Lucky Number Four (9 page)

“Will you effing stand still so I can pull
this tighter? I swear, it’s like dressing a toddler.”

Julie’s frustrated tone makes me want to
laugh, but I know if I do, I’ll be finding someone else to lace me
up. We’re standing in front of my mirror and I’m trying not to look
at Julie, who looks like a high-end streetwalker. If her outfit was
any tighter, she might get arrested. I thought my cleavage was over
the top, but she has me beat by a mile. Her blonde hair is piled up
on her head in a messy knot. Her makeup is overdone, with thick
black eyeliner on her top and bottom lids. Her eye shadow is a
hideous teal color, and her cheeks, lips, fingernails and toenails
are the red of all reds.

Her outfit, what little of it there is, is a
jet-black leather halter top with a leather micro mini skirt.
Nine-inch—okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating—red, fuck-me—her words,
not mine—pumps complete her outfit. They’re so tacky, but hey, it’s
Halloween. When she smiles, which she hasn’t since arriving at the
loft, she has realistic vampire fangs, which would scare away any
john in a heartbeat. But she loves the look, and it’s not like any
of her co-workers will see her, so that’s all that matters.

Kevin, who at the moment is in the main
living room, is dressed as Frankenstein. He’s Frank and she’s
Frank’s vampy slut. A perfect match.

“Earth to Dora! Step into the fucking dress.”
So much for her effort in curtailing the language.

“Slutty Julie, language, please?”

“You would make anyone cuss. Let me button
you up. They could have put a zipper and put fucking fake buttons
on top. There must be a hundred,” she complains.

Now some people would think from Julie’s tone
that she hates to do things for me, but no, she loves me. She just
shows it in a different way than most people. She’s kind, giving
and a sweetheart,—oh hell, who am I kidding? She’s a pain in the
butt.

“There, done. You can handle your shoes,
right?” she asks as she walks into the bathroom and shuts the
door.

I found the perfect shoes to match the color
of the dress. They’re not Victorian, but they won’t be seen, as the
dress sweeps the floor when I walk or stand. But they match even
though they’re hidden. Mine are not “nine” inches, but a sensible
two. Walking out into the common living room, I take a seat by
Frankie waiting for the slut to finish in the bathroom.

We can hear the music as soon as the elevator
opens on the top floor of the majorly upscale hotel. A long hallway
with burgundy—sink-your-heels-in plush—carpet leads up to a door at
the end of the hall.

We’re late—half an hour, to be precise. All
because Julie rubbed her eye and her fake eyelash fell in the sink.
Kevin, aka Frank, had to run to their apartment and get the glue to
put it back on, which for some reason was harder for her to do the
second time around. But it’s fashionable to be late, right?

So here we are, and all I want to do is turn
around and go to a normal party where people are only known to each
other. Julie’s radar picks up on my hesitation and she grabs my
long, white-gloved arm and pulls me down the hall. The walls are
mirrored, so I glance at myself and then relax as I remember I’m
masked, and thus anonymous. I gently touch my hair that I was going
to leave down, but Julie pulled it up for me and produced a tiara,
which is nestled in the middle. I feel like a princess.

As we approach, the doors magically open, and
I look up and see one of those security cameras in each corner
above the door. No magic, just someone manning the cameras. As we
enter, the party is indescribable, a definite system overload. Yes,
appropriate scary music, decorations and a mass of dressed-up
party-goers. Even the waiters are dressed up in Grecian togas,
sandals and laurel headbands.

Within seconds, Julie loses her grip on my
arm and Frank and Slutty Vamp are sucked into the crowd. Great,
just great. Maybe an escape should happen. I turn to leave right
before I feel a hand wrap around my wrist, and I’m pulled onto a
marble dance floor. I turn back and find myself facing a topless
construction worker with eighteen abs, or maybe twenty. He’s
wearing dark sunglasses and tight jeans with pristine work boots
that completely make his outfit seem phony. Anyone knows a
construction worker doesn’t have dirt-free and scuff-free boots.
It’s a slow dance, so he pulls me closer and starts humming in my
ear. His cologne assaults my nose, making me want to sneeze as my
eyes water. I definitely need unpolluted air right now, and just as
I think it, it happens. I’m pulled away from construction man and
into the arms of a vampire, whose devilish grin and wicked teeth
make me shiver. His cologne, thank goodness, is subtle and his arms
feel comfy.

“Do you come here often?” His corny fake
Transylvanian accent whispering in my ear makes me giggle. “I vant
to drink your blood. Your neck is begging to be bitten.”

He continues his corny lines, making me laugh
loudly, which unfortunately for me, happens at the same time the
music stops. I feel a thousand eyes staring at me. Geez, who knew
laughing was prohibited at a monster’s ball? The music starts up
again and I turn my head to find that Mr. Vamp has disappeared and
has been replaced by a half-mummy, half-zombie. It’s kinda cool,
and since it’s a fast song, I get to look all I want.

