Let Us Prey

The tall oak tree scrapes against the back glass wall, beating the glass rhythmically as the rain strikes New York City. Chloe adjusts her hair in the large vanity mirror next to my dark cluttered desk. “Are you sure you don’t want to go out with us tonight?” she asks, her curly hair perfectly set. She sprays a cloud of Extra Hold hairspray, the fumes drifting towards me. I wave my hand. “I have a feeling that Darren may ask you out today.” She winks, smiling.
“I have no intention of dating anyone.” I fix my royal blue dress. “I have to retain my unbiased answering ability.”
“You can do that with a boyfriend, Lia! Besides, that British guy has a thing for you,” Chloe replies, smearing a dark brown lipstick across her lips. She rubs them together to get an even coating. She grabs a tissue from the Kleenex box on the table in front of the vanity. “Let him join us for coffee, at the very least,” Chloe begs. “I need to get to know him!”
Darren’s greasy dark hair glistens in the fluorescent lighting, his unibrow looking as thick as ever. “Ophelia, I have a question to ask you.”
I turn, in my swivel chair. “Ask away.” I touch my forehead to assure myself that my eyebrows haven’t become overgrown and bushy. Chloe covers her mouth.
He takes in a deep breath, his bony chest rising. “It is true that you’re dating that guy?” He points outside to Tom, who’s waiting patiently. His eyes meet mine, his lips curling into a smile.

I blow him a kiss.

Rule Number 28: If you don't like someone, tell that person to his or her face. Do not follow by my bad example.

Darren huffs and stomps out, pushing passed poor Tom, who’s turned crimson. Chloe giggles. “Girl, I never knew you had it in you!” I glare at her as she grabs her white knit sweater. “You’ve got two guys vying for your love. It’s kind of cute.” Of course, one looks like an ogre and lacks social skills, while the other is considered Prince Charming.

Who would Chloe choose? Surely not the sore loser, no offense to our dear Darren, the fix-it man.

Tom enters the room, pretending to fix his hair in order to hide his expression. “Ophelia, I hope you don’t see me as a scapegoat. People have been asking me, ‘do you know Ophelia Baker’, and yet I honestly know nothing about you.” Chloe tiptoes out of the room, giving me a wink. “Ophelia, I really do like you, but I’m not particularly sure if I’m ready to become such a large part of your life.” Tom leans against my desk, folding up the sleeves of his gray Oxford shirt.

“You don’t have to.” Feel free to be like every other man I’ve liked; they leave within the first couple weeks. Even my brother who strips to pay for art school would never be caught dead with me here in New York. I don’t blame them, but for once, can’t someone stay?

For me?

I grip the cobalt mug of hot chocolate as I watch the rain splash against the windowpanes. I hesitate approaching him, standing up to watch the traffic, or at least pretend to.

Chloe keeps glancing over at us, a smile wide on her face. “You know, I was expecting a response that was less…nonchalant.” He turns to me, half-smiling. “Are you going to argue with me?”

He turns serious. “Aren’t you?”

I shrug. “Do what you want? I’m used to people leaving me.” As sad and sappy as it sounds, Tom and Chloe are all the people I have. Maybe even Kit, but I hardly know him.

Tom steps towards me, reaching for a hand. “I was wondering when I could speak to Ophelia Baker, rather than Ophelia, the relationship specialist.”

I force a smile and turn to Chloe. "There may be a chance for you to meet her tonight.

> >

The strobe lights circle around the massive, sweaty crowd, music pounding against my chest. Chloe and Kit stay close and press their bodies close together, eyes closed. I turn to look at Tom, who glances at me. "Would you like to dance?" he asks, holding out a hand.

I shrug, and Tom pulls me out onto the dance floor next to Chloe and Kit. "C'mon, girl! Swing your hips!" Chloe encourages, her body flowing like a river, smooth and in rhythm. "There you go!"

Tom's lips curl into a grin, hands sliding onto my hips. Heat radiates from his hands, sending chills up my spine. He's so close I can feel his breath on my neck...

Kit points to the bar and drags Chloe away, shouting that he'll find us a booth after an hour of nonstop dancing. I wrap my arms around Tom's neck and we sway to the slow, quieter music, watching most of the dancers in tight dresses or sagging pants leave to find better things to do.

"I never had a chance to tell you this, but...you look wonderful tonight," he whispers into my ear, my blue dress swaying with the beat.

"Thanks," I reply, my lips turning into a smile. "You look wonderful too." I could feel us coming closer, his hands moving to my back. I rest my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes until the gentle music faded into a loud pounding beat. Chloe and Kit come back, ready for another dance.

"Mind if we leave?" I shout to Tom, who shakes his head. Chloe frowns as she grinds her ass against Kit, waving goodbye as we dodge the crowd.

Across the street is a small cafe, brightly lit with few people inside drinking hot coffee. We wander in, wondering why we decided to come inside. "Personally, I hate coffee," Tom replies, ordering some Earl Grey tea. "I hate the bitterness."

I grab my hot chocolate and sip, tasting the whipped cream blending with the chocolate. "I've never been to a club before," I admit, running my fingers through my damp hair. The rain stopped, the puddles swirled with gasoline, reflecting small rainbows in the streets. We call over a taxi and clamber into the backseat.

"Some days, you just have to step out of your comfort zone." Tom reaches for my hand and squeezes it. "It wasn't too bad, was it?" I smile and shrug. "To Fifth Avenue," he says to the cab driver.

We speed away in the Crown Victoria, watching the bright neon lights flash. The rain cloud comes back and starts to pour within minutes of reaching my apartment complex. Tom and I hastily pay the cab driver and sprint into the building and slide into the elevator.

On the seventh floor, we slip out and search for number 741. "Well, I guess this is goodbye," I say, looking into his blue eyes.

"I guess so." He lifts my chin. "I'll see you soon." Tom presses his lips on mine, and during those minutes, I know he's mine.