Six of Hearts(42)

The next night I dress ambitiously for Jay’s show in a dark purple body-con dress and heels. I do my hair in waves clipped to the side and hanging over one shoulder. Owen still hasn’t messaged me back, and I admit it’s rubbed me up the wrong way slightly. I keep telling myself that he’s probably just busy. The work of a chef is notoriously stressful.

Anyway, perhaps I’ll meet somebody interesting tonight.

I’m studying my reflection in my full-length mirror, about to put in some stud earrings, when Jay appears in my doorway. He watches me for a minute as I stare at him through the glass.

“Don’t wear the earrings,” he says.

“Why not?”

Something mischievous dances in his eyes. “Just don’t.”

“Weird request, but all right. You look good, by the way.”

He’s wearing a black shirt and matching slacks. They make him look dark and mysterious and, if I’m being honest, a little like a sexy version of the Devil.

“You look better,” he replies, and I catch my breath at the compliment. “I have to leave early to bring some stuff to the venue. You and Michelle are going for drinks first, right?”

“Yeah. The same bar as last week. It’s not too far from your show, so we should be able to walk from there.”

Jay whistles. “In those shoes? I don’t think so.”

I laugh. “I think that might be a song, you know. Michelle and I once went to see this drag queen perform on Capel Street and the guy sang it.”

Jay gives me an indulgent look before rummaging in his pocket. “Get a cab. Here’s some cash.”

He places the money down on my dresser, but I have no intention of taking it. His eyes trail up and down my body before he tells me he’ll see me later, then disappears from my doorway just as quickly as he appeared.

Drinks with Michelle are as colourful as they usually are. She tells me all about her escapades with the man from last week and how he ended up tying her to his bedpost. It wasn’t as sexy as it sounds, though, because apparently the ties kept coming loose. The guy then proceeded to have a hissy fit because his attempt at bondage wasn’t working.

I laugh into my white wine, and after one more drink we make our way to Jay’s show. He was right about one thing — I shouldn’t have walked there in my heels. When selecting my footwear earlier, I hadn’t made concessions for the cobblestones lining the alleyway that leads to the venue. I’m thinking I’ll have a few pretty blisters to contend with come tomorrow.

Surprisingly, there’s a long queue outside extending onto the next street. Definitely an excellent turnout for something he’d only started advertising five days ago. Jay told me that he’d put mine and Michelle’s names on the guest list, so we wouldn’t have to wait to get in. Michelle takes great pleasure in the fact that we get to walk past those forming an orderly line and straight to the entrance. The bouncer checks that our names are on the list and then lets us both in.

A pretty girl with short purple hair comes up to us just after we’ve left our coats in the cloakroom.

“Hey, are you Matilda?”

“That’s me.”

“Great. Come with me. Mr Fields wants you sitting in the front row.”

“Oh,” I say warily. “Why’s that?”

She shrugs. “Not sure. I’m just following orders.”

The venue is underground, and the bare brick walls are all done in colourful spray paint. One side of the room is dark, depicting fire and demons, while the other side is bright and full of heavenly angels. It’s all seated, too, with rows and rows of old-style velvety cinema chairs. Cooler than any place I’ve ever been. Even some of the people here look too cool to be real, all tattoos, piercings, and unusual clothes. There are a couple of average-looking people as well, so I don’t feel completely out of place. The purple-haired girl tells us she’ll get us whatever drinks we want from the bar, and yes, we both opt for more wine.

“Wow, we’re really being given the VIP treatment tonight,” Michelle gushes, running her hands over the velvety armrests on either side of her.

“I know. Seemingly it pays to have an illusionist as a housemate. Who would have guessed?”

Michelle gets a sneaky gleam in her eye when she asks, “Does it pay in any other ways, too?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” I say just as the purple-haired girl returns with our drinks before hurrying back to the bar.

“Specifically, in the way of male and female relations,” she elaborates.

“Of course not!” I sputter far too defensively.

“Oh, but you wish it did. I know you, Matilda, and I know you like him. It’s written all over your face. Why don’t you go for it? It’s the whole reason I backed off last week, you know.”