Paper Dolls (18 page)

“Sorry I don’t fit into your perfect little world anymore.” She turned and fled, her footsteps heavy across my carpet, leaving me stunned. How did this happen? One second we were just talking, the next, she was going ballistic. I heard the front door open and slam, the wood shuddering in its frame.

“Salem!” I yelled out after her. Shit. “Stop.” I chased after her, leaving my front door wide open as I tumbled through.

But by the time I had reached the sidewalk, Salem had gone.

Salem hadn’t come back by the time I was due to leave for Flick’s. I cursed the fact that she didn’t have a mobile. Seriously, who doesn’t have a mobile these days? I left a note for her asking her to call me on my cell when she got home.

Flick lived a ten-minute walk from my apartment so I didn’t bother driving. I was still musing over where I went wrong with Salem when I arrived at her place.

“Welcome to the party!” Flick swung open the door, a welcome glass of champagne already in her hand.

She was wearing a very short, very tight, black bandage dress that hugged her ample curves like she was a screen goddess, her shapely legs like a fitness magazine model in those towering fuchsia and gold satin pumps. Her thick, wavy hair had been curled into luscious waves that framed her face, highlighting her lightly bronzed cheekbones, not that she needed it. A plum-red lipstick and dark Cleopatra eyes perfected the look.

“Wow,” I breathed, my problems momentarily forgotten, “you look like a movie star.”

“Really?”

“So hot I’d jump you right now if I were gay and you were gay.”

“Puh-lease, you wouldn’t jump a puddle if it were in front of you.”

I could barely muster a laugh.

Her face dropped. “Girl, you better do something with that frown. That’s not something makeup can fix.”

“Sorry, Flick.” I forced a smile so wide it hurt. “Better?”

She pursed her lips before moving aside to let me in.

Flick lived in a two-story townhouse. It was modern and clean, two bedrooms upstairs. One for her, one for her clothes, she liked to joke. Downstairs were the kitchen, dining and living rooms, which now looked like a bombsite, clothes and shoes littering the floor like shrapnel.

“Flick!” I exclaimed. “I think someone broke into your house and ransacked the place.”

“Very funny, wise guy.” She shoved a glass of champagne in my hand. “Drink that. Then tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.”

She gave me
the look
. The
I’m going to hound you until you tell me so you better just tell me
look.

I sighed. You couldn’t win with Flick when she pulled out
the look
. I’ve seen silly men try to and it never ended prettily for them.

I pretended to take a tiny sip of champagne just so I didn’t look rude and winced as the bubbles tickled my lip. “I had a fight with Salem.”

“What about?”

“You. Tonight. Clay.”

She nodded, a knowing look coming over her face. I had told her bits and pieces about Salem after the day Clay had accidentally met her. I felt I had to let Flick know my sister was staying at my place, just in case Flick dropped by the apartment − it was her apartment − and Salem happened to be there. I didn’t want what happened with Clay and Salem to happen with Flick.

“So Salem’s feeling a bit left out. Why didn’t you invite her? I’m sure I could have gotten Jed to rustle up a friend for her.”

I shook my head. “I did invite her. She went ballistic, calling it a consolation prize, saying that she didn’t fit into my life anymore. Then she stormed out and I haven’t seen her since.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“I hope so.” But something told me that this crack in our relationship was only just starting to widen.

“Well, you can’t do anything about it right this minute so just let it go. Time to get you sexified!”

I slid my untouched champagne on the counter before handing over my bag.

Apparently nothing I had brought was sexy enough, so Flick led me upstairs.

“Wow,” I breathed as I stared at her spare room, clothes bursting from clothing racks crammed all around the space.

“Yeah,” she said, “I ran out of space in my closet so I turned this room into a walk-in.”

“What will you do when you get a live-in boyfriend?”

“Easy. He won’t need clothes.” She winked at me. “Alright, start with this one. And this one. Ooo, and definitely this one.” She began to shove a pile of material into my hands. And so the night began.

An hour and a half later, I had been waxed, plucked, moisturised, cleansed, toned, rouged, blushed, filled in, and had been made to try on a hundred different dresses.

