2. Mr. Brightside
I walked between the tables, delivering cocktails and appetizers, mainly. New couple at table five needed water, I noted, and made sure to deliver it to them promptly. I have to supplement my job as a dancer with a waitress job. At least it's at and interesting place…
"Pleased to meet you, is there anything I can get you nice folks tonight?" I took down their orders carefully on the little notepad. I headed back to the kitchen to drop off the slip. Diablo's cantina is a hot, hot little restaurant, inside the Monte Carlo hotel. Luckily, though, it lets out to the night air.
"I'm taking a break, boss." I called. She shift manager, Tina, gave me thumbs up and I headed outside. Outside is a sidewalk on the Vegas strip, and I had a full view of the city. I pulled a little pack of clove cigarettes out of my apron and lit one up, reveling in the flavor of the smoke. I love cloves. I can't stand regular smokes, though. I took another deep drag and pulled my phone out, sliding it open to check my texts. Hmm. One from Criss, explaining that I wasn't fired. Ha. I'd been joking. I smiled and checked the time. Twelve thirty seven. Shit. I'd gotten off work seven minutes ago. And Criss would be awake. I hit the send button and took another drag.
Three rings. "He-llo?" Criss's voice, but sounding sick. Or like he'd just woken up with a cold. I coughed out a lungful of smoke.
"Criss? You okay?" I asked. He made a quiet noise.
"Open to interpretation." I laughed. He chuckled shakily.
"God, dude. Fuckin' fall apart on me just after I get your number." He laughed a little louder, and I heard sniffling. "Were you asleep?"
"No." I waited, taking another drag off my smoke. "Are you smoking?" He asked finally.
"Yeah."
"That's really stupid. Smoking kills. Do you know all the shit that's in those?" He sniffled and I thought I heard the sound of something being set down. Maybe a glass or a beer.
"They aren't, like, Marlboros. They're clove cigarettes. Just tobacco and spices and stuff." I heard him cough quietly.
"They're still bad, though, aren't they?"
"Yeah, but there's no rat poison or anything in them, Criss."
"…there's rat poison in regular cigarettes?" I nodded, rolling my eyes. "If you're nodding, I can't hear it. Dork."
Man fucking knows people. "Yes, Criss. There is."
"Ugh. That's…really nasty." Another sniffle-ish noise. I sighed. "So what are you up to, Nica?" His voice was sort of thick. I'd guess that he'd been crying.
"Just got off work, you?" There was a long silence.
"Hanging out in my room. I should be down at LAX, though…" He sounded a little guilty, like he'd done something wrong. "So how come you called?"
"I was just bored. And not doing anything. I…I will take you up on that job offer." He coughed again, though there might have been a laugh buried in it.
"I thought I told you to sleep on it."
"I took a nap." He sighed in a frustrated sort of way.
"Where do you work right now?"
"Diablo's, at the-"
"Monte Carlo. Wanna hang out? I've got a free night…sort of." I paused, hesitating. We'd be discussing the job, obviously. But…hang out with Criss? My boss? My hot, lots of sexual tension between us, makes my boyfriend worried boss? "I mean… not at my place. Nothin' weird. Just to talk." He sounded apprehensive. I tried unsuccessfully to remember his girlfriend's name, to ask what her reaction to that would be.
"I guess."
"Where d'you wanna meet?" I thought about it. Thought about what I was wearing.
"LAX? I don't know. Is LAX good?" He laughed softly.
"Yeah. That'd be great. Do I need to send a cab for you?"
"No. I'll be fine. See you soon, Criss."
"Bye Nica." I hung up first, snap-sliding my phone closed. Crap. Hanging out with Criss was going to be…weird. I mean, he's nice, but he makes me nervous. I…don't get to see Eric very often, and Criss is really, really unafraid of touching.
I ground my filter out on my shoe, dropping it into a deposit and walking back into Diablo's to let Tina know I was headed out. She nodded, looking vaguely annoyed. Eh. Wasn't at me, so whatever. I put my apron in my locker and grabbed my purse. I waved goodbye to everyone and headed out, walking out over the sidewalk. There's a monorail that runs over the Las Vegas Strip, but the Luxor is pretty much just around the corner from me anyways.
I walked down the sidewalk, reveling in the way the night air felt over my shoulders – I was still in the corset I'd worn after practice, but I had on darker, tighter jeans and stilettos instead of dancing shoes. I put my headphones into my ears and kept my back straight, eyes forward. There's a lot of dangerous places in Las Vegas, and though the Luxor is in the better part of the town, I didn't want to take any chances.
I made it to the hotel and smiled at the receptionist, who knew me on sight. She raised an eyebrow at me and waved me over.
"What are you doing here this time of night, honey? Criss doesn't have you working late, does he?" I shook my head, pulling my ponytail out as I did. Even among the other dancers, I'm pretty noticeable, I guess.
"No, no. I'm just headed to LAX to meet up with someone." She nodded, looking a little suspicious. She tends to be a gossip, so I didn't really want to tell her I was meeting Criss himself. I braided my hair back, waving to her as I walked away. I think it looks better in a low braid, anyways. It brings out the streaks.
I paid the cover charge and walked into LAX, glancing around for Criss. Crap. I really hoped he wasn't in the VIP section; I couldn't go there unless someone took me up. Nope. He was behind the bar, juggling tequila bottles. Weird. I walked over to watch, having to stand behind a throng of onlookers, who were whistling and catcalling.
"Light 'em up!" someone called. Criss looked up and called something behind him. After a few seconds, he set the bottles down in favor of flaming shot glasses. Damn. Manual dexterity, much? What a showoff.
