Standalone Stories featuring Belle

TEQUILA EGO

TEQUILA EGO

At the lobby level, I hustled into the elevator and lit the R button. With my dark topcoat and baseball cap, I had on ideal attire for my solo mission. Tonight's agenda was simple: Sip liquor, stare at the skyline.

"Hold the elevator!" a man said, jogging toward me with his finger up.

I half-heartedly tapped thedoor openbutton, then lowered the bill of my cap. The stranger thumbed the button for his floor, then stared at me for not one, not two, but three painstaking seconds.

"Yo, hold on!" he said. "Are you, um... are you Brett Booth?"

I gave the guy the courtesy of eye contact and sized him up. He was a male between 18 and 34, sports jersey on, and clean collector sneakers on his feet. He fit the mold of what the studios claimed was my bread-and-butter demographic.

"Uhh, yeah, that'd be me," I said reluctantly. I glanced up at the indicator overhead.Shit.I'd have to endure some small talk before this stranger splintered off on 31.

"Big fan of your movies!" he said. "You've been my favorite actor since high school! What are you doing at this hotel? I'm only here for a night, celebrating an anniversary with my girlfriend. Bro, I gotta take a selfie with you!"

"Hey man, listen," I said, calmly removing my headwear. "No pic, but um, I'll give you my cap. Same one I wore in Diamond Heist 2."

"Hell yeah!" he said, happily taking the item from me.

"Do me a favor, don't post anything about me being here. Trying to be low-key tonight. Appreciate your support."

"You got it, Mr. Booth. By the way, I just saw your latest movie," he said, continuing this conversation I thought I'd just ended. "No offense, but there was barely any action. Too much dialogue. Felt like one of those Oscar-bait flicks that try to get you to cry. My girlfriend liked it more than me, actually."

Ding!The elevator doors swung open, saving me from having to respond to an unsolicited film review.

The guy stepped onto the carpet of the 31st floor, then turned around to say one last thing. "Maybe this'll sound crazy, but you're welcome to come to my room, meet my girlfriend. She loves you as much as I do..."

I furrowed my brows, staring at the guy, gauging his intent. He held his forearm out to stop the elevator doors from closing, then stuck his phone out to show me his lock screen; it was a photo of him and a gorgeous brunette holding hands.

"You're her celebrity hall pass," he added. "So, y'know, if something were to happen tonight... well... it'd be a personal honor, Mr. Booth. Add me into the mix, and I think we can both give her a night to remember."

I squinted out of reflex. As much as I loved bedding beautiful women, I preferred to do so privately. I didn't need excitable fanboys spectating, much less stealing my action. Nope, not my style.

"Take it easy," I said.

I pressed thedoors closebutton, eager to return to my original mission tonight: Booze! I needed it like Dracula needed blood. I couldn't wait for the burn in my throat, the buzz to the brain. I'd had a week to forget, and there was no better eraser than tequila.

***

At the rooftop level, the elevator emptied me into a short corridor lit by vintage sconces. The staffer manning the podium apologetically placed a hand on his chest when he recognized me.

"Oh, Mr. Booth! I don't believe you're on our list tonight. One moment, and we'll arrange a space for you and your party."

"No need nor party," I said, patting the staffer's shoulder before gliding past him.

When I cleared the entryway, the brisk breeze of high elevation smacked my face as my eyes surveyed the scene. A zig-zag of Edison bulbs hung above, tinting people and lounge furniture with an orange hue. To my delight, the rooftop bar was only half-packed, with no obnoxious music playing—the perfect vibe for me to marinate in.

When pairs of eyes landed on me, my paranoia took hold, and I feared other strangers had also just seen my latest movie, sharing the same thoughts asElevator Eberta minute ago. I quickly triangulated the shortest path to liquor and shuffled my feet to avoid further stares.

At the bar counter, I noticed a striking blonde sitting alone, dressed seductively in a plum-colored dress. She glanced in my direction for a millisecond, then returned to her conversation with the bartender.

I took a seat on the opposite end, turning my focus to the display of bottles along the back bar. The moustached bartender sauntered over to meet me, giving me the head nod, not wasting words with pleasantries, which I desperately appreciated.

"Tequila," I said. "Luna Roja añejo. Neat. Double."

"Coming right up." He turned to grab the tall-necked bottle that I was very familiar with. To my surprise, the bottle was basically full, making me question whether it was a fresh replacement or a stale dust collector.

The bartender smoothly slid my drink to me on a cocktail napkin. "Anything else I can get you?" he asked.