Just in time, too, because as I was slipping into a pair of Flick’s silver strappy heels (thank God we were the same size) and testing out my first steps in them, a car horn beeped from outside. Flick and I grabbed our purses and headed out to meet Jed.

Jed was an Italian-Australian whose parents had migrated to Melbourne first then went north in search of warmer weather. He was hot, as I would expect from Flick. With his thickly gelled black hair and a dimple in his chin, he had a John Travolta circa
Grease
vibe going on about him.

He leaned out the window of his dark blue Mercedes. Apparently he was a real estate realtor along the coast selling holiday homes to wealthy folk, hence, the flashy car. “Ladies, you both look beautiful. Every man in that club is going to die of envy when I walk in with the two of you on my arms.”

I managed a weak smile.

Flick snorted. “Can I get a pizza to go with all that cheese?”

I introduced myself to him and he eyed me over the rim of his sunglasses, although why he needed sunglasses at night I didn’t know.

“Jed, honey, stop checking out my friend.”

“You’re feisty tonight, babe. I was just saying hello.”

I hopped in the backseat as Flick and Jed made out in the front seat and I looked everywhere except at them. I was beginning to understand a little more now why Salem didn’t want to come.

Flick and Jed finally broke apart. “And we’re off,” Flick exclaimed.

* * *

Apparently this club, called Malibu, had valet parking, and apparently our friend Jed knew the bouncer so we strode right up to the front, past the grumbling guys with polished shoes and girls balancing on skyscraper heels. Clay said he’d meet us there.

My phone buzzed just as I was tripping past the burly guards at the front into the small alcove reception area where Jed was paying our entry fee, a red velvet curtain separating us from the club. I wasn’t used to this damn tiny clutch purse thing. I dropped my lipstick and keys before I managed to get out my phone. I missed the call. It had been Clay.

Crap. And there were already three previous messages and three missed calls I somehow missed.

Already inside.
This was sent at 7:55 p.m.

You did say 8 p.m. at Malibu’s, right?
Sent at 8:17 p.m.

Then his latest one, his worry clear.
Aria? Where are you? Are you okay?

We were almost twenty-five minutes late. Before I could call him back, Flick grabbed my shoulder. Over the rhythmic drumming of the music coming from just past a set of velvet red curtains, I heard her yell, “You ready to rock his world?”

I nodded as I put my phone away. He’d know very soon I was there and I was okay.

Jed and Flick went through the curtains first, leaving me to make my entry all by myself. To one side of the reception there was a thin full-length mirror, which I stopped in front of.

I smoothed down my dress, a pure white body-hugging designer piece to mid-thigh with a sash that went across the front of my breasts, draped over one shoulder and hung down the back to about mid-calf. I fluffed the roots of my hair, which Flick had teased and curled into a wavy flame that swooped across one eye and hung down to the small of my back. The ensemble was topped off by a pair of crystal drop earrings, a matching necklace and a silver clutch and silver strappy heels.

I flushed at the thought of the underwear I was wearing, one of Victoria’s,
wink wink
. Flick had made me try on a bazillion sets before sending me home with these
‘
on the house
’
. I had tried to pay her but she refused. She had probably already found the cash I had folded and slipped into her purse without her seeing. I already knew I would probably get
‘
accidentally
’
overpaid in my next pay.

The set I chose was white Brazilian-cut knickers in a delicate lace with a matching balcony bra, a line of five diamantes dripping elegantly from between the breasts and from the top centre of the panties. I had never owned a pair like it, all of my previous undergarment purchases were designed for comfort and
not
to be seen.

I had never in my life ever been dressed up like this before. I had never had any reason to. My mother wasn’t around to teach me how to do makeup or to do my hair. Apart from a little mascara, I never wore any makeup. Tonight, Flick had painted my eyes dark and sultry and I looked almost sinister with silver highlighting my brow bones and the inner corners of my eyes, making the grey of my eyes pop like gun metal. We didn’t have the same complexion, Flick and I, so she didn’t have foundation for me. But in all honesty my skin didn’t need it. She had dusted my cheeks lightly with pale blush to give me a glow and along my cheekbones ‘to make them pop’.