I skulked near the back of the crowd, looking over everyone's heads. I'm 5'4", but in my heels, I'm 5'7". Most of the onlookers were women, so he was pretty easy to see. He caught sight of me (probably by my hair…) and stopped juggling, slamming all the shot glasses down on the bar and putting one out easily by popping the palm of his hand down on top of it and drinking it. He grinned at the onlookers and made a sort of 'come hither' gesture to me. I sighed and raised a questioning eyebrow. He nodded and I walked over, the sea of onlookers parting for me. The bartender opened up a little panel that let me behind the bar and I stepped over. Criss draped his arm around my shoulders.
"I'd like you all to welcome my guest, Monica Medina. Monica is a dancer from my newest project, Believe, a show opening up at the Luxor Theatre, and I would like to see all of you there, and soon! The Gala Opening is this Halloween, and tickets are on sale now. I'm waiting to see you all there, and good night!" There was some cheering and applause, and Criss hauled me out the back so we could go up a backside staircase to the VIP section.
We slid into a booth with a vaguely familiar, thin man in a white tank top and jeans. He had a top-hat on, which made me think of magic for a moment. Criss grinned at me. "Sorry for the surprise. Felix put me on the spot." I nodded vaguely, still trying to figure out who they guy we were sitting with was. He turned to look at me, looking more than a little trashed.
"Who's that?" He asked. I blinked. Oh. Tommy Lee, that was it. I smiled uncertainly.
"This is one of the dancers, Monica."
"Hi Monica." He smiled childishly at me and offered me a hand. I tried to shake it, but he kissed the back of my hand (sloppily) instead. I blinked again, trying to puzzle it out. Criss seemed a little tipsy, too. Had he been on the phone? It was hard to tell. He looked between us, smiling and lightly touched my wrist. I glared. He smiled.
"Do I get to kiss you, too?" He murmured, looking at me curiously. So totally tipsy.
"I thought we were going to talk business?"
The sentence sobered him up considerably. "I didn't know you wanted to get down to it right away. Do you want to dance first?" I looked out at the floor. I…love dancing. It's beautiful; every type of dancing. The bodies on the dance floor were pretty; undulating to the beat of some electronic song with a thudding undertone. Criss touched my hand gently and then, without much warning, pulled me onto the floor.
I have to give it to him – Criss is a good dancer. He pulled my hips against his, a little less than gently and ground against me. I pulled away, not comfortable with that offstage. He nodded, instead holding me close and dancing with me, front to front. It was…elegant. Pleasant. The song changed to something slower and he…held me. Wow. It was weird to be held by someone; I hadn't seen Eric in forever, months, and Criss was strong. Masculine. And holding me. He smelled like cologne and a little bit of sweat; maybe some soap under it all. I nuzzled his collarbone and he held onto me easily, hand pressing the small of my back. I felt something fall onto my shoulder with a slight splish… Was he crying?
After the song, we went back over to the table, his arm still around me. It was comfortable, and he kept it carefully above my hips. He sat down in the booth first, pulling me half onto his lap. He rested his head against my shoulder.
"I've had a rough night." His voice was lower and huskier than it would have normally been, like he was suppressing tears.
"I can tell." He nuzzled my shoulder.
"Wanna drink? It's on me." I considered for a minute or two and then nodded. He signaled something to a waitress, who, a minute later, brought me a lime daiquiri. Hmm. Interesting. I usually like hard liquor, but I sipped at it to appease him. He had a scotch or something that he was staring at rather intently.
"Are you gonna make it levitate?" I whispered, leaning over to his ear. He shook his head.
"If I was going to make it levitate, I'd do this…" He put his hands over it and made a little triangle shape. The glass wobbled of its own accord, and slowly, very slowly, rose up to meet his hands, going through the triangle he'd made. I grinned at the wonder of it, as he flipped his right hand palm up to catch the glass.
"Can I see the glass?" He nodded and handed it to me. I touched all of it (except what was in it), feeling for wires or string or magnets. Nope. Just a plain glass, shot glass with room temperature amber liquid that sloshed about just like any scotch in the world. I handed it back to him with a grin. "That's awesome, Criss." He nodded and drained the glass, offering it to me and swallowing.
"You can check the inside, too." I shook my head. His art is different than mine, but still beautiful. I didn't want to ruin it by finding out how he did it. He sighed and set the glass down.
"So what's going on with this 'idea' of yours?" I asked, pulling away from him and turning to him to talk easier. He rested his hand gently on my knee, which was bent so I could tuck it under me. He was playing with a patch on his jeans with the other hand and stared downward, in the direction of (but not at, I'd guess) my stomach. Criss has such weird body language.
"Not much right now. I pretty much have authorization from everyone for it; the only problem I have is getting a troupe together that's able and willing to travel." He was still staring into space.
"Really? But there are your fans, the Freaks or whatever…" I can never remember the technical term for his fans.
"You mean Loyals. They're Loyals. Don't call them freaks. And they're awesome people, but they aren't all actors or dancers or set builders." I nodded. Made sense.
"Some of them are. What about all the painted banners they sent in for you? Those were beautiful…" He nodded, looking a little more alive. I took another drink of my daiquiri. It wasn't so bad…
"Yes, yes, but they aren't what I need. I need professional actresses and actors. Stage actors." I nodded in response.
"How many people do you need?" I asked, glancing at the dance floor again. I love the strobe effect.
