Chapter 4

[vibe track: katy on a mission - katy b]

Cameron didn’t love doing the early set. But it was what she could get at this point. As she watched a bachelorette party flail away on the dancefloor, entirely too much light still beaming on it, she knew exactly why.

How was she supposed to get into a flow when people were like this? They were talking for God’s sake. She rolled her eyes.

The crowd this early on a Saturday night was the desperate and the casual. People who probably would be asleep before the real night even started. And the first rule of the early set — or any set, really — at a nightclub was to match the vibe to the crowd.

So she’d pulled out her Desperate and Casual list, which she was thinking of renaming “Bachelorette Party.” It was full of bouncier, lighter electropop beats instead of the chill trap and future bass that she liked to feel wrap her up in its embrace. Her people didn’t come out ‘til the end, when the high started to wear off and everybody still there realized they hadn’t gone home with anyone.

But this was good too, even if she wasn’t in the mood. It was still solid practice to do some live mixing. She put on her headphones and let her instincts take over, mashing up vocals this crowd would probably recognize with the bouncy beats that kept them feeling like they didn’t drive minivans and watch reality TV to distract themselves at night.

She let her eyes roam the room as her fingers synced the next track, matching the tempo and fading out from one song’s chorus to another, the underlying beat tying them together until it was time to switch it up.

This was where Cameron felt most at home. She didn’t have to talk to anyone, letting the music do her talking for her. She closed her eyes and bobbed her head, her hips, to the beat, trusting herself to know what she was doing just by instinct and touch.

When she opened her eyes again, she noticed a couple of guys sitting across the room from the bachelorette party, in one of the tiny booths. The fact she could see their faces at all was proof enough it was still early.

One of them looked familiar.

Melvin?

What the fuck was he doing here?

Holy shit, did he fucking track me down? I was right, he is a fucking creeper. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

She kept her eye on him, stealing glances when she could spare the attention, but ... he didn’t seem to even notice her. Not once. Which was a little weird, she thought, since she was kinda hard to miss.

On a small, elevated platform at the front of the dancefloor, Cameron was wearing a dark gray tanktop that exposed her tattoos. The ripped, faded black jeans probably didn’t scream for attention either.

But her hair, meticulously coiffed tonight and tilted forward, was tipped in deep red. And at the club, she always wore all her piercings and her collection of bracelets and wristbands. She thought she would’ve stood out, especially to somebody like Melvin. Maybe if she pulled down her pants he’d recognize her.

Was it Melvin? Or was it Marvin? Fuck, not this again.

Cameron put it out of her mind, but kept an eye on him and his buddy — a bigger, gregarious-looking bearded guy in a loose shirt. She would’ve gone with a tighter one — he looked like he was hiding some muscle under there, but maybe he wasn’t flashy. He had a flashy smile though. A real charmer, clearly.

A couple of smarmy fucking creeps, out on the prowl together.

Still, Cameron couldn’t stop her eyes from flicking over to them throughout the night, again and again.

If he doesn’t even know I’m here, why the fuck is he here?

She snorted at what that sounded like in her head.

I mean, he’s clearly not the type. He hasn’t even gone to the dancefloor. He just keeps looking at the bachelorette party and downing shots. Doesn’t even look like he’s having a good time.

At one point she thought they were going to leave, but they didn’t.

The bachelorette party picked up steam though, which helped Cameron out at least. She dialed up the intensity, and the lights — she wasn’t in control of those — finally got more focused, throwing the room into sharper contrast. A couple of the bridesmaids around the same age as Melvin and his pal were grinding away at every guy on the floor. She took that to mean she was doing well enough.

Better get home soon or you’ll have to postpone your white wine brunch.

Cameron watched them with a little curiosity. One of them, a tall, leggy brunette, with an electric, devilish grin looked like she’d done plenty of teasing younger guys on dancefloors. Another, a bigger blonde, looked like she was wearing a dress that hadn’t seen the outside of the closet since she was Cameron’s age — and she acted like it, too, lurching all over the place.

If Kendra gets married someday, am I gonna have to throw a party? Am I gonna wear some tight dress that used to fit me 10 years ago and flail around on the floor, grinding up against any cock I can trap? Did they ever think they were gonna be that way?

