The sound of a ringing phone echoed in the kitchen and traveled across the pitch dark apartment.
Calvin pulled his pillow over his head and groaned.
After spending the evening butchering his baby for "lewd material", sleep was his only consolation.
He got out of bed and marched to the kitchen to pick up the phone in the dark. "Hello?"
"Tang?"
He flicked the kitchen light switch on, filling the room with cheap fluorescent light.
His large pupils shrunk with such a speed, he got a headache. After a second, he remembered that there was someone on the other end of the phone, someone who just called him Tang. "Genevieve?"
"Were you asleep this early on a Saturday night?"
Calvin rubbed the pain away from his eyes. "Early? It's almost midnight."
She laughed. "Listen, I need a favor."
Judging by the tone of her voice, Calvin was sure this wasn't an emergency. "What's going on?"
"I have this engagement to attend, but my flaky friends are going to be a no show. Can you come with me?"
That's what you woke me up for? "Sure. When?"
She fumbled on the other end. "In forty-five minutes."
His eyes went big. "Tonight?"
"Of course. Can you pick me up?"
"Actually, Roger and Cookie took the Mustang and they're not back yet."
"Just take a cab. You still have my address, right?"
Calvin's mind struggled to construct an excuse. "Well, I'm pretty tired. I had to stay up all night editing the play—"
"Please. It would help me forget all those horrible things you said to me that one day."
Ugh, no. Not guilt. "Okay, okay. But this will officially make us even."
"Great. Wear something casual. I'll see you soon."
With his last ounce of nocturnal energy, he slid into a pair of clean slacks, a polo shirt, and his warmest jacket, the closest thing to casual he could put together.
He was falling asleep in the back of the cab. You're such a pushover.
At a quarter to midnight, the cab stopped in front of Genevieve's front door.
As if on cue, she stepped out of the house without him having to get out of the car and ring her doorbell.
Calvin pressed his forehead against the cold backseat window. As soon as he saw her, he sat up straight.
Genevieve wore a dress that Calvin could only describe as unholy. The hem was a good five inches above her knees, the straps hung low on her shoulders, and her breasts nearly poured out of her neckline.
The dress was the same jet black color of her hair, and contrasted perfectly against her milky skin. The ruby red of her lips and smoky shadow in her eyes made her serious face appear more villainous than usual.
What kind of engagement is this?
The cab driver nearly stumbled on himself to open the door for her. She thanked him and slid next to Calvin in the backseat, where she wrapped a friendly arm around his neck. "Hi, stranger."
Calvin was used to the bland smell of generic face cream on every other woman, but Genevieve's scent was playful, tart, and mouthwatering, the same properties that made Tang addictive.
She gave the driver their destination address, then turned to Calvin. "Ready to go ape?"
"As ready as I'm going to be."
She examined his torso. "Why the jacket?"
"I hear it's going to rain."
"I hope you don't get too warm."
At twelve-fourteen Sunday morning, they arrived outside the downtown San Kolbe club.
Genevieve paid for the ride before Calvin could protest. "Come on. We're running late."
There was a line outside the entrance of about forty people. Genevieve waltzed right up to the tall, Hispanic bouncer and they exchanged air kisses and some Spanish conversation.
Calvin straightened his back and inflated his chest in territorial instinct.
After several moments without any introductions being made, the bouncer opened the door for the pair.
They walked down a fleet of stairs, down to the basement, where the sound of an electric guitar and bongos bounced from wall to wall and the smell of cigarettes and body heat intensified the more they descended.
Is this hell?
Calvin absorbed the sight before him. Not a single attendee was without a partner. Women sat on men's laps, liquor was being drunk from the bottle, and there was no such thing as personal space on the dance floor.
It is hell.
One of the musicians came down from the stage and greeted Genevieve. Same casual kiss on the cheek she received from the bouncer. Same Spanish conversation before she finally introduced him to Calvin.
They shook hands. Calvin instantly forgot his name.
The man removed the Reserved sign from one of the tables and pulled out Genevieve's chair.
Don't you have an instrument to tune, bucko?
He whispered something in her ear before heading back to the stage, something that made Genevieve laugh and made Calvin tense.
Genevieve fanned her hot neck with her hand as they got settled.
Moments later, a bartender arrived with a tray of limes, salt, and a bottle of oak-brown liquid. "Compliments of the musician," he said.
Genevieve gleamed like a child in front of a birthday cake. She looked at Calvin. "Ever had tequila before?"
"No, but it's okay. I'll just have a ginger ale."
She scuffed. "How are you going to loosen up enough to dance?"
What? He tried to chuckle, but failed. "Oh, I don't dance."
Genevieve picked up the bottle of tequila. "If you drink enough of this, you will."
