Elgin’s Trial
By Mr. J.
Chapter II: Touchdown
Tracy exhales as she retrieves her luggage from baggage claim, feeling heavier with each step. She feels the weight of flight in the dark bags under her eyes. Sluggish doesn’t begin to describe the sensation. More like trying to scale a hill with a rock tied to her back. Every passing minute makes it harder to resist the temptation to plop down in the nearest bench and lie there. Damn security.
She flags the first cab she spies and orders the driver to speed towards the nearest hotel—she doesn’t particularly care which. Tracy rubs her temple, wishing that it she was the one lying on a cold slab a thousand miles away. Fuck you, Jeremy. Fuck you and your narrow minded egoism. Never thinking about the consequences...
Peering through the window, she spies the legions of skyscrapers towering into the sky. They remind her of stalactites, reaching towards the ceiling of a cave, each beautiful yet deadly. At least one kills on impact. She isn’t sure about the other one.
She grabs her suitcase and pays the cabbie, letting her Southern accent pierce through the tough Northeastern exterior she’s built for herself. She resists the urge to go off on the bellhop as she walks toward the lobby. It takes all her will not to deck him right then and there, but at least she manages not to kill him. Baby steps, baby steps.
“I’d like a room please.” Tracy scuffs her sneakers as she stares into the vacant eyes of the blonde manning the counter.
“Double or single?” The twentysomething smacks her gum loudly.
“Single, please.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!”
The young woman winces.
“Sorry.” Tracy regains her composure. “It’s been a long day.”
“Room 124B. Towards the end of the hall, on your left.”
The PhD candidate sighs as she lumbers toward her room, wondering if the real hostess had been replaced with a zombie lookalike. Taking off her shoes and tossing her leather coat on the bed, she collapses on the firm mattress. She flicks through the channels on the TV, finding nothing but helmet heads, shouting matches, and the occasional rerun of the crime drama she’s seen for about the millionth time. that’s it, she rustles herself off the covers. I’ve had enough of this yelling and screaming.
As she runs the faucet in the tub, she sits down near the edge and stares at the egg white wall. Listening to the rush of water, she zeroes out for a few brief moments, paying attention to nothing but the rush of liquid. She snaps in time to turn the faucet off before it overflows, watching the steam rise. Tracy strips off her blouse and undershirt, not thinking about anything as she climbs out of her jeans and panties and eases into the tub.
Scrubbing her hair with the complementary shampoo the hotel provided, she closes her eyes and dunks her head. Immersed in the bath, she feels as though she’s shedding years of skin and old memories. The sensation is not too dissimilar from the ineffable experience she used to have sitting in a pew before she grew up and traveled down a different path. But that was a long time ago...
She sighs in relief. Just what I needed. , she thinks as her hands wander as she scrubs arms, breasts, and torso. She cranes her head as she explores her body, teasing herself with each stroke and twist of a nipple, fingers tugging at the folds of her womanhood. As her mouth parts in a perfect o, a memory comes to the fore...
It’d been a warm summer evening. Her sweat clung as she walked through downtown, accompanied by a couple of classmates she’d just met. It was the hottest season on record. Yet Tracy didn’t care. Like most college students, she had only one thing on her mind that week. Make that two. But finals were over, and with her first year of grad firmly under her belt there was only one thing left to do, and she saw it in the neon lights of downtown.
She’d only known Amy and Cass since last semester. One was quiet, reserved, and brunette, the other brash, forward and quite blond. Yet the trio proved inseparable, so much so that they had a nickname: The Three Musketeers. Their relationship proved to be a sisterhood, and Tracy could not think of anyone else she’d rather be locked in a dungeon with.
Of late though, the there’d been in a tug of war, dominated by an obsession with academic competition and honorary awards. At least two of them had six or seven clubs memberships under their belt in addition to volunteering. Tracy had been the odd girl out—so consumed was she with maintaining her grades and avoiding academic probation that she ignored the brouhaha. Girl’s Night Out represented an olive branch in the ongoing feud.
She glanced at Cass’s hair all done up in a bun, a stray hair peeking brushing against her face. Her silk dress seemed to cling to her body as she walked gracefully along the street. She looked like a high-end escort. Tracy could not help but feel inadequate alongside. She thought her simple black dress made her look sharp, even sexy—she thought her Bridget Fonda look would impress the guys, but it simply made her look more homely by comparison.
“Let’s go there!“Cass pointed towards the absinthe-colored lights of the Emerald club.
Tracy recalled reading a sentence or two about it in the local alt weekly. The Emerald was the most recent addition to the string of nightclubs and bars across the city conceived as a way to attract young adults the heart of the city. Yet after six months in business, it’d gained a reputation as one of the most notorious clubs in Boston. Coke was dealt freely there, and their ladies’ night was said to be one of the wildest the town had ever seen in at least a generation. Already an investigation into the finances of its owner, Mick “The Stick” O’Toole was underway.
Calling it shady would be an understatement.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Tracy hesitated. “I heard a lot of bad things about it.”
“Don’t be such a wuss.” Cass teased her. “Nothing’s going to happen to us.”
“People have OD’ed there, Cass.”
“And you could be hit by a bus tomorrow. Lighten up, girl. It’s Friday!”
“You can go on without me.”
Tracy remembers Cass yanking her hard. She grimaced as she examined her wrist.
“We all go in or we don’t go in at all.” Cass admonishes her. “Remember our motto?”
Tracy rolls her eyes.
“All for one and one for all.’
