The Last Time I Met Clara

"Yeah. Why? You got something against Mexicans?"

"Fuck no. I was just wondering if there are any all night taco places."

"No, they are all closed up by now." I drained the last of my beer. "So, do you want to go back to my place and hang out?"

"Bitch, I've been waiting for you to ask."

"All right, let's go."

The night was cool. It smelled like rain was coming.

"Do you want me to follow you?" Clara asked.

"Yeah, sure."

I got in my car and watched Clara walk to the far corner of the parking lot. She climbed into a battered pick up truck. When I saw her headlights come on, I turned on to the street. I waited until she pulled up behind me, then drove toward home.

I wasn't entirely sure this was a good idea. I had kept my nose clean since I got out of jail. She had been careless enough to carry around an unprescribed controlled substance while she was still on probation. I knew she could get me in trouble, but I couldn't stop thinking about that night in the VIP room.

My apartment was on DeWitt street. It was a one bedroom above a barber shop. It was small but nice. The neighborhood was better than its reputation.

I pulled into the parking lot next to my building. She was right behind me.

The first raindrops hit my windshield.

Before I got out of the car, I opened my purse and took out the money I had made in tips. Two hundred and twenty bucks. I folded the bills over and stashed them down between my seat and the console. I didn't feel good about doing it, but better safe than sorry. I made sure to lock the door when I got out.

"I hope you got something to drink," Clara said.

She followed me up the back stairs.

"I've got some beer. Couple bottles of wine, about a half bottle of tequila."

"Now, you're talkin'."

I opened the door and stepped inside, flicking on the kitchen light. Clara took off her leather jacket and draped it over a chair. There was a gang patch on the back. Hell's Horsemen. Those are some nasty bastards.

She walked past me to the living room.

"Hey, this place ain't bad," she said.

"Thanks." I put my purse and keys on the counter. I took the Jose Cuervo out of the refrigerator and got two glasses from the cupboard.

I went in the living room. Clara had turned on a lamp. She was sitting back on the sofa with her bare feet crossed on the coffee table.

I sat next to her and half filled the glasses with tequila. She sat up and took a drink.

"Yeah, that's good stuff," she said.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. I leaned back on the couch. She turned toward me and we looked at each other for a minute. We both knew what we wanted. Without a word, we moved toward each other.

The first kiss was long and tender. The ones that followed it were quick. Almost frantic. Our tongues wrestled each other.

I pulled her closer and our breasts pressed together. She ran her hand up the back of my neck, under my hair. She held my head as her tongue pushed into my mouth. I could taste the tequila.

She pushed me back to a reclined position. I cupped her ass in my hands as she lay down beside me. Her hands were under my shirt, fumbling with the clasp of my bra.

We kept kissing, our mouths crushed together. She fingered my nipples. I kneaded her ass.

The wind picked up and a light spray of rain came through the window. We were sprinkled with it, but we barely noticed it.

She pressed her leg between my thighs. I squeezed it tightly, remembering doing the same to her the last time we had met. She rocked against me. My hips matched her motions. I was breathing hard and there was a growing warmth and wetness between my legs.

We were both startled by a tremendous crash of thunder. It was close enough that you could feel it. I looked at the window. Rain had pooled on the sill and was dripping on the floor.

"I have to shut the window," I said.

Clara stood to let me up. I closed the window. When I turned around, Clara was stepping through the bedroom doorway, pulling her shirt over her head.

I took a drink of the tequila and followed her.

She was sitting in the middle of my bed, tugging off her jeans. She wasn't wearing anything under them.

Lightning lit the room. Her flesh was ghostly white in its glare. She laid back, raising her knees and spreading her legs as the darkness returned.

I quickly stripped off my own clothes and knelt on the edge of the mattress. The thunder rumbled, the springs squeaked and I crawled between her parted thighs.

I kissed the inside of her knee. She raised one leg and rested her foot in the small of my back. I rubbed my cheek along her thigh.

Lightning struck again, somewhere close. The thunder came right behind it. The air smelled of ozone and musk.

I nuzzled my face into her bush. I looked along the length of her body. She looked back at me and reached out her hand. I took hold of it, staring at her as I ran my tongue along her labia.

She sighed.

