Title: Blacklisted
The mix was perfect: Postal Service in her iPod and a swirl of purple paint that completely matched the sky outside of the gallery a few hours previous. She had ran home as fast as she could skitter in her borrowed lemon-colored sandals, and wasted no time breaking in a new canvas with a layer of the iridescent, almost alien colors of the city skyscape.
Kevin was strangely absent from her studio; an unusual occurrence, since it was a Friday, and he liked to unwind from the stressful week by watching her paint, especially in a creative frenzy like this. She didn't mind being his human fishtank, and when he finally appeared, it was long overdue.
One detail was off.
"Hey," she said, pulling an earbud out. "Why are you so dressed up?"
His expression was as blank as an empty griddle, never a good sign. "You're kidding."
"What?" She wiped her nose against her bare forearm, knowing that it was disgusting, but also knowing that he didn't care.
"Please tell me you're joking. We're running late already and we really don't want to be the ones that ruin the surprise."
The realization dropped down on her like a baby grand piano with a ton of bricks piled on top. "Oh shit! That's tonight?"
He allowed himself one exasperated full-body spasm before returning to stasis. "I reminded you last night. We talked about it, at length, and I thought you were getting ready this entire time, Mina!"
She jumped to her feet, scaring the cat, and groaned when she realized what she looked like: acrylic paint was splattered on most of the available skin surfaces, including the tops of her feet and parts of her face, her blonde hair was piled in a messy topknot, and she smelled like dried sunscreen and almost-acrid anti-perspirant. In other words: a wet, hot mess.
"You're going to have to help me," she whimpered, grabbing a rag and dousing it with paint thinner. "How much time do I have?"
"About ten minutes."
"Ten minutes!" She dropped the rag, and he picked it up without missing a beat and began scrubbing off her face. "Oh shit! Why didn't you check on me earlier?"
She caught a glimpse of his gray eyes rolling towards the ceiling, and cut him off before he could respond. "Never mind! Help me get this off so I don't look like I murdered the Grimace."
They did the best job they could before she dashed off to their bathroom. "I'm going to shower, that's definitely not optional right now, I really stink…what am I supposed to wear to this thing?"
"I don't know." He wasn't even in the room and she knew that he was shrugging. "Who cares? Just wear anything."
Now it was her turn to roll her eyes as she cranked on the hot water and jumped in. The last time he had told her that, she had shown up wearing jeans to a party full of designer cocktail dresses and Louboutin heels. Granted, they were very nice jeans, but the hostess still had mistaken her for the deejay.
"Think back to the last time you were at that guy's house. What were the women wearing?"
"I don't know. Dresses?"
That was a start. She ripped open the cap on a shampoo bottle and went to town. "Can you go into my closet and pick something out? Please?"
"Seven minutes."
Mina didn't bother to towel off completely as she ran into the bedroom. He had laid out a dress across their bedspread, and while it wasn't the first one hanging in her closet, it was…far from optimal.
"Kevin!"
He poked his head through the doorway. "What?"
She held up the offending garment. "This is made of cotton."
"So? You look nice in it."
Such sweet, but faulty logic. "Um, also, it's a sundress, it's meant for daytime, and it's way too casual."
"You told me to pick out a dress, I picked out a dress."
"Yes, but—never mind!" She ripped open her closet door, stepped inside, and shuffled frenetically through the hangers before finding it. Seventeen dollars at a consignment shop, and it still was the best purchase she had ever made, besides the sixty bucks to adopt her cat. Pulling it over her head, she called out to him while sweeping makeup and jewelry into a bag. "Grab me some shoes! No wait, grab me the gold heels with the strap across the ankle! The ones that look like they belong to Raye! Please! Thank you! I love you!"
She heard him muttering as she grabbed a few more items before dashing out the door. Without her purse.
A small pothole in the road caused her to nearly poke her eye out. "Babe, please watch the road, I'm trying to put on makeup."
He wanted to say something, she could sense it, but he refrained from commenting, probably because a few minutes earlier, when he had mentioned that she still smelled a bit like paint thinner, she had torn his eardrums out and ground them to powder before he could roll down the window. She turned her attention back to her tiny compact mirror as she angled her head to catch the fully-cranked air vents. "My hair is going to dry wavy."
"Mina, it doesn't matter."
"If it doesn't matter, then why do I have to go?" She knew in her soul that she was being petulant, but the irritation of rushing was unfairly raising her hackles.
Thankfully, he didn't respond to that, either, but reached forward and turned up the heat.
Her hair did indeed dry wavy, and there were still faint hints of paint clinging to certain parts, like her knees and elbows, and she had only managed to get mascara and some lip gloss on during the bumpy car ride. The supposed stroke of genius of using breath spray to cover the smell of paint thinner turned out to be a bust, and now she smelled like the wino who sat outside the loading dock of her gallery and drank peppermint Schnapps.
And Kevin couldn't take his eyes off of her.
They had arrived before the surprise, thankfully, but he knew she was feeling overwhelmed and intimidated by the way she grabbed his arm when the entered the mansion's foyer. His colleague was not one to conceal his fortune, and his wife's taste rivaled many newly-wealthy rap protégées'. The interior Greek columns were a bit much, along with the indoor pool.
He had forgotten about the surprise party's theme, naturally, because the concept of a birthday party having a theme was so beyond his comprehension that it might as well have been advanced nuclear science. Apparently, it was a red and white party, and the women floated by in gauzy, spangled sheaths while Mina's little black dress stood out like a wayward penny in a candy dish.
She appeared desperately bored as she slumped in a corner of a sofa, drinking out of a champagne flute and pulling out her cell phone to check the time every minute. Her hair spiraled into soft waves around her shoulders like a sunny blonde halo, and her unpainted face glowed with dewy freshness in the soft light. She looked beautiful and natural against the shellacked faces and flat-ironed hair of the other women.
