Off to the Races

We walked in the dark, under street light to street light making our way back towards the apartment above the liquor store on 5th and Crenshaw. My home away from home. My piece of shit run of the mill living quarters. It wasn’t much.

Once you opened the front door, you were automatically in the dining room, or what should be. Instead of a table and chairs, we’d placed a rinky-dink, pink plastic bar that held numerous kinds of liquor with a couple bar stools. Off to the far left of the room was our old yellow pull out couch from the 80’s that Emily’s father donated to us to congratulate us on our first apartment together. It was where we slept, or mainly where I slept. Emily was never home, always working or out at some bar with some mediocre boy who could’ve sworn he was ‘in love with her ways’.

The bathroom was located conveniently right next to the kitchen, which was in a separate room within itself, with only a wall piece placed in the middle of the apartment as a blocker between the rooms.

“So… When you said ‘buy you a drink’ you really meant ‘take you back to my apartment and make you one’?” He chuckled, I looked over to him.

I could feel his eyes judging me, judging my apartment and all that was in it. I wondered if I had made a mistake by letting him into my home. From the astonished look on his face as he wandered around my shit hole, I could tell he thought the apartment didn’t match the attire.

It was true, I held myself up to a high standard, I always looked my best when I went out and wouldn’t leave the house until I was satisfied with myself. My no-food diet and feet-for-transportation work out kept me fit, and the rest was just common sense. I spent the rest of the money I earned on high maintenance clothing and jewelry for low maintenance prices. Thrift stores and eBay, they were my best friends in regards to fashion. I somehow turned heads and managed to look well groomed while doing so.

He noticed my sharp stare.

“I’m sorry, I just.. This is a first, that’s all.” He sat down on the mustard yellow couch, placing his elbows on his knees. “This is a nice place you’ve got here. It’s a lot bigger and cleaner than mine, I’ll tell you that.”

“Really?” I asked, in disbelief. “How so?”

“Well for starters, my place is four walls and a bathroom. You, see you at least have a wall divider, My stove is right across from my bed. It’s a mess, but it’s my home. Well, it used to be my brother’s but he’s gone.”

I cocked my head to the side, then walked over to the pink bar set to pour us each a glass of Maker’s Mark.

“Where’d he go?” I placed the glass in his hand as he reached up for it before taking a seat beside him on the couch.

“He’s dead.”

“Oh. I.. I’m sorry to hear that.”

I stared into my drink, swishing it around in the glass, toying with my options. To get plastered, or to not? It was a tough decision. Almost every assumption that I made about him besides placing that bet was defied, and here I was, sitting next to the man who defied them. Fuck it. I knocked my head back, letting the alcohol burn down my throat. It was warm, and soon I could feel the tingling feeling surge through my body, causing it to heat up.

There was silence, but only for a moment. It was as if he was taking his time to remember him, to give him a few seconds of silence. I understood, it was hard losing someone close to you, or anyone you knew in general.

“It’s alright. He was a scum bag. Aha, actually. He’s the reason I was in the rut I’d been in in the first place.”

“Hmm, interesting.”

Pain surged through the soles of my feet, and it was then I had remembered why I didn’t enjoy wearing heels all that often. I reached down, putting my glass on the hardwood floor before removing the stilettos.

“He, ah. He had a bad reputation with some bad people. He had this affaire, with some girl named Aleisha. Apparently they’d been going at it for months but what he didn’t know was that Aleisha was actually married to a Campanili.”

“As in Marty Campanili? Marty Campanili the owner of Marty’s Restaurant? But that must mean…” It all made sense. I knew Aleisha, she was married to Marty’s son Alfred. No wonder.

“Exactly. Now my brother Barry, decides to come over one day to confess his love to Aleisha. Inevitably, he got caught and chased out. In the process he decided to take a pair of earrings and a necklace that belonged to Aleisha which put him in debt to the Campanili’s and resulted in his untimely death.”

He looked so lost in thought, almost fascinated by the story itself. As if he were talking about someone unrelated to him, like a headliner on the front page of the Times.

“I.. I’m sorry.”

I watched him take down his Maker’s Mark, then stand to go get another, taking my glass with him.

“S’alright. He wasn’t exactly my real brother. Just someone I looked after for a favor to my father. You do want another, right?” He mentioned, about to pour another glass. His was already full to the brim. I couldn’t blame him. It was a rough night. I nodded in response, letting him continue his story.

“After Barry died, Campanili’s men came looking for the jewels he took. Trashed the place completely, turned it upside down. But what they didn’t know, is that Barry had already sold them and put the money away in his bank account, and then transferred all his money to mine. He knew they were gonna kill him, he said it was his way of apologizing for leaving too soon. I told him he was crazy, but when I came home that day to the mess they left I knew he wasn’t kidding. They came by again, tried to rough me up as well. Kept askin’ for em. I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about. Finally they decided that since Barry was dead, the debt carried over to me so I made a deal. If I fought Alfred and won, the debt would be cleared. If I lost, the gratification of seeing my ass beat would be a settlement within itself.”

Another glass of liquor slid down his throat with ease. I followed shortly after, taking in the story he told.

A long awkward pause silenced the room. Oh, wonderful.

“Ah, well, this has been great but uh, I should probably get home. I need to shower, I smell like a skunk sprayed me three times over. I apologize, ah, for the smell I mean.”

"What? You don't smell. Well, at least not that I can tell."

I watched him put the glass down then head for the door.

“Are you too afraid to stay the night at a girl’s house, Mr. Hardy?” I toyed, he turned to face me.

“Alright one, don’t call me Mr. Hardy that’s what people call my father. It’s Thomas, er, Tom. Tom Hardy. Two, I’m not afraid to stay, I just don’t want to. Listen, you’re nice and all, but you’re not my type. Thank you for the drink.” With that, he turned again towards the door.

No, I wasn’t going to let this one get away. He lied through his teeth. There was no way I wasn’t his type. I saw the way he stared at me. Was he just an alcoholic? Did he hear free drink and take it as it came? No, there was no way. This couldn’t be possible.

“Now wait one second, what do you mean I’m not for you? You know nothing about me, hell you don’t even know my name.” I stood up and walked over to him, his back now facing inches from the door. If I decided to push him against it, I could with ease.

There was silence as I looked up at him, being much shorter now than I was without heels. I studied his eyes as he studied just the same. There was lust within him, a fire within me. He didn’t want to walk away just as much as I wanted him to stay, and he knew it.

“You’re right. And what do they call you?” He turned his head, looking over my body then back towards my face, his eyes burning into my retinas.

“Elizabeth Grant. Lizzie, I prefer Lizzie. And you can’t tell me, Thomas Hardy, that you don’t find me at the very least attractive…” I paused, taking a step closer, “Look me in the eye, and tell me you don’t.”

I was playing with him now, a fierce battle of cat and mouse. I’d put the bait right in front of him, I could feel him hesitating. The only question was, would he take it?

“Well, Elizabeth Grant.. You're right. I can’t.”

Tom’s lips were against mine within milliseconds. It was hard, it was passionate, it was golden. My hands pressed against his chest, pushing myself closer to him. I could feel the energy flowing, bouncing and connecting through one another.

It was magic. It was dirty. It was the beginning of something, something horribly wonderful.