"Your honesty," I replied, drawing his attention to my glass. "Is this brand pretty popular here?"

"Luna Roja?" He chuckled, and the tips of his moustache curled up. "It's probably our worst-selling tequila."

I disguised a frown. "What are your thoughts on it?"

"Luna Roja's a hack tequila. It wants so badly to stand out, be smooth and versatile. But the additives, the syrupy taste, it hogs the taste buds. Doesn't know how to complement the agave."

"Hmmph." I slowly swished my glass, having yet to sample it.

"Doubt we'll restock it when this current set drains," he continued. "It's funny, though. Luna Roja's backed by that one actor, Brett Booth. Guy probably thought he could stick his name on the thing and rake in a profit. Classic celebrity ego. Anyway, you wanna open up a tab?"

I gave it a second, waiting to act, testing whether this guy knew who he'd just unintentionally insulted. Part of me wanted to give him my credit card as payment, so he could see the name on it, offer me an open bar as an apology.

I passed on the petty payback and fed him a bill, telling him to keep the change, despite the stray bullet in my chest. What was another puncture in a carcass, anyway? The internet was already having its way with me, from film critics to disappointed fans, panning my latest performance in a movie called Mersey.

Mersey was an ensemble drama I'd taken a supporting role in, on the advice of my manager.Stretch your wings,he said.It'll be good for your career, Brett!...Yeah, fuck it will, Jimmy! My manager couldn't have been any more wrong. The reviews this week were tearing me to shreds. The Times' chief critic, in particular, didn't hold back in his evisceration:

Booth selfishly hogs the frame, treating the material like he's the leading man in one of his mindless action servings. When it's clear a scene calls for nuance, a balanced give-and-take, Booth is helpless, incapable of harmonizing with the otherwise pitch-perfect cast.

My first thought when I read that shit? Had to be a hit piece. Maybe I'd fucked this guy's wife or sister without knowing it. But then, when other outlets were publishing variations on a theme... Well, fuck... What defense did I have against collective opinion? At some point, it curdles into a truth.

I took a tired breath, then brought glass to lips, funneling the tequila through, letting it loiter on my tongue before taking it down. The spice in my throat felt warm, protective, like hearty soup that doubled as Kevlar.

I swiveled on my stool to admire the skyline, taking another sip, allowing my brain to settle into a familiar, fuzzy mold. I felt heat beside me, and I realized it wasn't just the alcohol starting to work its magic.

Blonde hair filled my peripheral.

"Got a favorite skyscraper?" she asked.

I swiveled my head, and it was that alluring woman in the plum dress, now one stool over. Closer now, I culled her details: crystal blue eyes, high cheekbones, and an amount of makeup that didn't warp her beauty.

"I like those triplet towers," she said, pointing in the distance. "That skybridge that connects the three buildings looks fun to walk on."

My eyes struggled to stay up. I sensed her sexy cleavage below, her exposed thighs spilling past her short dress. She subtly raised her eyebrows, awaiting an answer to a question I'd already forgotten the words to.

"Go on, pick a skyscraper," she said. "Any one you like."

The friendly grin on her face was disarming. I took another sip of my tequila, then returned my sights past the parapet.

"I'll choose that jade-colored one," I said, pointing west of us.

"Really? That one looks like a penis. Look at the flared dome, the vertical grooves like veins. Even the glass elevator, with the streak of white light—it's like swimmers racing toward the tip. You almost expect fireworks to shoot from the spire."

I shook my head and smiled. "I think you might be projecting."

"Hmm, maybe I am," she said cutely. "What's your name?"

"Me?" I asked.

"No, the other person I've been chatting to about phallic high-rises."

I took a second, calculating whether this zippy spark of a woman knew who I actually was. My eyes clawed for clues, but her expression was a firewall. I couldn't read her to save my life.

"I'm Brett," I said.

"You look familiar. Have we met before?" she asked with discerning eyes.

"I doubt it. I would've remembered someone like you..."

"I'll take that as a compliment. My name's Belle. What are you drinking?"

"Tequila. Luna Roja." I nodded toward her pink-colored drink. "You?"

"Tequila too. A paloma. Clase Azul."

"Hmm," I said, pointing at the pineapple wedge hanging on her glass. "Palomas usually aren't served like that."

"It's just how I like my cocktail," she said, tapping my thigh as a rebuke. "Don't start judging, Brett. You just met me, friend."

