He's eyeing her like a piece of meat. Then again, they all are. Looking like she does, in her older sister Nojiko's, two-sizes too tight black cocktail dress she almost can't blame them. Almost. Unfortunately, she's used to the staring. Doesn't mean she likes it of course (because she doesn't, but if she thinks too hard about the old man across the bar licking his lips at her, she won't be able to finish her job tonight). Besides, she's nearly perfected the Don't Fuck With Me stare. She decidedly shoots one to grandpa, who thankfully takes the hint and looks away. She grins. Practice makes perfect.
The hopeful staring her down from across the bar has a haircut that reminds her of a magazine model, and a jawline that makes her believe he's used to getting what he wants. He's sporting dark denim deans and an all-black leather jacket. It's strange, she thinks. That a knockout with money like him even bothers with this run of the mill bar like this. Surely, he would fit in better at a nicer bar only a few streets over. Maybe he's a tourist, her mind supplies. The kind who doesn't know the ins and outs of the city it seems. He rolls up his sleeves a moment later displaying a lovely silver watch. Armani maybe? It's difficult to distinguish so far away. She decidedly figures the 'why' doesn't matter so long as it's real.
As it is, Nami just sighs. He'll do.
She brushes her fingers through her long red hair and casually pulls down the neck line of her dress exposing some of her better assets before she turns around meeting his gaze. He smiles in a way that makes her skin crawl and holds up his beer in suggestion. She looks around for a second and shrugs before turning away. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is Hot with a capital H. He's probably used to girls throwing themselves at him; both fawning and fighting over him. Maybe her logic is a bit simplified, but that's exactly what she decides not to do.
So, she ignores him. And it works like a charm, because not moments later he's approaching her from behind. She mentally thanks herself for reading that Intro to Psychology textbook last summer. Her favorite chapter was the one about behavioral psychology. She can still picture the way Nojiko rolled her eyes at her fondly saying, "God Nami, reading during summer vacation, you're such a nerd" and ruffled her hair. She smiles softly at the memory.
"Can I buy you a drink?" the voice sounds from behind her. His voice is deep and husky- something most girls find attractive. Too bad she's not most girls.
She goes to give him her is that the best you can come up with look. It's not as good as her Don't Fuck With Me look which is capitalized and used so often she should probably consider putting a trademark on it. But honestly that pickup line- dare she even consider it one- was just downright degrading. She's had a man literally serenade her before. Granted, he was an older man and thought her name was Caroline which, yeah. Not her best idea, but how was she to know he was a performer AND a Neil Diamond fan. So, not her fault.
But she turns and—holy shit is he tall! She could tell he was from across the bar, but it's another thing entirely to have someone literally staring down at you. A basketball player her mind instantly thinks. Or at least he should've been with what the height advantage thing he has going on. She idly finds herself distracted, wondering exactly how tall he actually is, but stops because really it makes no difference. She just feels so tiny next to him. Granted, she's not wearing heels, but she's still a solid 5'6" meaning he's practically a giant. She lets out a long breath like she's considering and pretends that it doesn't bother her.
"I like tequila" is all she responds with before starting toward the bar, but not before seeing a wolfish grin spread across his face. He follows after her, and she can actually feel his eyes appreciating her backside. She smirks, because he probably thinks he's being subtle. Then again maybe not. Guys like him don't really need subtle. So, she actually smiles to herself, because the ignorant ones where always the most fun, and swings her hips to the music.
"Two shots of Patron" he calls out to the bartender taking his old seat at the bar. She slides up next to him and watches him pull out his credit card while setting his wallet on the counter, and she smiles at him, because Patron is expensive and she's supposed to be impressed.
She's much closer now, and even though the lighting in here is complete shit, she can tell his features really are attractive. His rugged eyebrows and deep brown eyes in particular are striking, as well as his slight scruff from not shaving. And it makes her mad suddenly, because while this certainly isn't the worst part of town (no, she lives there) it's certainly not the classy upper east side, where a guy with money and good looks should be, meaning that he's just here for a quickie. A quick shag with a girl who probably thinks she hit the jackpot before kicking her the curb when he's finished. Heh, he probably thinks he's doing charity work, and if that doesn't hit home real hard, because Nami is no one's fucking charity.
