I know this dream. I've been here many times before. If I look outside I'll see rain, coming down in sheets. Puddles grow. Thunder booms. I know if I glance across the alley I'll see her, huddled under the tree. Cold. Afraid. Starving. But I can't make myself go to the window. It's not time yet. I wish I could speed the dream up. I know what happens; the same thing that always happens. Me staring. Mother yelling. Burnt bread. Whack! "Take it to the dumpsters so it doesn't smell up the place," she'll say. My cheek throbs. Shirt soaking. Sunken, silver eyes. Toss. Splash.
The alarm startles me awake, an arm reaching across my body to smack the ancient clock's snooze button. It takes me a minute to remember where I am. Why it's not raining, and why I don't smell charred bread.
"Will you start using your phone already? That thing is so annoying at four in the morning," my fiance says as she rolls over and falls back to sleep. Removing the covers, I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Madge again. She's not a morning person.
Twenty minutes later, I'm dressed and headed out the door to work. Baker's hours can be brutal, but I've been doing it all my life, so I don't know any different. I think of a girl as I pull into the parking space at the back of Mellark's bakery, next to the trash cans, which are across from the tree I found her under four years ago.
I dream of her often. Not in a fantasy sort of way. I would be a terrible person to think of her like that. It was quite obvious she was falling on the worst of times. When I have this dream, I wonder what would have happened if I had gone to her, spoken to her. I may have learned her name, her situation. I could have offered help. As it is, I have no idea what became of her. I've never seen her again, outside of my dreams.
As I unlock the back door, I cast a glance to the tree. I do it every morning. I guess I'm hoping she'll be there again, and I can talk to her. Help her. Now that my mother is gone she can't do anything to stop me. Mother always thought I was weak, a pathetic excuse for a son. It seemed the more kind and compassionate I tried to be, the more she berated me for it. I gave up ever trying to please her. There's nothing I can do about it now, anyway. She died of a heart attack two years ago.
I met Madge the day after the funeral. I was drowning my insecurities and regrets surrounding my relationship with my mother in alcohol at the Starlight Lounge, and she was my waitress. She asked me what a handsome guy like me was doing getting drunk alone. We talked. She told me she was putting herself through business school at UNLV. I told her I could use someone with a business degree at the bakery, which had just been turned over to me by my father. We exchanged numbers, and here we are two years later, getting married in six months.
She's a beautiful girl. Sweet, funny, kind. A little on the materialistic side, but who isn't in this town? Vegas isn't exactly 'pure', and materialism is low on the list of qualities to watch out for when you're dating. I picked a good one, I think. My father says my mother would approve of Madge. Not that it matters. But I do hope on some level that it's true.
The day goes by as normal. Baking muffins and cinnamon rolls for the breakfast rush, cookies and sandwiches for lunch, and loaves of different breads, both sweet and savory, for afternoon. Business in Vegas is good, especially in the early morning when people are hungry after their all-nighters. No other business in town has a five-thirty a.m. rush for our best seller, the cheese bun.
Madge shows up to do the books in the afternoon. She manages the Lounge now, and does the bookkeeping for the bakery. I love that it will be a family business - me baking, Madge handling the finances, and our kids running around enjoying the treats I sneak them, spoiling their dinner.
"I have to run home and pack for my trip," Madge says to me, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek before she heads for the back door. "And don't get too crazy at this party tonight."
"You're the only one for me, Madge," I assure her, following her out to her car.
I agreed to go to a bachelor party with my friend Finnick, for his friend Marvel. He needs a wingman, or so he says. I think it's just a way for him to spend time with me since I'm always with Madge or at the bakery. Finnick is not the kind of guy who ever needs help with the ladies. At over six feet, with perfectly styled, copper hair, bright green eyes and muscles more defined than the longest entry in a Webster's dictionary, I have yet to see a girl turn him down. Even Madge flirted with him at first.