He tipped his head back, removing his hand from my leg and placing it behind his head to stare up at the ceiling. "I'm not sure. I'm…I'm tempted to make it a bit like my old stage show, Mindfreak, but I don't think I could pull that off. There were only a total of…twenty or thirty people in the entire cast and crew of that show." My eyes widened. There were at least fifty of us in the chorus, let alone the actual mains and orchestra and lights and theatre people. A cast and crew of twenty?
He caught my expression and laughed. "Like I said, I don't think I could pull it off again." I nodded. "But I miss how…Intimate it was. I knew everyone on my cast, by first name, and we were a...family." I smiled. He looked over at me again. "That's sort of why I have extra practices and stuff with you. I feel…more comfortable with you. Like this girl on the old crew, she played a doll, and you remind me of her a little."
"I remind you of a doll?" He nodded, sitting forward.
"You're thin and you move so gracefully, it's like you're on strings. A marionette. I'm not sure why I didn't just cast you as a Victorian doll. Probably the masks and your hair." I ran a hand back over my hair, which I personally liked. He smiled and reached out to touch it, but I drew back. I don't like most people touching my hair. He took the hint and leaned away again. "No, it isn't that I don't like it. It just wouldn't work for a Victorian doll." I nodded, sipping at my drink.
"I think that would be cool. Just a little crew like that. Well, maybe a little bigger. How many people would be on the stage at once?" I asked, watching him. He grabbed a little cocktail napkin and sketched a stage out.
"Just five or six were onstage at a time, last time. And there was no speaking." I raised an eyebrow. He sighed. "One of my bigger inspirations, Federico Fellini, didn't have much dialogue in his movies, and I loved it. It was…brilliant. Actions speak louder than words, right? Well, I just did the entire show based on the music – I had a friend do all the compositions, and molded and fitted them to each illusion – and motion. No one spoke." I tilted my head. It sounded amazing. And beautiful.
"Are there any tapes of it?"
"Oh hell yeah. I sell 'em. And I have some private ones, like live ones that weren't so good, in New York. I'll show you sometime. Tonight, though, I was hoping to…have a little fun, more or less. It is good to get these ideas out, though."
"What sort of fun, Criss?" I asked cautiously. He blushed, flinching a little.
"No, no! Nothing like that! Just…what do you do for fun?" I blinked.
"I go out on the town. Just look at stuff, hang out in Fremont. You know. That sort of stuff." He looked down at his huge, diamond studded watch. Freak. Rich, rich freak.
"Fremont's more or less closed right now…what would you do with a friend if he wasn't famous?" I thought for a moment.
"Well, I'd probably just go around town and fuck off for a while. But that's me…" He was hauling me up out of the booth and out through a back exit from the club to an inclinator. "What are we doing?" I asked, hurrying to keep up and clutching my handbag.
"I'm gonna go change, and we're gonna go do something fun. C'mon!" I raised my eyebrow impatiently.
"Criss? You're really weird." He grinned tipsily at me. I sighed. He's such a big kid at times, like when my phone went off during practice and he just pointed at me and started singing that I was gonna get in trouble.
"I know. But it's cute, so I get away with it." I glared more fiercely and he laughed. "I'm not seriously that conceited. I promise." He hugged me again, resting his chin on top of my head. "Thank you for…being here. And letting me hang out."
"Yeah, no problem. Do you…do you want to talk about what's wrong?" I asked tentatively. He wrapped his arms a little tighter around me and buried his face in my shoulder.
"Not yet. Not really." His voice was muffled. I sighed. Why's he gotta be so damn…big? Making me feel small and inadequate…
"I'll be here when you do, Criss." He nodded and shifted; the muscle and bone of his shoulders sliding and popping slightly under my hand. I stroked a hand down his back at the doors slid open. He pulled away, semi-discreetly wiping his face and taking my hand to lead me to his suite.
Which was huge. And very, very messy. I blinked, tilting my head. As did Criss. He glanced around, looking a little confused, then swore under his breath.
"I told them, the fucking room is haunted…" He muttered, jumping over a couch easily, despite his limp. I blinked again, uncertain what else there was to do. A tortoiseshell cat walked over to me and twined politely around my leg, nuzzling my knee. I offered him my hand to him and he licked my fingers curiously, standing on his back feet and purring. A black cat came running over to me a minute or two later, and I folded down to sit cross legged with them and play a little bit. They really were sweet kitties. I heard Criss making some noise from the farther parts of the suite, whistling and drawers opening and shutting.
Criss came out of his room a few minutes later, pulling a gray thermal on over his head. He was in regular, non-designer jeans with a hole in the knee. It looked amazing. His jewelry was mainly gone, except for a single, very ordinary dog tag chain with a cross and some other stuff on it, which he promptly tucked under his shirt. The thermal had a skull wearing a crown on the front. I smiled.
"You look good casual." He looked up at me curiously, pulling a belt through the loops on his pants. It, too, was regular looking, just a brown belt with a fairly plain belt buckle. I smiled.
"Thanks. I had to dig for this stuff." He stretched, then abruptly collapsed in on himself to sit and play with the kitties, who immediately went over to him, meowing their apparent love for Criss. I laughed. He smiled, laying on his back and played with them individually, making them meow and nuzzle and cuddle him for attention. He was so sweet, talking to them like babies and meowing back at them.
Criss glanced up and smiled. "Ready to go?" I nodded and he helped me up, hand pausing on my wrist. I tilted my head curiously. He looked up, like he was trying to remember something. "Do you have a tattoo?" He asked, finally.
I nodded. "I have a bunch. Which one were you thinking of?"
"I have no idea. I just couldn't think of whether or not you did." I nodded again. Like I said, Criss is weird.
"You and Veronica have those matching ones, don't you?" I would never understand his devotion to Veronica. It isn't that she's a bad person, but he's…devoted. Almost obsessed.
