CHAPTER FOUR: Dark Shapes

October 22nd, 2013

Under a lamplight in the center of the gym parking lot, Fred leaned up against his blue sedan and waited. The parking lot was otherwise empty except for the large box truck parked near the gym’s entrance that read Clean-Rite on the side. The gym was closed and only a few dim lights remained on inside.

Fred had arrived two minutes early. After seven minutes, he got out of the car, too restless to sit any longer. He considered that perhaps this was why Beth was always so upset with him for being late. Waiting and wondering if Leila would ever show was torture.

A set of headlights floated down the street and turned into the parking lot. Fred could only make out a rough shape of the car behind the searing headlights. The exhaust rumbled like a cigarette boat and the car drove passed him and glided to the farthest side of the lot.

Must not be her…

The car swerved 180 degrees and, with its beams aimed at Fred, the engine roared and the lights grew larger. The car was speeding right towards him. Fred braced himself and the car screeched to a halt only three feet from his car.

“Oh my God!” Fred’s entire rib cage shook with the beating of his heart. The driver's door creaked open and the click of a heel landed on the asphalt. Fred watched as a silhouetted figure rose from the car.

“"Hello?" Fred called out to the dark shape beyond the headlights. 

The headlights blinked off and bright circles danced in his eyes as they adjusted to the darkness. At the confirmation that it might be her, Fred grew tense. There was a pressure in his throat, as if two fingers were pushing at the notch between his clavicles. He stretched his neck to ward off the strange sensation, but his beating heart annunciated it instead. 

"Shit!" she said. She groaned and slammed the door shut.

At the sight of her, Fred's entire body grew warm.

She was average height with perfect curves and long dark hair. The whites of her eyes glowed next to her heavy black eyeliner and her red lips stood in stark contrast to her complexion. Her face was impossibly smooth, as if Fred had just airbrushed her skin in a photo.

What he would give to photograph her.

Fred now understood the implication that she wasn’t his type. By looks alone, not only was she far from boring, it was almost as if she were wearing a costume. She wore a black leather jacket over a white t-shirt, black jeans, a thick belt, and black studded boots that cut off at her ankles. He pictured the bagged costume in his hands, the label reading Hot Dangerous Girl with a picture of Leila winking on the cover.

She walked towards Fred and stopped short to look him up and down. After a moment, she smiled as though seeing a long-lost friend. “Frederick?”

“Leila?” He was awestruck.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, duh!” 

They stood silent, unsure what to make of one another.

What should he say? Nice to meet you? How’s it going? What’s up? These responses seemed foolish. The situation was unprecedented. You got my phone? No! He needed to slow down the transaction, not speed it up. That was the only way. He needed time! He needed to get into a conversation! Get her number! Say something! Anything! 

The silence ran its course. Dammit! “So… do you have my phone?” Fred asked.

Leila shrugged. “Uh, I don't, actually.”

“Funny,” Fred said.

“No, really. I forgot your phone.” 

“You… what? You forgot it?” 

“Yeah, Frederick!” Leila said. She pushed his shoulder.

“What do you mean, where?”

Leila scoffed, folded her arms, and rested on her hip. The gesture and her stance implied she was not about to take any responsibility for this mistake.

“So, wait, wait.” His laugh echoed through the parking lot. “So, you came here to give me my phone, but you forgot the phone?”

“Yes sir, that’s what I did.” She waved her hand and bowed as if before an audience. As she did this, her perfume wafted into Fred’s nose. The scent was a floral amber; like Ibiza and soap mixed with champagne. His legs weakened, and the scent imprinted onto his brain.

“So…” His voice trembled. Get it together, guy! “So, what now?”

Her lips curled, and she peered up at the sky. Her head danced as she juggled her options. “Screw it, just come over,” she said. “Follow me, I can run inside and grab it.”

“Oh, you think I’ll just go to some strange girl’s house?” Fred smiled.

She held her heart. “Ow, Frederick. Well, if you don’t want your phone, I guess I can find a grandma to sell it to.”

They laughed.

“What’s your address?”

“Just follow me,” she said. “It’s like ten minutes from here.”

