Off to the Races

It was one of those nights, were the smell of the vomit and alcohol off the pavement gave you a sort of confidence, a feel of protection. Where the long stares from strangers boosted your ego, and offers of drugs made you feel wanted. It was a night where you felt you owned the city, and if I didn’t know any better, the city was most definitely mine.

Rich men walked the streets in groups of fours and fives, looking for five star prostitutes to ring out and leave high and dry. Men and women in coats and middle class shoes stood on street corners, reeling in customers and watching for a deal. Musicians played on the edges of streets for the chump change the upper class give to those they felt ‘deserving’. I used to be one of those musicians. No, not anymore. Not on the streets anyways.

I’d graduated to ‘mediocre performer’, opening for B class artists on low payrolls. It got me enough to get my own studio with my best friend Emily on the corner of 5th and Crenshaw, right above a liquor store that looked over almost all of 5th street itself. I lived a quiet life, avoiding the heat and drama of the outside world, but every once and a while I liked to get on my stilettos and party dress and stir up some trouble. Tonight? Well, tonight was one of those nights.

“Emily darling when the fuck are you going to be here you said 6:45 and it is now 7:22. I’ve called you six times, you are just unreasonable I tell y-” Mid sentence I was interrupted by another phone call. It was Johnny, the owner of the liquor store down below me.

“Yes, Johnathan?” I questioned, looking over my freshly painted blood red nails.

“Your friend is outside the door, should I let ‘er in? She’s kinda cute when she’s angry.” His snobbish Brooklyn accent slithered through the phone. How that man moved up town for business I’d never know, I could smell a snake from a mile away and honey, he was an anaconda.

“Yes, let her in and mind your eyes they tend to wander I hear.” I let out a sigh and hung up the phone, putting it back on the receiver where it belonged.

One final look in the mirror and I was ready to go. It’d been a while since I’d gone out, so naturally I wanted to look my best. It didn’t help that the stress from recording and deadlines added on another 10 pounds, but surely no one would notice.

“Lizzy open the damn door, I got a bunch of shit in my hands god damn!” Good old Emily. She was always ranting and yelling about something or other in her cute little British accent, it made it hard to take her seriously. “ELIZABETH!” She shouted again, I rolled my eyes and finished applying the last coat of ruby red lipstick before lounging towards the door to open it.

“God Em, you look trashed. I thought you said you’d be ready are you sweating?”

“Yeah well you try walking up a flight of stairs in four inch heels and two bags of groceries, bitch.” She fell onto the couch, her legs spread open, groceries all over the floor.

“I love you too.” I snapped back, over the sounds of her groaning.

“Okay, let me just put my face on alright? Then we’ll go.”

Emily was soon next to me, shoving me aside to look in the mirror. If you took a before and after of Emily with makeup and Emily with out, you wouldn’t be able to tell one was in fact the other. She always put on the dark eye shadow and thick eye liner, it was an ‘alter ego’ according to her. Hotel concierge clerk by day, slut by night. Whatever the reason, I still loved her the same for it.

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“So where is it that you’re taking me again?”

Our heels clicked and clanked down on the pavement as we walked past 3rd and straight to 2nd.

“My man Ron from Hyatt, he works down in the basement in maintenance, he says there’s gunna be a fight down below Marty’s Restaurant.”

“Oh god, Emily you’re not telling me it’s the same Marty’s that got raided a few weeks back for having a fighting ring are you? Well that’s just stupid if they’re still doing it there… They’re more likely to get caught I mean, that’s just illogical.”

I let out a sigh, clinging to the shall I brought with me for the cold. Emily was always getting into these underground high-end fight scenes, it must have been one of the perks of working at a suit-man hotel. You get to hear about all the juicy gossip and most of the guys that work there are into some dirty business, always doing deeds for the men who have to high of a reputation to destroy.

“No no, listen Lizzy. A bunch a suits and high ends are betting big money and his buddy is the guy that runs the security at the door. He told me the password to get down there. I guess they’re betting some guy named Hardy will spill his guts out on the floor. Says he’s got some debt to pay and if he wins the debt is clear and if he loses, well.. That is the debt.” She laughed, how she got humor out of men betting their lives and wives I could never understand.

We walked and I pretended to listen to her ramble on and on about how good of a fighter the opponent was, I frankly didn’t care. Just as long as there was a peppermint schnapps with my name on it I would be content and knowing Marty’s - there would be plenty.

“Here, just don’t say anything yeah?” I raised my eyebrow over to Emily, her voice sounded shaky and unsure, but I didn’t dare question it and nodded in return.

We walked through the double doors, through the kitchen and towards the back where a giant man in a white chef’s suit stopped us.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be back here.” He hissed, his yellow eyes beading down at us with concern.

Emily leaned towards him, whispering something in his ear, and with a shake of his head he moved away from the rusted blue door.