"Yeah…" His voice was quiet and he stared down at his hand for a second, looking thoughtful. Sighing, he pulled his wristband so it looked like a fingerless glove. "Ready?" I nodded and we walked over to the door. He grabbed a green jacket out of the closet and pulled it on, not bothering to button it and undoing the sleeves so he could keep his wristband on. I followed, pulling my purse up. He grabbed my hand unexpectedly, twining fingers with me and holding me a little closer than I was used to. I shrugged it off. He stared down at my shoes; stiletto boots over my skinny jeans. "You gonna be okay to walk around in those?" I nodded.
"I walk around in them all night at work." He nodded and we walked out to the inclinator, his hand still annoyingly twined with mine. I sighed. Oh well.
"So what are we gonna do?" He asked, stretching. It had to be near two or so in the morning.
"Not sure. I guess we'll just play it by ear." Not like I had any better plan.
I followed Nica onto the monorail, still holding her hand and standing close behind her. It'd been a while since I'd been on the monorail. She stayed standing, so I just held onto her. I was feeling…numb. Veronica had been…my life. My lover, my friend, my confidant. Before Nica had called, Veronica had been packing up her stuff, taking it with her using one of my duffel bags. I had just sort of…watched, not sure what else I could do. It was horrible; I hate feeling helpless or like something is beyond my control like that, but…yeah. I couldn't have done anything, anyways.
When Nica had called, I'd just been trying to sort out what to do, sitting on the couch with my knees up to my chest. She was being amazing, letting me cling to her when I needed it. I wanted to nuzzle her or kiss her on the cheek, but I knew I was pushing it as things were. We were on the way to Fremont, one of her apparent usual hang outs.
"Criss?" Her voice was quiet, and it drew me out of my reverie, tantalizing me away from thoughts of Veronica.
"Yeah?"
"You okay?"
"I will be."
"I'm still here if you want to talk about it." I did nuzzle her, wrapping both arms around her waist and burying my face against her neck, to the side of her braid. She squeaked, squirming uncertainly. I sighed and pulled back, looking around the empty monorail car. There was nothing interesting in it, really, but it gave me something to do and Nica a moment to right herself. I feel bad for her; long distance relationships suck. A lot.
I sat down instead, examining my nails under the false light. Nica sat down next to me, but a seat away. She looked over at me carefully. "Do you want to talk about it?" I sighed, looking down at the floor. I guess we had a pretty long ride, seeing as she was comfortable enough to sit down. I rested my elbows on my knees, looking down at my fingers and the shape they made when I rested all my fingertips together. It was a position that lent itself to meditation; reflection. My hair was falling forward into my eyes a little.
"Veronica…Veronica said that…we need to take a break. I'm too busy for her taste, I suppose…" My voice was startlingly quiet, barely audible even to me.
"Oh…" I guess it was fine for her. I kept my head down and talked close to her ear.
"And from my experience, that means…it's over. Like, for good." She rested her hand gently on my shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Criss." Her voice was quiet; not the normal quiet it usually was, but a sort of emotional quiet, like she really did care. I sat back up, blinking. There was more on my mind, the nagging of it driving me crazy. I sighed. I really, really needed some time off. Or some time away. Or sleep. I shook my head. "Criss?"
"I'm fine. There's other stuff, but I'd rather keep it private."
"So long as you'll be alright."
"I will be."
"Good. And this is the stop." I stood and got off with her, following her down the escalator.
Nica took off across the square; tackle/hugging a man with no shirt that had been, until he saw her, playing with a torch. He hugged her back, shifting his weight to catch her. I followed a little slower, watching them warily. Nica stood back to talk to him, smiling and laughing and joking. I continued to walk, over-conscious of my limp and how noticeable I was.
"…Eric and you?" He finished as I got into hearing distance. I blinked, trying to figure out what he had been saying before. Oh well.
"Yeah. He does. But it's…weird. Oh, hi, Criss!" Nica said. I smiled, sort of, wishing she would have called me something else. Her friend looked up curiously.
"This is the famous Criss you talk about?" He asked, looking me over. Nica nodded. He was about my height, but his arms were more corded, with muscle from work, not the gym, and he had a lot of burn scars on his forearms. I shook his hand and nodded at him, looking him in the eyes.
"Criss, this is Shade. Shade, Criss." Shade. I blinked. Weird name; probably a nickname.
"Pleased to meet you, Shade." Shade was..formidable looking, now that I examined him. His skin was a little darker than mine and he had obvious tattoos; one looping over his shoulder and neck and appearing to go down his back. It looked like ivy, but…darker. Sharper. It reminded me of Amystika. His eyes were yellowish gold, surprisingly, and his hair was about the same color as mine. It was held back into a ponytail that fell between his shoulders. He looked…Native American? Either way, he was suspicious of me.
"And you, Chris." Huh. He pronounced it in a way that made it totally fucking clear he had no reason to respect me, making me bristle under the pressure of his grip. Nica glanced at him and then back to me cautiously; she has a pretty good understanding of what's going on around her, and I was positive she noticed the shift in mood. I narrowed my eyes slightly at him. He dropped my grip and I pulled back, not quite willing to trust him.
"So…what you guys wanna do?" Nica asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. Shade made a face at her, and I glared.
