Shimmy Bang Sparkle(29)
Her apartment complex was made up of a bunch of duplexes that looked like oversize Taco Bells—white stucco, red Spanish tiles, and plenty of decorative arches. When I rounded the corner to get to the back of unit 3A, I realized that she hadn’t been kidding. She was literally around back, hanging out. Her whole front end was dangling out of the window. Her purse swung from her hand, and her long hair was flipped over her head in a glossy curtain.
“Jesus,” I said, breaking into a jog. “How the hell did this happen?”
“Poor planning!” she said with a giggle, talking to the sidewalk below her. “Too many snacks!”
I crouched down to offer her some support. She hooked her arm around my shoulders, and I lifted her up. For a split second, it occurred to me that this might not be her apartment at all. She might have a diamond brooch in her back pocket or a purse full of pearls. If she needed my help, I was damned sure going to help her; becoming the new me was going to have to wait. So I dropped my voice to say, “We can be in Tucson by dinner.”
She let go of her purse, which landed with a heavy thud, then craned her neck to look up at me. “Tucson? For dinner? I’m totally fine with House of Chow on Menaul, but I’m game if you are!”
Well, there went that theory. First things first, anyway. I had to get her out of this jam she’d gotten herself into. “Should I even ask why this happened?” I tried to slip my hand between her ass and the window, but there was no clearance. At all.
“Definitely not,” she said, giggling again. Her whole body shook with laughter. “Just get me out of here!” She flailed her arms, and I heard faint thumping noises from wherever her legs were, like she’d knocked some stuff off a countertop maybe.
I patted my pocket to double-check I had my pick set, and I did. “Give me a sec. I’ll be in before you know it,” I said as I turned to head back to her front door.
“But you don’t have the key!” she said.
Aww fuck. I spun back around. This straight-and-narrow thing was going to take some practice. “Right. Definitely going to need that.”
But Stella shook her head in reply, making her long hair sway like a mermaid’s underwater. “I don’t have mine,” she said in an exasperated growl. “But if you look under the bushes, there’s a pile of dog poop . . .” She peeked out through her thick hair at me.
“Dog poop,” I repeated. I took her purse from her and hoisted it over my shoulder, somehow managing not to groan when I did.
She nodded, and her bangs fell into her eyes. She tried to blow them aside, but it didn’t work, so she clapped her eyes shut tight. “It’s plastic. Looks super real. You’ll find the key inside.”
It didn’t just look super real. It looked scary real. It looked so real, in fact, that it totally fooled me. I tentatively nudged it with my boot, fully expecting it to be actual dog shit, but lo and behold the thing lifted up, revealing a shiny brown underside. Genius. From the hidden compartment underneath, I got her key and let myself inside, still with her purse over my shoulder. I was man enough for it. I definitely was.
Her apartment was bright, messy, and chaotic. From the sheer quantity of purses hanging on the wall alone, I knew immediately that she didn’t live by herself. I sized up the different shoes on the ground, lined up under the purses. On the far left was a pile of different colored Chuck Taylors, like Stella had been wearing last night. Some had rhinestone stars on the rubber toes and some didn’t, but I knew they were definitely hers. Next to those was a single pair of simple leather boots, flat bottomed with a zipper up the side, slightly larger than Stella’s sneakers. Next to those was a whole heap of high heels, every single pair about as useful for walking as tits on a salamander. I picked one up. Size seven, smaller than both the boots and Stella’s Chucks. Stella and two roommates.
The front hallway led me into a room with the television. On the wall was a vinyl decal that decorated the space above the couch and said, in girly, cursive letters:
EAT! DRINK! RAISE HELL!
I made my way through the kitchen. On the fridge was some of that magnetic poetry, and a quick scan over the words revealed it was the X-rated kind—dirty, wet, saucy, now. Next to the poetry was a magnetic re-creation of Michelangelo’s David, surrounded by an assortment of fluorescent Speedos. Next came the hallway, which had four doors—two on the right, one on the left, and one at the end. The first bedroom was neat, tidy, and bare, like an IKEA showroom. The second had a lot of clothes all over the place and a feather boa hanging from the bedpost. And the last one, nearest the bathroom, was definitely Stella’s. It was pretty, clean, and smelled very faintly like her. My eyes got stuck to her bed, with its fluffy pillows and fluffier white comforter. What I wouldn’t give to get in that bed with her. Right. Fucking. Now.
“Niiiiiiick!” came her voice, more of a growl than an actual word. “Get me out of here. My legs are going numb!”
To the bathroom I went, where I was met not only by Stella’s pinch-worthy ass in the window, but also an explosion of towels and makeup, shampoos and lotions, on every flat surface and all over the floor. Dozens of makeup brushes poked out of an old coffee can by the sink, which was encrusted with jewels like Stella’s phone.
Stella had managed to tangle her legs up with toilet paper like the back end of a sloppily wrapped mummy, so I pulled that off her first. She’d also gotten her belt loop hooked over the lock on the window, so I unhooked that too.