Stalk Me

“Don’t laugh, okay. But would you want to go dancing? The guys I surf with only go to dive bars. Sander took years of dance lessons, but he won’t go to clubs with me. And when we dance, he actually gets pissed at me if I dance too close or like grind on him.”



Cush shakes his head in disbelief. “If it weren’t for the fact that he dates you, I'd think he was gay.” He bows to me like I’m a princess. “Miss Douglas, I would be honored to have you grind up against me all night. You have a club in mind?”



“Actually, yeah. There’s this place I go . . .”



He interrupts me. “Who do you go with?”



“Oh, um, well, this is gonna sound weird, but I sorta go by myself. Every Thursday night. This guy I know, Troy, is the DJ there. He invited me on opening night and I had so much fun I’ve gone back every Thursday since. I just go and dance. You still have your fake ID, don't you?”



“Yeah.”



“I don’t think we’ll need it. I always drive Tommy’s black Ferrari, and the valets and the doormen all know me, so I never get carded.”



“I know your parents are cool, but I’m sorta surprised they let you go.”



“They know Troy. He’s in that band with my friend, Damian. Tommy talked to him before he let me go the first time and made him promise to look out for me. They also know that I just go because I like to dance. I don’t get drunk or make bad decisions or anything.”



“Bet you don’t wait in line either.”



“Well, no, but it’s because I had a connection, and now I’m a regular, I guess. Although Troy always gives me shit about not bringing my friends.”



“You seriously go by yourself? Like all by yourself?”



“Yeah. Sometimes it’s nice to get away. To not worry about taking care of Sander or my friends. Who’s drunk? Who’s doing drugs? Who’s leaving with a guy she shouldn’t be? Who’s going to hook up with some random guy in the bathroom?”



“See. Just like I said. Who takes care of you?”



“I guess I do.”



He smiles at me. “Do you drink while you’re there?”



“I have a little routine. As soon as I get there, I down three shots. Then I drink water the rest of the night and dance my ass off.”



“Let’s do it. Where is this place?”



“Most people call it the Side Door, but it doesn’t have an actual name. It's in a crappy warehouse area, and you enter from this little rusted metal side door. But it’s huge inside. Three levels. Lights. Girls dancing in cages hung from the rafters. Great music. I’ve always heard Saturday nights are insane. I’m so excited to go. But I should warn you, I look different when I go there.”



“How so?”



“Well, I wear lots of makeup and usually put my hair in a high ponytail.”



“I see you in a ponytail at soccer all the time.”



“Yeah, but it’s the makeup. The super short slinky little dresses. The sky high heels.”



Cush gives me the look. The look I’ve seen him give so many girls right before they fall into bed with him. He can be quite charming even when he’s not trying to be.



“You’re making me hard,” he says.



I punch him in the shoulder. “Shut up.”



“So not to sound like a girl, but what am I supposed to wear?”



“I don’t know. Let’s go find something.”



We run up to his bedroom, and I start digging through his closet. Cush dresses pretty much the same way every day. His school wardrobe consists of athletic shorts, fitted t-shirts that show off his toned chest, and brightly colored tennis shoes.



I survey his walk-in closet and notice a pile of boxes in the back. “What’s all this?”



“It’s the stuff my mom brings home from her trips.” Cush’s mom is the president of a large textiles conglomerate. They sell fabric to all the major luxury brands, so she travels the world and is rarely home. “She tries to make herself feel better about being gone all the time.”



I start digging through the pile and quickly realize it’s literally a treasure trove.



“Cush!! Ohmigawd! This is a Prada backpack. Do you know how expensive these are? We’re throwing away the red Nike backpack you’ve had since seventh grade, and you’re gonna start using this.”



He nods his head in a half yes, half no direction. “Fine.”



I continue to open one box after another and get more and more excited. “Oh, cashmere sweaters from Harrods! Ahhh!! Look at these Jimmy Choo loafers! They’re incredible!! And a Louis Vuitton carryon. Gucci. Burberry. Hermes. A Rolex!?” I turn around and hand him a small box. “You’re letting a Rolex sit in here? Are you freaking nuts?”