Madge slides into the driver's seat and I hold the door open so I can lean down and kiss her properly. I won't see her for a week. She's had a trip planned for the last three months with her girlfriends from school to celebrate their graduation.
"No lap dances for me, and no cabana boys rubbing lotion on you," I joke.
"Deal," Madge agrees. She reaches up to give me one last kiss, and I watch her drive away before heading back into the bakery.
I spend a few more hours there, prepping dough for tomorrow and cleaning up the mess from today. By the time I get home, Madge is gone and Finnick has reminded me via voice text about fifty times to meet him at the Bellagio at nine. I have a few hours so I take a power nap, sure that I'll be out later than I want to be tonight. I have an employee, Rue, opening the shop in the morning, but I'm not usually awake past nine-thirty.
After I've showered and shaved, and listened to yet another voice text from Finnick, I find space in a parking garage not too far from the Bellagio and make my way down the strip. Vegas is spectacular at night, and my eyes are drawn to the ever changing fountain in front of the hotel. The sprays of water dance, illuminated, chasing each other in an endless cycle.
I'm a little early, so I stand in front of the fountains, taking it all in. You wouldn't think that the busiest street in Vegas is peaceful, but if you can block out the noise and get lost in the sights, it really can be. Not the kind of serenity you would find in the mountains, or at the beach-
"District Twelve Bar and Lounge," a voice interrupts my thoughts as a hand shoves a card in my face. I look over my shoulder at the man, confused for a moment. I reach out and take the card, because that's what you do when someone hands you something.
"Excuse me?" I ask, staring into his very familiar-seeming gray eyes.
"District Twelve Bar and Lounge. You into girls or guys? We have both-"
"Oh, no. No thanks, man," I say, trying to hand the card back to him. "I'm engaged." Even as I say it I know it sounds lame in this town. Plenty of married men, women, even couples, hire private entertainment. The guy gives me a crooked grin and tells me to keep the card and walks away.
I sit there, card in hand, staring back at the fountains while I subconsciously tear at the edges. Looking down I do a doubletake when I see the face on the card. It's her. I know it. I've seen those eyes in my dreams pretty much weekly for the last four years. Her cheeks are less hollow, her skin luminous, although that's probably from makeup, and her hair isn't pasted to her scalp and face from buckets of rain, but I can feel it somewhere deep inside me that it's her. My heart falls as I realize what she's had to do to make it in this world. I guess it's better than death, though, but still…
I always wanted to know what became of her, and now I do, even though it feels hollow. I never got to talk to her. The name on the card says "MJ". I wonder if those are her real initials or a stage name. Most call girls don't use their real names. I suddenly have so many questions I want to ask, a burning need to know things about her.
Looking down the strip, I can just make out the guy who handed me the card - tall, dark hair, well built, about fifty yards in the opposite direction of the Bellagio. Maybe he knows. My feet are already carrying me towards him, and after bumping a few shoulders and receiving a slight shove and reprimand from an elderly lady who thought I might be trying to mug her in my haste to catch the guy, soon I'm face to face with him again.
"Do you know this girl?" I ask. He narrows his eyes at me.
"What if I do?" he returns, his voice suspicious.
"I just want to know her name," I say, adding, "and if she's okay." They guy snorts and throws me a critical glance.
"Look, buddy, either pay for her time, or buzz off. We don't give out personal information on our girls." He hands out another card to a hulking blond man, and I can see the picture on it is also of MJ. The man leers at it and asks how much. Something in his eyes makes me unsettled.
"Seventy-five an hour," he says. The blond gives him a questioning look. "She's new," the dark haired man says, as if that explains why the fee is cheaper than expected. The information, though, that she hasn't been bought before is oddly refreshing, and my heart leaps in my chest.
"I'll give her a go," the guy says casually, as if MJ is something to be 'tried out'. My heart went from leaping to constricting. He disgusts me, and I can't stand the thought of his eyes devouring her body, and his hands, among other things, touching her in an indecent way. The dark haired man picks up a walkie talkie, giving orders to get MJ ready. I'm not sure what comes over me, but I counter his offer. I can't let this guy taint her.