"I've got stuff to do, Tenji." Tenji? Japanese for something. I stared at the ground, trying to remember. Eh. Whatever. Nica gave Shade a hug and he packed up some stuff around him to head off as she lit up a cigarette with a sliver Zippo the she produced from…somewhere. It vanished into her purse as the cherry appeared, glowing red in the twilight of Fremont. I turned away, anticipating the smell, but the smoke smelled like incense. She took a deep drag off it and relaxed, exhaling slowly. I watched with a morbid sort of curiosity. Cigarettes are terrible for you, but try as I might; they're still sort of sexy. The kind she had was slimmer and black, making it look more graceful in her hands. Her nails were black with silver tips, and naturally long. I wondered how she danced with them. She smoked her cigarette in silence as we watched the show on the ceiling of Fremont. It was entertaining to say the least. Technology will never fascinate me the way humans do, but it is pretty.
"Do you wanna…I don't know, go get a drink or something?" Nica asked, exhaling smoke and rubbing her arm nervously. The smoke hovered around her and she reached up to swirl it around her finger. It seemed to oblige, wrapping around her wrist and forearm. I blinked. Apparently, I was a little more drunk than I thought. She waved it away, looking at me imploringly.
"What do you usually do?" I just don't wanna go back to the hotel…
"I don't know…Usually I'm with Shade or one of my other friends…"
"So I'm not a friend?" She shivered, looking sulky, and took another drag off her smoke.
"You're my boss." She exhaled the words slowly, breathing smoke out with the words. The smoke didn't behave like a cloud of cigarette smoke should have. Instead, it curled like raw silk and twisted around her braid and back.
"I can't be your friend, too?" She shrugged, looking agitated. I reached over for the cigarette, which was almost gone.
"Yeah. You can. But…wait, you want a drag?" I nodded, continuing to hold out my hand. She handed it over, careful not to burn me. Heh. Like it'd bother me that much.
I took a drag off it, inhaling the smoke slowly. It burned like cigarette smoke normally would and I almost coughed, handing it back to her. Instead I relaxed, telling myself the smoke was normal, and good for me. It worked, letting me savor the way the smoke felt and smelled. I closed my eyes and rocked back, remembering some…other smoke I'd had. The memory made me grin and I exhaled slowly, thinking about concerts and an old roommate and all the crazy shit we'd done together.
"You like it?" She asked, taking a final drag off it and grinding it out on her boot. Damn. I had been tempted to do a trick with it.
"Sort of. It brings back memories." She laughed, walking over to a trash can with an ashtray on top and dropping the butt into it. I followed, feeling a little bummed that we weren't really…doing anything. She smiled. The ashtray was in front of a liquor store.
"Hang on." She went in and I loitered near an alley, praying there was no one in there. Nica came out a minute or two later, tucking something into her messenger bag and bringing out a bottle of Coke. I tilted my head. It was an almost empty one liter. She looked around for me and I tapped my foot, catching her attention she walked over to me and pulled a bottle of schnapps out of her bag, smirking.
"And that is for…?" I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms.
"Presumably drinking. However, it's also a good accelerant. Why?" I laughed and she poured the schnapps into what was left of the coke, dropping the bottle into the trash. She offered me the bottle and I took a drink, savoring the way it burned my throat. Peppermint schnapps. Interesting choice. It tasted good mixed with coke, though. She took the coke bottle back and took a drink, smirking as she did.
It was an icebreaker, I guess, because she laughed softly. "It's weird, hanging out with you." I nodded and she passed me the coke bottle again. I waved it away. I'd had a shot before she'd shown up at LAX. I hold my alcohol well, but a pretty girl and alcohol aren't always a good combination. She shrugged and put the bottle back in her bag, capping it tightly.
"Do you always get drunk with friends?" I asked, taking her hand again. She twined her fingers with mine more willingly this time.
"No, but it's a good way to relax." I nodded, wondering how the hell her fingers were cold. We walked for a while in Fremont, looking at the stuff in the windows and commenting on it. My mind was elsewhere.
"Let's get on the monorail again." I nodded, following her to the station. She was a little livelier, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She smiled and turned to me. "You should do a trick while we wait." She nodded, smiling mischievously at me.
"Alright, alright…" I fished a coin out of my pocket and she looked it over, smiling still and tilting her head this way and that. I did an easy palming routine while we waited. Nica's expressions were amazing; she was a really good audience, except for the touching. She was becoming a little less inhibited now, holding my wrist to look at my palm and reaching around my waist to touch my other hand. I laughed, stumbling a little. She laughed to and just clung to my waist for a second, smiling and giggling in a tipsy way. "You're pretty cute when you do this."
"You're just…pretty cute." I laughed, sliding a hand down her back. The monorail arrived, preventing me from stealing a kiss, though. Probably a good thing.
She let me hold her on the ride back to the Luxor. We stood in front of the hotel for a minute or two, just looking at the pyramid.
"What does levitation feel like?" She asked quietly, still holding onto me. I thought for a moment.
"It's amazing. Like…the feeling you get when you've just performed really well, but combined with really, really good sex." She laughed quietly. I smiled. "That's what it feels like to me anyways. I don't know what it's like when someone is levitating you."
"Let's look at the lights…" I nodded, following her up an escalator that had shut down hours ago. There were a few people out on the strip, and some minimal traffic, but we were alone for the most part. We got up to the walkway between the two buildings and she leaned over, looking at New York New York. I held her from behind, cuddling her for a second and hoping she wouldn't be offended. I'm very comfortable with touching people, and with being touched, but not everyone else is. Monica leaned back and looked up at me. "We should do this more often." I nodded and kissed her on the forehead.
It had been a good night.
