To be Maria (13 page)

            "Sure, Eric," Jim says.

            Anya's heart gallops. "Oh no, they better not be walking in our direction," she whispers.

            Maria whirls around to face her. "They're not. They're walking in the other direction… and they forgot to close the door."

            "What do we do now?"

            Maria's grip on Anya’s hand is so firm, it begins to hurt. She leans so close that Anya can feel the softness of her skin against her forehead. "We wait a minute or two until they are out of our sight and then we sneak in. Got it?"

            Anya nods her head rapidly. She can smell Maria's minty breath.

            The two minutes feel more like two hours. Anya begins to feel cold, so she wraps her arms tighter around her chest to keep warm, but she can’t stop shivering. She almost feels relieved when Maria jerks her onto her feet.

            The two girls scamper over to the open door, then enter the building, leaving the door wide open. They find themselves in a stuffy, poorly lit room that is stacked almost to the ceiling with cardboard boxes that contain all kinds of liquor.

            "Crap! I thought this door led to the back of the dance floor," Maria says in a hoarse whisper.

            "Goddamnit! Where are those mother fuckers," roars a gruff voice from behind the front door, presumably the one that leads onto the dance floor.

            The two girls duck behind a stack of boxes just before a man bursts into the room. Anya peers out from behind the boxes. Her heart skips a beat when she sees him. He is tall, muscular in stature and he boasts a head full of black hair. A fierce expression dominates his facial features.

            "Fuck! They left the damn door open! Those fucking, careless sons-of-bitches. I'm gonna fire their sorry asses!” He slams the exit door so hard, the force of it causes the walls and boxes to shake.

            Anya shoots Maria a panicked look. The expression on Maria's face suggests to her that she is also shaken by the man's violent temper.

            "Some boss that is," Maria says, keeping her voice low and steady.

            "So glad he's not my boss," Anya says, struggling to regain her composure.

            "Let's get out of here before he comes back."

            They run over to the door, but stop short when they realize that they have just entered the serving area. Wrong again. The dance floor is on the other side and it is full of wild people, the women wearing next to nothing and the men acting no different than the boys do at school. The music is so loud, it rings in Anya's ears.

            A short, thin woman with bleach-dyed hair casts both girls a suspicious look while she whisks by holding three large, empty beer mugs.

            "Where did you two come from?" she screams in order to be heard over the loud music.

            Anya gives her a blank look.

            "A couple of your employees let us in through the back door," Maria says.

            The lady raises one eyebrow. "Oh, the entrance doors are unlocked, you know.”

            Anya's heart flutters.
Oh great. Now what do we tell her? Come on, Maria, think of something good to tell her.

           
"But we couldn't find the entrance doors," Maria says.

            The lady frowns at her. "It's right off the street."

            "Yes, but we are new to this city," Maria says.

            The woman shifts her attention over to Anya. She surveys her skeptically. "Honey, you look too young to be here."

            "I'm nineteen," Anya says.

            The woman narrows her eyes. "You don't look it."

            Anya laughs nervously. Her heart slams against her chest. "I know. That's what everyone tells me. I'm so used to it."

            "Okay" she says, shifting her attention back to Maria. "How old are you?"

            “Twenty-one," Maria says, keeping her head held high and her posture straight.

            The woman stares at them for one moment, undecided whether to kick them out or to let them stay. "Alright, you can stay, but get out of this area. If Darren sees you here, he'll freak. He already lost it once. We don't want it to happen again."

           
Yes we know. We were in the back room when he screamed
, Anya almost says.

            As soon as they step onto the dance floor, Maria tears off her coat. Anya is rather  surprised to see her wearing such a revealing dress. It is black, short and very low-cut. The supposed neckline sits only a couple of inches above her naval. Anya wonders how Maria manages to keep her breasts covered, but maybe she doesn't care if they are completely exposed in front of a large crowd of unruly strangers. Then again, Anya's outfit isn’t any less skimpy.

            "Come on, Anya, take off your coat," Maria yells, her voice scarcely heard above the loud music.

            Anya glances around the large, crowded room, aware of the curious looks that some people give her. She suddenly feels nauseous. "Uh…okay."

            Maria eyes her suspiciously. She then leans forward so that her mouth almost touches Anya's ear. "Get a grip of yourself. People are gonna wonder about you. About us. Do you want us to get kicked out?"

            Anya's heart palpitates. "No. No, I don't."

            "Then lighten up." She snatches the coat out of Anya's hand. "Watch and learn," she shouts, turning in the direction of the club's foyer.

            "Maria, what are you doing? You are going to get us in trouble," Anya says, chasing after her. But then, out of the corner of her right eye, this guy captures her attention. He is slightly tall -- about five feet eleven inches -- and lean in stature. A shock of loose, dark brown waves fall to his shoulders. He wears a tight-fitting muscle shirt that reveals a toned torso and tattoos cover almost half of his arms. Baggy blue jeans, held clumsily in place below his waist, compliment his shirt. The maturity in his face and the way he walks suggests to Anya that he is in his mid twenties. That is why, when he approaches her, her heart beats even faster than it already is. She stops, frozen in her tracks.  Anya frantically scans the crowded room in search of Maria.
C’mon, Maria. Get back here!

           
"Hello, little lady," a viscous voice speaks. His voice.

            Anya pivots on her heels. When she looks up, her eyes meet with his. "Excuse me?"

