Part 11: Miranda

For years, Nickolas had avoided places like this. Now, though, he felt like they were home, a refuge, an escape. Bouncers would nod at him as he walked through the door into the unforgiving drive of the bass and mad synthetic beats. Women dressed in hardly anything at all would smile at him slyly as he walked by, most of them unsure who he was, but sure he was someone. He’d purse his lips and walk by, knowing that later on, one of them would serve him. Nick would focus his eyes toward a stair case or a room sectioned off by a large velvet curtain, make his way slowly toward a VIP section where he would head directly to the bar. The drinks varied. Usually they were the type to get him fucked up, and well. Straight shots of hot liquid that burnt his throat and stomach. Shots where he could immediately feel his blood begin to rush a bit slower, his heart begin to calm to a normal pace.

Tonight he had had three shots already. He made his way to a plush couch and sat down in it, sinking into softness, feeling velvetine brush against his arms. Aquaintances, very few of them real friends, sat around him, calling to one another, drinking. It was loud all around him and Nick liked that. At least then, he could not hear his own brain, not feel his own loneliness.

Across the room he saw a dealer that he recognized. His stomach flipped. Soon he would feel somewhat alive again. Soon.

He nodded from one of his friends to the dealer. Real soon.

*****

She had almost done it last night. Came so close. It would have finally ended it all. And then it felt as if her body had frozen, as if she could not move an inch further. And this morning, she had awoken on the floor, in very much the same spot she had stood frozen in. The pain killers were still in her hand, the bottle of tequila open and to her right. The acrid scent had finally awaken her, and for a moment, she wondered if she had actually done it, if she was lying there, dead.

But she wasn’t.

She didn’t even have enough strength to kill herself. It figured.

Everything in her life was gone now. People she knew had told her that eventually the intense pain of her loss would subside. And here she was, 14 months, 22 days, 9 hours later, and nothing had subsided. Could it be that she felt worse? Lonelier? Why had God forgotten about her? Why had she escaped the flames and none of them had? Her whole family, wiped out in one fell swoop. Everyone gone, her mother, her father, her two little twin sisters, her boyfriend, all in an instant. How could she feel anything but anger? Nothing could ever replace this pain that was her hollow heart.

Carlos was her cousin, big important man now, a bodyguard, although he preferred to be called “Security”. Randa had made fun of it and laughed, back when she could laugh. It was hard for her to imagine him being any type of authority or intimidating. All he had really been to her was a big dork. She had hung out with Carlos a lot when they were kids, younger, partying on Miami’s club scene until all hours of the morning. But Randa hadn’t been out since the fire. She couldn’t face all those people, all that noise.

Carlos had bribed her that night, the night after she had failed at taking her own life, though. His voice had sounded tinny on the other end of the cell. “If you come tonight, you can stay at the beach house for as long as you want. Whenever you want….” He was so anal about that house. But Miranda had been secretly longing to go there, to just use the nights to stare out at the ocean, to lay in the sand. Maybe the beach house would make her feel half alive. She conceded.

“Promise?”

Carlos was smug because he had won. He had just bought a new house and had been planning on selling her the old one anyway, for a more than reasonable price. This would get her in there. They’d discuss it more at the club.

“Cro-bar. And don’t be real late.” Carlos clicked off the phone and pulled stopped at a red light. He looked at the blond man next to him who seemed to be consumed by the seat. How could Nick be disappearing? What was wrong with him? He looked at the younger man, and Nick just stared at him, accusingly.

“What?” Nick asked.

Carlos forced a smile. He wanted to touch Nick, pat him on the leg, the shoulder, somehow telling him that it would be alright. But Carlos knew better. He couldn’t do that, it would only disturb Nick further. So, Carlos patted the stick-shift, said “nothing, man…” and squealed off when the light turned green.

*****

Cro-bar was one of the trendiest clubs on South Beach. Randa had never been there, at least not as Cro-bar. It was fairly new. She told the large bouncer her name and he checked the list, smiling at her when he found the name, and removing the velvet rope to let her through. She walked into the club and felt uncomfortable momentarily, then remembering what it was she liked about this atmosphere, people who didn’t know one another, coming together with drink and dance and music and colliding. There was something artistic about it.