I woke up on an unknown surface with a headache and with my mouth apparently stuffed with cotton. I started to sit up, but my stomach led a violent revolt and I gagged, shuddering to an upright position long enough to ascertain what was going on. Oh. I was in Criss's suite, on the couch. There was a bottle of Gatorade next to the couch, along with a trashcan, apparently mean for vomit. Or something. I sat up slowly, holding down whatever was left in my stomach, and took stock of myself. My shirt was twisted, exposing my chest, but still on, and I had my pants on. Okay. I twisted my shirt around so I was decent and slowly stood up, stretching warily. My hair had been taken down, at some point, and all the streaks were braided, making it look chunky. Appealing, though. I glanced around, wondering where Criss was. On top of my purse, which had been next to the couch, was a note.
Nica
I had to go to the gym and stuff. Leave whenever, or stay or whatever. Thanks for letting me chill with you last night
Below was a messy signature and a little rendition of his symbol. I shrugged and crumpled the note, stuffing it in my purse for further contemplation at a later time. I sighed and went through my purse, discovering that everything was there, and grabbed my phone to text Criss, to let him know I was leaving. The little tortoiseshell cat came and twined itself imploringly around my ankle. I knelt to pet it, leaving the message half-typed and looked around for my shoes. The kitty batted insistently at my hair. I petted him and he meowed contently, reminding me of Trina. I made a mental note to feed her extra treats when I got home.
I located my shoes and pulled them on, looking around the suite curiously. It was cleaner now than it had been last night. Weird…
I sent the text and gave my purse a cursory glance-through to make sure everything was there again. Yep, right down to my lipstick. I slipped out the front door, closing them behind me and hoping that they'd lock. I got partway down the hall and was checking my messages, meaning my head was down, when I hit something. Ow. I looked up, rubbing my head a little.
"Hi, Nica. I see you're awake now." I blinked. Criss, looking sweaty and bulky and odd in a tank top; his brands ridged along his skin, was staring down at me. I'd run into him.
"Oh, hi."
"You alright?" He rested a hand cautiously on my shoulder. I nodded.
"I'm gonna go back to my house and shower off before practice. See you later." He nodded and brushed past me.
The next couple of weeks passed in a comfortable way – Criss and I spent time together when he could and I had time off work; I slept a little less, but not drastically so. Practice, of course became more intense; Criss dropped the individual practices with myself and the other dancers.
Eric was thinking he'd come up for the gala opening, too. I was pretty excited about that. The only person that seemed displeased, though, was Criss. He was quieter and quieter as time went on, though with a little prodding, he'd open up. Slightly.
We were up in his room one night watching a movie. He was braiding the purple streaks in my hair slowly into tiny braids; threading in little silver beads that jingled whenever I'd move. He'd been persuading me to leave them like that for the gala and I was thinking about it. We hadn't really hung out other than that that week and I'd missed him. My shirt was velvety and he would occasionally run his hands over my shoulders and down my back, stroking his fingertips across the cloth before returning to my hair again. He loves tactile sensations.
"So what's up with you, Criss?" I asked his knee. He shifted a little bit.
"Not much."
"Nothing planned?" He paused to thread on a silver bead, his fingers moving deftly as he twisted it into my hair and clipped the little clasp in. He loosened my clippie and pulled down some more of my hair to braid it.
"I have an appearance to make for tomorrow and I'm having issues finding a date for it." It was the largest collection of words he'd said all night. I watched Adam Sandler flip someone off for some reason that was beyond my scope of caring and leaned back. Criss shifted again to accommodate me. He was braiding my hair quickly, holding a clasp in his mouth. His eyes were shut lightly, like he was thinking.
"You? Having trouble finding a date?" He laughed and opened his eyes to smile down at me.
"I'm not over Veronica yet." I nodded and he gently nudged my head forward. He worked busily at my hair for a few minutes and I let him; the rest fell in an ebony and violet curtain around me. He finished braiding the last part of it and gently massaged the back of my neck for a second before I pulled away. I hate massages. He sighed.
"I wanna cigarette. Are you watching this?" He shook his head and helped me up.
"Let's go down by the pool." I nodded, my hair jingling. It made me laugh. I pulled it back into a bun and clipped it up. Some of the braids escaped or lopped awkwardly and Criss's eyes widened alarmingly and I gasped and patted my hair.
"What? What's wrong?"
"It looks really good like that." I walked over to the bathroom curiously to look in the mirror.
I stood behind Nica and looked in the mirror as she fixed her hair and preened a little. She looked amazing like that; her hair was bright, bright purple (I have no idea how she maintains it) and her eye shadow was a gorgeous, India-ink bluish black color and flared away from her eyes and lids like a kabuki dancer, making her dark eyes look even darker. She fixed her hair, making the braids stand a bit more, and brushed her bangs a little more over her eyes. I touched her shoulder lightly. She had on a low cut velvet wrap top with a silk gypsy-style skirt and boots. I envied her boyfriend. Monica is so damned…exotic. She looked at me in the mirror and smiled, flashing white teeth. I smiled in response and glanced at my own reflection. It didn't show anything I didn't know – my hair was slightly disheveled and I had a day or two's stubble; I was in jeans and a wife beater tank top that didn't conceal the fact that I should probably have my chest waxed again soon. I looked tired, above all, and my eyeliner was a little messier than it should have been. I pulled my necklace out from under my shirt. Nica continued to look at me, her eyes traveling slowly down my reflection to pause at my eyes; my lips; where my throat met my chest and down to my hips. I rested my hand lower, on her hip, and slid my other arm around her from behind. She stiffened. I sighed and pulled my hand away and the bells on the sash of her skirt jingled almost apologetically.