He hoped that she knew that.
He was just about to go and rescue her from misery when he heard his name mentioned from around the corner, and he shuttered back and listened in.
The voice he heard was the host's; his colleague Mark. "So that's Chaston's girlfriend in the black dress. Where do you think he picked her up?"
"I don't know. City college?" He couldn't place the third voice. Nasty bro-laughter followed that statement.
"Street corner."
"No, seriously, I think she's a cashier or something," Mark continued. "Or a waitress. Didn't think he would slum like that."
"I think she said she was an artist." That was John, a younger associate, too new to the game to be a shark.
"Yeah, right, every chick with a camera and a paintbrush thinks they're an artist. You know what she can paint?"
"My nuts?"
"My nuts, you fag." Kevin bristled at the word, and wondered why he even agreed to come to this stupid party. He hated Mark, and even more so now that he was planning his death.
"Still," the voice behind the wall continued. "She's fucking hot, that's for sure. I'd throw a shot right in her cunt."
"You wish."
"No, watch." There was a pause as Mark took a swallow of his drink. "Lemme finish this drink and I'll go and talk her up, and guaranteed at the end of this night, she's thinking about me. By the end of this week, she'll be jumping on my dick like it's the fucking antidote."
"What about Chaston?"
"Fuck Chaston, she'll get sick of him and his holier-than-thou attitude sooner or later, and might as well be sooner. Plus, come on, how long can he put up with some dumb blonde who makes jewelry out of beads and hemp and calls it art?"
A very long time, thank you. He had two options at this point: beat the living fuck out of Mark in his own home, which was very appealing, especially with all of the vases and candelabras laying about that would prove to be effective weaponry, and probably get arrested; or step out to the patio for a few minutes to clear his head and think of a plausible excuse to get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible. He chose option B.
He was not alone. A young waiter was crouched in the shadows, finishing up a cigarette. "Excuse me, sir," he said apologetically, reaching down to stub out his smoke.
"No, no, you don't have to leave on account of me, please." Kevin sighed and dropped into a cushioned deck chair that he remembered Mark's wife saying was imported from Indonesia. "Stay a bit."
The waiter shrugged and pulled the pack out of his pocket and offered Kevin a cigarette; he shook his head. "So…how's it going?" God, that sounded white.
The young man gave a shrug with his palm up. "Is OK. I should be working late tonight, but it's OK."
"Hmm." Kevin swirled the scotch in his glass. "I do not want to be here," he finally admitted.
The waiter raised his eyebrows. "Sir?"
"All of these people suck." He knew he was dumping on the poor guy, but it was either that or cause a scene inside. "I always knew they sucked, I knew they sucked coming here, they are all-around shitty people who have stupid shitty parties where you have to wear a certain stupid color, and I dragged my girlfriend here even though she didn't want to go and now I'm certain that makes me a shitty person too."
"Do you love her?"
"Yes, very much."
The waiter laughed. "Then you need to make it up to her, sir."
"I know. First thing I have to do is beat the shit out of my co-worker in his own house. Excuse me."
"Wait, sir." He exhaled a plume of smoke and rubbed his palms on the knees of his work pants. "Do you mean Mr. Conway?"
"Yes."
The waiter looked around furtively. "I've worked this place before, sir. The pendejo wanted to fingerprint us before we came into his house, and his wife makes us use the bathroom in the garage. You are correct, sir; they are shitty people.
Perhaps I can help."
Kevin turned around and sneaked a quick glance at Mina still sitting in the same place, and now trying to avoid talking to Mark Conway, who was perched on the arm of the sofa and leering down at her. "What do you have in mind, uh—what's your name?"
"Emilio."
"Emilio? Kevin. What's the idea?"
Emilio broke into a sudden grin. "The bartender, Jose, is my cousin, and his girlfriend is a bit of a puta, don't tell him that."
Some evil, wonderful feeling was blossoming in his chest. "I think I know where you're going with this, and I like it."
"Piss or spit, sir?"
He watched Mina try to stand, and Mark grabbing at her wrist to pull her back. "Can we do both?"
Emilio shrugged. "We can, and we may do a bit extra. Like I said, anything that comes off of Jose…you would not want to drink it."
Kevin smiled and took a drink. Before he left, he covertly slipped Emilio five one-hundred dollar bills and didn't stay around to hear his thanks.
Mina could only put up with so much, and when the birthday boy told her that the only regret of having a Ferrari was not having a backseat to take her to, she didn't bother to come up with an excuse before making an exit. She slid the door to the patio open, and spotted Kevin and a young, Hispanic waiter sitting around and drinking with their feet up on the expensive furniture. "So this is where you've been hiding," she said softly, sliding onto his lap. "This party sucks."
"I agree. This is Emilio, by the way. Emilio, this is my girlfriend, Mina."
"Hello."
The young man gave her a shy smile and turned to Kevin. "I knew she was yours, sir. You are different than them, and so is she."
Mina felt her face flushing with a warm glow. "Thank you."
"You look very nice in black, Miss."
Kevin rubbed her knee. "Yes, she does."
Naturally, they didn't make it to the bedroom when they got home; the front foyer was witness to another rough bout of sex that left them sweaty and panting on the floor.
Mina picked her head up and plucked at the broken strap of her dress. "You tore my dress."
Kevin gulped air and tried to steady himself. "I'll buy you a new one."
She pouted. "It was one of a kind."
He pulled them off of the ground, and lifted her up and carried her to their bedroom, where he tossed her on the bed and parted her knees for another round. "So are you."
Mark called in sick on Monday.