Fred got into his car, but she was already off before he could turn his key. He panicked and sped towards the parking lot exit. She turned left. By the time he turned left, she was almost fifty yards ahead of him, rolling through a stop sign. Fred considered that maybe she was trying to lose him. That wasn’t possible, was it? Yet just as he managed a steady pace, the Buick turned right onto another street. He caught the turn and empty water bottles tumbled like bowling pins in his backseat.

She turned left and then right onto the next street. Fred hadn’t seen a single brake light flash above the faded Patriots Super Bowl XXXVIII sticker that was stuck to her bumper. The hot girl was dangerous. After what seemed like ten minutes of dizzying turns, the Buick parked in front of an old two-family house. 

Leila was already walking towards the house by the time Fred put his car in park. She turned to him and waved into the house. Fred’s heart burst. Was she inviting him inside? His blood boiled and sent sparks through all the nerves in his body. He opened his window, popped his head out, and pointed to himself. “Come in?” He called across the lawn, a childlike surprise in his voice. 

“Yeah dummy, come-on!” Leila said. She walked up the steps towards the entrance on the left. 

“Uh—okay,” Fred said. He regretted the sound of his own voice. It sounded young and self-conscious. Be a man! Puff out your chest! Stand straight! He exited the car and took a breath as if about to lift a heavy object. “You got this, Fred.”

Got what? He didn’t know.

What he knew was that whatever he hoped would happen, would not happen. It would be nothing but a platonic, businesslike engagement and, in less than two minutes, he’d be walking back to his car with his cell phone in his pocket. She would not try to seduce him. She would not make a move on him (nor would he on her). Every time Fred thought something exciting would happen, it didn’t. He knew what to expect; she’d have a big tough boyfriend inside who she’d point out casually before she turned over his phone. His expectations were mere fantasies, predestined for failure.

Leaves crunched underfoot as he walked across the large front lawn towards the house. Leila disappeared into the black rectangle doorway. He glanced up to capture his surroundings and noticed the beauty of the night sky. Glowing clouds floated next to a bright, full moon that was set against pitch black space. Fred, in his photographer’s mind, smiled at the idea of God working in a cosmic photo-editing software, moving the dial of His contrast slider all the way to the right, kicking up the whites, and crushing the blacks. The night was beautiful and, yet, between the dark house and the street ––where leaves scraped along the street under dim, overhead lamps — the night was ghoulish. It brought him back to a childhood Halloween when he had been just old enough to capture the view. In his memory, the dreary, disturbing celebration of death and horror had, in its aesthetic, an odd, undeniable appeal. With the scene before him now — the house, the dark night, the unknown that was Leila — that same shadowy aesthetic stared back at him. It felt wrong, but it felt fun.

Fred walked up the steps and squinted into the blackened entrance of the house. The distant light from the far end of the hallway traced an outline of Leila. She didn’t move, she didn’t speak, but he felt her eyes on him. The only sound was the chatter of dried leaves on the road behind him.

A chill shot up his spine and a sudden dread urged him to turn and run back to his car. His legs fought in both directions. Part of him saw a giant knife emerge from the darkness, jam itself into his belly and drive up into his sternum. Another part of him saw a flash of Leila’s red lips and dark eyes. He imagined her curves between his hands. A hint of her perfume wafted in the air, reached out, and tickled his nostrils.

Fred shuffled forward.

The pressure in his throat traveled to his temples.

He swallowed his fear and offered a slapstick smile to the darkness. “You know there was once this inventor, Thomas Edison? He invented this thing called a light bulb,” Fred said. “Is that why you stole my phone? You need money for light bulbs? Coz I’ll donate if you—.” 

She took his left shoulder and slammed him into the wall. Before he could process the pain, her cool wet lips pressed against his. The lips withdrew for a breath and then returned. This time, her mouth was open, the heat from her breath inviting him to part his own lips. She kissed him with urgency, in a fight between catching her breath and going in for more. Her arm slid around his neck and drove his face further into hers. It took everything in him not to whimper as they recited poems in French to one another. She gave him her weight and he pulled her hips into his. Holding her was just as he had imagined. She fit inside his arms like the last piece of a 25-year-old puzzle.

The entryway flooded with bright yellow light, and Leila withdrew her mouth from his. Her eyes locked onto him as cold air flooded the space between them. The air highlighted the wetness that she had left on his lips. The way she stared at him was as if she had marked him somehow. She had. 