I licked her, up and down. The tip of my tongue slipped between her lips. I flicked it against her clitoris and she made a sound like a twittering bird.

I pushed my tongue deeper inside her. She tasted like citrus and salt.

"Suck on my clitty," she murmured, "That's what I like best."

Thunder roared, like it was voicing its approval.

I kissed the hood of her clit, then cupped my lips around it.

She moaned and hissed, "Yessss..."

As I sucked, she raised her hips and grabbed a handful of my hair.

"Yesss...harder..."

I sucked so hard I thought my ears would pop.

She dug her heel into my back, urging me on. When I started flicking my tongue at her knob, she squeezed me tight with both legs. When I jammed two fingers inide her, she almost bucked me off the bed.

She came in long, crashing waves, one after the other. When she finally went limp, I was gasping as loudly for breath as she was.

All the time, she clutched my hand and did not let go.

I lifted myself on to my elbow. I kissed her between her bush and her navel, then pulled myself up her body, kissing along the way, leaving a trail of her juices.

Our breasts pressed together and I licked and kissed the side of her throat. She turned her head and her mouth found mine.

She pushed me on to my back. I stretched out and closed my eyes. I felt her lips in the hollow of my shoulder, and then on the underside of my chin.

He fingernails scraped across my belly and then my mound.

"You're pussy is shaved clean," she muttered.

"Job requirement," I said with a sigh.

"I like it." He gently patted my vulva. I spread my legs further apart, and her finger entered me.

She probed my pussy, then pushed in a second finger as well. She fucked them in and out.

The thunder had ceased and the rain had diminished to a soft drizzle. All I could hear was my own shallow breath and the wet, squishy noises coming from between my thighs.

When her thumb touched my clit, it was as if another bolt of lightning had crashed right above me. She circled it, tapped it, flicked it with her thumbnail.

My breathing grew sharper, louder. She kissed my tits and lightly bit my nipples. I ran my hands through her hair as she suckled me, first on one side and then the other.

My hips had a mind of their own, rising to meet each thrust of her fingers. Waves of pleasure flowed from my breasts and my vagina. But the sensation from my clitoris was like a high frequency signal over it all.

My legs shook. I bit my lip hard. I could not tell you anymore where the pleasure was coming from. It overwhelmed my whole being. I was in a sort of sexual fugue state.

I don't know how long it lasted. Several times when I thought I was rising out of it, I spiraled back down.

When I finally came to my senses we were lying face-to-face on our sides. Clara's arms were around me and she was kissing my forehead.

"That was really nice," I mumbled.

"Yeah," she replied, "Baby, you eat good pussy."

I accepted the compliment with a satisfied hum.

She propped her head up on her elbow. "You know what would be cool?" she asked.

"What?"

"Some more of that tequila."

"Good idea."

I rolled on my back and stretched, then went to get the bottle.

I glanced toward the kitchen and saw the motorcycle jacket on the chair.

"So what are you, a biker chick now?" I asked when I returned to the bedroom.

"Oh, you mean because of the jacket?" She took a swig of tequila. "I borrowed that from a guy I'm fucking."

I sat crosslegged next to her.

"What about you?" she asked, "You fuck guys?"

"I've got a couple of things going on."

"Sugar daddies?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"I figured. Seemed like you knew the score when I came in that time with that numbnuts Bob."

"What ever happened with him?"

She snorted. "His wife got wise."

"Sooner or later, they always do."

"I think half of them know all along. They would just rather he get his nut somewhere else and leave them the fuck alone."

I took a drink of tequila. "I'm fucking exhausted," I said, "Do you wanna stay the night?"

"Okay. Give me one more tug on that."

I handed her the bottle. She took another drink and put it down on the nightstand.

I crawled under the covers and she joined me. We spooned together. I listened to the distant thunder fading away as I fell asleep.

When I woke up in the morning she was gone.

I wondered if she was going to just disappear again. I got up and padded toward the kitchen, in desperate need of coffee.The leather jacket was still on the chair. I smiled. She didn't forget it, I thought. Deliberately leaving something, so you had to come back, was one of the oldest tricks in the book.

I didn't hear from her all day. I realized we had not exchanged phone numbers, but I thought she might show up at the club. She did not.

I had the next two days off and I had plans with one of my sugar daddies. I left a note on the door with my number on it. She didn't call. There was no sign that she even came by.

