Chapter 20 - Brent
I knocked on Michelle's door, but there was no response. I yearned to hear her voice, even if it were just to have her tell me how dumb I am. Sure, I'd take it. And then I'd give a damn good kiss right after and press myself against that delectable body of hers.
"Michelle," I said, knocking, "open up."
But again, no answer from the other side of the door.
I contemplated shoulder barging the door down but thought better of it. Hell, I could just get the key and open it myself. But that's not what I wanted, ultimately. I wanted her. To hear her and have her respond to me.
I paced back and forth a moment. Where was she? I phoned Marsha, hoping she might have had an idea.
"Marsha," I said, "I'm looking for Michelle."
"Ah," Marsha responded, "it's too bad, because I just saw her."
"What?"
"Yes, she was waiting down near the entrance. She said she was going to a club." Marsha laughed.
"A club?" I asked with surprise. "What was she doing going there? She hates clubbing."
Marsha laughed again.
"I wondered the same thing. I could tell it wasn't for her at all."
"You can say that again," I said.
I remembered when Michelle and I went to a club back in high school during our last summer vacation before my final year. We were both underage and had to have someone we knew on the inside sneak us in past security. That part was fun. But the rest was kind of laughably a disaster.
The moment we got in, Michelle clutched her ears because the music was so loud. I didn't like it either, but because we were with some other friends, I didn't want to not look macho in front of them. But Michelle didn't care about that. "This place sucks!" she had said. I had basically agreed with her at the time. But although it was terrible in that respect, I still remember fondly dancing with her, grinding against her and feeling her body become sweaty with mine. I had been so hard the entire time, and it was the closest thing we had had to sex that I could remember up to that point. I could even feel my orgasm building as she sexily pressed her ass into my crotch, rubbing her soft cheeks against my hardness. I guess because it was in a different context that she had been able to enjoy it. But after when we had gotten out of the club, I tried to get close to her again. It didn't work. In that moment though, she was able to forget whatever it was that had been controlling her and limiting her relations with me. I felt her passion for me there and I knew no matter what was being told to her to contain it and hide it, it was there.
"So Brent," Marsha asked, snapping me back to reality, "are you going to go after her?"
"Of course," I said, jogging to the elevator. "Which club is it again?"
***
The Boulevard nightclub was a place I loathed. I had gone there before for some industry event, and I hated every minute of it there, from the moment I stepped to the moment I got out of that God-forsaken shithole. It was full of fake people who just wanted to get to know what you could do for them and advanced their standing in life. "Hey, you're famous, can I suck your dick?" They'd practically say. It made me sick, that pit of snakes. I had to spend more time with people like that ever since my business took off, but I can't say I ever enjoyed it. I tried to limit my interactions with those types of people, and focused on people with solid character and good hearts. I was blessed I could tell the difference at this point in my life.
With that in mind, I wondered why Michelle headed to that place. I doubt she could tolerate it any more than I could. We were remarkably similar in that regard. The only thing we could ever possibly enjoy about it was making fun of the ridiculous and pretentious behavior we encountered afterward when we were alone.
My limo finally stopped in front of the club. I could practically smell the stench of back stabbing and fakeness seeping through the walls and neon lights.
I told my driver to wait around the corner, only because I was mindful of the fact that it was likely someone would probably puke all over the car, being the classy joint The Boulevard was.
I wish I brought earplugs, I thought, as I got closer to the entrance. This music, if you could call it that, was horrible. I knew Michelle was detesting every drum beat inside there and it made me smile, knowing how alike we were.
I got to the entrance and the doorman stuck his hand out to block the way without looking at me. I merely cleared his throat and he took of his glasses to get a better look at me.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Stevenson," he said. "Please, come in."
I nodded, and slowly stepped inside. I didn't want to be here, but now I had to find Michelle. It was the only thing that mattered to me and I wasn't going to leave until I had her.