I kept running, my brain overloaded with adrenaline and
fear, and tried to leap between the oversized high heels directly in front of
me. There was a gap between them; if I could just –
The
towering figure above seemed to bend over – for one fear-blinding second I
thought she was tripping over me and I was destined to be squished under a
collapsing breast or stomach – but the ‘fall’ was too controlled and
transformed into a graceful crouch. The giant black shadow of an outstretched hand
came parasoling over my head, and I watched it, stunned into stillness, too
late realizing the hand was not looking to stabilize itself flat against the
floor, but looking to unloosen me
from the floor.
The hand
disappeared over and behind my head before there came a pinching at the back of my waistband – pulling
painfully tight around my groin – and my upper body dropping forward as I was
yanked up into the air by the back of my pants. As the air whooshed and bass
beat thumped, my waistband pulled so tight around my lower belly that I
couldn’t breathe properly. My arms waved around as I dangled, seeing the floor
rapidly descending, and the dark bodies continued to dance all around, like a
forest of wavering trees, no one having noticed me.
The air
whizzed past, more long, flexible objects hooked around my shoulders, pinning
my arms to my torso. Still wet from the tipped glass of iced water, I almost
slipped through the sweaty flesh, but the hand responded immediately; tensing
even more around my torso, compressing it inwards, making me gasp for oxygen
into my increasingly squashed torso. My diaphragm fought against the increasing
cinch of pressure; I took rapid, small breaths, trying to expand my lungs as
much as possible. If the fist continued to tense, it could easily snap my
bones. I couldn’t thrash against it, and trying to scream, only a tiny whimper
escaped, muffled by the blasting club music.
The world
tilted around until I was looking straight up at the face of a girl; her face
shadowed in the dim light, the unseen eyes must have been locked on me, as mine
were locked onto hers.
The fingers
surrounding me then loosened slightly to allow a firm object to start working
away into my chest; I tucked my chin in, peering down vaguely to see the tip of
a giant thumb kneading up and down against my ribcage, powerfully enough to
make my ribs groan and shift around.
The ironing
motion of the thumb drove the fingernail a little too deeply into my gut,
connecting painfully with the curving bands that were my bottom ribs. In the
giant girl's urgency to rub my chest – maybe to calm me down – she apparently did
not appreciate the potential strength in just her fingertips compared to my
puny anatomy. My bottom ribs were accidentally being leveraged up by the
probing thumbnail, making me fear for an immediate bone fracture any second.
I gave a
yip. The thumb halted, resting on my solar plexus, and I inwardly sighed in
relief, and my head tilted back to apprehend my captor. Lasers had been
wandering all around the room and for an instant, gleamed in her eyes and sent
me a flash of her twisted, triumphant grin and in an instant I was sickened
with fear. My legs began to paddle pathetically in the air, my arms trapped
against my sides beneath her sweaty palm flesh. My throat ripped with a hoarse
scream.
One huge
thumb humped over my chest and settled heavily on my mouth, preventing me from
screaming anymore.
“SHHH,” she
murmured conspiratorially, her voice galloping with exhilaration. “DON’T TELL
ANYONE.”
Her other
hand had slipped down to her handbag, surreptitiously working the zip and
holding the widening slit open, while sending me inexorably towards the gaping
black threshold, past which point I would be zipped up again and lost from view,
and no one would know I was trapped in there.
Or, almost no one.
Out from
the darkness there was a feminine growl:
“STOP THAT.”
A hand
clamped around the girl’s wrist, jerking me away from the open bag.
“UHHH, EXCUSE ME?!” the girl yelped, glaring up
into the face of her intervener.
“YOU WILL LET
HIM GO. THIS INSTANT.”
“WHAT, LIKE
YOU OWN HIM?” she scoffed, with her
free hand trying to yank the zip shut again, and then anxiously fix her hair.
“AND WHO
ARE YOU?” the other woman, the intervener, demanded.
“I AM…” the
girl huffed as if reluctant to provide a name, “…I AM OVER THIS! UGH. LAY-TERRRR!”
I was
dumped, almost upside down, onto a soft palm incensed with complex, expensive
perfume, as the girl swished around and stalked off through the crowd. As I sat
up on the palm, the fingers of another identically fragranced hand curled
around me, tanned and elegant, with French manicured nails. My Kolade coked up
heart skipped with lust before I could stop it. The fingers arranged around my
ribcage to hold me firmly in the palm, while the thumb gently hooked around my
head.