The costume must have cost a pretty penny. It
looks like someone really cut an actual mummy and a zombie in half
before fusing them seamlessly together. Out of the corner of my
eye, I spy my last dancing partner, Mr. I Want to Drink Your Blood,
pouting with his arms crossed, staring straight at me. Is it wrong
of me to feel a little satisfaction at him wanting little ol’ me? I
think not.

The music ends and a hush falls over the
crowd. They all look at the entrance to the huge room. I stand on
my tiptoes to see what’s causing all of the commotion. The crowd
parts, and I see three identically dressed, all in
white…Musketeers? I say this because of the tight pants, elaborate
white capes with a crest on the left side, high black boots,
realistic swords, a blousy undershirt, and cavalier-looking white
hats with a huge black feather sticking out the back. Their faces
are covered with a full cloth mask with only their lips and eyes
showing, definitely creepy and theatrical at the same time.

“Great, the Modelteers are here. The party’s
finally started!” a voice yells.

The crowd roars. Yep, light bulb goes on as
Julie stands beside me, grinning.

“Aren’t they something?” She moves in closer
so I can hear.

“Show-stoppers for sure. These guys love to
perform. Maybe they missed their calling and should have chosen
acting.”

“I know I would pay to see them in a movie.”
Julie seems to have missed my sarcasm and has gone over to the dark
side with everyone else in the room.

“I’m off to pee.”

Julie just nods her head.

“Excuse me, could you direct me to the
bathroom?” I ask a waiter juggling a full tray of drinks.

“Hallway at the back. Turn right and you
can’t miss it.” He smiles and then moves on—delightful butt,
muscular arms, and all.

It takes a few minutes to reach my
destination, dodging clusters of gyrating bodies. When I had tried
on my costume, my first thought had been how I would actually go to
the bathroom. But low and behold, the skirt is velcroed on. I
quickly peel it off and toss in over the door. The slip I’m wearing
underneath is easily raised and I finish in record time. Leaving my
skirt on the door, I wash my hands, not having to touch anything
while doing so. Modern technology amazes me. When the towel machine
dispenses its prescribed item with a wave of my hand, I wonder why
we don’t have them in our loft. I grab my skirt and go to put it
back on when the bathroom is suddenly filled with a group of Amazon
women in various costumes and a cloud of obnoxious expensive
perfume.

I exit the room and stop in the hallway to
put my skirt back on, but before I have a chance, I look up and see
one of the Modelteers standing in front of me. He bows and then
takes my left hand and kisses it. He straightens up and his mouth
pulls up in a grin.

Then I’m gently pushed up against the wall.
My skirt falls to the floor and his mouth meets mine—oh lord, he
tastes like peppermint—but that thought quickly disappears as his
arms pull me closer. My heart can’t beat any faster without giving
out. I try to keep my eyes open, but they fall as his lips place
feverish kisses around mine. His body is hard against mine, and I
feel his tongue lick my lips. I moan and his tongue plunges inside
my mouth. My whole body goes into a total meltdown. I want to wrap
my legs around his waist as his tongue wildly mates with mine, but
my legs are like jelly, and I know his arms are the only way I’m
still standing. His hands roam up and down my back, pulling me so
close I can feel his apparent desire as another moan rips from his
throat.

Colin
. It has to be him. I grab his
waist and hold on as wave after wave of hot desire washes over me.
If only our clothes could magically disappear…

What am I saying? I’m in a hallway—dark,
yes—but still with enough light for anyone to see us, and I can
hear the women in the bathroom still chatting away. The door opens
and I push him away as the Amazon women walk back into the hallway.
His breathing is as heavy as mine as he stands in front of me, his
head bent as if trying to gain control.

Suddenly, I realize I don’t need this, don’t
need him. I’m attracted to him, but I’m not willing to be a
one-night stand, and with all the women drooling over him, that’s
what I could only expect. As the voices fade, he looks their way
and I sigh, glad that they were so wrapped up in their conversation
that they didn’t even see us. I reach down and grab my skirt and
quickly move back into the bathroom, leaving him standing outside.
My face is flushed and my hair is gently mussed. I don’t remember
him touching my hair. All I can remember is our tongues making love
and his body making mine feel like a boneless mess. Splashing cool
water on my face helps a little, but the feeling of loss fills me.
What would it be like if I was a model, tall and beautiful, and
having Colin filling my passionless body every night?

Get a grip, Dora. He’s so out of your
league.

“There you are. I’ve fucking looked
everywhere for you. Are you feeling okay? You look feverish.”
Julie’s voice startles me, and I see her forehead worry line
appear.

“No, just a little warm. Enjoying
yourself?”

“Kevin is. We’ll probably have to drag his
ass home. That boy can’t hold his liquor for shit. Are you sure
you’re okay?” She puts the back of her hand to my forehead and
shakes her head. “No fever. Maybe we should call it a night. It’s
packed out there, and frankly, this isn’t my scene.”