Calvin never consumed alcohol for recreational purposes. His father, the elderly John Leblanc, frowned upon it, but after he passed away and Calvin was asked what his new excuse was, his response was "Someday, when the time is right."
What better time than now?
Genevieve tossed her hair to her left shoulder and poured tequila into the tiny glasses. "Pay attention. I'm going to show you how to take a shot. You suck the lime, then drink the tequila, then you ease the burn with salt."
That stuff burns?
Calvin watched as she ran the tip of her tongue along the back of her hand, then sprinkled salt over the moist patch, making granules cling to it.
She grabbed a lime wedge between her thumb and index finger and gave the citrus a tiny squeeze, bursting its juicy cocoons.
Calvin found something oddly erotic about watching her. He created a salty patch on the heel of his hand. "Fine, I'll have one. I'm not making a fool of myself."
Her eyes locked with Calvin's. She brought the dewy lime to his mouth. "You're too young to own anything worth protecting."
He suckled the fruit. His palate watered at the sour tang.
Genevieve pulled the fruit from his mouth, then wrapped her lips around the same wedge.
Calvin was spellbound. His five senses become sensitive only to her stimuli.
She placed one shot in front of him while she held the other. "Ready?"
He raised his tiny glass.
They brought the bitter firewater to their lips and tilted their necks up, making a face of displeasure at the taste before licking the salt.
His ethanol-virgin bloodstream tingled with a new sensation. It was light and warm all at once.
The band played their first song, a slow tone.
It was a song Calvin recognized, but this version had a Latin flare to it. It said something about a female of the black magic variety, clearly not the kind of music genre Calvin enjoyed.
As soon as the first notes played, Genevieve entered her element. She became a new person, fixated on nothing more than the music.
An older man approached their table. Genevieve seemed happy to see him. They engaged in the same Spanish small talk that left Calvin out.
Does she know every man here?
The thought of her sharing a lime wedge with all of them made his nostrils flare.
Without asking for permission, Genevieve allowed the man to walk her to the dance floor.
Once there, the man placed both hands on her slender waist. She rested her forearms on his neck. They brought one another close in a compromising embrace, and their bodies moved together in rhythm.
Calvin couldn't continue watching without having another shot. He reached for the lime and took another drink of liquid courage.
She swayed her hips in a way that would rob any man of sleep for days.
Calvin cried out for the little scientist in his head to help him make sense of his emotions, to put objective numbers and formulas and structures to the annoyingly subjective, but the little scientist turned his empty pockets inside out.
Admit it. She's a goddess.
She must have been out there two whole songs before returning to the table with Calvin. Her face was flushed, with sweat around her forehead and neck. She served herself a shot and downed it without lime or salt. "Having fun?"
Calvin heard Did you like that? He nodded.
He felt a wakeful fatigue set in, a desire to talk for hours about everything he was experiencing. Whatever problems existed outside of him, whatever punishment he was going to endure from Marlo for overstepping his boundaries, he didn't care. What are boundaries, anyway?
The music stopped as the band took a break and the noise level was low enough to chat.
"Thanks for coming," said Genevieve
Don't get used to it, sister. "Anytime."
"You're not telling the truth. Drink some more."
Calvin felt warm all over. The sound of the music and crowd sounded far off, as if it was coming from another room.
He felt competitive, territorial, and ready to start a fight with the next man who approached his date. Whatever was left of the old Calvin sunk deep into the quicksand and disappeared.
Genevieve fluffed her hair. Even with a few silver strands mixed in, it was long and healthy. "You know, you remind me of someone."
Calvin took another shot, no garnishes. His taste buds were too numb to activate a gag reflex against the bitter liquid. "You don't say?"
She placed her palms on Calvin's forehead and wiped away droplets of sweat with almost-maternal affection. "Yeah. Pablo was hairy, much like you."
He didn't like hearing another man's name, and he was too drunk to catch the was. "Pablo, huh? Is he here?"
Genevieve shook her head.
"Is Pablo a friend?"
"He was. Something like that."
She took another shot, exposing her neck.
Calvin craved salt licked off of it. He shook his head gently to rattled the temptation away. What the hell is it about this woman?
The crowd applauded as the first chords of a new song were played. It was one of their hits, a combination of the Latin music he heard in Los Angeles and the psychedelic rock Roger loved.
She nudged her head at her dance partner, who was standing across the room. "Were you jealous of Miguel?"
Yes. "No."
She shook her head playfully. The first symptoms of inebriation glowed on her face. "Tang, you ignorant boy. Did you forget that I'm here with you?"
He smiled, a little loopy. "You enjoy making me jealous, don't you?"
She stared at his dark, caterpillar eyebrows, then his nose, then his lips, then retraced her steps. "Dance with me."