I'd been debating asking her to come with me to a red carpet thing tomorrow. Just as friends, naturally. That was what she seemed to see me as. I scratched nervously at the inner part of my wrist under its wristband. She turned and gave me a look asking me to back up a bit. I walked back to my room and she followed, grabbing her purse.
"So, Mister Magic, join me for a smoke?" I smiled and grabbed my green jacket and we left my suite, petting Hammy and Minxie on the way out. She leaned against me in the inclinator, stumbling a little as it moved sideways. I rested my hand on the back of her neck.
We walked though the hotel calmly, ignoring everyone, and walked out to the place by the pool. It was around eleven and there was a long line for LAX; I'm amazed no one came over to take pictures or ask for a signature. We got out by the pool and she produced her cigarette case and Zippo and lit up, taking a deep drag and relaxing against the wall. I leaned against the wall next to her, letting the warm Vegas air envelope me like a blanket. My eyes fluttered shut slowly and I relaxed entirely, sliding down to sit with my legs a little apart and my head tilted back.
I smoked my cigarette slowly, wondering what was up with Criss. He looked asleep, but his breathing was wrong and his eyes were already in REM mode. I finished my cigarettes and stashed the butt in my purse for later disposal. Crouching down in front of him, I rested my hands on Criss's knees.
"Hey, you alright?" He mumbled something in Greek or gibberish and I relaxed a little. At least he wasn't dead or something. Oh well. If he wanted a nap, then whatever. Let him have one, I suppose. I rested back on my heels next to him and rested my head on his shoulder. The more I got to know him, the better I liked him. It was…confusing. Eric was starting to notice, too, that I was spending time with someone else. I pondered all of this and brought my Zippo out again for a second. I lit the tiny flame and pressed will into it, watching it grow and glow and swell until it could sustain itself. It was a trick Shade had taught me; one that requires pretty intense focus. Shade is…something else. Someone else. Something different entirely, from anyone I'd ever met.
I tucked the Zippo into my purse, cupping my other hand carefully around the other little flame. It was easier to do now than it should have been. I looked suspiciously at Criss, whose head was now resting on his own shoulder. He was murmuring something in his sleep or meditation or whatever it was he was doing. Was it him that was making it easier? I shrugged it off and looked at the little flame in my hands.
I guess I come from a pretty long line of freaks. Not that I'm sure. I just think I might. Going on looks alone, most people say I look gypsy or Mexican or something. I really don't care. I just like to do what I do. Shade is the one who noticed I had a little bit of potential. I let the flame pool in my hands and flow; ebbing in time to the pulse of my heart. It slowly slid across the color spectrum; from sunset orange to lemony yellow; white to blue to green to purple. It lingered at purple and the heat was more intense. I pictured it growing and it did, spilling over the edges of the bowl of my fingers and dissipating to nothingness when it stopped touching my skin. I let it flow up my arms and momentarily illuminate my skin. It lingered at my wrists, brightening with my pulse and slowly fading and making my veins tingle. I laughed quietly at the sensation, just before I came aware of Criss, who was staring at me. The flames vanished entirely, leaving nothing but nothing behind and coating me with a fine layer of dust.
"That….was cool." Criss's voice was a little thick from sleep and his eyes were wide. He looked a little terrified, or surprised, or something. "How'd you do it? Chemicals?" He grabbed my wrist and began examining it, turning it over and looking at my palms and fingers and wrists.
"Just something Shade taught me." And told me not to show anyone….
"How's it done?" His voice was intense, like he needed to know. I pulled my wrists away from him.
"It's sort of a secret…" He nodded silently, looking defeated. I relaxed against the wall again. "Good nap?"
"Sort of." He rested his arms on his knees and his forehead on his arms, looking sad. I stroked a hand over his back, hoping to make him feel better. He arched into it a little and I smiled. "Are you busy tomorrow night?"
I checked through my mental calendar. Nothing of any real importance. "No, but aren't you?"
"Well, yeah, sort of. I was wondering, would you like to make some extra money?" I bristled. Where was this leading?
"Depends, what am I doing?" I asked, removing my hand and looking at him intently. He raised his head off his arms and looked up at me.
"Just going with me to this red carpet thing. As a fake date. All you'd have to do is dance, and maybe kiss me." I blinked, turning it over in my mind.
"How much money do you mean?" He shrugged and named an hourly rate that made my brain spin. Hell yeah, if all I needed to do was dance and drink and laugh a little. "Yeah, okay. What do you want me to bring to wear?" He rested his head on his arms again, a small smile spreading over his mouth.
"We'll get you fitted. A new dress; something pretty and everything." I raised an eyebrow at his statement.
"How? It's really late. Do you mean tomorrow?" He shook his head, sitting back up. I shook my wrists out, flinging the last of the sensation from them and relaxing my shoulders. Criss stood slowly, unfolding his legs and straightening them out under himself. It was a graceful motion; like a cat waking up from a nap. He held a hand out to me and helped me up. I took his hand and grabbed his wrist, reveling in the warmth.
"I have a tailor who could do it now, if we wanted." I nodded. It wasn't like I had anything else to do. Criss smiled and held my hand, twining his fingers with mine, as he pulled his cell out and dialed a number. He talked quietly into his phone as we walked back inside, him in front of me. He pulled me toward the shopping part of the hotel, much to my confusion. We walked over to a hallway that told me we were either headed to Fantasy or Criss's shop, neither of which have I ever been to. He continued his murmured conversation and we sat down in front of a fountain. I rested my head on his shoulder and he stroked his hand over the side of my face, making me shiver and tilt my head up. He watched me intently, still talking to whoever. I shuddered and his hand lightly stroked over my neck and collar bone, which suddenly felt very, very vulnerable. His hand strayed away as a security guard came over.
