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And then I saw it.
I bought it two years ago because I got it on a song, and it had actually been designer. But it had always been just a tad too fancy to wear any of the places I generally went to.
It was a rich, cobalt blue color that would set off my eyes, hair, and pale skin, cut in skater fashion- tight and square-cut around the bust, them flowing outward at the hip and thigh. But the flare didn't make it little girlish, because it was pretty damn short. A lot of leg was going to be on display tonight.
I fished out some nice underthings, a pair of nude heels, and laid it out on my bed for after my shower and primping.
"Daaaaamn," Benny said as I walked up to his waiting car. "Look who sex-kittened it up toooo-night!"
My lips curved as I slid in, thankful for the AC so I didn't ruin my blowout. "Thanks." I needed that more than I realized. Not just to feel good, which I did for a change, but to know I looked good. Maybe that was a little superficial of me, but anyone who said they required exactly no validation was a bold-faced liar.
We pulled up to the school parking lot a short couple minutes later, parking between two luxury cars. And not some Mercedes sedan or other reasonably priced luxury car. I meant these ones cost the downpayment on a house. Or more. Honestly, they were so expensive they made my head hurt to consider what they cost. Me with my clearance shoes and cast-off designer dress.
"It's okay, Betsy," Benny said, patting his car's dashboard. "Don't you dare start feeling insecure. You might not be shiny and new, but you're the only one for me. You know," he added with a smirk, "since you're all I can afford. Alright, you ready?" he asked, practically bouncing with excitement, reinforcing my own feelings about the night.
So then we climbed out and followed the small crowd as the went around the back, in through the old playground doors, then down. And down. Until we were standing in front of doors that must have been to the basement. We waited in line to talk to the men with clipboards. Plenty people pushed past us, obviously important, because they were waved in without speaking.
"Hi," I said, feeling strange, never having had my name on a list before. "Ah... Kennedy and Benny," I offered as one of the men, a tall and lean, dark-haired, dark-eyed man in all black looked at me, lips twitching.
"Pagan's... special guest," he said without consulting his list.
"Guests," I rushed to say, stomach dropping at the idea that he maybe forgot to put Benny down too. Because there was no way I was going in without Benny.
"Sure, sweetheart. He said you plus whoever the fuck you wanted. His exact words," the man said, giving me a warm smile as he moved out of the way for us to pass. "Have a good time. And maybe don't watch Pagan's fight," he advised as we moved inside.
I wasn't sure what I had been expecting, but dirt floors covered in old blood, bare walls, and a crowd of sweaty and scary people had come to mind several times since the invitation.
I needed to stop getting my ideas about things from movies.
This was nothing like Fight Club.
In fact, it was more like some posh nightclub with its sleek, streamlined, dark, expensive decor. Really, you would totally think it was just a nice watering hole were it not for the giant hexagonal cage in the center of the room, raised from the floor by a few feet so spectators had to look up slightly to watch the fight.
"Hex," Benny said, making me turn to look at him.
"What?"
"The sign said Hex. As in hexagon. I want to live here," he said dramatically, turning in a circle.
"Sure, except the giant cage," I laughed.
"Miss Princess Buttercup would love that."
Miss Princess Buttercup, yes that was her full name, and you had to address her as such, was all of three pounds of fluff, some designer dog with those silly names: poo this, morki that. She actually wasn't even technically Benny's dog, having come with his latest boyfriend. But I was pretty sure that if Benny and he ever split up that there would be a bitter battle for custody of that pampered fluff ball.
"Come on, let's get a drink," Benny said, reaching for my hand and leading me to the side where a long, sleek bar was situated. "Cosmo and a whiskey neat." I might be gay, but I like my liquor straight was what he told me when we went out for drinks the first time. Really, it was because mixers gave him headaches. He loved a cocktail as much as the next person with tastebuds.