She shook her head.

No. She didn’t know where she’d be in 10 years, she thought as she transitioned into the next track, but it wasn’t going to be in a dress.

Cameron slammed the door of the Shitmobile and lit up a cigarette, staring up at the starless, moonless night sky. It always looked that way to her — whatever might’ve been trying to shine through overpowered by the city lights.

Her shift was over. She got paid a little, but that wasn’t why she did this. For now, anyway. There were a couple other people out here in the alley behind the club smoking already, but not that many. She couldn’t imagine what it must’ve been like before vapes.

Of course, you could probably smoke inside then. Musta looked badass in there.

She coughed just thinking about it, though.

“I hear you, but I gotta — hey, bro, just a sec, hold on — I drove him, I gotta make sure he gets in an Uber at least.”

Cameron turned to look at the guy on his phone, talking urgently to someone and trying to keep his drunk buddy upright.

Wait...

Melvin.

Damn. Melvin really can’t hold his liquor. No surprise there. Knew he was a fucking pussy.

“I know!” the guy on the phone said. It was the same friend who was with him in the booth. Must’ve been their designated driver.

The guy lowered his phone and looked around, spotting the bouncer next to the door. With a little effort, he dragged Melvin, limp arm around his neck, to the bouncer, Bobo.

She wasn’t sure what Bobo’s real name was, but that’s what everybody called him. Not that anybody usually called him anything. She’d never seen him do anything other than stand there, but that was probably because nobody was gonna do anything in front of him that might risk him doing more.

Cameron took another drag and watched the show with a smirk.

“Hey, this is a real longshot, but my wife’s mom was in an accident, she’s in the hospital, nobody’s home with my kids — can you please make sure my buddy gets in an Uber? I’ll get it here, pay for it, everything, I just gotta go now.”

Cameron’s eyes hardened and she exhaled a lungful of smoke into the night.

Bobo lowered his stare to the two men in front of him.

“Sorry, can’t do it.” He spread his massive hands. “Don’t know you, and that’s our policy. Can’t be responsible for everybody after they leave the club, too.”

“Yeah,” the guy said with a wince and a sigh. “I get it. Thanks.”

He turned around and walked Melvin to the wall across from where Cameron was standing, where there weren’t any smokers. They didn’t give her a second look.

Fuck.

Cameron dropped her cigarette to the ground and stomped it with her heel, knowing what was about to happen even as she tried to stop herself.

We’re fucking even, pervert.

“I’ll take him,” she said, opening the passenger door of the Shitmobile.

The guy looked around like he wasn’t sure who’d said something, then settled on her. She could see Melvin’s eyes now were lolling around.

Huh. Really fucking slammed those shots I guess.

“Huh?” Melvin’s buddy said.

She threw the fast-food cups and wrappers from up front into the backseat, wiped off the worst of the lingering crumbs, and turned back to the two of them.

“Come on,” she said, letting her impatience show.

The friend looked her over from top to bottom — and then top again, puzzled.

“Do I ... know you?” he said.

“No.”

“Well, thanks for the offer, but—”

“I know him though.”

“Yeah...?” he looked like he would be very surprised if that were true.

“Yeah.” Fuck, moment of truth. Which one was it? Goddammit... “Melvin.”

The guy holding Melvin cocked his eyebrow, then his chin dropped practically to the sidewalk. A wide, wide grin quickly spread to replace it as he looked her over again, like he was seeing something else this time instead of what he’d seen before.

“Yes! Yes, this, this is, uhh, Melvin,” he said, helping him toward the car.

She walked around the other side, trying not to look too pleased that she’d evidently guessed right.

BOW BEFORE CAMERON, QUEEN OF REMEMBERING RANDOM DUDES’ NAMES, MWAHAHAHAHA.

Melvin was muttering as his buddy buckled him in.

“whrrrr, heeeyyyy UNIVRRZZZZOV PSSSSSSSSSSSSSS” he mumbled.

His friend chuckled and gave him a pat on the cheek.

“That’s right, pal. Be good. Hey — seriously, thank you,” he said, looking to Cameron. It was such a serious look that it made her turn away instead of return it. She didn’t want to think about why she was doing this. “You’re really saving my ass.”