He moved to pull her back in for another kiss ––in his mind, a kiss in the light would confirm that the first one happened ––but she was already walking down the hallway. He caught himself and glanced to his left to curse the light switch that had pulled him from the dreamland of their kiss.

At the end of the hallway, Leila glanced at him over her shoulder and turned into the kitchen. Fred caught his breath and walked down the hallway, passing a living room and a dining room on his right. Before reaching the kitchen, Fred’s attention drew towards another door on his left that stood open just an inch.

“Hey!” Leila called from the kitchen, stealing his attention. Fred turned to Leila, who was holding up his phone. “Eyes on the prize!” 

Fred turned into the kitchen which, with its turquoise countertops and dark wooden cabinets, reminded him of the 50s. Leila put a green mug and a blue mug on the countertop next to his phone. She looked up at Fred. “Coffee?”

Before he could answer, she was pouring coffee from a full pot into the mugs.

“Sure,” he said. Anything to never leave this moment. He still felt her on his lips.

“Cream, sugar?” She moved towards the fridge as if waiting on a despised table. She was different. Her airiness had faded.

Was he a terrible kisser? It didn’t feel terrible. “Uh, yeah, sure.” 

She opened the fridge and ducked her head inside.

“You got a roommate?” he asked.

Her head popped out from the fridge, her eyes wide. “Why? Did you hear something?”

“N––no, just asking,” Fred replied. He smiled in reassurance. 

She sighed, smirked, and then looked back at the fridge with contempt. “Oh shoot, there’s only milk here, no cream. That okay?”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” he said.

Leila closed the refrigerator and began opening and closing drawers, looking for something. She noticed the dish rack by the sink and grabbed a spoon. She poured milk into his coffee and began stirring. “No roommate, thank God! I’ve had enough roommates for a lifetime,” Leila said. She appeared light again.

Fred nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I hear you. I was relieved to find an affordable one-bedroom. How long you been here?” 

“Oh, about a year or two.” Leila took out a pink packet from her purse, which resembled artificial sweetener. She ripped it open, poured it into the blue mug, and slid it towards him. Fred hated artificial sweetener but, despite the jar of sugar in plain sight on the counter behind her, he would not complain. It was imperative to tread with caution.

He needed to kiss her again; if only to confirm it was real.

“You want me to spike it for ya, Frederick?” Leila said. There was a mischievous grin on her face, the grin he had imagined when they spoke on the phone.

“Oh…” Fred’s stomach burned. Maybe this meeting would be longer than he expected. “Sure, what do you got?”

Leila moved to the fridge, opened the freezer door, and pulled out of a large frosted bottle. “Vodge-cka, comrade!” she said in a Russian accent.

“Placebo, comrade! Or… passivo, or… whatever they say!” Fred said. They laughed. 

Leila filled both mugs with vodka up to the rim. She stirred her coffee, licked the spoon, and reached over the counter to mix Fred’s drink. When she stopped, Fred began blowing on the coffee.

She looked at him and scoffed. “Don’t be a wimp, Frederick. I shut the coffee off before I left to meet you, it’s not even hot.” She leaned over and slurped from her mug. Leila popped back up and shuddered. “Wow! I needed that! Woo!”

“You’re crazy,” Fred said. He bent, placed his mouth on the edge of the mug, and slurped a generous portion of the alcoholic, lukewarm coffee. He came back up and shivered. The vodka burned his throat. The chemical tang of artificial sweetener followed, and Fred tried his best not to cringe.

Leila picked up her mug and took another sip. She shuddered again from the vodka. “Strong! I hope you’re not too cheap a date,” she said. She pushed her tongue into her two front teeth and tittered. She held her eyes onto his, unflinching. 

As if to prove his tolerance, Fred picked up his mug and took a big pull. It was disgusting but worth every ounce if what he was so sure wouldn’t happen tonight was really about to happen.

“When you finish that, I’ve got some mint schnapps,” she said. “No one likes coffee breath, right, Frederick?”

Fred nodded and finished his coffee.

His phone, which sat between them on the counter, was the last thing on his mind.

As far as he was concerned, she could keep it.