Then I was
being drawn in to a black cocktail dress. I was cradled against the soft dress
fabric covering a wall of taut belly, with the inside fingers cupped around my
other side. The abdominal wall expanded against me with each inhalation as I
was pressed against it. With each of my own inhalations I got a head full of
perfume. The ruffled fabric whispered and tickled against my cheek as body heat
radiated against my somewhat squashed front.
The world started
swaying in gentle motion over the floor, not in time with the music and the
dancers, but an assured gait that was now heading away from the music. From
beneath the thumbpad semi-obscuring my vision there were glimpses of tall dark
bodies passing on either side. My keeper moved strategically amidst the throngs,
pressing me against her dress to shield me from attention, while the thumbpad idly
padded over my face, continually blotting my vision, while tilting my jaw,
compelling my head to face her, or, away from people, or softly planting itself
over my features and holding there until people had passed by.
In a moment
of pause in a patch of shadowy floor, I was lifted up the lithe torso of the
woman to stop just above her strapless bust, sheltered at her neck, where her
perfume was the most intense. She tilted her head down close to my face like I
was a phone she was about to speak into, while her dusky eyes continued to
wander the crowds, Alizarin-painted lips pursed and betraying nothing. There
was nowhere else to look, I was walled in by the the extensive physical
landscape of the woman’s poised face, framed by a silky curtain of dark hair
like a glossy waterfall at midnight.
In the cool air, her alcohol-spiced breath warmed my
shoulders and neck. Panic prickled along the nape of
my neck. I wriggled to try and free myself of her grip, but her fingers closed
in, giving my midsection a small but commanding pinch, extinguishing all my efforts
to escape.
“MI SPIACE,
DOLCEZZA,” came a low murmur right in my ear, as the thumb affectionately
stroked my jawline. “LOOK AT ME PAWING YOUR FACE LIKE THIS. IT'S AN EXTRA
MEASURE OF ANONYMITY FOR YOUR BENEFIT. YOU ARE, AFTER ALL, INCONVENIENTLY
EYE-CATCHING, DON’T YOU THINK?”
As we moved
through another crowd and people hemmed in from both sides, I tried to shift my
head out from the thumb to see if anyone had noticed me, though the lack of
surprised exclamations already told me they hadn’t. The fingers responded to my
squirming, tightening their grip, while the thumb began to stroke up and down
my face as if in reassurance, sometimes gently scratching at my scalp.
"SILLY
LITTLE MAN," she intoned, barely audible, "YOU CANNOT BE TRUSTED TO KEEP
YOURSELF OUT OF TROUBLE…”
At the end
of the floor, we ascended the small set of stairs up to another area, one I
hadn’t been to yet. Dim lit, raised area off to the side, with a view of the
central floor without being in the thick of it. In the corner of this
floorspace, there was a corner booth and a lone young woman sitting on the
banquette, watching us approach. Her light hair was tied back and she was
wearing sandal heels and a champagne colored dress; the light, peaceful color emerging
out of the dim lighting like a reprieve on my eyes, or maybe it just distracted
me enough from the person holding me. She had bright,
curious eyes and a friendly smirk. There were a couple of cocktails on the
table, and a small paper cup of French fries with dipping sauce.
The girl leaned
forward, relaxed, stretching both arms over the table, her eyes tracking me as
I was brought closer.
“WHAT DO
YOU HAVE THERE, SAM?” the girl said with a small, puzzled smile up at my
keeper. “LOOKS LIKE A LITTLE PERSON.”
As the
girl’s curious eyes dropped back down to me, her smile dampened while her eyes widened.
“OH MY GOD,
IT IS A LITTLE PERSON.”
“HE HAS A
NAME,” came the response, composed but not unfriendly, “AND I BELIEVE HE WOULD
PREFER IF YOU WERE TO USE IT. THIS IS MR MOUSSEAU.”
“ISN’T THAT
JERRY MOUSSEAU?”
My feet
came down onto the firm table surface as the tanned fingers uncurled, while I
stood shakily for a second, and the banquette rustled as the seat directly
behind me was taken up, at a right angle from the other girl.
“No. His
twin brother,” I said.
“PLEASED TO
MEET YOU, WHICHEVER MOUSSEAU YOU ARE,” the girl played along. “DARCY.” And one
of her hands came sliding over the table towards me.
“UHM, HOW
DO WE DO THIS…?” she said, extending her fingertips as if to shake my hand. Instead,
I bent and planted a kiss on the reflective nail dome, which elicited an
impressed smile from the girl, as she said:
“OH. A TRUE
GENTLEMAN.”
“JERRY IS
VERY MUCH THE GENTLEMAN,” the poised voice conceded behind me, as a finger
brushed my back and began rubbing between my shoulder blades.