"Hey, Criss." Criss nodded and stood, pulling me up with him. I stood dizzily. The security guard smiled at me.
"Hey. Just headed to the store." The security guard nodded and I followed Criss into a little office and makeup studio. He sat in a chair with the air of it being a favorite place of his. I glanced around.
"Is this your studio?" He nodded. He had gotten quiet again. I pulled my phone out and texted Eric a brief explanation of what was going on and shut my phone off so he couldn't call and yell. I flipped the phone shut and looked expectantly at Criss. "So am I posing as a date, or a girlfriend?" He looked up.
"It depends on what my PR people say. They have a lot of say in my life, actually. Your image is…a little hardcore for what they usually prefer me to have." I blinked. Hardcore? I just wore clothes I liked.
"How do you mean? You're…not exactly an Izod kinda guy." He shrugged and pulled at his jacket.
"If it was up to me, I wouldn't look like this. Before I got so….caught up in everything, before I signed on with The Firm, I looked different." I tilted my head.
"What do you mean, different?" He shrugged.
"Ever look at any of my old work? No? Oh, come on…" He grabbed me by the hand and pulled me through the back door to the shop, which was dark and silent. He keyed in a code on a small pad behind the register and walked out into the store itself. I followed him over to a rack of posters, all featuring…him. They were all somewhat different, and in some I barely recognized him. He flipped through them quickly until he got to a picture of what looked like an industrial teenager reaching for the camera. If I looked close, his facial structure and eyes were plainly Criss, though the white face makeup and skull-like eye make up made it hard to tell. I blinked.
"You had cornrows?" My voice was quiet. Criss nodded, looking the picture over himself.
"And an eyebrow piercing. He ran a hand over his own eyebrow, which, I noticed, had a very faint, slightly puckered scar. I blinked.
"Oh, wow. And your new people have you dress…like this?" He nodded.
"It isn't like I hate it. It reminds me of the way I dressed when I was a kid. But still, I do sort of miss being able to wear whatever I want." I nodded and looked at the poster again. He sighed and shifted all the other posters over it. I turned and looked around the shop, my eyes lingering on the Theatre of Magic pinball machine and a slightly frightening, very interesting and tribal looking statue. I walked over to it and looked closer. It was some sort of android. Criss followed quietly, even though he was in steel toed boots. Weird. I jingled at every step and whenever I shook my head.
"It was in my live show." His voice was quiet and thoughtful. He slipped an arm around my waist and rested his forehead against the back of my head. I relaxed and he breathed easily in time with me. Damn it. He was so easy to relax with; so easy to let my guard down around and feel. I sighed and he pulled back a little bit with a quiet noise of indignity.
"Criss?" someone called from the make-up studio. It was a feminine voice, and it sort of implored him to come closer. We walked over and he talked to someone I didn't recognize; a small woman who had a tackle box next to her and a tailor's tape in one hand.
"This is the girl?" She asked finally. I nodded. She walked over and took the scarf I had on for a sash off and started measuring me. Criss turned away, looking in the mirror at himself. He looked so…tired. It was partially the beard shadow, but I also felt like he was…I don't know, taking on too much at once or something. I smiled at him, but he continued to lock his own reflection in what could have been a staring contest.
"All done, dear." I looked down at the woman, who was scribbling something down on a notepad. I dropped my arms and Criss turned back around, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Now, sweetheart, what colors do you like to wear?" I blinked, thinking about it.
"A lot of black, I guess…." Criss gestured for a piece of paper. The small lady handed one over, looking curious. He grabbed a pencil from on the desk and sketched out a dress quickly. It was floor length and looked vaguely exotic; there was a slit up the side to the upper thigh, nearly to the hip, and the shirt was separate from the skirt, showing maybe an inch of skin between. The shirt had grayish lacing in the front over the breasts, like a bustier.
"Like this. She should wear this." The lady nodded, looking at the dress curiously.
"Is it all black, Criss?" He shook his head and drew some lines on the paper, over the chest.
"This part here is silverish grayish, and the lacing on the sides it, too. It's lacing, though." She nodded again, taking notes.
"Should I keep her measurements on file?" Criss nodded. I glanced at the paper one more time.
"Uh, what shoes do I wear?" I asked nervously.
"How about those high heeled boots you have?" The lady shook her head at Criss's suggestion.
"No, no. I'll get her some sandals. What size shoes, honey?"
"Six, American." She nodded, taking a final note.
"Alright, Criss. I'll see you around five tomorrow." He nodded and they shook on it, him passing her a check as they did. I didn't see the amount. I wasn't sure I wanted to.
A/N: Hey, guys. Sorry It took so long for the update…I'm in school a lot, and in martial arts, and at work, and it all gets pretty time consuming. The next chapter is half-written, so it shouldn't be as long away.
I know, I know, I didn't mention the supernatural aspects of this fanfiction, or anything about Amystika, and I need to take a time out and explain it to those who don't know about it.
Amystika really is something Criss created, though it played a much, much bigger role in his live off-Broadway show. It's where the vignettes with the Surreal Family take place, and is shown in the beginning of each episode a s a desert. The way I portray Amystika is as a malleable sort of playground, and I'm sorry if it's a little difficult to get at first. No, I don't know if it's like I describe. Just think of it as a place in Criss's mind where he can escape to.
And about Monica? Her weirdness? That comes in later.
Peace love and rock and roll. Thanks to everyone who commented, and who's been commenting, and those of you who've been here the whole time.
xoxoxo
sleepless
PS- a note on how busy I am - I should be taking notes on Imperial Rome right now for my College History final. =]