Page 47 of Score
“Tonight,” I say, using my empty seat as a step and climbing onto the table, “you’re in for a treat.”
“Wooo-hooo!” Carl shouts, clapping and looking up at me… looking up my dress.
They take the pitchers of alcohol off the table and pull plates and utensils into their laps, clearing room for my stilettos. The sultry music drapes over me and my hips wind in time with the beat. That same invisible rope encircles my wrists and pulls my arms up above my head. My fingers caress the air, and I thrust my breasts so far forward, they almost spill out of thedress. I don’t care. Let them see. Let everyone see what freedom looks like. I wish they could all taste the elixir of this night. I’d be drunk even if I’d refused the alcohol.
“What the hell!” someone shouts from below.
I glance down, searching the faces circling the table until a familiar one comes into my liquor-hazed view.
“Petra!” I stretch my hands toward her and grin. “Come dance with me.”
“Get down before you hurt yourself,” Petra snaps, glaring at the men still salivating and trying to look up my dress.
“I’m fine up here.” I send my arms back into the air and pop my hip.
“No,” Petra grits out, grabbing my ankle. “You are not. Get down.”
“Damn, Petra.” I shake my leg loose and carefully squat until I can drop my butt to the table and swing my legs over the edge. “You’re supposed to be the fun one.”
Taking my arm, she tugs until my feet hit the floor and then walks me away. Randi is seated nearby at their table, glowering.
“You may be the new pussy,” I tell Randi, “but I’m thebestpussy she ever had.”
“Verity, stop,” Petra grits out.
“No, ’member you told me that night,” I remind her. “You had been eating me out forever and you said, ‘Verity, your pussy is so good that—’”
“How much have you had?” Petra reaches for a glass of water on the table. “Drink this.”
“Just a little.” I squeeze my index finger and thumb together to show her hownotmuch. I push the glass away from my lips.
“Let her go,” Randi says, her frown impatient, irritated. “She wants a train run up on her ass by the end of the night, that’s her business.”
“Right. That’s my business. Now if you’ll excuse me.” I point back to the table where I was holding court. “My fans await.”
“I’m not letting you go back over to those guys dressed like that and this drunk,” Petra says, grabbing my arm again. “No way.”
“Let me go.” I reach for the pitcher of water on the table and dump it over her head.
Petra sputters, soaking wet, outrage and fury distorting her features.
“Shoulda let her dumb ass go,” Randi tsks. “That’s what you get.”
“Yeah, that’s what you get. Now leave me the hell alone.” I turn on my heel, wobbling a little, but steady enough to make it back to my table.
The guys are still there and look eager to resume our fun. I frown at the empty glasses and pitchers.
“We need reinforcements.” I raise a half-empty glass and chug the remains. “Drinks for everybody on me!”
THIRTEEN
Monk
I may as well have left with Verity for all the value I’m adding to this session. I’m going through the motions, barely paying attention. The songs are being captured, but I’m not doing much to enhance them. Verity and I have never argued like that. She’s neverbeenlike that, though over the last few weeks she has been off. I chalked it up to this screenplay project that has been stressing her out. It’s one project, though. Her response seems out of proportion. Although she did say stress was part of what messed things up at USC.
“I should have pressed more to find out what happened in Cali,” I mumble.
“What was that?” Bret asks from the studio. “You say something, Monk?”