She made her way toward the stairs and a young man with dark hair had already put his hand along the nape of her back. “Hey there.” He said through drunk glossy eyes. Miranda smiled, slyly, remembering all too well the type of meat market that places like this were. She removed his hand and made her way to VIP.

*****

A thin, petite blonde was sitting on his lap, one of her hands at the nape of his neck, fingernails scratching and giving him slight chills, the other hand brushing against his crotch. When he was younger it had surprised Nick at the aggression of most women after a few drinks, a hit or two of coke… Not anymore. This was the way it happened every night.

The girl wasn’t that pretty. It wasn’t really necessary for what Nick needed. In fact, the less pretty the better. That way, her face would melt into a sea of other faces. That way, she wouldn’t stand out. He let his tongue slide down the blondes neck and she stroked him a little rougher. Nick smirked. He may just have to take her into the bathroom and get it over with. Then maybe he could move on to someone else to take home. There were lots of girls close by, ready to take her place.

*****

He rubbed his hand through his hair as he exited the Women’s room. No one had noticed them going in. Nick had told the girl to wait a few minutes after his exit. That way he’d have plenty of time to get a jump on avoiding her. The sex had hardly been satisfying. When he was younger, that was his main goal, to satisfy whatever woman he was with. Now, though, it was just about him getting off. And that usually wasn’t that great either. Everything had been dull since the sun was taken out of his life. Everything was just a murky overcast day that threatened rain constantly. Nick rubbed at his burning eyes. The smoke didn’t help the way his eyes felt.

Thinking about smoke reminded him of the Cuban in the pocket of Carlos, his temporary security guard’s jacket. Nick scanned the VIP section and saw his back. The man was obviously hitting on some young piece of ass. Nick pushed through the crowd, girls rubbing against him, smiling at him, delicately touching his waist or his ass. Nick only half smiled back. His mind was kind of spinning now. He needed that cigar…and a shot. Of something good. 151? Yeah, that’d do the trick.

Nickolas stood behind Carlos and placed on hand on his shoulder, leaning himself into the bar, beckoning a waitress. The girl could hardly look at him. He had taken her back to his hotel on his last visit to the Beach. “Shotta 151.” He told her without making eye contact. Nick hardly remembered what had happened. He did recall he had been on a pretty hefty binge that evening. The girl put down the shot and Nick grabbed it with his left hand, pouring it quickly down his throat. He could hardly taste it. It only slightly burnt his throat and then melted its way into his stomach. He slammed down the shot glass and turned back toward Carlos.

What he saw over his bodyguard’s shoulder caught his breath.

Big brown eyes with long black ashes smiled at his bodyguard. Her cheeks were rosy over dark olive skin. She had the smoothest skin he could remember seeing in so long. Her hair was long and dark. Glossy. He wanted to reach out and touch it, feel how fine it was, feel it rub along his chest and his neck. She was dressed fairly conservatively. Just a tight black tank top that outlined her ample chest, showing the just the slightest cleavage. Her skirt was a print of some sort, purples and pinks and blacks in a type of 60’s pattern. It was real short, showing her smooth un-hosed legs, dark brown as well. Nick followed all the way down to her tiny feet in bulky black sandals, her feet perfectly pedicured with pink polish. He wondered if they were the most beautiful feet he had ever seen.

Nick swallowed hard and realized he was blatantly giving her the once over with his eyes. And now he knew that she was looking at him looking at her. He raised his head and smiled his cocky grin, the one that worked wonders on girls. She raised her eyebrows. He noticed an air of sadness in her eyes immediately, seeming only to match the sadness in his own. She put out her hand, unbothered or ignoring the fact that he had been groping her with his eyes. “I’m Miranda.” Her voice had only the slightest accent, he couldn’t tell what type. She was obvious of Latin decent. “Carlos’s cousin.”

Nick took Miranda’s small velvety hand in his own, large and calloused. Somewhere in his brain it registered that she had said she was his bodyguard’s cousin. Thank God. She was the prettiest creature he had ever laid eyes upon. His stomach did a little flip and he was surprised. He would have to play it cool. He bent down so she could hear him, his lips almost touching her ear. “Hi Miranda.” He slurred, his breath extremely warm and moist on her neck. “I’m Nick.” He stood back up and smiled at her, this time genuinely because he had not the power to stop himself.

Miranda tingled.