Chapter seven
1167 Words
“Oh, don’t worry, not the biblical kind,” Yvonne chimed in, the amusement in her voice. “For context, it's more like Sodom and Gomorrah. Except, the guest list is seven figures worth and more,”
“A nightclub?” I guessed, trying to downplay the idea.
“Not just any nightclub,” Ivy spoke candidly. “It’s the lounge. I'm talking top-tier s**t. And don’t even think about backing out.”
“I’m not backing out,” I sighed. Then let out a groan. “Guys, I’m just… today’s been rough. I just want to sleep.”
“Then sleep in some man’s arms,” Ivy pointed out to me. “That’s the whole point. We’re going out, we are going to get you c**k-blocked and forget about Mitch for good,”
There was no reasoning with Ivy. I switched to Yvonne for backup. “Yvonne, babe, I’m seriously tired. And honestly... sleeping with someone barely three days after a three-year relationship ended makes me feel like….well, it feels kind of trashy. Can you back me up here?”
“Oh please,” Yvonne said, not missing a beat, “This should not be coming from someone who kissed me three days ago.”
I froze. “Yvonne—”
“Wait... WHATTTT?!” Ivy practically screamed out loud before I could react.
I slapped my hand to my face.
“When did that happen?! Bree! Are you into girls now? Oh my God, I have a list of—”
“I’m coming to the club,” I cut her off before she could finish that sentence. “And no, I’m not into women.”
“Perfect. Dress hot,” Yvonne said sweetly, like she hadn’t just thrown me under the bus less than a minute ago.
“I swear, we’re sooo picking you up,” Ivy yelled in the background. I could hear the two of them fumbling and bickering over the phone.
“Cool,” I mumbled to myself, and ended the call. I got up and packed up my stuff to go home. If I were going to this club, I would need at least two hours of sleep.
While I was on the train, Yvonne texted me that they would pick me up at nine pm. That was okay in my books. I quickly placed an alarm for eight pm, so that I wouldn't oversleep.
By the time I got home, I peeled off my clothes and collapsed onto my bed, barely aware of how heavy my body felt. At some point, I didn't know when I fell asleep.
*****
The blaring scream of my alarm jolted me up from sleep.
Groaning loudly, I reached out for my phone and pressed the snooze button. I had just under an hour to get ready. For a brief moment, I seriously considered just lying and saying I’d slept past my alarm. But the oncoming guilt tugging at my heart wouldn't let me. Ivy and Yvonne had good intentions.
Reluctantly dragging myself to the bathroom, I took a quick shower. Thankfully, Yvonne had curled my long red hair with hot rollers the night before. The soft waves still maintained their curls, so I decided to let them fall freely down my back.
Standing in my underwear in front of the mirror, I slipped on a soft white off-shoulder top which had frilly sleeves that floated just above my elbows, and pulled on a long blackish brown pleated skirt which had stitched-in pearls. I personally admired the artwork, which is what appealed to me to buy it.
Feeling satisfied, I drew a cat-ish eyeliner on my tired eyes, added some mascara, padded a little blush, and nude lipstick. Just as I was fastening my pearl earrings, there was a knock at the door.
They were early. Twenty minutes early. Strange.
When I opened the door, the silence that met me was louder than any greeting. Ivy frowned at me instantly, and Yvonne looked like she was trying to make sense of a disaster unfolding right in front of her.
“What the f**k is that?” Ivy blurted out first, pointing at my skirt like it had personally offended her. Yvonne shook her head slowly.
I blinked. “You mean… my outfit?”
They didn’t need to say anything. The synchronised raised eyebrows they gave me said it all.
I let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “You’re kidding me, right? I got the skirt from a one-time trip to Mexico. The backstory behind this is amazing. I really love this skirt.”
Ivy and Yvonne exchanged sideways glances. I continued heartily, not minding them both.
“You see these pearls? They are hand-stitched. Every year in Puerto Rico, older women gather to make these skirts for their female kids. You gotta appreciate art,”
“So you wanna come with us looking like Mama Coco?” Ivy cut in, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
I rolled my eyes and adjusted my necklace. “You said it’s just a lounge. I didn’t know I needed to show up overdressed.”
Yvonne stepped forward, gently holding out a boutique shopping bag and a pair of strappy black heels.
“Bree, you look gorgeous,” she said sweetly.
“Thank you,” I replied with a genuine smile, my heart softening.
“But now, please put these on,” she said, with a smile of hers, handing me the bag.
I gave her a flat look, then dug through the bag. What I pulled out looked more like lingerie than a dress…. It was tiny, bloody red, and sheer in places it shouldn’t be, and with far too much netting.
I gave both of them an exasperated look.
“This looks like a fishing net,” I declared, holding it up to their faces.
“You remember the bible verse that God said to his disciples he would make them ‘fishers of men’?”
I rolled my eyes at Yvonne.
“I highly doubt that He was referring to this ‘particular’ situation,”
Ivy shrugged her shoulders like my words were pointless and winked at me. “So, you catch something in it,”
I ended up wearing the fishing net.
The club was pulsing with hip hop and sensual music, from the live band of artists playing in the corner. A number of servers drifted around with trays of crystal glasses filled with drinks I couldn’t even name.
The room was crowded with bodies, swaying under soft lighting that made everyone look ten per cent more attractive. I shockingly spotted a couple of familiar faces from red carpet events (mostly famous artists and business owners), and at least one guy I was pretty sure owned an entire airline.
I suddenly felt awkward, not being able to fit in. I began tugging at the hem of the dress, already counting down the minutes and plotting an entire escape plan.
Then I saw him.
- Writer