She just nodded instead and he slammed the door shut.

Well, he tried to.

“You gotta just—” she groaned as he tried again “—no, wait, just, yeah you gotta hold the handle open while you shut — yeah there you go.”

He finally got it shut and waved, then jogged off to wherever his own car was. Bobo was giving the whole scene a curious look. She didn’t blame him. She’d never come in or out of this place with someone else who wasn’t Kendra before.

Cameron sighed and eyed Melvin in the passenger seat. He was swaying a little, his eyelids opening and closing slowly.

“If you need to throw up...” she considered for a moment where would be best, “just ... fucking don’t, okay?”

He turned to her. “You...” he said, pointing at her with a growing grin.

“Yeah. Me.”

“Hey,” he said, smiling dumbly.

“Hey,” she said.

“You ... you ... you look like this girrrrllll, ” he said, trying his best to compose himself, but still slurring.

She started up the car and headed out of the alley, into the nighttime traffic.

“Yeah?” she said, rolling down her window and propping her elbow up on it. She looked at him curiously. Maybe he’d tell her all about his sex/mirror/coffee dungeon.

“Yeahhhhh” he repeated, leaning back. “You’d like her,” he said, nodding emphatically as they moved.

“Probably not.”

“No, no,” he pleaded. “Like, really. She’s... com-pli-ca-teddddd,” he said, enunciating each syllable carefully.

She snorted. “Yeah. I’ll bet.”

“Srrrsssly! She was like...” He took in a breath, swaying dangerously, putting his few functioning braincells toward finding the right word.

What? A bitch? No, he’s sens-i-tive, she thought to herself, mockingly. He probably thinks I’m some crying little girl who just needs a real man to give her a good fingering. Fucking creep.

“She’s like... strong.”

Cameron looked at him questioningly. She wasn’t expecting that, even from a guy blitzed out of his mind.

Although, I could definitely beat the shit out of him. I guess if that’s your benchmark, then sure, tough guy, I’m strong.

“You can just telllll.” He nodded at her. “Carrrries that shit around, on all her owned. Errr, own in her allned. Y-you get it.”

He was quiet for a minute, and she snuck a few glances at him while he tried to keep his head upright and his eyes open.

Strong?

It had been her weakest moment. She could barely stand looking at him because it reminded her of the blubbering mess she’d been, of how little she’d been able to control herself — or anything else. Just knowing that memory was somewhere inside her, the pathetic loneliness of curling up in a stranger’s bed ... he was a living reminder of everything inside herself she didn’t want to acknowledge.

Then why did you volunteer to take him home?

Cameron glared at the road and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. She wasn’t in the mood for stupid questions or even stupider answers.

“THIS IS, THE STORY OF A GIRLLLL, WHO CRIED A RIVER AND DROWNED THE WHOLE WORLLLDDDD!!!!” He belted out the lyrics with an imaginary microphone, doing her the favor of interrupting her thoughts.

“Shut the fuck up,” she said sharply, turning her glare to him. “Shut. The fuck. UP. No fucking car karaoke!”

He stopped, looking cowed. She sighed.

It’s not his fault. He did what you asked him — begged him — to do, you pathetic piece of shit. Don’t take it out on him.

“Is that even a real song?” she said, taking some of the edge off her tone.

He looked at her like she’d insulted his mother.

“Y-yessss. You’re just, sooo, sooooooo youngggg — Oh my god I’m so OLD!”

Yeah. Crying little girl. Who says I don’t fucking know people.

“I’m not that young, sorry pervert. And you’re not that fucking old, hate to break it to you. Way too old to get blackout drunk at a club though, you’re right about that.” She looked at him again. “What the fuck were you doing there anyway?”

He shook his head. “I dunno,” he mumbled quietly, looking like he was really pondering. “Why wassssshe there? I duh-nno. She looked ... hey — hey, be real with me, hokay?”

He turned to look at her with pleading, glassy eyes. She gave him a blank look back. It didn’t stop him.

“Do you think she looked, like, like, like she was like, pretending? Or like ... like do you think she’s like, acthhhuallly that, like, like, happy?”

“Huh?” Cameron had no idea what he was talking about now, which frustrated her more than she figured it should have. “Who? The girl I’d like?”