“SO, SAM…YOU
NEVER TOLD ME YOU KNEW JERRY…!” the girl exclaimed in surprise, looking between
me and up above my head. “HOW DO YOU GUYS KNOW EACH OTHER?”
No one said
anything for a second. The finger at my back hesitated, curling so the knuckle
rested against my spine.
“Mutual work
acquaintances,” I said, shifting my weight on my feet, putting my hands into my
pockets. “I did a modelling shoot and we bumped into each other.”
The
fingerpad made a firm smoothing motion over my left shoulder, like a hand
giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Then it went back to rubbing my backbone.
“OH,” Darcy
went on, as if uninterrupted, and leaned over the table towards me, “SAMANTHA
AND I ALSO MET THROUGH WORK. A WORK
FUNCTION.”
She took
Samantha’s other hand across the table and squeezed it, and I said:
“You guys
are dating?”
“THAT IS
CORRECT,” Darcy replied coyly. "HOW ABOUT
YOU?” she said, pulling a fry out of the pile, dipping it in sauce and eating
it. “IN A RELATIONSHIP?”
“Yeah. I’m
engaged.”
“OH,
CONGRATULATIONS!”
Samantha
said nothing.
A huge forefinger
– Darcy’s – extended into my face to gently prod my chest, coincidently where
my tattoo was.
“YOU’RE TOO
CUTE TO BE SINGLE,” she decided aloud.
Looking
away for a moment, Darcy shifted in her seat, folding her arms over the table
while leaning towards me eagerly:
“I DON’T
WANT TO SEEM LIKE SOME CRAZY ANNOYING FAN,” she said with an anxious smile, “BUT
COULD I, YOU KNOW, POSSIBLY GET YOUR AUTOGRAPH?”
“Sure,” I
said, grateful for the distraction.
She whipped
a pen and notepad out of her handbag, tearing a blank page off and placing it
on the table in front of me, and then, with some hesitation, put sliding the pen
into my awaiting hands. I stood it up on its tip and gripped it like a
flagpole.
“SORRY,”
she said, “I DON’T HAVE A SMALLER PEN.”
“It’s
fine,” I said, holding the pen a bit like a shovel and dragging it over the
paper. I wrote out a short, personalized inscription before signing my name.
“HEY, JERRY…!”
Raf’s voice cut through the room, and then he was striding up to the table,
letting out a sound like his chest collapsed in relief. “LOOKING ALL OVER FOR
YOU, MAN!”
“I’m sorry,
buddy,” I said, presenting the pen and autograph back to Darcy. “I lost my
phone.”
But he
pulled it out of his pocket and held it up, clamped between his fingertips:
“NAH, MAN, I GOT
IT. IT WAS ON CLYDE.”
His eyes
flicked over the two women as if only just noticing them.
“WHOA, UH…DID
I JUST WALK IN ON SOMETHING?”
“We’re just
talking,” I said quickly.
“OH,” he
sounded relieved. “JUST CHECKING IF WE’RE COOL TO HEAD OUT, BRO, BUT YOU LOOK
LIKE YOU’RE—”
“No, I…” I began,
dusting my sweating palms off on my thighs, “…I guess I should probably be getting
out of here right about now…”
The vinyl
banquette emitted a low sound as Samantha shifted forward, before a finger smoothly
angled around my waist and held there. Her accented burr vibrated behind my
head; as if she had hunched over me.
“I WOULD CARE
FOR A CHAT WITH YOU FIRST, JERRY...”
And then,
in afterthought, the finger stroked my belly as if to soften the gesture.
“…IF THAT’S
ALRIGHT WITH YOU, OF COURSE.”
I placed my
palms down on the finger, which was surprisingly warm and accruing a sheen of perspiration
on the inside of the joints. It made me wonder if she was as anxious as I felt. I twisted around and looked up warily. It seemed
as though my memory had cheated me: she was more disquietingly beautiful than I had
recalled. Her head was turned
down, dark eyes examining me with interest.
Then I
looked across at Raf, who was staring at Samantha.
“Maybe I’ll
hang back for now.”
“I WILL
TAKE CHARGE OF HIS TRANSPORT A LITTLE LATER ON,” Samantha offered to Raf, while
her fingers squeezed my neck in a massaging way.
“WELL, IF
THESE LADIES HAVE GOT YOU ALL COVERED,” Raf said down to me, shuffling
awkwardly on his feet, “I’MM’A ROLL OUT.”
He gave me
a wink.
“Sure. See
you, Raf.”
He put my
phone on the table, saluted me goodbye, and went back down the steps onto the
central floor, heading towards the club’s exit.