            "I've seen you on the dance floor, these last few minutes. You look like you need some company."

            The smile on his face makes Anya feel even more uneasy than what she is already feeling. "Uh…no…I mean…I'm with a friend."

            "Yes I know. She went to hang up her coat, and yours."

            Anya blushes deeply. Suddenly, she is not aware of the inquisitive stares around her. She grabs the neckline of her tank top, yanks it up, trying to hide what she has dangerously dared to reveal. "She will be back here shortly."

            The man chuckles deeply. A young woman walks up from behind him unexpectedly, then wraps her arms around his wrist. She stands only a few inches shorter than him and she's clad in a red, strapless dress that is so tight, it outlines every contour of her slim body. An explosion of deep brown curls fall down her back and around her shoulders. Her pretty face holds a dark scowl. "Hi, babe, who's this?"

            Anya backs away from them slowly.
Note to self. Don't talk to any other man in this night club.
She can’t read minds, but what she can tell is that he has no desire to let her walk away.

            He reaches his hand out to her and says, "you are--"

            "Anya," she says, making her voice loud and sharp.

            "Anya," he repeats. His temples crease. "Your name rings a bell."

            Her eyes widen. "What?"

            "What's your last name?"

            His girlfriend continues to scrutinize her.

            "Preschnikov. Why do you want to know this?" She can barely keep her knees from shaking.
Come on, Maria, where are you? I need you, like now.

           
"So, you're Adrik's little sister," he says. His eyes dance with malice the moment her brother's name slips out of his mouth.

            It suddenly feels as if the room is spinning around her. "How do you know my brother?"

            His jaw tightens. "Long story. But I'll tell you one thing."

            "What's that?"

            "He's the biggest freakin' wimp I've ever known."

            Anya lets out a stifled chuckle.

            "So, you agree with me?" he says, his mouth half formed into a smile.

            Adrik's face flashes in her mind. He holds her tight by the collar of her t-shirt. His mouth is formed into a tight line and his fist is held high in the air above his head, fingers clenched tightly, ready to plunge down and inflict injury and pain. Anya closes her eyes and shakes her head, willing that terrifying memory to go away. She can hear Maria calling her name. When she opens her eyes again, she is slightly taken aback by the concerned look that they give her.

            "What is your name?" She says in a weak voice.

            "Alex, and--"

            "Anya, what the heck are you doing?" Maria says. She stops when she sees Alex and his girlfriend. She looks at him, the expression on her face displaying a mixture of lust and apprehension, then turns back to Anya, speechless.

            "I'm Alex and this is my girlfriend, Marissa." His face brightens into a smile, making Anya forget about the rigidity in his attitude earlier on.

            "I'm Maria," she says, outstretching her hand to give him a hearty hand shake. She is received a little less eagerly by Marissa.

            "Your brother just turned twenty, so that makes you too young to be here. There are more things I'd like to tell you about him, but first, let's split before you two get caught," he says.

            Maria gives Anya a mystified look. Anya opens her mouth to speak, but she cannot find her voice. She doesn't even know what is about to happen and she is afraid.
So, Adrik does live here still. I knew it.

            Alex and Marissa live in an apartment complex in the heart of the city, close to the lakeshore. The apartment, although not large, is clean and upscale in design.

            Anya hands her coat over to Alex, allowing him to hang it up in the small closet across from the door. She then follows them into the living room area, Maria trailing right behind. Anya studies the place: it is an open suite with only a short set of steps separating the kitchen from the living room area. A medium sized Panasonic TV sits against the wall on the right hand side of the room. On the left side of the TV, stands a tall, potted plant that boasts short, thin, oval-shaped leaves, opaque in color with a hint of green. Anya can’t tell what kind of plant it is. Two medium-sized IKEA couches sit perpendicular to each other, their color a stark contrast to the off-white walls. In the center of the living room, stands a plain, oak coffee table that is painted the same color as the couches: black.

            What captivates Anya the most is the fine, white powder on top of the coffee table. In school, she watched enough film documentaries on drug use to know that the white powder is cocaine. But she can’t comprehend why she has allowed herself to be taken in by drug addicts, especially ones who may be drug dealers.

            "Have a seat," Alex says, gesturing to one of the couches.

            With a small nod of her head, Anya sits herself down beside Maria. She keeps her eyes fixed on the couple. Marissa sweeps some of the white powder onto a thin strip of aluminum. She then holds it to her nose and sniffs deeply, inhaling it. She doesn’t cough or choke, much to Anya's surprise. She doesn’t even flinch. Next, Marissa hands the aluminum strip over to Alex who does the same thing. Once he is done, he wipes the residue off his nostrils, places the aluminum strip on the table, then turns his attention over to Anya and Maria.

            "Pot still beats this stuff by far," he says.

            "Did you get this from my brother?" Anya says.

            "I used to," he says, laying against the cushioned back of the couch nonchalantly. "Now I have my own plant to provide me with the stuff."

            Anya shifts her gaze over to the tall plant. She studies it. "You make cocaine from that?"

            "Yes. We extract the powder from the plant; it's done in a lab. Mind you, we haven't done it in a while. I've had this powder for a few months."

            Anya forces her eyes away from the plant and shifts her attention to the couple instead. She studies their features, longing to know their exact age. Her curiosity gets the better of her. "How old are you?"