Chasing Taboo

Olivia didn’t waste time before making a mad dash out of that office. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend—I was just following his lead—Everyone else in the club was fucking around, it wasn’t just me—She found herself actually lip-speaking all of her childish defenses as she stumbled down the stairs, loading her verbal guns in case of an ambush, but the self-reassurance didn’t soothe the sting of humiliation as much as she hoped it would. She hustled into the center of the floor, thankful for the anonymity offered by the crowd, and pushed through the tight pack, parting wet flesh and cheap fabric to squeeze her way to the door. She was pooped into the empty space in front of patio exit.

Her focus was hijacked and pulled violently to her right, but she wasn’t surprised by the cause of the theft. He was outside, the boy from the security monitor, visible through the haze of the window. He was leaning over the railing, putting a cigarette between his lips, gazing out into the night. His skin was creamy and soft, but his eyes were daggers. Someone came to speak with him and led him through the door, and though her eyes were fixated on him, he quickly disappeared into the crowd without offering her the slightest glance.

“Hey.” A female voice with an exotic accent tugged at Olivia’s ear. “He was looking for you.” A tiny hand pressed a business card into Olivia’s palm.

When she turned to where the voice was coming from, all she saw was a girl in a flashy schoolgirl skirt and pigtails walking away. The girl looked back with a big, pearly smile, but she disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as she had arrived. Olivia looked at the card.

CLUB LANKA. HERO VEM. OWNER.

So this Hero character was the owner—makes sense with the fancy office. Perhaps he and Ace had some sort of partnership. She turned the card over, and in ball-point pen, a note read, “After party.” With an address.

An invitation to an after party by the club’s owner? It sounded seductive, but terribly irresponsible. Going home was definitely the right thing to do, the safe thing to do. She pictured the rest of her night: taking the train back to Penny’s, putting her other clothes back on, riding back up to Westcliff, going home, going to bed, listening to her parents argue at breakfast, and wondering what would have happened if she had gone to the after party.

She made up her mind. She was going to enjoy one last drink in the corner until last call and make sure she had enough cash left over for cab fare. She was going to that party.

They drove deep into the Grove, where the city lights began to fade and the only illumination came from the caravan to the house. The street was old and wounded, but lovely in its complex, decaying charms, like a handsome middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and just the right amount of wrinkles. Neighboring houses had children’s toys scattered in their yards, broken-down cars with exposed guts, chain-link fences tangled with out-of-control plant life, and sporadic arrangements of flowers—some alive, some dead. This was not a wealthy neighborhood.

The house was a fair size, boasting its working-class elegance with its weather-worn deck and hot yellow porch lights. A few thug-types enjoyed beers and cigarettes outside, and Olivia gave them a passing glance before crossing the threshold. They weren’t shy about checking out her ass.

She fell into a strange and overwhelming barrage of imagery and sound, from the video games on the flat screen to the human clutter around the coffee table, breaking up weed and making white noise out of words.  There were mostly men there, but a few girls were scattered across the scene. There were three that were hard to miss, wearing flamboyant bustiers, booty shorts, and very little else besides fake eyelashes and smiles. They were serving beer to the boys like Vegas cocktail waitresses, and she recognized one of them. The girl who gave her the card.

“What the fuck, bitch!” A five-foot firecracker with smokey eyeshadow and crew of femme comrades came out of nowhere and shoved Olivia a good couple feet back, seething with hatred and bending the vibe around them to follow her agenda.

Olivia attempted a defense. “Sorry, I was just—”

“You just what, fell on Wildcard’s dick?” She shoved Olivia again, harder this time. “Get your skanky white ass back to Westcliff!”

Ace jumped between them. “Hold up, hold up, calm down. This ain’t none of your business, you better back the fuck off.”

“But she’s—”

“I know what she is, now you fuckin’ cool it.”

The girl flipped Olivia off from over Ace’s shoulder and turned away.

Ace looked at Olivia. “Who did you come here with?”

“Nobody.”

“This ain’t a public affair, chag’ya. You gotta be invited.”

Olivia showed him the card. “I was.”

