Page 48

“Oh!” Donja said as she scanned the V.I.P. section which astonishingly was occupied by men—young men, not a woman in sight. She turned and gazed at the dance floor where smoke machines, belching a silver fog, cloaked a sea of writhing bodies.
Noticing that Makayla’s stamp was blue, and not red, Donja leaned in to her ear. “If the stamp is your age, why is yours blue?”
Makayla looked as if she had seen a ghost and then replied, “He must have made a mistake.”
“What can I get you?” a voice drew Donja’s attention as she turned, brushing cheek to cheek with a waitress dressed in about as little as one can wear and not claim nudity.
“She’ll have a non-alcoholic ginger spritzer!” Makayla shouted as she grasped the waitress by the arm leaning closer. “Actually, make it three of them.”
“Wow, it really is busy!” Heather proclaimed with a near shout.
“Yeah,” Makala said, “there must be a lot of outa-towners,” she smiled but as her gaze trailed behind Heather to the crowd, her smile faded. She leaned across the table. “Don’t look now, but Matt’s behind you and he does not look happy.”
“Shit, he’s probably pissed that I’m here, afraid that I’m drinking with the pregnancy and all.”
“I thought he wanted you to get rid of it?”
“He can’t make up his mind,” Heather said, then spun her bar stool and raised a suddenly tremulous hand to comb back her hair.
Seeing her distress, Donja cast her eyes to a blonde haired blue-eyed man, perhaps five-foot six, dressed in a white partially unbuttoned silk shirt with a black suede jacket and matching slacks. He was older and powerful, nigh on as broad as he was tall. He approached with an air of superiority, reached out his massive hand which slid behind Heather’s neck and pulled her lips to his own. The kiss lingered and then he pulled back. His eyes narrowed as if sizing her up and all the while, Heather just sat there without a word, locked on his face. His square jaw tightened and then he turned to walk away, but after perhaps six steps, he glanced back and nodded his head before he disappeared in the crowd. Heather, who looked all but hypnotized, slid from her bar stool, grabbed her purse and met Makayla’s gaze. “I’m sorry to bail on my last night, but I have to try and save this relationship.”
“You be careful,” Makayla said, rising to her feet. They hugged and though it was but a moment in time, it felt as if it lasted forever. “Good luck,” Makayla mused, tears welling. “Call me when you get to London.”
“Donja,” Heather said with a look that reeked of nervous despair. “Nice meeting you and please, take care of this girl,” she said with her eyes trailing to Makayla. “She’s got a heart of gold.”
“Good luck,” Donja mouthed, caught off guard by her sentiment.
Wow, perhaps I misjudged her.
Heather spun then disappeared in the crowd.
Donja glanced to Makayla, but held her tongue as the waitress served their drinks. Makayla paid, dabbed at her moist eyes, then sipped her drink before meeting Donja’s inquisitive stare.
“That was Matt,” she said, “the baby daddy.”
Donja scooted her stool closer.
“I gathered as much, but he’s older than I expected. How old is Heather?”
“She’s seventeen and he’s about thirty-five, filthy rich, and arrogant as hell, but what’s worse, he’s married.”
“Married?”
“Yeah, he promised Heather the moon, gonna leave his wife, gonna marry her. Seems the only thing he’s given her is a bun in the oven. I hate him, but I don’t say it. She loves him, though I don’t know why.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Only if you get caught.”
“And I thought I had problems,” Donja said sipping her drink.
Rh Null
Observers was crazy wild, unlike anything Donja had ever witnessed. The night wore on, the music reverberating. She danced twice with two different men but neither held her interest and she turned them down flat on the second offer. Most of the men were at least thirty, or older and it felt creepy. One of the men came back a second time and asked her to dance but she politely declined. He was easy on the eyes, but arrogant as hell. He walked away from their table and left his drink. Makayla sniffed it then took a sip and offered it to Donja. She tasted it, hesitantly but it was straight whiskey and it burned, all the way down. “That’s disgusting!” she shouted.
“Yeah, I hate whiskey. Tequila Sunrise is my fav, but I don’t really care for liquor.”
From the crowd, a tall muscled guy with shoulder length blond hair, dressed in a dark, three-piece suit eased up behind Makayla and slid his arms around her waist. Makayla’s face lit up as she spun to meet his striking blue eyes. He planted a tender kiss on her lips, pulling her tight, his hands, which were obviously familiar with her body, cupping her hips. He pulled back and their eyes met. “You didn’t call me back,” he said with a thick French accent.