up.
“Yeah,” I say, fishing into my purse. “Just a little something. Really little.” I remove the gift-wrapped box and hand it to him.
With a smile, he tears off the wrapper. “Ah, this is cool!” he says. “Put it on for me.”
“Okay.” I move closer to him, reach up and remove his diamond stud from his ear and replace it with my cheap earring. We’re in each other’s personal space and I’m feeling very shy suddenly. Am I glad I stole Lanie’s perfume – at least I smell nice.
“Done,” I say and bring out my compact mirror. “Take a look.”
He admires it for a moment (or pretends to admire it) then says, “I like it.”
I reach over, adjust it and then, out of habit, gently rub the ear. “That’s better,” I whisper.
We smile at each other.
“There you are!” Tia’s voice booms.
Trojan and I jerk apart from each other.
She and her four coke-heads join us and become loud.
“What the hell is that on your ear?” Tia asks, squinting at his earlobe.
“Burn bought me a present,” Trojan says in a voice full of pride.
Tia’s jaw drops. “And you took out your diamond earring for …that?”
Diamond? Shit, I feel so bad! “Hey, you don’t have to wear it,” I quickly say. “I mean, like, it’s …” With a groan, I reach over to take out my crappy earring.
He grabs my arm. “Don’t you dare,” he says. “I like it. A lot.”
Tia laughs loudly. “Aaaawww! So polite, Trojan.”
He keeps my arm longer than necessary. I smile and hang my head.
“Check this out,” Tia says straddling a chair, unconcerned that we can see her crotch. “Burn says you’re too old for her.” She throws her head back and laughs. Everyone laughs with her. Except Trojan and I.
Shit!
Trojan peers at me. “I’m too old?”
“No, no, I …!” More groaning on my part. “What I meant is …” I run my hand slowly over my face and look at him through the slit in my fingers.
“Relax!” Tia says. “You’re way too uptight, Miss seventeen.”
Again, everyone finds everything really funny and laughs out loud. My face burns and I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. At the same time, I feel like throwing my drink in her face.
As if he’s reading my mind, Trojan puts his hand on my hand that has my drink. “Ignore them,” he whispers. Probably remembering me throwing my drink at Overdone Barbie.
I put my head close to his. “Do you wanna dance, Trojan? Lose the coke-heads?”
“I don’t dance,” he says.
“You don’t – not even breakdance? Dougie? Pop, lock and drop? Line dancing?”
He shakes his head and smiles.
“Not even after five drinks?”
He shakes his head.
“Do you sing, rap?”
He hesitates, then shakes his head again.
I look at him with eyebrows raised. “Not even karaoke?”
He chuckles. “Nope.”
“What kind of a black dude are you? You’re a disgrace to all black men.”
He takes me into a playful headlock. Although he’s touching me, I don’t mind.
I laugh and he releases me. When I look around me, all five of the coke-heads are staring silently at us. Tia’s lips are a thin line.
I stand up. “Have to go check on my girlfriends.”
He nods, an amused look on his face.
I rush over to my normal, sane, equally hillbilly friends.
“This place is awesome,” Sultana says, shaking her booty. “The guys are hoooot!”
“I’ve got so many numbers,” Tina says, waving her phone at me.
I look at Laura. “How ’bout you?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m too shy.” She hunches further.
“Where’s Fung and Harjoon?” I ask.
“There!” They point to the dance floor where Harjoon is grinding with some drunk chick, while Fung is doing it Gangnam Style for about four drunk chicks. Their grins are the biggest I’ve ever seen.
“Let’s join them!” I shout. We get on the floor and dance seven songs in a row.
Nick’s words about BJs and roofies ring in my ears, so I don’t drink alcohol, just Coke (cola, not caine) and I watch over my girlfriends. Luckily, we have no incidents.
Trojan is a gentleman, and at the end of the evening, he and a few friends ride back with us in the islimoo.
He lifts my hair and whispers in my ears, “Saturday, 7:30.”
I turn my neck to look at him. “What?”
“Dinner.”
“Ah. Okay.”
When they drop us off, I give Trojan a kiss on the cheek. He seems amused which makes me think I shouldn’t have.
Since the girls, Fung, and Harjoon are staying over, we pull an all-nighter and have fun on Twitter, Facebook and even post videos on YouTube.
What a fun evening.
“So, what’s with you and Trojan?” Laura asks, removing her eye-make up. “You falling for him or something?”
“What? No!”
“Well, you two sure were cozy tonight – you putting earrings on for him and giving him a kiss …”
“On the cheek, Laura. I kissed him on the cheek. No big deal.”
“You sure?” Sultana says. “You too were like, smiling and looking deep into each other’s eyes and it was like you’re one step away from hooking up with him. “
“Absolutely not!” I cry.
“How could you guys even think like that? Me and Trojan …it’s crazy.”
“Just remember who he is and who you are,” Laura warns.
“Yeah, he’s a thug,” Sultana says.
“Who got us into Danes,” Tina says.
“Mm.” I fall silent, then kill the room lights.
In the recesses of my mind, I feel a little mad at them for running him down like that. I think of the hundred dollar tip, the way he’s changed his style of dressing to please me, how he lost his thuggish friends so as not to scare me off, the way he got us into Danes, the fact that he hasn’t touched me or been in any way forward, and I think to myself that they don’t realize just how he’s changed since he met me.
Then I think about his indecent proposal and I have to admit – he is after all a thug. The girls may be right about him.
The girls are right about him. I should do my best to stay away from him.
“Although, I must admit, he’s starting to look hotter every time I see him,” Tina says in a sleepy voice.
“True,” Sultana says. “I was thinking the same thing tonight when we pulled up outside the club.”
Mff.
After our bragging on Facebook by means of evidential photos, we become minor celebrities at school and we get a lot of attention. Best of all, we get invited to some parties we never thought we’d be invited to.
Life is cool!