Home > 365 Days (365 days # 1)(27)

365 Days (365 days # 1)(27)
Author: Blanka Lipinska

“We’ll be doing business. Best get used to it.” Suddenly, his eyes bulged.

He was staring into the distance, at something behind me.

“Shit is going to hit the fan now,” he breathed, running his hand through his hair.

I turned around and noticed several men entering our alcove. Massimo was among them. Seeing me, he stopped and froze in perfect stillness. He stared at me coldly.

I swallowed hard, and suddenly my plan to dress like a hooker didn’t seem like such a good idea. Massimo’s companions passed me on their way to greet Domenico, while the head of the family kept his distance. His fury was clear and apparent.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he growled, grabbing me by the elbow.

“Only what you picked for me,” I replied, freeing my arm.

My retort wasn’t to his liking. I could see the red-hot rage boiling over in him, wondering why he hadn’t started spewing steam from his ears yet. That’s when one of the men shouted something to Massimo, who replied, keeping his eyes aimed at me.

I sat at the table and reached for yet another glass of champagne. If I was to play a piece of decor, I might as well be a very drunk piece of decor.

It was a good day to drink. Bored witless, I observed the room, listening in on the conversation. When Massimo spoke Italian, he was really sexy. Suddenly, Domenico broke my reverie by lifting the dome from the silver platter. I shot a glance at what was on it and nearly choked—it was cocaine. The drug, divided into several dozen neat little lines, covered the entire platter. Where I come from plates like that are what you serve roast turkey on. I exhaled slowly and left the alcove, but I didn’t even manage to turn my head to take a look around, as the gigantic bouncer materialized in front of me. I shot Massimo a look. The man was keeping his eyes trained on me, standing right behind me. I bent over, pretending to scratch my leg, but really to show him how short my dress was before I left. I straightened up and met his predatory glare.

“Don’t provoke me, girl,” Massimo said.

“Why? Are you afraid I’m doing it well?” I asked, trailing my tongue along my lower lip. Alcohol always has that effect on me—I feel bolder—but with Massimo, when I got drunk it seemed to always bring out the demon in me.

“Alberto will keep you company.”

“You’re changing the subject,” I purred, clutching the lapels of his suit and inhaling the scent of his cologne. “My dress is so short you could enter me without even taking it off.” I grabbed his hand and led it down my waist and then under the fabric of the dress. “White lace, just the way you like it,” I breathed. “Alberto!” I called out suddenly, and headed toward the dance floor.

I took a look back, shooting a glance at Massimo, who was standing propped against one of the pillars with his hands in his pockets and a wide smile on his face. He was into that stuff.

I crossed the hall and found a place where the rumbling music was the loudest. People were dancing, drinking, and fucking in the private alcoves. I paid them no mind. I needed to switch off. I nodded at the bartender, and before I could count to three there was a glass of rosé champagne in front of me. I needed another drink, so I downed it and grabbed another glass, which magically appeared on the counter. That’s how I spent another hour, or maybe more. As soon as I decided it was enough and I was suitably drunk, I headed back to those junkies in the alcove, surprised to see that the gentlemen were not alone anymore. There were women all around them, purring and brushing against their legs, arms, and crotches like horny cats. They were all beautiful and all hookers. Massimo was sitting in the middle, but alone. Was that coincidence or something he had planned? I didn’t care. I was happy with what I saw, because otherwise I might have reacted violently. And I wouldn’t even hold that against myself. Before I could continue this train of thought, my eyes focused on the dancing pole. It was free.

When I had moved to Warsaw, I started taking pole dancing lessons. At first I thought it was all about sexy squirming, but my instructor quickly taught me better. Pole dancing was the perfect way to keep your body in shape. It was a bit like gymnastics, only on a pole. So, without thinking, I went to the table, aimed my eyes at Massimo, and slowly took off the cross hanging from my back. I kissed it and placed it gently on the table in front of the Man in Black. “Running Up That Hill” by Placebo was blasting from the speakers. It felt like an invitation. I knew I couldn’t do everything I had in mind. My dress was too short and there were all those guests around. One thing I knew was that the moment I touched that pole, Massimo would blow a gasket anyway. When I grabbed the metal pillar and turned in a fluid pirouette, trying to gauge his reaction, he kept still. All the men suddenly lost interest in the women around them and instead looked at me. I got you now! I thought, and started the show. A few seconds later I already knew that the few years I hadn’t practiced had done nothing to blunt my talent. I remembered all the motions and could do it without breaking a sweat. Dancing came naturally to me; I had danced since I could remember. Whether it was pole dancing, ballroom dancing, or Latino, it always soothed me.

I allowed myself to sink into it: the alcohol, the music, the atmosphere of the place—all that had changed me. After a longer while I shot a glance at the place where Massimo had been standing a while ago. The space was empty now, but all eyes were on me, including Domenico’s. The young Italian was sitting wide legged on the couch. I pirouetted once more and froze. That wild, icy stare was drilling holes in me. Massimo was standing right next to me. I wrapped one leg around him and ran my fingers through his hair, leaning him back against the pole.

“A very interesting choice of music for a nightclub,” I said.

“As you’ve noticed this is a club, not a disco.”

I turned around and pressed my buttocks against his crotch, gently swaying. Massimo grabbed me by the throat and pushed my head into his shoulder.

“You’ll be mine. I promise you that. And then I’ll take you when and where I want.”

I laughed flirtatiously and slipped down the pedestal, heading toward the table. One of the men pushed himself to his feet and grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me to himself. I lost my balance and fell face-first into the sofa. The man pulled up my dress and clasped his hand on my buttock, slapping it and shouting something in Italian. I wanted to get up, hit him on the head with a bottle, but I couldn’t move. As some point, I felt someone dragging me by the arms along the soft fabric of the sofa. I raised my eyes and saw it was Domenico. I turned my head, noticing Massimo, who was holding the man who had been groping me just a moment ago by the throat. He held a gun in his other hand, pointing it at my unfortunate admirer.

I wrestled out of Domenico’s grip and rushed toward the Man in Black.

“He didn’t know who I am!” I said quickly, stroking Massimo’s hair placatingly.

He roared something in response, and Domenico jumped toward us, grabbing me again, but this time tightening his grip so I couldn’t escape. Don Massimo turned his head to a man standing next to the sofa, and a moment later all the women were gone. As we were left alone, he pushed the man he had been holding by the throat down to his knees, aiming the gun at his head. The sight made my heart start thumping wildly. I could see the scene that had taken place on the driveway. It was still too nightmarish for me. I faced Domenico, huddling my face against his shoulder.

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