Rae Chapter 1

Chapter one:

She didn’t go out often, but when she did, she did so irresponsibly.

            A high-heeled black boot crossed the threshold out of the apartment and continued with its partner down the deep maroon carpeting towards the elevator.  Behind her, the door hung wide open.  It didn’t matter.  There was a bunch of nice shit in there, but it wasn’t hers.  It was Rachel’s stuff.  That snobby, stuck up bitch who squandered the best hours of the night trapped like a deer in headlights before her computer, working, working, always fucking working, pandering to the shittiest sort of men there were, the ones with control who made women work harder in the office because they couldn’t keep their erections in the bedroom.  And Rachel let them.  Rolled over like the insufferable shit that she was and let them have their way with her.  Pathetic.

            Rae stepped into the lavish elevator with its deep colors and fine attention to detail, detail that was lost every day on the IPhone and Blackberry obsessed pricks who could afford to live here.  She hit the button labeled “G” and as it lighted to her touch and the elevator began its silent descent she toyed with her long, springing black curls that spiraled across her exposed shoulders.  No ponytail for this girl.  They called it power-hair in the offices of the world, pulled up tight and commanding, but Rachel knew what real power was.  The power to draw eyes with a subtle turn of the head, the power that drew eyes to her face then her low-cut cleavage and then all the spoils that lay beyond, spoils so revered and tempting that man would cast himself from Eden itself for the price of a single, passionate night.

            The door opened on the fourth floor and a couple walked in wearing evening wear that probably cost more than most cars, as though it could divert any watching eyes from the fact that they were both overweight and aging badly.  Rae gave them both a small grin as she slid towards the back of the elevator to make room, then waited for the magic to begin.  It didn’t take long.  As soon as the elevator began moving, she caught the man’s beady eyes in the reflective surface of the elevator door.  She saw it – savored it – that moment when he saw she knew and began to avert his eyes, but the hooks were already in.  She pulled his eyes back with a languid, knowing smile.  He couldn’t help but watch as she raised a slow hand to her hair and swept it back across her shoulder, kept the hand in motion, skimming it across the pale surface of her collar bone.

            The elevator opened to the ground floor and she quickly moved to exit first.  Rae couldn’t see the couple anymore, but she could already hear their fight starting in her mind as they stepped into whatever town car or limousine would bring them to the night’s destination.  Hear the woman being sullen, passive aggressive.  Hear the man asking what was wrong, hear her snide remark about how his eyes had lingered – and right now, they certainly were – on the swaying ass of that harlot from the elevator, the one with the smooth red dress and the black high-heeled boots.  It wouldn’t have been the first time.  With men, it really never was.  And who knew what lay ahead for that squabbling couple?  Maybe a night spent rehashing issues they’d thought long since patched up, or ones never spoken aloud in the first place?  Heavy drinking, heavy anger, either or both forcing them closer to their inevitable dissolution?  Or maybe – oh god, how she relished the thought – separation and divorce?  Ray would never know.   That was the beauty of it all.  She sewed the seeds of chaos and never checked on the trees that sprung forth.  It could end up whatever shriveled, decrepit shrub or diseased crop that she imagined.

            That was power.

            Her steady stride brought her up to the study in marble and fake gold that was the reception desk.  There was a bell on the desk, but she had no need to ring it.  She was fireworks on a great set of legs, loud, bright, and splendorous.  Already the young man down at the other end of the desk was hurrying to finish his exchange with the sweet old woman with whom he was speaking, only an ingrained sense of servitude and love of a continued paycheck keeping him from hurling the old woman her keys and catching the raven-haired vixen before she escaped into the night, before she no longer needed anything from him and his lowly position.

            As she waited her eyes wandered about the bustling lobby, gliding over the unspeakably plain individuals who decorated the gorgeous hall.  Rae decided she quite liked this place.  She hated Rachel for her near obsession with working but, in the end, couldn’t argue with the results.  Money was power, the same as sensuality.  It was a motivator nearly as old as sex, after all.  The drive to own things, to possess as much as possible, to collect more and more.  She wouldn’t hate the girl so much if she only knew how to use that money once she’d made it.  What was the point of a six figure income if one didn’t flaunt it?  Oh sure, the high-rise apartment building was a

nice touch.  Yet what was the point if one never left their room?  Never rubbed it in the face of those around them?

            Well, if Rachel wouldn’t use the money properly, then Rae would do it for her.

            The young man finally disengaged the old woman and hurried over to where she stood.

            “Good evening, Miss Claymont,” he said, his smile cordial and his eyes hungry, “how might I help you this evening?”

            Rae leaned over the desk slightly and laid a hand across his.  “Please, Kyle, I’ve been living here for more than a year.  You can call me Rae, if you’d like.”

            She could feel his pulse raising ever so slightly, see his smile slide into something more earnest, more eager.  “Very well madam.  Rae, I mean.”

            He was a cute one, and she gave him a small titter for his troubles.  “See, Kyle?  Was that so hard?”  She let her hand fall away from his, allowing her fingertips to graze lightly across his skin.  “I was wondering if you’d be a dear and call me a cab?”

            “Of course, ma- … Rae.  Of course.  But, um…”

            “But what, Kyle?”

            “Well, it’s just that there are cabs waiting outside.  It’s a Friday night, after all.”

            She smiled wider.  “Oh, I suppose I could grab one of those.  I just thought I might like some time to linger in the lobby.  Enjoy the… company.  Although if you’d rather I leave right at this moment…”

            “No, no, no, of course not, Miss… Rae.”  His veneer was finally breaking down.  Color rose to his cheeks, his smile flickered with doubt and desire.  The hooks were in, all she would need to do was reel in the catch.  Unfortunately for poor, poor Kyle, Rae was after bigger game tonight.

            She stood up straighter, pulling her purse closer to her stomach in an outward show of insecurity. And if that motion also drew attention to her cleavage, well… surely that was incidental.  “No, you’re right, Kyle.  You’re absolutely right.  I should go.”

            “Wait, please,” he said, his voice tellingly high and desperate, “I didn’t mean that you should-”

            Rae turned away and hurried – just enough to look slightly ashamed of her forwardness, not enough to lose the sultry sway of her hips – towards the door.  It took every ounce of self-control to keep the smile from her face until she had made it through the revolving doors.  Poor, poor Kyle.  She’d see him again, of course, but never again would he get such a direct look, a pointed look.  He’d fixate on the moment and wonder, perhaps for years, what he had done wrong in that moment to turn her away.  What might have happened if he just hadn’t mentioned the cabs outside, or been less boyishly nervous in front of the beautiful – and likely rich – woman in red?  Would she have stayed?  Would they have slipped away to somewhere more private?  A quick, passionate fling in the lobby bathroom?  Or conversely, perhaps an even worse opportunity to have missed… would they have just spoken together? Found that they had things in common?  Gone out for drinks and dinner?  Eventually have gone somewhere more meaningful, found something real, something beautiful and bright in this dark, horrible world? He’d always wonder.  It would be yet another missed opportunity in an unfulfilling life.  Who knew what terrible, shriveled crops might rise from that field of what ifs?

            Ah, this was turning out to be a wonderful night out indeed.

And it was only just beginning.