I don’t know why I was staring at her. Usually, I didn’t look at anyone in particular as I lent against the bar; I just unfocused my eyes and let my gaze shift over all the beauty around me. All these women were like silhouettes in a James Bond title sequence. It was hard to think of them as real people and if I didn’t look too closely, it was easy to forget that they had parents and wore jeans just like me.
But this girl caught my interest. She was facing with her back to me, the light glancing off her pale shoulders. They were slightly hunched, almost apologetically. Though she was not too thin, I could see her shoulder blades moving slowly and almost mechanically under her skin as she swayed to the rhythm of the slow trance beat. I imagined dirty hands sliding along the blades, leaving brown stains on her fair skin.
The music changed, turning into some hyperactive electro rubbish. Tony, the DJ, really knew how to get the drugged up crowd even more elated. He was good for business, and we were good for his. The girl turned around, dancing by herself along with the music. Her dress was a pale blue, halter necked and ruffled, reaching to just above her knee. She had big hips and small breasts. She looked very fit and healthy, unlike most of the other people in this joint. She had long brown curly hair, kind of eighties style, I guess. It only took one glance at her over made-up face for me to know she had popped an e recently. Her eyes were red rimmed and her face held and expression of pure, well, ecstasy. Shit. I hadn’t sold it to her, and that prick Ian was here dealing too. I knew his suppliers cut some of his stuff with whatever they could find and he didn’t care.
I didn’t know why I was worried about her. Maybe it was because, as ludicrous as it sounds, I was the designated driver and was stone cold sober. Maybe it was because I’d seen too many bad trips; this girl looked so healthy and so vibrant that I didn’t want anything to damage her. I didn’t even know her name and I wanted to help her. I strode over casually, and asked her if she would like a drink. Before she had time to reply, I grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the dance floor. She put up no resistance and stared at me with a blank gaze as I pulled her to lean against the bar.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
It took her a moment to reply.
“Maria.”
Perfect. I wondered if her parents had named her after the Virgin Mary.
“You having a good night?” Her eyes swung around the room, trying to see everything at once.
“Mm. I think I need some air, maybe.”
I suddenly had this image of taking this girl back to my apartment. Putting her in my shower and watching the water run down her face, taking off all that horrid make-up with it. Watching her sleep on my couch, a thin blanket covering her naked body.
But then I thought of her waking up and not knowing where the hell she was and why she was naked and beating me with that heavy lamp on my coffee table. Maybe I should just put her in a cab home. I took her hand once again, waiting till she was steady on her feet before I started walking her out. She practically ran out the door, her feet moving like she was on a treadmill. It was an effort to keep up, but the movement seemed to be a bit too much for her too. When we got outside, she knelt over onto the concrete and started throwing up. Like some utterly whipped boyfriend, I grabbed her long hair and pulled it out of the way of the oncoming spew. Shit, I was going to have to stay with her for a while now. If she choked on her own vomit, I knew it’d be my fault. Maybe I could get one of her friends to pick her up. I waited until there was a break in the vomiting.
“Hey, Maria, you got a phone on you?”
“Nuh-uh, Just money. I was going to go to my friend Lissie’s place.”
“How old are you?” Now that I could see her properly, under the street lights, it was hard to imagine she was old enough to get into that club.
“Twenty-five.”
“Bullshit.”
“Okay, twenty-one.”
“Why would you lie about being twenty-five if you were twenty-one, huh? You’re under eighteen, aren’t you?”
“It’s none of your bloody business, is it? I don’t even know your name! How do I know you’re not some cop or something?”
She’s getting irritable, I thought, laughing to myself.
“My name’s Greg, if you must know. Can you walk to your friends place from here?”
“I’ll catch the bus.” Her face turned a little green as she said it. I jerked away, just in time as she threw up all over her cheap-looking heels.
“Not in this state you won’t. Come on, my place if just round the corner. I’ll get you cleaned up.”
I grabbed her by the waist when she was done, knowing if I didn’t get her home soon she’d probably pass out. It wasn’t the most romantic meeting, but while most drugged up, puking girls disgusted and bored me, I instinctively wanted to take care of her. I thought now that she was about seventeen and probably rebelling against something. Maybe I could think of a more constructive way for her to do that.