“None of that stuff looks like me.”



“It does now. Bye, bye, boring basketball shorts. Hello, international Cushman.”



He shrugs. Rolls his eyes at me.



“You’re trying this stuff on. All of it. Like, right now.”



He gives me a sly grin. “You just wanna see me naked.”



“Yes, Cush, that is all I ever dream of. You in a closet with a pile of designer clothes all around you.” I stop. Have a flash of déjà vu and realize that does sort of sound familiar. “Actually, I have had a dream like that, but it was just me in the closet with every designer shoe ever made. And they were all lined up in glass-front cases in this massive two-story closet . . . ”



He raises a hand to halt me. “Fine. Fine. I’ll try them on if you will stop talking about shoes.”



I lie on my stomach across his bed and throw out orders of what to try on with what.



“Do you not wear this stuff because it pisses your mom off?”



He walks out of the closet looking smoking hot. He’s got on an expensive pair of straight-cut, dark-washed jeans, a blue paisley button-up shirt that was custom made by a London tailor, and the Jimmy Choo loafers.



“Holy shit, Cush. You look hot. That’s what you’re wearing tonight. My luck, I’ll take you there and still end up dancing alone.”



He looks in the mirror. “You’re hot for me, aren’t you?”



I grin. “You know it.”



“The answer to your question is yes. I probably don’t wear it because it pisses my mom off. She’ll love you even more after this.”



“You miss her.”



“Yeah. I mean, it gets lonely during the week.”



“Wanna trade? I swear, there is nothing but noise at my house.” I laugh thinking about all that goes on at my house most of the time. “I love my little sisters, though, and I actually miss the noise when they're gone. So, when I need a break, I'm coming here. When you need noise, you come to the chaos that is my house.” I glance at my watch. “I have to get home for dinner. Tommy’s grilling steaks before they go out. He says he’s tired of eating nothing but appetizers at cocktail parties. Wanna join us?”



Your dirty little secret.



8:30pm



The girls had a bedtime snack, handed out kisses, and were off to bed. Cush and I ate dinner on the deck with Mom and Tommy and then watched the sun go down over the water. Mom excused herself to go get ready, so I snuck off too, leaving Cush to enjoy a cigar with Tommy.



Now, I stand in front of my vanity, pull my hair back into a high, tight ponytail, and put on my makeup. I glue on fake eyelashes, cake my lids with super smoky eye shadow, add thick black liner and mascara. I add a little bronzer to highlight my cheekbones and a soft pink lip gloss, and then walk into my closet.



I love my closet.



Mom and Tommy had it expanded and redone last year for my sixteenth birthday. It looks like a high-end boutique. Black and white brocade wallpaper. Sleek, black cabinetry. Shoes, boots, and bags lined up in perfect, color-coordinated order. Beneath my feet is a fluffy white flokati rug that is so soft it almost feels sensual. I dig my bare toes in it every time I walk on it. I flip the light switch, and the black-lacquered chandelier lights up the center of the room.



I know exactly what I want to wear tonight. A shimmering, silver Alice + Olivia sleeveless, cowl-neck dress that has a skintight skirt, and a pair of silver glitter, double-banded bootie Jimmy Choos.



I check myself in the mirror and am pleased with how I look. I spritz on some perfume and walk out on the deck.



Cush is sitting on the deck by himself, staring out at the ocean.



“So I’m ready.”



He turns around and looks at me, but doesn’t say a word. He just stares.



I worry that he thinks I look silly.



Finally a big grin breaks out across his face, and I get to see his adorable dimples. “Day-umnnn, girl. You got it going on.”



We have so much fun at the club, and he wasn’t lying when he said I could grind on him all night.



It feels amazing.



The way his hands feel on my hips.



How, if I move too far away from him, he grabs my ass and pulls me back close.



How he runs his hands all over my dress in the name of dancing.