"I'll pay two hundred," I blurt out, pulling my wallet from my back pocket before the two men have a chance to finish the transaction. I am astonished at my own outburst, and it must show on my face from the looks they're giving me.
"That's per hour," he says to me in a condescending tone. I know. And I don't care. The hulk has walked away, leaving us with a sneer and something about only an idiot paying that much for a newbie. Before I can think through my actions, I'm given directions as to where I can find her, and my credit card is swiped on a square attached to a smartphone. He tells me my time will begin in twenty minutes, and starts to disappear into the bustling crowd, giving me a quick backward glance.
I head for the address, which is a few blocks off the strip. It takes me all twenty minutes to get there, fighting the crowds and waiting for traffic lights. I find myself standing in front of a room labeled the 'Capitol Suite', unsure if I should knock or just open the door. I decide on knocking, and my first attempt at it goes unanswered because my nerves won't allow my knuckles to connect with the wood hard enough for anyone to hear.
Before a second attempt can be made, my phone begins to buzz in my pocket. It's Finnick. In all the madness I completely forgot I was supposed to meet him.
"Finn," I answer. "Sorry, but I'm gonna be a little late, man."
"But you're still coming, right? Can't work a bachelor party without my right hand," he jests. I'm hardly his 'right hand', but now isn't the time to get into any of that. The girl haunting my dreams these past four years is just a few feet away, and she's waiting for me.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there. Just got a quick errand to run." I wince as I hear the word 'errand' fall out of my mouth. Even though I'm trying to cover what I'm actually doing, my mind tells me I just objectified MJ the same way the blond guy did. I hate myself for that. But really there's no phrase coming to mind that can properly depict what I'm walking into in a decent way.
After disconnecting with Finnick, I try knocking again. The door opens, hesitantly. There is no one in front of me, and I think she must be behind it waiting for me to come in. I step through into the plush room, but pay it no mind as the lock clicks behind me softly, closing me in. My heart is beating erratically, and my palms are damp. I have no clue what I'm going to say to her, or how to explain why I'm even here, since I don't really know myself. All I know is that I have to see her.
And see her, I do. She is facing the door, in a short, black satin robe that hangs just above the curve of her butt cheeks, revealing black, lace garters on her upper thighs. I can't help but follow the dark line of her stockings down the backs of her slender, defined legs, to the glossy black heels that cover her small feet.
The sight undoes me a little. I'm an engaged guy, but still a guy nonetheless. And a barely dressed woman before me, who thinks I am here for sex, doesn't go without some reaction from me. I can feel an erection in the making so I try to think of something, anything, that can keep it at bay. Mother helps do the trick.
"MJ?" Her name sounds clumsy in the stillness of the room. She turns her head in my direction, but her eyes do not meet mine, and she has not let go of the door knob. I watch her hand hesitate before releasing it. When she does I can see a sort of resolve in the rigidness of her body. She faces me fully, and before I can tell her not to undress, she unties her robe, allowing it to fall to the floor. Oh, God. She is stunning. The words in my head stumble over each other in an effort to make sense; I'm not here for this. I just want to talk to her, but I can't pry my eyes off of her now.
It takes all I can muster to snap out of my lust-filled trance, but I do it. I remind myself of Madge, and what she would think if she knew I were here. I'll have to tell her somehow. I can't keep secrets from my future wife. Then again, I was supposed to be at a bachelor party where there were sure to be naked breasts and girls grinding themselves on me. This is better isn't it? I'm just talking to a girl I know is living a hard life. Sure, she happens to be indecently clothed for a chat, but maybe if I can help her like I should have four years ago, it'll be a wash. Madge will understand.