The man behind the bar makes a gesture for her I.D. so she smoothly unclips her clutch (which is also Nojiko's) and places the one she fenced from that poor unsuspecting tourist yesterday into his hand. Her name is Ann Elizabeth Fischer. She's 22 years old, with red hair, brown eyes and from California. The man merely glances at it and hands it back to her a moment later along with her drink. She only smiles.
"Ann" she says holding her shot glass up in cheers.
"John" he replies tapping her glass, and she nods her head acting like she didn't just read the name Johnathan Palazzi on his credit card.
It goes down like water for her, and it's about four shots later that she decides she's tired of giggling at things that aren't really funny and hearing him prattle on about that modeling job in L.A. he just flew back from. She'd gotten hardly any words in the entire night (not that she would answer any questions truthfully) but it's obvious the guy only cares about himself.
She grips his arm and pulls him closer.
"Let's take this somewhere else, hmm?" her warm breath tickling his ear. She smirks at the way his eyes light up. He thinks he's getting lucky. She thinks he's stupid leaving his wallet open like that.
He goes to stand and only stumbles a little which Nami knows means buzzed but not drunk. But he's also laughing loudly-at what she doesn't know, and makes a very obvious grab for her ass. So maybe more drunk after all. She skirts out of the way before hand meets ass pretending to stumble and almost fall. If people think she's a lightweight, that's not her problem, but she could probably out drink every man in this bar. He smiles at how wasted she appears, and she smiles back because he's an idiot. He turns to leave but not before pulling out his wallet and giving the bartender a generous number of bills as tip, leaving Nami to fume in righteous indignation. That's her money, thank you. She grabs hold of his arm and digs her nails a little harder than necessary, and makes sure to pay extra attention to which pocket he puts his wallet back in.
It turns out he's actually one of the few who dares to drive in Queens, so they're in his Lexus. It's black, because why wouldn't it be, and the door is barely closed before he's eating her face and rubbing his hands up and down her thighs. So, she sits there and lets him, because that's what she's supposed to do. And if while his hands are busy with her legs she manages to unlatch his watch- well who's to know?
After about another 20 seconds later, she's had enough of this slobberfest, and pushes him away. His breath reeks like alcohol, and he's getting too handsy for her liking. Besides, she has what she came for and needs to get home before Nojiko does. He looks genuinely confused for a moment, before she demands
"Close your eyes."
Sometimes she's feels bad about what she does. Sometimes the men that she meets are genuinely nice guys. They ask her all sorts of questions and seem genuinely interested in what she has to say. She bets they would probably be gentle too, if you know, she ever went home with them. Not that she ever would. Not again. Hell, she once had an old man invite her for dinner. No strings attached. She was suspicious, but she could never afford the place he was offering to take her on her own, so she relented. As it turned out the guy was just lonely and wanted someone to talk too. Didn't help he was dying of AIDS. She went home empty handed that night, and wouldn't leave her room for another two days, telling Nojiko she was sick. It wasn't even a lie.
Tonight however, was not one of those times.
When he doesn't listen to her, she leans in real close and walks her fingers slowly down his chest, to his stomach until-
"Close. Your. Eyes." She whispers again blowing into his ear.
He closes his eyes and is grinning from ear to ear.
"You bad girl" he teases.
"Heh, you have no idea." She smirks. "Wait here." She says before clicking her clutch shut and opening the door. The light goes on in the car, and it's only a moment later before model-hair John opens his eyes again, but by then she's gone.
You'd think living in New York City for your whole life would mean you understood how freaking inappropriate a strapless cocktail dress was for the middle of January. But because Nami could pick your pockets before 'hello' but not remember to bring a jacket, the answer to that would be very. If she made any good choice today it would be not wearing the heels she originally tried on. Not that she doesn't know how to run in heels, because she does. She's had plenty of experience with it too. But no, it's because it's icy as hell and even her wedges are making her slide all over the place.
She shrinks in in out of alleyways watching as the housing becomes worse, running mostly on adrenaline. It isn't until she's several streets over behind a row of trash cans that she stops to catch her breath. She rubs her hands up and down her arms, because the adrenaline is wearing off, and did she mention strapless? She's breathing heavy, but paranoia gets the best of her so she sucks in a deep breath, counts to ten, and listens. There's the hum of electricity and sirens in the distance, but no footsteps following her. Besides, even if Mr. Hottie could run, he'd never be able to catch her. Satisfied by the thought she exhales slowly. Carefully, because her hands are shaking, (from the cold, obviously) she unclips her clutch and pulls out her trophies.