He glanced at the face of the card and then turned it over. He read it intently, his eyes burning holes into it, and then handed it back to her. “Chag’ya, you—”

“Olivia!” Wildcard put his arm around her. “I’m glad you came! I just want to say I’m real sorry about earlier, for real. With me and Seneka, there was this drama bullshit, but it don’t have nothin’ to do with you and I didn’t mean to insult you by runnin’ off like that, alright? We cool?”

Olivia nodded weakly.

“Come on, Ace, Olivia, let’s be cool, alright? Want a drink? Come on, let’s get a drink!” Wildcard was commanding attention to the kitchen as if it were a stage. “Who’s doin’ a shot, you doin’ a shot?” He lined a series of glasses on the counter. “Ace, you want a shot?”

Ace nodded, but didn’t utter a word.

Mixer walked up and pressed his palms eagerly on the counter. “I want a shot!”

Wildcard filled the glasses. “Everybody’s happy, it’s all good, so here’s to new friends, alright?”

Olivia offered a tiny tightlipped grin as they all raised their glasses. Bottoms up.

Meanwhile, four shots later, Olivia was sitting under a cedar gazebo around a seductive glowing hot tub with Mixer, Wildcard, and Ace. The wide, wooden deck and freshly cut grass were all framed with finely cut shrubs and impeccably art directed potted plants and flower arrangements. Considering the locale and the company, Olivia didn’t expect the backyard to be so lovely. It belonged in a magazine.

“This is beautiful,” she said, the alcohol swinging her head from side to side.

“Yeah, Hero’s got a thing about flowers,” said Mixer, taking a hit off a glass pipe.

 Wildcard took the pipe and offered it to Olivia. “You smoke?”

“You mean, like, pot?”

He snickered. “Yeah, I mean, like, pot. Here.”

Olivia took the lighter and the pipe into her unsteady hands. Ace was smirking.

“Don’t worry. There’s a first time for everything. Here’s what you do.” He held her hand and put it her thumb over the small hole on the side of the pipe. “Hold this here and suck in gently while it’s lit. Then you take your finger off to clear it out. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” She sucked in the smoke, letting its heat fill up her insides as she watched the surface of the pipe glow in a brilliant orange. She coughed in a sudden, violent surge, but Ace had taken hold of the pipe so none of the goods had a chance to spill. The hacking was like torture, and the inevitable laughter of the boys was even worse. Her eyes and nose were running and her throat felt like it was on fire.

Once her breath steadied, she felt a rush of sensation, warm and light. She put her hand over her mouth, ignoring the itch of a small giggle, terrified that the other guys would see. She felt good, and yet she felt deathly afraid that the other guys would know that she felt good. She giggled. And then she giggled more.

“I think… I think I’m high.”

The boys shared a good-humored, encouraging laugh.

“She’s so cute!” said a smiling Mixer, his eyes pink and wet.

“Gentleman, this is truly a blessed moment,” said Ace. “We have corrupted her.”

Crash, shirtless and displaying BLADES 4 LIFE proudly across his chest, pummeled toward them, his liquor-saturated legs barely able to grab at the ground. He was ravaging the beautiful lawn.

“Where da weed at, playas!?”

“’Sup Crash?” said Wildcard. “This is Olivia, Olivia, this is Crash.”

“Well hell-o, sweetheart,” said Crash. “Yo, pass me the bowl, dog.”

Wildcard did, and Crash took a hit.

“Why’s that dumb motherfucker here?” Crash said, exhaling smoke and leaning his head toward the house at no one in particular.

“Which dumb motherfucker?” asked Wildcard.

“Motherfucking Dance, shit stain!” snapped Crash. “Dance, you know? Dance! Fuckin’ Dance! Dumb motherfucker who started shit with me at Lanka, remember? Remember!?” He sucked in some smoke. “How could you not fuckin’ remember that shit?”

“Hey I didn’t say—”

“Fuck you. Shut up. Fuck you. I’m talkin’ you dumb fuck.” He looked at Olivia. “Here’s what happened, and don’t let nobody tell you fuckin’ different because these fuckin’ cockfucks are all liars. Even him.” He pointed at Mixer. “Anyway—”

Mixer pouted. “I’m not a liar.”