Now he gave the confused look. “Whaaa? No, no, you wouldn’t like her. Well...” He thought about it for a second. “Well everybody likes her, hactually. So.” He shrugged sloppily.

“Who the fuck are you talking about?” She turned to look at him, but he’d passed out again.

Cameron groaned. Why was she getting wrapped up in this anyway?

Just drop him off at his house, maybe make him barf on that old guy’s lawn first if I can find it, and then reap the rewards of balanced karma and never think about this fucking night or this fucking place again.

She slowed in front of the duplex she was pretty sure was his and put the Shitmobile in park.

“Hey, rockstar, wake up.”

He didn’t.

Ugh.

She reached into his left pants pocket and rooted around, but only came up with his phone. She stuffed that back in and with another groan, leaned over him and rifled through his right pocket.

Nothing.

“FUCK,” she yelled, slamming herself back against the driver’s door, facing him. That jolted him awake.

“Mal?” He looked around wildly.

She glared at him as he got his bearings, eventually noticing her. His eyes softened, coming down from high alert.

“You—”

“YES, ME, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” she screamed at him, kicking his seat harder than she’d intended. It startled him into shutting up though.

Then he scrambled for the handle and got the door open just in time to heave all over the sidewalk.

She groaned again, covering her face with a hand.

This is what you fucking get. This is what you FUCKING get for being nice. The ONE fucking time. Now you’ve learned your lesson.

Cameron sighed as Melvin coughed, sputtering up the last of it. He was gulping in deep breaths now.

Well, at least he didn’t throw up in the car. Silver linings I guess.

After a few more convulsions and a pitiful groan, he finally swung his feet back inside, wiping his nose and eyes with his sleeve. He was a mess.

He looked at her, a little more lucid in the moment. “Thanks,” he said, and gave a weak, embarrassed little half-smile. Just a tug on one side of his mouth, like nobody but her was supposed to notice. Or maybe that was just as much as he could manage.

He started to get out.

“Hey dumbass, you don’t have any keys.”

Freezing, he patted his pockets ... then slumped back in the seat again, thumping his head against the head rest.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I don’t... shit.”

She groaned again and opened her door, walked around to his side — tiptoeing around the puke puddle — held the handle, and banged the door shut.

Fucking door.

As she got back in, her defeated passenger was silent, just staring at the ripped fabric on the ceiling. She started up the car and they drove in the silence for a few minutes.

“Who’s ‘Mal’?” she asked, calmer, breaking the quiet.

He opened his eyes — he must’ve closed them at some point — and delicately swiveled his neck halfway toward her. It looked like it hurt just to move his head that much.

“My ex,” he croaked, coughing a little.

She nodded.

Ohhh. Duh. Shoulda figured that one out. All coming together now. What else could make some 40-year-old dude drink his weight in watered down shots?

“Where are we going?” he said, looking around like it hadn’t even occurred to him before now. Every word still seemed to make him wince.

“My place.”

He eyed her suspiciously and she glared back.

“Yeah, because you’re the one who should be weirded out right now.”

“Yeah,” he conceded, looking conciliatory and kind of sheepish.

By the time they got to her apartment building, he was in and out of consciousness, mumbling nonsense. He weighed way too much for her to haul in on her own.

“Move. Your... feet. Mother. Fucker.” She grunted out, hauling him out of the car. He helped a little, and they made it up the stairs and to her front door, the beat from inside muffled only slightly as it pulsed out into the rest of the building.

The regular Saturday night rager was in full swing. It was dark, just a dim light on in the corner along with the one in the hallway. She dragged him through the couple of dozen teenagers and twentysomethings smashing into each other’s bodies to her closed door. Which was probably a good sign, all in all. Kendra’s was closed, too.

Cameron managed to turn the knob without dropping the dead weight slumping against her or being dragged down herself. After she kicked her door open, she let out a cross between a groan and a scream, finally fucking fed up with this night.

There were five people in her small room: two guys snorting something off some girl’s bare midriff on one of the mattresses, one sitting next to them, and another passed out on Cameron’s mattress. The wooden warning sign was flipped over and sitting right next to the passed-out girl. She couldn’t have missed it. Or shouldn’t have, anyway.