It's too dark too see anything clearly, but she grasps the wallet first and strains her eyes to count the cash. After counting it once, and then again, she sighs. It comes out to be $105—not counting the change. She shoves the bills back into her clutch, and without even looking at what else is hidden in the folds, she tosses it into the nearest bin. Nojiko taught her that- you always throw away the cards in case some asshole tries to find you. Better to just toss the whole wallet and be done with it. Besides, Nami really hates people who keep souvenirs. Like a fucking tourist or something.
A second later she takes out a key as well, and throws that in the trash too. Grinning, she brushes off her hands. The idiot never saw it coming. She considers feeling bad. That maybe she went a bit too far this time, but shrugs because oh well, if he can't walk straight he certainly can't drive straight. Really, she's just doing a public service.
Finally, she picks up the watch. She can't see it- it's way too dark for that-but she feels it. Gently, she rubs her thumb along the face of it, and allows herself a moment of smugness. She'll swing by Bug's in the morning before school to pawn it off. If it's real (and even in that dim bar lighting it looked like it was) they'll have enough money to cover the rent this month and then Nojiko won't have to keep picking up stupid graveyard shifts.
Nami loves her sister. She really does. But sometimes Nojiko forgets that because she's 19, and two years older doesn't make her an adult. And no, Nami doesn't mean that in the you're not my mother let me do what I want way. God, she wishes it were like that. But instead means it in that you shouldn't have to work yourself to death and work two jobs because of me way. Especially when Nami is so good at what she does. And will gladly do it too, if it keeps her sister away from all the self-sacrificing bullshit she preaches.
She makes it back to their apartment about 10 minutes later. A feat which would have taken 30 minutes if she were anyone else, but things like fences and railings are hardly an issue for her. Their apartment is on the second story, so she pulls on the fire escape hoisting herself up, where she climbs until she reaches her unlocked window. She slinks in, grateful to finally be out of the cold and snaps the lock shut. Her desk lamp is still on and the door is still closed, meaning Nojiko isn't home yet. She releases the breath she was holding, relieved. Checking her cellphone, the time reads 1:41. That means Nojiko won't be home for another 35 minutes at least. That, and she'll be taking her English test about the book she didn't finish reading with approximately four hours of sleep. Well, shit. Stupid Charles Dickens, with his stupid Great Expectations. Whatever. Not like she can do much about it now.
She checks the living room couch anyways, and when there's no Nojiko, checks to make sure the front door is still locked. Satisfied that it is, she goes back to her room before finally stripping out of her dress, and god, does it feel nice no longer having cheap polyester glued to her skin. Seriously, her sister could look stunning in just about anything, yet she chooses that monstrosity. She then snuggles into her oldest, albeit comfiest sweatshirt, before carefully hanging the dress, and returning it to Nojiko's side of the closet. She hides the money and watch under the mattress before also returning the clutch, and shoes.
She's cold; all the way down to her bones, and she would love nothing more than to sink into sleepless oblivion. But she can still taste alcohol on her lips, and his saliva in her mouth, and his hands—
She runs to the bathroom, throwing off her sweatshirt and shedding her bra and panties before jumping in the shower with her toothbrush and the entire tube of toothpaste. She remembers to lock the door because she always remembers, and leaves the water on scalding brushing her teeth once, twice, and then three times before finally feeling like her tongue is clean. And while the water is several degrees past 'hot' she lets it run down her back until she finally, finally stops shivering (shaking). It's only the thought that Nojiko is probably on her way home by now does she reluctantly turn the water off. She towels off with the fluffiest towel she has (which is only slightly less scratchy feeling than the other ones) and throws it in the hamper along with her other clothes. She smiles grimly because she can almost hear Nojiko's exasperation when telling her, this towel isn't dirty yet Nami. Stop putting it in the hamper. But Nojiko, who uses her towels two, even three times doesn't understand.
She pulls on another sweatshirt, and some raggy old sweatpants this time, before finally sinking into her bed, letting the mountain of blankets consume her. She's dozing off when she hears the front door open and close. It's creaky, loud, and reassuring all at once. And even though Nojiko treads quietly- because she's considerate like that- that doesn't stop the kitchen light from bleeding in through the crack under her door.
The lingering tension in her shoulders fades away, and she's asleep seconds later.
Hearing Nojiko really shouldn't be such a relief.