Falling by Lacy Spraggins

He stared up at the stage. Lights flashed. Colors swirled in Chris’s eyes, even when he closed them. The spectrum created a rainbow on the back of his eyelids. He breathed deeply, caught up in the music, the smells of liquor, the voice.

God, the voice.

She was fire. Her gaze drifted through the crowd, eyes occasionally resting on a specific person, smoldering eyes burning a hole in hearts. In pants.

She looked at Chris. He felt himself get hard and wished it away. A spotlight caught the gleam of her red hair and turned it gold. He stared at her until she broke the gaze.

Many of the patrons of the club that night smoked up, shot up, drowned their thoughts and emotions. Chris was aware of this, but didn’t participate in the upping and downing. He just needed the music, the voice. Maybe a beer sometimes, but one beer doesn’t count.

She wasn’t a crush, exactly. She wasn’t even a real person. She definitely wasn’t Emily. He loved Emily, as far as he could tell.

But Zoë Beauchamp knew how to hold him without even touching him. She could bring him to the edge.

He came to the Zebra Club every time she sang with her band, The Scarlet Letters. They’d never talked. He figured that it was ok to have a fantasy about someone he would never meet. No harm. Emily knew he came here, knew he liked to listen to Zoë sing.

It was a Wednesday. It was always a Wednesday when he went to the Zebra Club. He only allowed himself one night a week there (the cover was expensive after all), and Zoë sang on Wednesdays. In fact, if Zoë had started singing on Thursdays or Tuesdays or any other day than Wednesday, she may have dropped out of existence for Chris. Yeah, she turned him on and he probably would have made an effort to figure out why she was no longer around on Wednesdays at the Zebra Club, but if he couldn’t easily figure it out, another attractive redhead or blond or brunette might have become his new object of fascination.

The song ended and the band took a break. Chris thought about calling Emily, but decided to just stop by her apartment after the show. It was Wednesday, so she’d be doing laundry and probably wouldn’t go to bed until after midnight anyway. Emily and Chris had been together a year. They’d met in college, through friends, and over time realized that they made a good pair. Emily clipped coupons. Chris invested well. They had a bright future.

Chris gazed around at the club, staring out at the people who frequented this otherworldly place where low lights and the glisten of the vibrantly colored cocktails created an ethereal glow. The band started playing again and soon the music enveloped him and he lost himself in Zoë’s voice, emerging only after the last song ended. It was 11:15; he had time to come down from his music high before visiting Emily. He settled onto a polished steel barstool and ordered a Corona with lime. He liked the Corona commercials, and despite his awareness that he was being pulled under by advertising, he liked the taste too. Chris sipped it slowly, thinking about Emily and his job and his friends and life. His best friend, Eric, had introduced him to this place and they usually came together, a boys’ night out of sorts. Eric, however, came for the gorgeous men that gyrated on the dance floor, the ambiance in a place like this. He brought Chris as his wingman. This week Eric was busy studying for a medical school exam, so he didn’t need a wingman. Chris was on his own tonight.

“So, you’re on your own tonight?” a voice asked.

Chris whirled around on the barstool too fast and accidentally kneed the woman standing behind him.

“Shit!” Chris said.

She just laughed. “That didn’t really hurt, but it might have, so you’ll still have to make it up to me.”

“You’re the singer,” Chris said.

“Yes, every Wednesday. I’m Zoë.”

“Chris. Wednesday is my favorite day.”

“You’re usually with that other guy.”

“Eric, yeah, he’s my best friend. He’s gay though and I’m straight.”

Chris realized how inane he sounded and quickly tried to fix the situation.

“Would you like a drink or something?” Chris asked.

“Scotch on the rocks, double,” Zoë instructed the bartender.

“That’s hardcore,” Chris said, “I’m just having a beer.”

Zoë turned to him. “Are you judging me?” She took the drink in one gulp, “or are you impressed?”

“Wow. Impressed. You didn’t even wince.”

“I would brag about how I can hold my liquor, but really I just like to get it all over at once. That’s all I’ll be having tonight,” Zoë laughed.

“I’m intrigued by you.”

“Of course you are. You’ve never met someone like me.”

“Tell me more.”

“Not now, I have an early meeting tomorrow, so it’s bedtime for me.”

“You’re lying.”

“Come back tomorrow and I’ll let you buy me another drink. We can discuss quantum physics or art of the Renaissance or why I’m really leaving you right now. Bye!”

Zoë turned around and strolled back to her band mates. Chris snapped out of his daze just in time to respond while she was still in earshot.

Chris got to Emily’s apartment at 11:45. She was folding clothes, matching the socks into perfect pairs. All of Emily’s socks were either white cotton athletic socks or black cotton dress socks, so it should have been a simple task, but Emily also matched them by fading and degree of wear. Chris kissed her on the cheek.

“Hi there,” Emily said.
“Hey Em.”

“How was the club?”