In the time it takes me to convince myself that all will be okay, MJ has moved directly in front of me, her hands on my chest, roaming softly to unbutton Madge's favorite navy plaid shirt, rendering me completely incoherent. She is all I can focus on, and even though I can barely feel it, her touch is like a wildfire, spreading throughout my body with abandon.
The top button of my shirt pops open at her fingertips and I'm both terrified and grateful. My neck suddenly needs ventilation, but if she doesn't stop touching me I'm going to embarrass myself. I'm feeling clammy and uncertain, and the room may or may not be spinning. My mind is whirling, telling me to stop, but my body is responding to her slight attentions stronger than I've ever felt it, and I have to flex my palms in and out of fists to keep them from caressing her smooth, glowing skin. It's near impossible.
My pocket vibrates and brings me back. Thank God. Noble as it seemed in the beginning, this may not have been the best idea I've ever had. I step away from her, a part of me reluctantly leaving her hands to grapple with air instead of my third button, and grateful to have something else to distract me while I get it together. It's just a text from Finnick, telling me which room the party is in, and to hurry my ass up. I shoot him a quick 'alright' and stare at the dark screen of my phone, trying to map out a conversation with MJ. My mind is still a bit muddled, and I just decide to wing it. Pushing my top two buttons back through their holes, I turn around and walk over to the place where she dropped her robe. I pick it up, stare straight into her eyes, and offer it back to her.
"Would you like to sit?" My question takes her by surprise, but it doesn't look like she's pleased with it, or relieved in any way. In fact, she seems angry.
After what seems like an hour long staring contest, MJ moves across the room as she grabs the robe from me, adjusting the belt tight around her. I can't ignore the way she walks. Even though she seems a bit wobbly in the heels, her legs look amazing. My eyes follow her as she sits quietly, her steel-colored eyes glaring at me.
"I'm actually just here to talk," I tell her. There is a palpable silence in the room as I watch her consider my words. Her arms come around her waist, as if she's trying to protect herself, and she seems very uncertain.
"I'm sorry, I'm not good with talking. This is my first night, and I'm not sure how to get a guy off just with words. Or it that's even possible, but maybe if you start, I can... follow," she says quietly, with a nervous glance toward the floor.
"No. No, I think you're misunderstanding me," I say, and pause to gather my thoughts. "I want to actually talk to you. Nothing sexual. Just conversation."
Her lips part and her eyes narrow, and I don't have a clue what she's thinking. I cannot read this girl. She flusters me, excites me, makes me walk on eggshells. There seems to be no shortage of reactions I've experienced by her in these first ten minutes.
"Am I not attractive enough for your tastes?" she says to me, the razor sharp edge of her tone enough to cut me. I'm not sure anything could be less true, and I obviously need to explain myself further. She must have no idea the effect she can have on people - on me especially. I've just thrown out a minimum of two hundred dollars, and risked my fiance's trust just to have a conversation with her. If she only knew the power she had.
"You probably don't remember me," I start, trying to deflect the fact that I think she's the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on. "You came to my bakery four years ago. You were huddled under a tree and it looked like you were starving, so I threw you some bread." I stop talking because I can see her eyes widen, and I know she remembers.
"That was you!" she gasps, and her hands cover her mouth, then she points in my direction. "I knew you looked familiar. I was staring at you through the peephole trying to figure out how I knew you."
A relieved smile makes its way to my lips and I breathe a sigh of relief.
"Why are you here? How did you find me?" A quick look of terror crosses her features as she asks, "Are you stalking me?" She stands and back away from the chair a little, and I immediately want to assuage her fear.
"No," I respond as a nervous laugh escapes my lips. "I'm not a stalker. I just-" I don't know how to explain it to her in a non-creepy way, but I've got to try. "Okay, this is going to sound weird, but I've thought about you. For four years." Her eyes are silver pools of astonishment, then suspicion, and I feel like I'm about to lose any trust she may have in me so I plow forward without letting her speak.