If this is how he usually dances with girls, I can see why they fall into bed with him. Everything he does is just plain sexy. Especially when you make him grin big enough to be treated to those dimples.



Sometimes, he looks at me and then down at my mouth. The way guys do when they want to kiss you. And I am so hoping that he won’t. He knows I like Brooklyn, and I don’t want things to be awkward with us. He’s so fun to hang out with.



After closing down the club, we go to an after-party at Troy’s, then drive to an all-night diner on the beach, have breakfast, and watch the sunrise.



“So we can’t tell anyone about last night, right?” he asks when I drop him off at home.



“That’s right.”



“I may have to blackmail you.”



“What do you mean?”



“I mean, if you don’t take me with you next time you go, I’ll tell everyone your dirty little secret.”



He winks at me, shuts the door, and I drive home with a smile on my face.



Friday, May 13th



I’m way into her.



1am



“We could have a lot of fun together, if you know what I mean,” Vanessa says to Sander.



Yes, we all know exactly what she means.



My supposed best friend is offering my boyfriend sex.



She doesn’t see me walk up behind her. She’s too busy batting her fake eyelashes and tossing around her long, dark curls to notice me.



I watch as she runs her fake red nails across Sander’s forearm. She’s swaying drunkenly back and forth.



“A guy as hot as you shouldn’t have to wait. I wouldn’t make you wait,” she says.



Sander, who was crowned Prom King earlier, looks particularly handsome tonight.



Black Prada tuxedo. Crisp white shirt. Black tie.



I stand frozen to the spot, trying to figure out what to do. Half of me wants to grab her hair and call her a bitch. The other half wants to tell her she can have him.



It’s a gorgeous spring night, and we’re at a prom after-party held on the deck of a yacht.



I know Vanessa probably won’t even remember this in the morning. She was chugging champagne on the limo ride here, then bragging about how she did cocaine with the latest train-wreck pop star, who was at prom because a nerdy boy from my science class won a date with her.



But still. It’s no excuse.



A drunk senior lacrosse player hit on me earlier. Drunkenly wrapped his arm around my waist and told me I looked like I fell from heaven. Sander walked up behind him and said, Dude, you know she’s my angel. As we walked away, the drunk guy said something to his friend about Sander tapping that ass.



Everyone totally thinks Sander and I have sex all the time. It was just a few months ago when I let it slip to Vanessa that we never have. That I’m still a virgin. At the time, she was sweet and told me she thought it was romantic we were waiting. Not long after, she started making snide little remarks about it. Then she decided to use it against me. She threatened to tell everyone that—and I quote—Your relationship is a sham.



Which isn’t true. Sander is a great boyfriend. He’s super attentive, dresses well, loves to shop, and never even looks at other girls. He’s totally devoted to me.



Now, whenever I disagree with her, she reminds me of what she knows.



And that what she knows would ruin me.



I’m almost to the point of telling everyone myself, just to make the blackmail stop.



But, if I’m being truthful, I am afraid of what people will think. Sander says all the guys at school are jealous of him. That they think he’s so lucky to have me. Of course, they think he is having me. That we’re hooking up. And if you didn’t know the truth, you would think so too. He always has his hands all over me, and he showers me with attention.



But then, when we’re alone.



Nothing really happens.



And I’m starting to wonder if it is a sham.



Sander handles Vanessa like the gentleman that he always is. He removes her hand from his arm like it's a piece of trash, then says, “No one would believe you. Everyone knows I'm way into her. How could I not be? Just look at her.” He holds his arms out for me to walk into. “Vanessa and I were just saying how gorgeous you look tonight, sweetheart."



I do look nice tonight. Kym, my mom's stylist and my sometimes live-in nanny, loves to help me pick out clothes, and I love the dress we chose for tonight. It’s a long, nude halter gown. The fitted bodice is encrusted with crystals that slowly float down the chiffon trumpet skirt. Matching nude Jimmy Choos and a messy curly bun finish off my look.



Sander slides his hand down my fully exposed back. Vanessa sneers at us, then staggers off as the finale fireworks start to shoot across the sky.