On my first night back to work I kept my eye on the door. No Clara. I figured she had ghosted me again.

I had last shift that night. By the time I got dressed and cashed out, the joint was empty, except for the bartender and the bouncer. They were sitting at the bar, watching some hockey game from the West Coast.

I had a shot of Fireball with them and headed out. I wondered if maybe Clara was outside waiting for me.

It wasn't Clara who was waiting.

Walking to my car, I heard footsteps. I quickened my pace and glanced to the right. A big burly dude with dark shaggy hair was walking toward me. It was a warm night, but he was wearing a leather jacket and a denim vest. As he got closer I could hear his wallet chain jingling.

I didn't notice the second guy until he grabbed my arm. He was smaller. Shorter than I am. He had blonde hair that look like he had cut it himself in the dark. One of his eyes wandered, like he was tried to look at his own forehead. His denim vest was identical to his partner's.

Bikers. I knew it as soon as I saw them.

The big guy stepped in front of me. Looking at the two of them together, they reminded me of Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble. Except, I didn't think they were going to be funny.

"Club's closed, fellas," I said, "Come back tomorrow, I'll give you a great dance."

Barney snickered. "Oh, I ain't gotta pay to see naked sluts." He talked out of the side of his mouth opposite his squirrelly eye. It gave the impression that his whole head was crooked.

"Listen up," Fred said, "We got one question, then you can go about your business."

"Then ask it."

"Don't fuckin' get lippy with me, whore. Just tell us. Where is Eric?"

"Who's Eric?" I asked.

He stood with his fists on his hips and rolled his eyes. "I wanted to do this the easy way, but I gotta tell ya, I don't mind hurting a bitch."

Barney giggled. "I like it," he said.

"Really guys, I'd help you if I could, but I don't know any Eric."

Fred took a cell phone out of his pocket. He tapped the screen a couple times, then held it up and showed me a picture. It was a selfie from my Instagram.

"So how come your picture is all over his phone?"

"Hell if I know."

He flicked his finger across the screen a few times. He held it back up.

We had all told the management it was a bad idea to post a picture of the dancers standing in front of the neon bar sign that said Club Venus. We were right.

"Shit, he didn't even pick out the best looking slut," Barney said.

"You got a bad attitude about women," I told him.

"All right," Fred said, "We're gonna have to take this conversation someplace more private."

He grabbed hold of my other arm. I planted my feet firmly and tried to pull away, but it didn't do any good.

Suddenly, I was blinded by bright lights. I heard a loud engine roar, followed immediately by a squeal of brakes.

Barney let go of my arm. I shielded my eyes with my hand and, even with spots in my eyes, could make out a pair of high headlights, no more than ten feet away, and a figure stepping between them.

The person moved closer and I saw that it was Big Boy Earl. He held the biggest goddamn handgun I had ever seen. Like, Dirty Harry big.

"Step away from the lady," he drawled.

"Got no beef with you, friend," Fred said, letting go of me and taking a step back.

"I ain't your friend. Now get the fuck out of here. I got no problem explaining to the cops why I blew away two fucksticks I came across assaulting a lady."

Fred and Barney backed away into the darkness.

"You alright, honey?" Earl asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"What the hell was that about?"

"Mistaken identity," I said, "They thought I was somebody else."

"Why don't you get in the cab while I check around. Make sure they ain't lurking."

I nodded and climbed up into his truck. From that vantage point, I saw taillights turning on to the road. There were three cars left in the lot. Mine, the bartender's and the bouncer's.

I rolled down the window. "I think they are gone, Earl."

He looked around for a few more minutes, then got in the cab.

"You want to call the cops?" he asked me.

I thought for a minute. They were bikers. I remembered that there was a Hell's Horsemen jacket in my apartment. I had no idea how the two things might be connected, but my gut feeling was that they must be. And it's not healthy to rat on bikers.

"No, I think you scared them off."

"Okay, but be careful. Maybe tomorrow, have somebody walk you out. Which way do you go home?"

"I go down Union Street."

"I'll follow you as far as the interstate."

"That would be cool. Thanks. I owe you one."

"No you don't." He shook his head. "Nobody owes me for doing right."

I opened the door and hopped out of the cab.

"Hey Sarina!"