I took a deep breath. My heart began to beat like a small drumroll as if waiting to announce me to the man who was waiting for me on the other side. I felt my phone buzz again. I had to hurry. Clay was already worried.

I slipped my hands in the slit of the velvet curtains, pushed them aside, and stepped through.

The warm air hit me first. I almost choked on the clash of expensive perfumes, musky spice and soft sweet vanillas, and dancing bodies exuding sweat. The music blared a catchy salsa melody of guitars and drums.

I didn’t really know what to expect for this Latino social. I had never been to one before but Flick said she went to them all the time. Nightclubs hosting the social would open earlier, at 7 p.m., and play solely Latino music, the focus more on dancing rather than drinking. It was the only reason that Clay agreed to come.

The inside of Malibu was overwhelming. I didn’t know where to look. It was an irregularly shaped nightclub dressed in silver and dark fabrics, large flat aquariums were installed as partitions, the shimmering dancing figures moving between the jewel-like fish and swaying coral.

I eyed the crowd, searching, seeking, not really seeing anyone, until my gaze slid onto his familiar figure. Clay Jagger stood some metres away at the bar, running his hands through his hair, messing it up and glaring at his phone. My breath shook in and out between my teeth. My God, he was beautiful. Would there ever be a time when I wouldn’t be struck by seeing him? He was clean shaven, his dark hair curling against the collar of the black button-up shirt hugging his thick torso, dark, fitted denim showcasing his powerful thighs. Aggression rolled off him, making him seem almost dangerous.

The other patrons in the bar sensed this too. They left a respectful space around him and yet their heads tilted towards him, their bodies leaning in closer, their eyes stealing glances. All drawn towards him. But he didn’t seem to notice.

I strode over to him, trying my damndest to strut with my hips as I’d seen Salem do before. I prayed that I wouldn’t fall over in these spindly heels, which seemed to have grown even more precarious in the last five seconds.

I felt my phone buzz but I ignored it. He would see me soon.

He looked up and our eyes locked. He straightened, his elbow slipping off the bar top and his mouth parted. My periphery faded into a blurry smudge of shadows as he became the only object in focus. I found myself moving towards him but I could barely feel my legs.

I stopped right before him. “Hey, hot stuff,” I said in my sexiest voice, my hands on my hips. Flick was right. Dressing up like this made me feel powerful and sexy and I loved the way he was looking at me…like he could devour me.

His eyebrows came down over his eyes as a look of anger stole away every lustful sign from his face. His hands gripped my upper arms and he pulled me to him, to hiss in my ear, “What the fuck are
you
doing here?”

What?
I tugged against him but it felt like I was fighting against steel chains, his hands were clamped so tight. When I pulled back from his face, his dark eyes were hard as stone.

“Get the hell out of here before−”

“Clay? You’re hurting me.” I blinked back tears.

Confusion began to creep into his features.

“Please, Clay,” I tried again, my voice cracking. “You’re scaring me.”

“Aria?” His face broke out into a mask of horror. His grip sprang open from my arms. Air drew sharply into my lungs and tears pricked at my eyes as I rubbed the band of red heat where his hand had been. “Oh my God,” he breathed. “I didn’t realise it was you.”

I inhaled sharply. “You thought I was Salem?”

He nodded, his top teeth cutting into his bottom lip as he stared at me.

Salem. He’d thought I was Salem. “Why did you think I was her?”

“You weren’t answering your cell. The way you’re dressed… This isn’t you.”

Because only wild, crazy Salem would wear something as daring as this. Quiet, timid little Aria wouldn’t. Why couldn’t I wear this? Why couldn’t I be wild and sexy for once? “And you thought you had a right to speak to Salem that way?”

His mouth pressed together. “I won’t apologise for speaking to
her
that way.”

“How dare you.”

“If you only knew…” he muttered.

“Knew what?” I demanded. He shook his head. I grabbed his upper arm and tried again. “Don’t keep things from me. The secrets you keep will just grow and fester between us.
They
will be the things to end us, not Salem.”

His eyes softened and he opened his mouth to speak.