My lips met my glass again, a heavier sip this time, drinking this woman in. Her vibe was sunny, mysterious, entrancing. I hadn't expected to engage in a flirty repartee tonight, but now that I was in the thick of it, I wasn't about to shoo away good company, especially when it looked as fine as Belle.

"Wanna try my drink?" I asked.

"I don't take drinks from strangers," she said, playfully demure.

"You don't trust me?"

"Should I trust a seemingly single man, alone at a rooftop bar, on an uneventful Wednesday? What's your story, Brett?"

"Let's just say I've been dealing with... work troubles. I needed a drink and a view to tune out the noise."

"What do you do for work?" she asked.

I chose to ignore her question, not eager to reveal more, feeling like it might sour the seasoning on our budding conversation. My own curiosity was tingling. My eyes gravitated to her fingers, where there was no sign of a ring. Was this woman as single as she was acting?

"What bringsyouhere tonight?" I asked.

Belle brought her lips to the black straw of her paloma, taking leisurely sips, like she was stalling for time. Then she grabbed the pineapple wedge from the rim of her glass and bit off the pulp, licking her lips after, cleaning off the juice.

"Well?" I asked, wanting an answer.

"I had dinner earlier at the hotel restaurant. And now I'm here too, enjoying a drink... and the view." Her eyes slithered down the length of my body.

"...And you're here by yourself?" I asked.

She demonstrably looked left and right at empty space to signal her answer, before shooting me that teasing smile of hers.

Amused, my eyes scanned the lounge tables around us, seeking a better explanation as to why a 10 like her would be riding solo at a place like this.

"You searching for the Wi-Fi password?" she asked, reeling in my focus, her quip only furthering my suspicion.

"You said you had dinner at the hotel," I said. "It's impossible to get a reservation at Tsukimi. How'd you score one?"

"I didn't," she said. "My friend's one of the sushi chefs. I got in easy."

"Interesting..."

"You seem invested in the details, detective. Would you like an hour-by-hour accounting?" Her playfulness returned, this time with a wink.

I downed the rest of my drink, wondering if this blonde was somehow playing me like a fiddle, having too much fun with me on a mundane weekday. I raised a finger to get the bartender's attention, signaling for him to pour me a fresh round. If I wanted to keep racing her track, I'd need more fuel for the turns.

"What do you do for work, Belle?"

"Hmm. I asked you the same question a minute ago. No answer."

"Ladies first," I said, smiling.

She folded her arms, which only boosted her juicy cleavage. "What do you think I do, Brett?"

My mind began spinning theories. Aspiring actress? Unknown singer?Luxury companion?The latter would make sense. I was at a high-end bar where middle-aged execs wielded fat wallets and loose desires.

"I've got an inkling," I said. "But I'm a gentleman. I'll keep my thoughts to myself..."

"...Ah, I see where your mind's at," she said. "Let's say I was one. Would you judge me differently? Frown upon my livelihood? My hustle? What if it was just a hobby?"

"I don't judge, Belle. But personally, I don't pay for this kind of thing. No offense."

"None taken," she said. "Because I'm not an escort. That's the truth, friend."

"Okay, so who are you then?" I asked.

"Let's keep talking, Brett... and maybe you'll find out..."

Belle and I shared seconds of searing eye contact, ignoring our bartender in the background who was refilling my glass.

"Put his drink on my tab," she said, never taking her eyes off mine.

My phone vibrated in the depths of my coat pocket, robbing my attention. I withdrew it and saw my manager's name.

"Shit," I said. "You'll have to excuse me. I gotta take this."

"Aw, do you, really?" she said. "We were just starting to have fun. If you're gonna ditch me, then I'm taking your drink."

I smiled and slid my glass her way. "Hold onto my tequila. I'll be back for it."

***

Phone to my ear, I'd isolated myself in the secluded corner of the rooftop. I wanted privacy, anticipating my manager's anger would make for savory tabloid gossip if overheard by hyenas.

"Where the hell are you, Booth?!"

"Calm down, Jimmy," I said. "Don't have a heart attack."

"You're supposed to be at this screening!" he said. "Your Mersey castmates are all here for the Q&A after."

"I'm excess. They don't need an 8th chair on the stage, trust me."

"That's not the point! You're contractually obligated to do press."

"Jimmy, look, the last thing I need is some troll in the audience calling out my performance."

"That's ridiculous! That wouldn't happen."

"It already has! Tonight! In an elevator! I even caught a stray from my bartender, about my 'sorry' tequila line."