Darcy took
another fry and coated it in dip.
“SO, JERRY,
HOW DO YOU LIKE THIS PLACE, ANYWAY?” she asked me, casting a brief look out
towards the dancefloor where Raf had last been seen. Her smirk returned as her
head turned back to me. “YOU SEE THOSE GIRLS UP ON THE PODIUMS? LIKE A GO-GO
BAR.”
“Think I’ll
check out a smaller club next time.” I rubbed my sweaty hands together. “Does
anyone have a hand wipe?”
Samantha
removed a sanitizing wipe from her handbag and gave it to me.
“SHE KEEPS
A WHOLE STASH OF SUPPLIES IN THERE,” Darcy commented.
I also knew
this from personal experience.
The wet
wipe was a tiny folded up square, but unfolded, was to me more like a towel,
damp with ethanol antibacterial. I began to run it over my hands, and then my
bare arms and face, as well as the back of my neck. The women were silent,
watching me. Then—
“JERRY…”
Darcy said suddenly.
I looked up
from the wet wipe to see her smiling down at me, shyly.
“…UM…IF YOU’RE
LOOKING FOR A SEAT, YOU COULD ALWAYS SIT IN MY HAND. IT’S FREE RIGHT NOW,” she waggled
her fingers, adding eagerly: “NO RESERVED SIGN, SEE? I WOULD HURRY BEFORE
SOMEONE ELSE TAKES IT.”
She held
her hand open, palm up against the table as I wandered over – her smile
becoming less shy and more pronounced – and climbed onto the platform of soft, crease-lined
skin, stretching my legs out and resting my arm along her cocked thumb, nail
coated in ruby red polish. She giggled as my fingers and heels dug against her
flesh, it must have tickled.
“LET’S GET
A PHOTO, THE THREE OF US!” she said. “GET IN, GET IN!” she said, sliding up
against Samantha.
Sitting in
Darcy’s palm, I was lifted up just under the women’s faces as Samantha took the
photo with her phone. The women shifted and rustled on the seat and I sensed
them exchange looks and conspiratorial gestures behind my head, but before I
could turn my head to see what they were doing, I had the instantaneous
impression that my head was about to get crushed between compacting walls; as
both women came in swiftly, one on either side, their sultry lips ensconcing my
tiny head in a moist smooching embrace. It was captured in photo, and snatching
Samantha’s phone for review, Darcy laughed bashfully; my face was so perfectly
enclosed between the lush padding of their combined lips that it looked like
they were kissing each other just above my headless body.
As Samantha
put her phone down again, and I self-consciously wiped the mask of saliva and
lipstick and lipgloss off my features, Darcy gently lifted her hand, and me, up and down in experimental fashion.
“I’VE NEVER
HELD A BODYBUILDER IN ONE HAND.” Then to me: “HE’S SO LIGHT!”
“AND VERY
STRONG,” Samantha muttered in earnest.
“I’m not a
bodybuilder,” I frowned, trying to visualize what my body used to look like
before I’d shrunk, and disturbed that I couldn’t. “I just work out.”
Darcy
laughed and shook her head as if she didn’t believe me.
“NO, I WORK OUT. YOU’RE A MINIATURE MUSCLE
MAN!”
Her other
hand swept in close, fingers extending towards me with hesitation.
“CAN I HAVE
A LITTLE FEEL, THERE?”
“Sure,” I
said, holding out my arms.
Her
fingertip began probing around my shoulder muscle, and giving my bicep a small
pinch between forefinger and thumb. Before I could react, one of her fingers
smoothly rolled over my chest so she could inspect my pecs.
“OH, IS
THAT A TATTOO?” she cooed. “THAT IS JUST GORGEOUS – SAM, LOOK AT HIS CHEST!”
Samantha
hunched down and stroked a thumbnail over my pec to pull it taut, her brow
narrowing as she read the little brand. As she did this, I could feel one of
Darcy’s fingertips now probing around my back muscles with interest, and
tracing my ribs with a nail.
Then she grinned
down at me:
“NICE INK WORK. IS ‘J.S.T’ YOUR…LET ME GUESS, FIANCEE?”
“Yeah,
that’s right.”
“I HOPE SO,
OTHERWISE THAT WOULD BE A LITTLE EMBARRASSING.”
Then she sighed as if reminiscence, and said innocently: “BUT WE ALL MAKE
MISTAKES WHEN WE’RE IN LOVE, DON’T WE?”
I avoided all
eye contact for a moment.