“Will you shut the fuck up!?” said Crash. “Anyway, listen here, bitch. So this nigga wants a dime right? So I hook him, square business, and—”

“By ‘this nigga,’ you mean ‘Dance,’ right?” asked Olivia.

“Of course, bitch!” snapped Crash. “Ain’t you fuckin’ listenin’ to me?”

“Pardon me. Please, go on.”

“Okay, ‘cause I fuckin’ hate getting interrupted and shit. Anyways, this nigga wants a dime, so we do business and then this nigga, this motherfuckin’ cock suckin’ asshole is up in my face sayin’ this shit is light! A motherfuckin’ dime bag! And I’m sure you know you don’t fuck with the Blades, so I told the nigga to strap up or I was gonna lay him out, and what does Stone do? What does Stone do? He 86’d my ass, like that shit was my fault!”

Olivia giggled bubbles of weed and alcohol. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The boys burst into gutty, harmonious laughter.

“Okay, okay, I’ll translate, I’m the only one here who can speak Crash,” said Ace with a sarcastic clearing-of-the-throat. “You see, Miss Olivia. An African American gentleman with the nickname of Dance requested that he might purchase ten dollars worth of marijuana from Crash at Club Lanka.”

Wildcard was totally losing it.

“However,” Ace continued, “after the transaction took place, the gentleman accused Crash of not giving him enough marijuana for the price that was paid. Crash was so insulted that he threatened the gentleman with violence.” He smirked. “And now dis fool be trippin’ ‘cause Stone kicked his ass out of the damn club!”

Wildcard slapped Ace’s hand.“He did!?” Olivia fake-gasped and looked up at Crash. “How dare he!?”

The other boys snickered.

Crash tilted his head. “You makin’ fun of me, you fuckin’ cunt?”

Olivia smiled. “Of course not. Absolutely nothing about you warrants mockery.”

Crash moved forward. “You better watch it, bitch—”

“Whoa, whoa hold up,” said Ace, gently pushing Crash back with the palm of his hand. “Cool it. Hero invited her.”

“I don’t give a fuck who invited her, she—”

“Crash. Seriously. Back the fuck off.”

Crash sighed, gave Olivia a hard, threatening look, and then headed back toward the door. “Fuckin’ bitch.”

Ace looked down at her. “If you’re gonna roll with us, you have to learn to watch your mouth, alright?”

“Sorry,” said Olivia, and she took another hit off the pipe. She coughed less this time.

The stillness of the night outside was shoved aside with a blast of hip-hop and an engine roar. A very obnoxious person in a very obnoxious car had rolled up outside, a couple more vehicles trailing not far behind.

“Shit, shit, shit!” said Wildcard. “He’s back.”

“He was gonna come back eventually, hy’ung,” asked Mixer. “Someone’s ‘bout to get his ass whooped.”

Wildcard tensed. “He ain’t gonna whoop my ass.” He twisted his face up a little. “He might not even know what happened, or, wait, fuck, Olivia did you close the door when you left the office?”

Olivia shrugged. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

“Come on, bitch, think! Did you close the door or not!?”

Ace was unfazed. “Calm the fuck down.”

“Yeah, Wildcard, seriously,” said Mixer. “Ya gotta face him like a man.” He and Wildcard took off to join what appeared to be a decent amount of commotion. Ace didn’t even stand up. He took a hit.

“I can assume Hero’s home?” Olivia smiled.

 “My brother.” Ace exhaled smoke. “The one and only.”

Olivia nodded. “Is it always this big a deal when he comes home?”

He exhaled. “Every single time.” He looked at her. “Sorry, I get a little wound up when I smoke. We should go back to my room.”

“What are we gonna do in your room?”

“What do you think? I’m gonna tear you up. Come on.”

“But shouldn’t I say hi to—”

“No. Don’t worry about him.”

Before she could even think enough to protest, he took her hand and they made their way back to the house. A crowd had formed near the front door, but Ace ignored it, plowing through and marching Olivia up the stairs. She turned back for a moment, looking down upon the realm of activity from which she was being stolen, and caught one glimpse of Hero, Ace’s brother, in the living room, filling a tailored black suit, greeting smiling girls and man-hugging some thugs.

It was him.