"You're being paranoid again, Brett. Y'know, my wife even made it out to the screening, and you know Tina never comes out to these things. She wanted to see you... and apologize as well."

"Send her my own apologies."

"Where are you, exactly?" he asked. "I'll come get you right now."

"Don't bother. If the studio wants to fine me for flaking, then I'll cut them the check."

"Are you alone?" Jimmy asked.

"I wasn't, until you called."

He sighed over the line. "I see... Is she a fan?"

"That's the thing, Jimmy—she isn't. She's got supermodel looks and whiplash wit. Nothing's happened yet, but I'm invested, if you catch my drift..."

"Shit, alright, I guess I'll tell the studio you caught a cold or something. Just don't do anything dumb. Mersey might be an awards contender. It doesn't need a bad headline."

"You mean other than the ones about my acting?"

"Be kind to yourself, Brett," he said. "...And about Tina, she's wondering when you're coming over to the house next. She really wants to apologize to you in person."

"Maybe we'll find a time," I said cagily.

"Anything else before I let you go?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah. No more ensembles. No more dramas or serious material. I gotta get back to leading roles, action films, big-budget popcorn stuff. I'll make Diamond Heist 4 if I have to. Can you put some calls out around town? Ask Hammond if he'll direct."

"I'll get on it," he said.

"And another thing, reach out to my tequila partners. See if we can afford to tweak the formula for Luna Roja. Thanks Jimmy. We'll catch up tomorrow."

***

After my call, I returned to a busier bar counter than before. To my surprise, Belle was deep in conversation with another man. He looked on the younger side of middle-aged, sporting a dapper suit. They were close in proximity, with him standing, hands relaxed in his pockets, and her on the same barstool, my drink on her lips.

"There you are!" Belle said when she noticed me.

"Hey..." I said cautiously, trying to read the situation.

She reeled me closer. "Brett, this is... I'm sorry, what'd you say your name was?" she asked the man.

"Al," he said.

"Is that short for Albert? Alvin?" Belle asked.

"Just Al," he replied, confident and assured.

He turned to me and extended a hand. "Pleasure to meet you. Brett, is it?"

I shook his hand, then glanced at Belle, but her attention was already elsewhere. She had turned around to engage the bartender, leaving me to interact with this suave-looking stranger.

"How's your night going?" he asked me.

"Fine," I said curtly.

"Mine's trending up," Al said. "Just finished my work day. Happy now to enjoy a drink. And beautiful company, of course." He stole a peek at Belle's peachy bum perched on the stool.

"What do you do?" I asked, steering his eyes away, my competitive spirit suddenly lit.

"I dabble in investments," Al said. "How about yourself? Oh, hey, hold on... Aren't you that guy from those Diamond Heist movies? What's your last name again?" He snapped his fingers repeatedly, trying to jog his memory.

"Nope! I'm not him. I get that all the time," I said, in no mood for another fan encounter.

I looked at Belle, but she was still busy with the bartender.

I turned back to Al, then leaned in to speak low. "Hey man, don't take this personally, but Belle and I were having a private conversation before I had to step away. If you wouldn't mind, y'know..."

"What? Leaving?" he asked.

Belle suddenly swung back around to face us, holding three shot glasses full of something amber-colored.

"Saddle up, boys," she said, serving us the shots.

"What're we drinking?" Al asked.

"Luna Roja, reposado," Belle replied, winking at me. "Cheers! To new friends!"

I went with the flow, clinking my shot glass with theirs. We tilted our heads back to down the tequila. A warm flutter coursed through me, transporting me back to that blissful state I was in before I took my manager's call.

"Let's do another," Belle said. "That okay, Al?"

"Fuck it, sure, why not?" he replied, appearing pleased with the tequila's taste.

We took another shot of Luna Roja. And then a third time for the triplet, this time at Al's request. At this point, I was buzzing like a beehive. I ogled Belle; she looked so good in that plum-colored dress. My imagination flipped frisky, betting she'd look better with it discarded on hotel carpet.

"Alrighty, it's that time of night," Belle said. "It was nice meeting you, Al. I'm gonna head out with Brett. Thanks for the shots. Have a good rest of your night."

Al appeared surprised by the goodbye, his face turning to stone. Not only was he being shut out, but Belle was leaving him to foot the bill. I obviously wasn't going to protest here. I was thrilled to be thrust into pole position.

Belle interlocked her fingers in mine, then met my blue eyes, her own blues shimmering under the string lights.

"Shall we?" she asked me.