"Call me Janice. That's my name."

He smiled and wagged his finger. "Okay. Janice. You be goddamn careful. I'll see you next week."

When we reached the on ramp to the interstate, Earl turned. He gave me a long blast with his air horn. The road was empty. There was no sign of anyone tailing me.

I pulled over to the side of the street a block before my building. I turned off the headlights and crawled forward until it came into sight. I sat at the curb for several minutes and watched until I was sure that everything was normal. There was no one around. I pulled in and parked as close as I could to the stairs.

As soon as the door was shut behind me I looked in all the rooms. There was nothing out of the ordinary. I went to the kitchen and took a closer look at the leather jacket. There was an oval name patch on the left breast.

EZ Rock.

Eric. It had to be.

I tried to put together everything I knew. Clara was involved with a biker named Eric. Some other pissed off bikers were looking for him and figured I would know where he is. They wanted him bad enough that they were ready to give me a beatdown to see if I knew anything.

But how did they get his phone and how did my pictures get on it? Yeah, they were online where anyone could swipe them, but who did it? It must have been Clara.

I had a thought. Maybe she wanted the three of us to hook up. She might have showed Eric my pictures to see if he was interested.

The only thing I knew for sure was that Clara was at the center of whatever was going on. When she got back in touch with me, we would straigthten it all out.

Another day went by without her making contact. At the end of my shift the bouncer walked me to my car. I got home with no trouble.

The rest of the week passed without incident. I accepted that it was likely Clara was gone. Maybe she skipped town with Eric because of his beef with those biker assholes.

I figured that any threat my encounter with her had created had passed.

When I came home on Saturday night, I flipped on the kitchen light.

Fred and Barney were sitting at my table. There was a long black canvas bag in front of them. Barney was eating a strawberry Pop-Tart straight from the box.

Fred pointed a handgun at me and said, "Have a seat, Clara."

I sat down across from them. "I'm not Clara," I said.

"And you don't know Eric, but you got his fuckin' jacket in your apartment."

"Clara left it here."

"You don't got much real food in your house, do ya?" Barney asked, unwrapping another Pop-Tart.

"If you want, I could run to the store and get you something."

"You should really knock off playing games now, bitch," Fred said, "We ain't looking for Eric no more. We found him."

"Great, he can tell you I'm not Clara."

"See, he ain't answering questions no more," Barney said with a snicker.

"We found this, too," Fred said. He unzipped the bag. I glanced down at it. I didn't know how much money was in it. There was a lot. I started to understand that I was facing something much worse than an ass beating.

"Tell her how we found her," Barney said, grinning.

"Yeah," Fred said. He jerked his thumb at Barney. "He figured out to check the GPS on Eric's phone. Guess whose address was in his favorites?"

I looked at Barney. "I'm impressed. I didn't think you could spell GPS."

"I ain't the dumb fuck that dropped my fuckin'phone at the scene of a crime."

"Look, I don't even know what any of this is about. But, if Eric took your money, you found him, you got it back. Why are you still harrassing me?"

"You guys thought you were so smart," Fred said, "You figured that if you jacked the Springfield buyer on his way to the meet, the club would just sell the meth to someone else, no big deal. The only losers would be those upstate yokels."

He leaned on the table and spoke as if he really wanted me to understand.

"But, see, if our customers don't feel safe doing business with us, they will go buy from the Armenians or the Russians. We got to make things right. So, you gotta go."

"Ain't like nobody's going to miss you," Barney said.

"Killing me doesn't make anything right. Because I'm not Clara."

Fred rolled his eyes. "What you can't understand, because you are a whore and you have whore values, is that the Horsemen are a brotherhood."

"Like, one for all, and all for one," Barney added.

"Exactly, and Eric betrayed his brothers. And all because a fucking whore put it in his head."

"Nope, didn't happen."

"He fucking told us you planned the whole thing," Barney snapped.

"Maybe he told you Clara did..."

Barney stood up. "Okay, enough all ready."

For a lummox, he moved awfully fast. I tried to lunge toward the door, but he grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back. He kicked my feet out from under me.

"Take her in the bathroom," Fred said.

Barney half carried, half dragged me to the bathroom. When I tried to resist, he brought his knee up hard into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

"Bend her down over the bathtub," Fred growled.