The trio didn’t have to wait too long behind the velvet rope before they were quickly ushered in. The college grad was immediately taken in by the dim lighting and minimalist architecture. Waitresses in Vegas style dress tended drinks as tracks from The Killers and Bright Eyes pounded over the speakers. It many ways it was like something out a Bret Eason Ellis novel, except more so. Tracy didn’t know whether to be pleased or disgusted.
“C’mon!” Cass waved her and Amy forward. “Let’s get some drinks!”
They saddled together at the bar. First one shot, then another of vodka going down their throats. The celebration quickly turned competitive as they competed to see who could drink the other under the table. Everything suddenly seemed glassy through Tracy’s eyes. She struggled to concentrate.
She felt something warm and moist slip between her lips. It’d taken her a moment for Tracy to realize that Cass had Frenched her. She pushed away as her friend toyed with her tongue, yet even as Cass groped her. It felt strange, yet it also felt good. The episode must’ve lasted a few seconds by her estimation but it felt like forever.
As she excused herself, Tracy struggled to account for the awkward feelings. She chalked it down to the alcohol. Everyone knows how it removes inhibitions. That must’ve been what happened—there couldn’t be any other explanation. Her musings were quickly interrupted as she bumped into a snappily dressed young man, his crisp white suit standing out amidst the garish wardrobes among them.
“Excuse me?” He said. “Are you the young lady at the bar?”
“What bar?” She slurred.
“The one in here, silly.”
“Oh.”
“I couldn’t help but notice your performance earlier.” He smiled. “I can’t say I’m displeased.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The French kiss with your friend over there?” He pointed to Cass.
“I wouldn’t read anything into it.” She waved her hand dismissively. “It was just a contest that got out of hand.”
“Well if it isn’t any trouble when the night is over maybe you and the girl’s can come over to my place and when can start a little ménage a trois? Though it’s probably more like ménage a rechaud.”
“Not interested. Now if you excuse me, I have to pee.”
The young man grabbed her wrist.
“I insist.”
She froze up. This had been the stuff of her nightmares. She’d been warned about something like this since she left school. Her mother insinuated it; her R.A.s bludgeoned it into her head and the humanities department practically crammed it down her throat, especially a certain militant psych professor. Now the nightmare was coming true, and she was helpless in the face of it.
Minutes stretched into hours. Her mind whirled. Yet suddenly out of nowhere a strange man appeared, a very tall, dark, handsome man.
“Let her go.” His voice seemed to carry throughout the club. “She’s clearly not your type.”
“Who are you?” The would-be rapist sniveled.
“A man with integrity, unlike you.”
The young man raised his fists, yet he was quickly manhandled and thrown to the ground.
“Let that be a lesson to you.” His assailant hovered over him. “Next time it might not be a bruised rib.”
“This is not the last you’ll hear from me.” The man in the white suit whimpered. “Do you know who I am? After my lawyers are through with you, I’ll—”
“Save it for the judge.” Tracy’s rescuer escorts her away.
“That was awesome.” She blushes. “For a minute there I thought I was a goner. How could I thank you?”
“Don’t bother.”
“I didn’t catch your name—”
“Jeremy. Jeremy Hill.”
“Tracy. This is my first time here.”
“I don’t want to keep you waiting.” Jeremy interrupted. “I’m sure your friends are getting worried about you.”
“Don’t worry about them.” Tracy brushes them off. “They know I’m ok.”
While they continued to talk, she learnt to her astonishment that they have surprisingly lot in common. Both are transplants—she from the South, he from the Pacific Northwest. She studied psychology (English Lit didn’t work out as well as she hoped). He pulled double duty, majoring in biology and English in preparation for law school down the road. Both liked to read trashy novels ironically, especially Tom Clancy’s.
Yet as the night wore on, she finds herself being pulled inexorably towards him. It could’ve been the vodka talking, but there she swore she felt a connection. Tracy found herself going back to his dingy apartment on the other side of town, stepping over weeks-old clothes. A copy of National Geographic lay prominently on the coffee table in the living room. The place is a typical bachelor dive, yet she doesn’t seem to mind.
“You know how I said I didn’t know how to thank you?”
“Yeah.” Jeremy shrugged
“I think I know how now.”
She caught him off guard, planting a long, deep kiss. Their tongues commingled in the embrace, his saliva mixing with hers. Slipping off the sleeves of her dress, she guided his hand to her bra. The fabric is soft and inviting. Jeremy could only imagine what lay beneath, yet he froze, unable to make sense of the gesture.
“I’m not sure we should go through with this. It doesn’t feel right.”
“Relax.” Tracy traced her fingers along his jowl line. “I want to do this.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s my choice.” She kissed him again. “Not yours.”
Her dress fell away to reveal her ample cleavage, long red hair cascading down her shoulders. Jeremy found himself in awe of this modern Venus, too real to be believed. Yet she stood before him, every inch as real, and every bit as willing to surrender to him. She straddled his naked frame after he’d undressed, urging him on to greater and greater sexual heights with each panting breath.
They came many times that night. After many years of technical virginity, Tracy had given up the one thing she thought she’d never lose to a man she barely knew. They’d occasionally see other people, but something in the air changed them both that night. Some call it kismet; others fate, but her gut told her she’d never met another man like him again.
And she never did...
An orgasmic scream transports Tracy back to the present, startling even her.
“Are you okay?” The hostess knocks on the door. “The guests next door heard a noise and—”
Tracy growls and puts on her bathrobe.
“I’m fine.” She answers the door with a wan smile. “I just...stubbed my toe, that’s all.”
“Well if you need anything, let me know.”
Closing the door, she slides into her PJs and yawns. She glances at the manila envelope and asks herself if it was worth opening. But she’s tired, and weary. Tomorrow is a new day.