Darcy then challenged
me to a wrestling competition between my arm and the pinky finger of her free
hand. I won, so she switched to her thumb, and then I lost. Samantha watched
with amusement, and then, satisfied I was being supervised, slid out from the
table, and turning back to us, said:
“CARE FOR
SOMETHING FROM THE BAR? I’M JUST GETTING A DRINK MYSELF.”
“NO, THANK
YOU, SAM,” Darcy replied, raising her half-finished cocktail for a sip. “I’M STILL
TAKING MY TIME, HERE.”
Samantha’s
eyes then fell upon me. When I was silent, she said, businesslike:
“HAVE
SOMETHING. I WON’T INSIST THAT YOU DRIVE ME HOME.”
“Anything
with whiskey,” I relented.
She melted
into the dark crowds.
Darcy
started dipping french fries again, while I sat in her other hand, slumped
against her thumb, letting my body rest from all the running earlier.
“YOU’RE
SUPER CHILL,” she observed out loud, mid-fry. “I SEE HOW YOU AND SAM CLICKED.
SHE DOESN’T TALK MUCH EITHER.”
“You guys come
here often?” I said, lazily watching each fry in turn get withdrawn, dipped in
sauce, and taken up to her mouth to be mulched.
“HONESTLY, THIS
IS NOT OUR SCENE,” she replied, “BUT SHE WANTED TO, SO…” Glancing around, she
shrugged.
“Well,” I
said, “she’s full of surprises.”
“YEAH,” she
chuckled, and then, hesitating for a moment, lowered her voice. "SHE MIGHT
SEEM TOTALLY MODEST AND, LIKE, THIS PERFECTLY PROPER GIRL," then, wiggling
her eyebrows at me, "BUT SHE'S SAVAGE
IN BED."
"I'll
take your word for it."
"DON'T
SAY ANYTHING; SHE'D BE MORTIFIED IF SHE KNEW I SAID THAT."
"I
would never.”
In
gratitude, she squirmed her finger under my chin to tickle me, and accidentally
painting the underside of my jaw with the French fry grease coating her
fingertip.
“OH,” she
giggled, slightly tipsy, “I’M GETTING MY FINGERPRINTS ALL OVER YOU. HERE, LET
ME—” She took the wet wipe from earlier and passed a corner of it around my
face to wipe the grease off.
“I’m glad
she’s found someone—” I said, once the wet wipe had stopped blotting around my face.
“AHEM, I AM
NOT JUST ‘SOMEONE.’” A fingernail jabbed into my ribs, catching me off guard. I
staggered on my feet and into the soft inside of a cupped hand that had quickly
swept around me to catch me again.
“Of course
not.”
“I’M ONLY
TEASING,” she grinned, leaning forward and snatching up another fry. “SORRY.
PLEASE CONTINUE.”
“She’s
found someone who brings the good parts out.”
Darcy was
quiet, distracting herself with the dip before looking at me again.
“YOU THINK
SO?”
“I hope so.“
“I HOPE SO,
TOO…” Darcy looked away, considering her words, “…YOU’VE KNOWN HER LONG?”
“I wouldn’t
say long, but we were close…” then,
to deflect suspicion about the past tense, quickly corrected myself: “—I mean, are close.” That didn’t sound right
either, but too late, I’d said it.
Fumbling
for words, I went on:
“I mean, she’s
very delicate and you have to treat her carefully…or else, big trouble.” Then words failed
completely and I clamped my jaw shut until my thoughts stopped babbling.
“Don’t say
anything to her,” I mumbled, “or—”
“SHE’D BE
MORTIFIED?” Darcy raised an eyebrow, “WELL,
I THINK IF SHE KNEW YOU FELT THAT WAY, SHE WOULD JUST MELT.”
“No, I’d be mortified.”
“BUT IT’S SO
SWEET,” she insisted. “YOU’RE LIKE HER LITTLE GUARD DOG, JUST MAKING SURE I
TREAT HER LIKE A LADY OTHERWISE YOU’LL COME AFTER ME.”
She looked
away with a small smile.
“I COULD
TELL YOU GUYS WERE TIGHT EVEN BEFORE YOU SAID ANYTHING. SAM DOESN’T LET HER
SOFT SIDE SHOW. BUT SHE’S ALL OVER YOU LIKE YOU’RE HER FAVORITE BABY COUSIN.”
That struck
me dumb. Darcy seemed to sense my awkwardness and dropped the subject. To
smooth over the quiet, she offered me a French fry, and then giggled as I tried
to bite into it like a corn cob.
“WATCH AND
LEARN, SMALL FRY,” she said, taking a small handful and ate them in one
mouthful, over my head, just to tease me.