“Wait, he’s—”

“I said don’t worry about him. Come on.”

Ace took her to a bedroom. He welcomed her inside with a gentle nudge of encouragement to her lower back and closed the door behind her. The room was in a state of moderate disorder, but far from a full on mess, with a sloppily made bed and a few strewn piles of laundry. His mirror had a few notes tucked into it and his oak dresser had a modest stack of magazines on it, mostly about guns.

He sat at the foot of his bed, took both her hands, and pulled her between his thighs.

“Why are you so tense? Relax.”

“I just… I mean, your brother invited me here, I’m just like…” The chemicals in her bloodstream were dizzying her. She closed her eyed involuntarily.

“He probably already forgot about you. It’s my attention you got now, girl. What’s a girl like you looking for in Sequoia Grove anyway?”

“Trouble.”

He smiled. “Trouble, huh?” He ran his hands up her thighs. “You want to get in some trouble with me tonight?”

“I think I’ve gotten into enough trouble… but…” Every tunnel of thought in her brain was congested with liquor and marijuana. “I think, now… I need to be punished.”

He pulled her weakened body down onto the bed, affixing himself to her side, running his hand up her curves. “Punished, huh? What, you want a spanking?”

She laughed. Something about the word ‘spanking’ was too silly for her. “No, I don’t want a spanking, that’s so, I don’t know, it’s not enough.”

“Then what do you want then?”

“It’s stupid.” She cupped her hand around his arm as his hand explored the texture of her dress, making its way to the zipper.

“Try me.”

She rolled the thought around in her brain for a while before meeting his eyes. “I want you to hit me.”

“You want me to what!?”

“Hit me. Beat me up. Kick my ass. Throw me around like a tether ball.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do that.”

“Fine.”

She went for the exit, but Ace stood in the way and planted a firm hand on the door. “Whoa, wait up, what the fuck do you want a man hitting you for, huh? You fucked up in the head or something?”

“It’s possible.”

He looked down. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Then hit me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Her gaze carried a cold, hard insult. “Because it’s taboo?” She poked at his stomach. “Come on, haven’t you ever wanted to hit a girl? Just because everyone says you can’t? Well here’s your chance. Fucking hit me. I fucked up today, I deserve to get punished.”

“You don’t get it, chag’ya. We don’t hit women. It’s a Blades thing – we don’t hurt women period.” He ran his hand through her hair and lowered his mouth to hers, forming a gentle kiss. “Come on, just let me fuck you. You’ll love it.”

She pushed his hand away, her eyes pointed at the floor. “If you want it, you’ve got to fight for it.”

“No.”

“Please?”

His voice went rigid and coarse. “No.”

“Okay, fine.” She pouted and turned away. “Then maybe I’ll go downstairs and let Hero take care of me.”

Crack. A rushed, black moment painted a fragmented picture of the heel of Ace’s hand crashing into the space between Olivia’s eyebrows. The force of the blow shoved Olivia’s entire body against the wall, sizzling in her senses and sending a lightning bolt of ecstasy straight to her nether regions. She brought her hand to her face, feeling the warm, dizzying throb of the assault.

His words chased down his heaving breath. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

But she didn’t cry, though the pain demanded it. She smiled. Her eyes watered and she smiled, shoving him backward with a silent animal roar, throwing his hat aside and letting her fingers lay siege to his belt clasp. He spoke, but his words were unintelligible through his flustered breaths. He grabbed onto the back of her neck and tried to pull her face toward his, but she shook her head out of his grasp.

“Don’t you dare think about kissing me until you hit me again,” she hissed. “Do it.”

He grabbed the back of hair and pulled down. Hard. Painfully hard, making her bite down and suck the air through her clenched teeth. With his opposite hand, he sideswiped her face, his knuckles slapping her jaw with vehement force, making her wheeze out a pleased moan. Her jaw relaxed, letting her vocal signals of approval escape with smooth, satiny ease.

“Fuck me,” she said.

He did, and no one interrupted this time.

