Resist (Songs of Submission #6)(47)

He seemed aggressive and off-kilter. As big as he was, he was so non-threatening, I couldn’t be scared. He was handsome and looked fine in his tuxedo, but he wasn’t wearing it...it was wearing him. He had no presence, no voice, no significance. Then I realized who he was. Erik. The man Jessica left Jonathan for.

That woman needed a cunt transplant.

“All these phones look alike,” I said. “It was dark. I thought it was mine.” I pursed my lips, trying to keep my mouth in some kind of line that didn’t resemble a smile. But I failed on some level. He didn’t believe me. A four-year-old wouldn’t have believed me.

“You know what he did?” Erik said. “To her?” He jerked his thumb in the general direction of where Jessica may have been standing.

“I hear she was asking for it.” The elevator dinged behind me.

“You’re both sick,” Erik said.

“O’Drassen!” A voice came from behind us, at the elevator. Jonathan turned me around and led me toward Eddie. He wore a white jacket and black tie, his hair combed into a pompadour.

“Ed,” Jonathan said, “take care of her.” He pushed me toward the guy he’d objected to taking me to the event in the first place.

“No problem,” Eddie replied. “And I’m doing great, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

“I mean it. Not out of your sight.”

Some guy thing happened between them, because Eddie stuck out his hand and Jonathan shook it, taking him by the bicep. Then he kissed me. “Be good.” He turned back to Erik, who had been joined by a man with darker hair and ruddy cheeks.

“I feel like I’m stranded in Manland,” I said to Eddie.

“You are.”

As we went into the throng of photographers, I glanced back to find Jonathan and Erik talking heatedly as if I hadn’t even interrupted.

“You ready to be Carnival’s newest face?” asked Eddie.

“Unless you try to put me in a leather mask.”

“Yeah, well that’s off the table. Coulda made a lot of money. This new idea’s a clunker.”

“You could drop me.”

“And let some douchebag from Vintage pick you up? Hell, no.”

The flashing lights were blinding. Between the women in sequins and the men wearing black, it was a high-contrast world. I heard laughter and chirpy voices. I heard clearly one phrase had caught on. It was whispered and shouted and giggled over.

Do it...

I had my customer service smile ready. My hand was on Eddie’s arm, but I kept my body far from his. I didn’t want to embarrass Jonathan, and I didn’t want to appear weak and needy. Those pictures would end up in music and art trades. If I acted like a piece of arm candy for a record executive, I’d have to explain, then prove that I wasn’t.

The cocktail hour was a whirlwind of drinks, cameras, and questions. Who was I? Why was I there? I talked about the B.C. Mod show with Unnamed Trio, which brought Kevin to mind. I tried not to think about him. I talked about my gigs at Frontage, the possibility of a contract, and my education. There were no softball questions about music. The reporters were from art trades, so there was no talk of art itself, only the business of art. I brushed shoulders with Jessica once. We glanced at each other and moved on. It was business.

Eddie and I milled with the guests outside a huge pair of wooden doors. A woman in a red jacket had come by with a man behind her. He carried a silver tray filled with metal lapel pins. Gold, silver, and rhinestone. She asked our names, then selected a gold pin from her assistant’s tray and gave it to Eddie. She gave me a rhinestone. I had no idea what it meant. Glancing around, I could easily tell the artists from the collectors. They were different from their postures to the make of the clothing. The colors, accessories, shoes, all spoke to social class. I caught Geraldine Stark’s eye. She wore a silver lapel pin. My eyes found Jessica. She looked nervous and unhappy, tucking her hair behind her ear. She also wore a silver pin. Artists must get silver, except I had rhinestone.

A couple behind me said, “Do it...” together before giggling.

“We’re sitting down in five,” Eddie muttered. “I’ll pass you back to your date.”

“Thanks. That was fun.”

“Get used to it.”

“I thought we were all going to go broke because I didn’t want to carry a riding crop.”

“Not quite broke.” He smirked at me and patted my arm.

The doors opened, and the crowd flowed into a huge room overlooking Los Angeles on three sides. Tables had been set in rows with white tablecloths and shining silverware. A longer table sat in front, by the window, Jonathan wasn’t there. Chairs scraped. Voices bounced off the high ceiling. I could sit and start a conversation, but he’d been gone too long. Way too long.

Eddie and I held an animated conversation about the future of streaming with two men he introduced as website developers. I saw Erik talking to Jessica. I scanned the room. No sign of Jonathan. Between his hair and his height, he was a hard guy to miss. Seats were being taken, and the wait staff came out with water pitchers and wine. I slipped away from Eddie as he was making a point about subscription rates on internet radio, and I went out the big wooden doors back to the patio.

The staff had already started breaking down, and the area looked inelegant at best. The floodlights had been removed from the photographers’ area already, making it appear flat and littered. Jonathan was nowhere to be found. The cameras had missed him entirely. I wondered if that was his plan from the beginning.