"I wanted to do more." The confusion on her face does nothing to take away the beauty I see in her. I think she could wear any emotion and be stunning.
"You did plenty. It fed me and my sister, kept us from starving, and gave me hope that good people do exist and..., and maybe we would be alright." Her tone is still cautious, but there is no mistaking the sincerity I hear in it, and the apparent love she has for a sibling. It's the first piece of information I've received from her, and it makes me curious for more.
"You have a sister?" I see quickly, though, it's the wrong question to ask. Her eyes become slivers so small I can't make out the color of her irises, which I had noticed the first time she looked at me were the color of raw metal, and rich with fiery passion.
"I think you need to go," she says, allowing some of that passion to escape, and flings her arm commandingly toward the door. I put my hands out, hoping to somehow stop her indignance towards me, but she seems determined to follow through with throwing me out as she stomps across the plush carpet, unlocking the door and yanking it open.
I know I've hit a nerve when she steps back as I approach the exit, wrapping her arms around herself defensively. She won't look at me and I'm pretty sure there's no way I can salvage this night to be anything but a lost cause. It grieves me that I've screwed it all up, but I have no idea how to fix it. Comforting words, which normally flow out of me like a river, causing people to be putty in my hands, won't come. Maybe we're better off as strangers. Maybe I can finally put to rest the dreams of her that torment me.
As I step into the hall, I turn to apologize and say goodbye to MJ, hopefully able to find some sense of peace that she is okay, but all I see is the white of the door, all I hear is the click of the lock. I feel acutely the separation between us, and I can't identify why, but it pains me. I can't get a grasp on how I managed it, but I know I failed in my second chance to do something for her.
The rest of the night is an agonizing blur as I attend the bachelor party. I try to be there for Finnick, but I know my attitude lacks the charismatic spark I'm known for. He seems to be taken by the stripper, a tall, lithe, pretty girl that holds an innocence in her eyes that makes me wonder if she's here by choice or out of desperation, my mind flitting back to MJ with the same thought, though I'm sure it's true in her case.
"What's up with you tonight?" Finnick's voice interrupts my thoughts, and I turn my attention to him, hoping a conversation will take my mind off the night's earlier event.
"You finally dragged yourself away from the stripper, eh? You know, she's here for the bachelor, right? You've taken pretty much all her time," I force a small laugh and absently rub my chin. "Marvel probably won't invite you to anymore parties or guys nights out."
"He's getting married. I'm sure Glimmer will strip for him whenever he wants. Besides, she's different than most performers." My head snaps in his direction. Finnick has never used the word 'performer' for a singer, much less a stripper. He laughs and I see his eyes flash in the girl's direction.
"Her name is Annie, and she does this part time for some extra cash to feed her younger brothers. She normally works as a mermaid in the aquarium at the Silverton," he says, his tone wistful. I've never seen Finnick like this.
"So, you'll be frequenting the Silverton Hotel now?" Finnick's cheeks blush, yet another sight I've never seen, and I think I like this side of him.
"It's possible," he says, and I get the feeling he's trying to salvage a sliver of himself.
"But enough about me. What's going on with you tonight? Madge leaving really got you down?" No, that's definitely not it, although a guilty part of me feels like it should be.
"She'll be back in a week, man. It'll be alright." Finnick claps me on the shoulder and shakes me gently. I know he cares, but it's not Madge that's got me acting strange. In fact, what's strange is that I haven't thought of her since I left MJ.
I wrote this for PiP, but there was just no way I could get it edited and posted in time with everyone's busy schedules and our move. I didn't write for almost a whole month! I have another 2 chapters planned to wrap this up, and I am working on them this week. I wasn't going to post anything until it was complete, but I'm feeling obscure in the fanfic world, so just have some grace with me. :) Hope you are looking forward to more, and as always, talk to me! I want to know what you think! Thank you to Colleenegan25 for reading through and making me contemplate the outline. She also said she loved it, so I'm hoping that's the general consensus here. Pbg