Olivia woke up on the floor of a cluttered Sequoia Grove apartment next to a nameless tattooed Asian guy with a black eye. She stood up, she enjoyed the buzz of her hangover, and she sought out her dress and her panties. Her memories of the previous night were a hazy blur, but she felt the evidence of her fornications in the bruising. She dressed herself and looked in the mirror, absorbing a broken, nightmarish image of herself. Both eyes were purple and swollen—she looked like a battered women’s poster child.

When she opened the door, there were a couple strangers sleeping in piles on the floor of the hallway. She stepped over and around them to make her way down the steps to get herself to the kitchen—she had more than a need for H2O. Her mouth was bone dry and chalky.

The kitchen was spotless. Every red plastic cup, every bottle, every bit of anything that was out of place was completely absent. Dishes were done. Trash cans were emptied. Counters were wiped. It was as if last night never happened at all. She opened the cupboard and brought a glass down, and started to turn toward the sink.

Until hands were on her. One on her right hip and the other pressing on her jaw line, taking hold of her and spinning her around, forcing her to greet a familiar pair of piercing eyes.

Hero.

She remembered those strange, hypnotic eyes, drilling holes into hers. His full, candy lips were mere inches away. Those wicked, spellbinding eyes, judging her, reprimanding her, and demanding her. She couldn’t breathe.

“What the fuck is this?” he said, revealing a soft and clear, bell-like voice as he turned her chin sideways. “What the fuck did he do to you?”

“I, uh…”

“Can’t you fucking talk? Last night your skin was perfect. What happened to you?”

Ace’s body flung into the room, his feet more dedicated to covering distance than maintaining stability. “Hero, it ain’t what it looks like.”

Hero grabbed Olivia’s face and jerked it in Ace’s direction. Carelessly. Ace may as well have broken his toaster.

“What happened?” hissed Hero.

“Hy’ung, she asked for it.”

“Wrong answer. Try again.”

“No, seriously,” said Olivia, gently pushing Hero’s hand away from her face. “I wanted him to.”

Hero’s head tilted down but his eyes were still on hers. “You wanted him to do that to you? Have you looked in a mirror?”

“Yes.”

“You fucked in the head or something?”

“It’s possible.”

Hero looked at Ace, than Olivia, and then averted his eyes to the ground, scratching his brow hard. “You two are giving me a real fucking headache. Look, chag’ya, I don’t care how sick your fetishes are, I don’t want anyone hitting a woman in my house.” He looked at Ace. “I don’t know what you were thinking but this shit will cost you, you hear that? Cost you. And I ain’t talking about taking away your motherfucking television privileges, I’m talking about your finances. I’m talking about stretching your deals thinner than homegirl’s thong.”

Olivia turned her head. “Excuse me?”

He glared at her. “What, you’re surprised I’m familiar with the caliber of your underwear? Does Wildcard come across as the quiet type to you? You’re a real class act, chag’ya. Mom and Pop up in Westcliff must be really proud of their little princess.”

Olivia couldn’t tell if the color had drained from her face or if she had gone tomato red.

“Go wake up Mixer, have him take the girl to the train station,” said Hero. “If I have to look at her face for one more fucking second, I’m gonna be sick to my stomach.”

“I can get myself to the station, thanks.” She meant to sound forceful, but her voice was barely above a hoarse whisper.

“Oh yes, you’re the queen of self reliance aren’t you? Forgive me if I’m not convinced after all the trouble you caused last night. Since you clearly don’t know what’s best for you, you better listen. Do not—and this is serious, I mean do not come back to the Grove. I do not ever want to see your face again, fucked up or otherwise. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Say ‘I understand.’”

She looked in his eyes. He wasn’t joking. “I understand.”

“Good girl.” He looked back at Ace. “Did you not hear me? I said wake up Mixer. Go.” He waved his arms at Ace. “You understand English—Mom and A’pa made sure of it. Go, go, go.”

Ace rolled his eyes and turned toward the hall, but it was too late. Olivia had bottled up her humiliation and was already out the door.

She did it. She came to Sequoia Grove and got exactly what she was looking for, and left carrying a burdensome trophy of regret for her trouble.

Tags: Ace, Crash, Hero, Mixer, Olivia, Olivia's Point of View, Wildcard

This entry was posted on Sunday, June 21st, 2009 at 4:50 pm and is filed under The Story. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.