Calvin felt sober all of a sudden. Why didn't she ask him to do something easy, like find a dodo bird? "I-I don't dance."
Genevieve got up and stood by him. She grabbed his hand and pulled. "I'll show you. It's easy."
There it was again, that electric shock that came with her touch. "I have two left feet. Trust me," he slurred.
She laughed. "I'll be gentle with you."
It might have been the liquor, or maybe the way she promised to be gentle, but something got Calvin to his feet and allowed her to pull him to the dance floor.
It wasn't until he was surrounded by dancers that he realized what he signed up for. He looked at them, mentally begging them not to judge him.
Genevieve grabbed Calvin's wrists and placed his hands on her waist, the way her last dance partner did. She wrapped one arm around his neck, bringing her lips dangerously close to his. "Ignore them. Look at me."
Calvin immediately became stiff. After weeks of trying to keep his distance, Genevieve broke through his personal space as if this was nothing more than a handshake. He should have been scared, but he wasn't.
The tequila was awakening an alter ego, a brave social butterfly with Casanova charm, his little scientist's worst nightmare.
She slid one hand down his chest and grabbed his hand. "You're too stiff. Relax."
Calvin loosened his grip around her body. What was it about her that terrified him? And why did he like it so much?
She pressed her body on his and swayed her hips from side to side.
Arousal pulsed below Calvin's belt. He couldn't have her pressed against him, lest he wanted to expose his caveman intentions.
They looked into each other's eyes, flicking smiles at one another.
He was merely following her lead, giving her the illusion that he was controlling her hips by holding on to them.
Genevieve danced with her back pressed to his chest.
Calvin looked down at the freckles on her shoulders. His mind swam in fantasies of exploring her bare skin like a map, marking his territory with bite marks, and devouring her like a slice of watermelon.
He wasn't himself anymore, and he liked it.
They continued their lessons, song after song, stopping only when Genevieve wanted to take a break on Calvin's lap and take swigs of tequila from the bottle.
Calvin would have been uncomfortable, but he was too intoxicated to squirm away.
By three in the morning, the basement cleared out.
Genevieve brought her lips to his ear. "I'm tired. Take me home."
He heroically took her hand and led them out of the stuffy basement.
Calvin's head was spinning by the time they stepped outside.
Just as he predicted, there was rain, and lots of it. Exhausted dancers scurried into the streets, grateful to have Mother Nature cool them off.
Calvin searched the curb for an open cab, but they were all being fought over by drunk, angry patrons.
"Psh, buddy?" he heard behind him.
It was a man smoking a cigarette in a raincoat. "You and your friend need a lift?"
"Y-you available?"
He nodded and opened the back door of his yellow car. "Come on in."
Calvin turned around to grab Genevieve's hand. She wasn't there.
He searched the crowd in near panic until he found her, soaking up rain like a flower. Her dark make-up ran down the sides of her eyes, her hair curls melted under the water, and her wet clothes clung to her body tighter than they already did.
Focus, Leblanc.
Calvin took off his jacket and draped it on her shoulders. "I got us a cab. Come on."
They slid inside the backseat just as the rain picked up. Calvin closed the door as Genevieve gave the driver her home address.
Fat raindrops clattered on the windshield, making the backseat icy in some corners, but warm and toasty in others.
Genevieve shivered and pressed herself to Calvin's side.
Calvin wrapped an arm around her. "Thanks for getting me out of the house."
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, in dazed ecstasy.
Twenty-five minutes later, the cab stopped. Genevieve detached herself from his rib.
Calvin groaned, missing her humid warmth.
He heard the sound of a zipper, paper money being counted, and a car door opening.
"Tang?"
"Hm?"
"Come inside and have a nightcap."
His brain malfunctioned. This dream again? Such an invitation was never extended in his waking life. With his brown eyes still shut, he chuckled the fantasy away.
She laughed with him, then took his jaw in her hand. "I'm serious. Come inside."
Insisting? That never happened in his dreams. He begged his brain to stop teasing him.
Genevieve grabbed Calvin's shirt collar. Her voice went from seductress to domme. "Wake up."
His eyes flung open.
"Come inside. Now."
He stared at her wet hair, plump lips, and hungry gaze. His imagination filled in the blanks.
The scent of her bed sheets.
The taste of her earlobe.
The sound of her singing voice.
But the rain washed away a chunk of his tequila trip, and the thought of Marlo unleashed picnic ants on his pie in the sky.
"It's late. I-I should go home."
His inner Casanova still pulsed. Forget it, Pal. You don't stand a chance.
Genevieve pulled his hairy arm out of the cab, into the rainy night, and through her front door. The rest of his body came with.