“Fine.”

“How’s Eric doing?
“Actually, Eric didn’t go. He was studying.”

“You went alone? Did you meet any interesting people?”

“Not really. I just listened to the music and had a beer. Then I came here.”

“Cool, cool.” Emily gave him a hug. “Thanks for stopping by, but I have a lot to do tomorrow, so I need to go to bed. You can stay for awhile if you want, but make sure to turn off the light and lock the door when you leave.”

“Good night, then.”

“Night, Chris.”

Chris thought about fixing a sandwich and watching some TV at Emily’s, since she had a bigger TV and usually better food than he did, but it seemed like too much effort, so he went home instead.

************************************************************************

When Chris got to the Zebra Lounge the next day, Zoë was waiting for him at a table. She looked stunning in a silky green dress. The dress matched her eyes. She smiled and motioned for him to sit down.

“Wow, you look great,” Chris said.

“Thanks, I’d pretend like it was effortless and natural, but I did dress up tonight,” Zoë said. She winked.

Zoë exuded sexuality in a way he’d never experienced. Chris had always dated the safe girls, the ones he felt like he could understand from the beginning, who he didn’t have to figure out. They didn’t wink.

“I’ll get drinks, what do you want?” Chris said.

“Sapphire martini. Dirty. Three olives.”

Even that sounded suggestive to Chris. He walked to the bar and ordered two martinis, one dirty and one dry. He looked around the club, which didn’t look any different on Thursdays then it did on Wednesdays. He took the drinks and went back to the table.

“Dirty,” he said, handing one to her.
“Dry,” she guessed, looking at him. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not. She took a sip and smiled, satisfied.

“Aren’t you going to drink yours all at once?”

“Silly boy, of course not. Martinis are for sipping.”

“So what do you do?”

“I sing. You know that.”

“Right, what do you do when you aren’t singing?”

“I get handsome men to buy me drinks.”

“No other jobs or hobbies?”

“Chimney sweep. Job and hobby.”

“Ok, I’ll answer it myself. I’m a economics grad student.”
“I didn’t ask, but thanks anyway. I’m a freelance writer. That way, I can sing late into the night and don’t have to worry about silly things like morning meetings.”

“So I was right, you were lying last night when you said you had to leave.”

“I did have to leave, I wasn’t lying.”

“But you didn’t have a morning meeting.”

“So? “

“Never mind.”

“Aww, cupcake, did I hurt your feelings last night when I left?”

“ No, I was just making conversation. Forget it.”

“Touchy. Anyway, my drink’s almost gone.”

“Want another?”

“No thanks. But I would kill for some cocaine right now. Do you have any?”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. Who jokes about cocaine?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had it.”

“Seriously? Well, we’ll have to change that. I’ll be right back.”

She jumped up and practically ran to the VIP area. Chris watched her wave down another woman and they walked to the bathroom together. A couple of minutes later Zoë reemerged. Chris was still in a state of shock.

“This is good stuff. Let’s get out of here and initiate you into the real world.”

“I think I’m fine with martinis.”

“Oh, come on, if you don’t want to leave, we can just do a line or two in the coatroom. Maybe you’ll get lucky and we can do something else, too.”

“Wow, ok. Umm, I have no idea how to respond to that.”

“How about ‘Zoë, that sounds wonderful, you sexy vixen, let’s go to the coatroom this second.’ Yeah, I think that’s the appropriate response.”

“I don’t want to do cocaine.”

“Fine, but the other offer still stands.”

“This is totally surreal.”

“Oh honey, am I too much for you?”

“I don’t know. I guess you are. Yes. I should leave.”

“Too bad, you’re cute and we could have had a good night.”

“I won’t be back next Wednesday.”

“I know.”

Chris and Zoë both stood up. She stared up at him for a moment and placed a kiss on his cheek. She walked away.

“Emily, I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. This relationship isn’t enough for me.”

“What? Why? Did you meet someone else? I don’t understand…things are fine.”

“You’re right, things are fine, but that’s all. There is nothing more than fine. We don’t have a relationship.”

“Of course we have a relationship!”

“Not a real one. I need more. I need passion. We both do.”

“You met someone else.”

“Sort of.”

“Fuck you.”

“It’s not like that. I’ve never cheated on you. I’m not leaving you for someone else. I just finally realized that ‘fine’ isn’t enough.”

“Well, we make a very balanced couple.”

“How much fun is that?”

“I’m completely content, thank you.”

“No you aren’t. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

“Chris, I don’t care if our relationship lacks passion. I care about you. I like spending time with you. This is what’s real.”

“You just described friendship. I’m sorry Emily, it sounds corny and contrived, but I want butterflies. I want to be more excited than this.”

Emily was silent. Chris stood up. He stared at her for a moment and placed a kiss on her cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, walking to the door, “I really am. But I have to leave.”

He shut the door behind him. It was a sad, beautiful Thursday night and Chris was alone.