Reviving Izabel - Redmerski J. A. - Страница 28

I walk straight to the bar and order a Dos Equis, presenting the hot young bartender with my fake I.D. and a glossy-eyed smile.

The bartender looks back and forth between me and the driver’s license. “I suppose you’re old enough.” He smiles at me and places the card back into my fingers. I slip it down into my little black purse.

“How long are you in New Orleans?” he asks as he removes the cap from my beer and sets the bottle down in front of me. He’s sexy, with short dark hair, tousled in the front, and dark blue eyes that peer at me amid a rounded baby-face.

I blush and lower my eyes, taking a quick sip.

“Am I that obvious?” I ask, letting my eyelashes sweep my cheeks momentarily.

His smile broadens and I notice his gaze move from my face downward toward my breasts. But he doesn’t let his eyes linger so long that it’s a turn-off.

Knowing I’m only a tourist was pretty obvious to both of us, so he doesn’t bother to answer my question.

I hold out a ten to pay for the drink, but he brushes the gesture away.

“This one’s on me,” he says. “Enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks.” I take my drink from the bar just as two girls, probably on their fifth beer of the night, push their way through the room nearly knocking me over in the process.

I just barely hold onto my beer, the liquid sloshing out over the rim as I attempt to steady it.

“Damn, watch it,” I say, but neither of the drunks hear me with the place being so noisy.

As I’m turning my back to them and the bar, I start scanning the area again, sipping on my beer and gently moving my hips as I walk as if I’m only enjoying the music and not looking for anyone. I walk around the rock fireplace and toward the back where the area splits off into two directions. There’s another bar to my right with a couple more tables and a dead end. Left appears to lead back outside to a patio of sorts. I start to head left when I spot Andre Costa sitting at a table in a dark corner of the dead-end area, flanked by girls on either side of him and two other men, all enjoying drinks and conversation.

Those two girls with him are gorgeous, much prettier than me. At first I’m worried about my ability to draw his attention, but then I remember what Izel, Javier Ruiz’s vile sister, taught me a long time ago:

“You’re hopeless. A hopeless American puta,” Izel said that day, dragging a comb harshly through my knotted hair, pulling it just to hear me whimper. “I don’t know why Javier keeps you around. You’re like a stupid virgin, except you’re a whore.”

She pulled on the comb harder, yanking my neck back so forcefully that I cried out in pain. But I didn’t say anything. I was afraid of her then, afraid of what she’d do to me for talking back to her. It was bad enough the things she did to me just for hating me, when she and I were alone and I didn’t have Javier’s protection.

“You have to look good next to my brother,” she said. “You have to make the men want to dream of touching you. You have to get their attention over every other girl in the room.” She yanked on my hair again. I bit down on my lip as tears streamed down my cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m helping you. I should just let you fuck it all up so Javier will get rid of you. Feed you to the dogs.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” I finally spoke.

I felt a white-hot sting to the side of my face and heard the thick, cool plastic of the comb slap against my cheekbone.

“Shut up! Stupid puta! I hate you because I can! Now listen to me. When you go in there tonight on my brother’s arm, you better do everything I’ve ever told you. Six months I’ve suffered having to teach you how to seduce a man! Six fucking months of my life wasted. You better get it right. If you fuck up and Javier punishes me, I’ll slit your throat in your sleep and blame it on one of the girls. Comprendes?!”

I nodded nervously.

“Now what did I tell you is key?” She shook my shoulders from behind. “Answer me!”

“Eye contact,” I said.

“And what’s the right way?”

“The skirting of the eye,” I answered more quickly. “Shy and not desperate.”

“Si. You want the men to feel as though you’re fresh meat, that you haven’t already been passed around to a hundred men. You want to appear coy and inexperienced, not as though you’re a seasoned whore looking for a good time. Only old women do that. And how long do you give him your attention?”

“Two seconds,” I said.

Izel turned me around to face her, my shoulders gripped tightly beneath her hands, her long red fingernails pinching my skin. “Si, Sarai. Two seconds and look away. The longer you look, the more desperate you appear. Make him come to you.”

As much as I hated Izel, I have to admit that I learned a lot from her. But back then I was being trained to seduce rich men only to make them want me. Javier would never sell me or allow another man to touch me. I was his arm trophy, the girl who represented all of the girls sold under Javier. I was the one the men saw first, the most beautiful and the most enigmatic. I was the poster child, the one used to show off Javier’s business. And it worked. The men couldn’t have me, but after spending ten minutes in a room with me while I put all of Izel’s lessons to use, the men wanted the next best thing. And buying from the same ‘batch’ of girls that I had been ‘bred’ from was, in their minds, the only way to get it.

But tonight, with Andre Costa, only half of Izel’s teachings will come into play. Costa isn’t here looking for a submissive girl to take home and put a collar on. Costa is just a young, horny criminal, so the part of her lessons I’ll be using tonight go only as far as the eye contact.

I position my purse underneath my arm and stand against the wall in Costa’s line of sight. I let five full minutes pass while I drink my beer and pretend to enjoy the music funneling from a piano before I decide to make eye contact. I know he has looked over at me at least twice in the five minutes I’ve been standing here. I could feel his eyes on me. But the black-haired girl sitting on his left has done well to keep most of his attention.

One. I smile softly across at him. Two. I look away and take another small sip from my beer. And I wait.

A few minutes later, Andre Costa is standing in front of me and introducing himself.

“I’m Andre. And you are…,” he looks around me to my left and right, “…alone, I take it?”

I blush stupidly and take another sip.

“Yeah,” I say and let my beer hand drop, hooking my wrist with the other hand below my stomach. “Yeah, I’m alone.”

“Is that your name? Alone?”

I figuratively roll my eyes at his attempt to be clever, but I never let the fake smile drop from my face.

“No,” I say, almost giggling and drawing my shoulders up near my cheeks. “My name’s Izabel.”

Andre grins and looks at me in a sidelong glance.

He reaches out his hand. “Well, you should join us, Izabel. There’s plenty of room at my table.”

My eyes begin to wander nervously. “I-I don’t know,” I say feigning reluctance. “I don’t know you.”

“Of course you don’t,” he says, taking my hand anyway. “But I’m cool. I promise. Come on. You’re in NOLA. Should have a good time while you’re here. No one will mess with you.”

He pulls me gently along beside him and I follow willingly to the table where I’m greeted by both guys and only one of the girls. The other one, with jet black hair and a scowl on her face, doesn’t seem so hospitable.

“Scootch the hell over, man,” Andre says to the blond guy at his right. “Let the lady sit down.”

The guy gets up and pulls out the chair for me. Andre motions toward it with a big smile plastered on his lightly-tanned boyish face, and I sit down. He sits after me.

“Get us drinks,” Andre orders the blond guy, but he looks at me quickly and asks, “What’ll you have? Another Dos Equis?”