The Night Has Teeth (7 page)

“Your parents must have died!”

Amara looks alarmed at the very idea. “Why would you
say such a thing?”

“It’s just a turn of phrase,” I jump in, knowing
that the expression was lost in translation.

“A rather morbid one.”

I let out a sigh, unsure of what to say next.

“So, Arden―” Josh starts.

Before Josh can get any more words out to start a
conversation, Arden lopes quietly away and slumps into the far
corner of the sofa, from where he can glower at his surroundings
and keep a watchful eye on Amara. I consider taking the opportunity
to mend the fragile fence that’s been raised between us. When I
turn to follow him, his eyes lock on me in a venomous stare while
his jaw moves infinitesimally, as though he’s grinding his teeth.
Already, I regret this chaperone situation. When I do an about-face
to try and salvage the other conversation, I see everyone heading
to the dance floor. There’s nothing for me to do, so I head to the
bar.

As I make my way through the crowd, I catch sight
of a girl across the floor. She walks in my direction, and there’s
something about her that makes me slow my pace. My mind instantly
thinks of the painting,
The Birth of Venus
, from art class. Even though she looks like she’s
about my age, her features seem like they come from a different
time. She has a high forehead, ivory skin with rosy cheeks, a long,
elegant neck, flowing waves of strawberry blonde hair and a curvy
body. Even her ivory dress appears to have some kind of Grecian
drape. As she slinks toward me, it seems that her eyes are trained
my way. If I had a much higher opinion of myself, I might even say
she was staring right at me. I glance over my shoulder to see who
she’s looking at, expecting to find someone like Arden. When I turn
my head back, the girl is right in front of me. I take a step aside
to move out of her way, but she stops next to me and says
something. The music and adrenaline course through me, so I have to
lean close to hear her.

“Pardon?” I say.

She mirrors my gesture and with a lilting Irish
accent repeats herself. “I said, do you like what you see?”

My face flushes. Clearly, I was ogling her and now,
to my great embarrassment, she’s calling me out on it.

“I’m so sorry, I―”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Y ― you’re not mad?” I stammer.

“Should I be?”

“I’d prefer it if you weren’t,” I
admit.

She tosses her hair back, smiling broadly. Honestly,
I don’t know how to react. I’ve never met anyone like her before.
As though reading my mind, she says, “By now most lads offer to buy
me a drink.”

“Right ... can I buy you a drink?”

Her emerald eyes flicker over my shoulder for just
an instant, like a candle flame. Part of me waits for whatever it
was that her eyes went to behind me. Maybe a jealous boyfriend
storming our way to angrily interrupt the moment. I suddenly get
the sense that maybe this is just a ploy to mess with some guy’s
emotions. She moves in and I can feel her breath on my ear as she
speaks.

“That would be lovely.”

After what feels like an eternity, she pulls away
from me and I can breathe again. I turn to make my way to the bar,
taking a good look around for any surprises. Nothing. Not that I
can see. Maybe it was my imagination. At the bar, I order a beer
for me and something local called a Kir Royale for her. As I turn
to walk back to the mysterious girl, I’m suddenly grabbed tightly
by the throat. Right, the angry boyfriend. But I’m face-to-face
with Arden, who’s wild with rage. There’s something very dangerous
about the look in his eyes. Our faces are just a breath apart. It’s
not nearly as pleasant as my experience just moments before.

“What’re you doing?”

The question is more of a guttural growl than a
sentence.

“Nothing,” I manage to croak.

“Who is she?”

“I don’t know,” I squeak. “Just some random girl
who wants to hook up, I guess.”

Arden scrutinizes me for a long minute before
releasing me. I make a big show of shaking him off and
straightening myself out again. Well, as best as I can with a drink
in each hand.

“What’s it to you anyway?” I seethe, my voice
strained.

“You’re asking for trouble.”

“Whatever, Arden.”

Looking back through the crowd, I see that she’s
caught the antagonistic exchange. I walk back across the floor to
her slowly, trying to think of something cool to say to recover
from whatever just happened.

As I hand the drink to her, she simply says with a
tone of amusement, “Angry boyfriend?”

I glance quickly back. “Yeah, but not mine.”

“For a moment I thought I was barking up the wrong
tree.”

She slips her free hand into mine and guides me
toward the dance floor, where I freeze as the bodies of strangers
press up against me. I watch her sway rhythmically. All I want to
do is tell her that I don’t dance, have only ever failed at
dancing, and have no idea what I’m doing. As everything around us
undulates like a living organism, the realization that I’m actually
here with this beautiful girl somehow makes me lose my inhibitions.
I start to move with her. But my lack of coordination causes me to
almost stumble into someone: Madison.

“Hey,” I greet with a nod.

“I thought you didn’t dance.” Her tone is light
yet accusatory.

“I don’t.”

“Clearly, player,” she teases, her tone turning
whimsical.

From behind, I feel a presence and am surprised to
find Amara has moved in to sensuously dance between me and the girl
whose name I don’t yet know. If I thought Arden was out to get me
before, this situation certainly isn’t helping. At the same time, I
make a mental note to wear this shirt more often. I shimmy past
Amara to get close to the mysterious girl again. She appears to be
taking it all in stride.

“Well, I suppose I ought to leave you to it then,”
she tells me, removing something from her purse. “But, my lamb,
will you give me a ring sometime?”

I feel her press a card into my hand, and I glance
down to scan it quickly and ensure this whole scenario hasn’t been
some kind of elaborate joke at my expense:

Boadicea Faelen

Associate, Boguet Biotechnology

1 place des Saisons

E-mail: [email protected]

“How do I pronounce your name?”

“Bode-ih-SEE-ah,” she says silkily, her tongue
rolling playfully over every syllable.

I repeat the name, thinking how clumsy my accent
sounds around the syllables.

“And what shall I call you, Mr.?”

“Lewis. Connor Lewis.” I most certainly did not
intend to sound like James Bond.

“Ta, Connor Lewis.”

I stand dumbfounded as she disappears into the
crowd. Gone as quickly as she came. While I watch her leave, I
catch sight of Arden striding toward me, and I slip the business
card into my shirt pocket. Here comes the moment I’ve been
anticipating. When he gets to me, I flinch at his raised hand. As
quick as a fox darting across a road, his fingers lift the card
from my possession.

“Hey!”

While playing keep-away, he reads the print aloud.
When he’s done, he exchanges a brief look with Amara. Then, with
his eyes fixed on mine, he flicks the card out into the dance
floor, where it’s instantly lost among the throng. I can’t hide my
disappointment. Instead, I down my drink and make a move toward
him.

“What the hell?”

“Boguet Biotech?” he growls. “That name reeks of
trouble.”

“So, what’s it to you?”

In the instant that my foot crosses the invisible
line of his personal space, his palm pushes back against my chest.
I fly back against the wall, just a few feet away. The force of the
blow as my torso makes impact winds me instantly, and I lean back
into the cool surface to keep myself from collapsing. Amara moves
between us protectively — as though I would even think of
challenging him at this point. Meanwhile, Madison gives Arden her
deadliest stare yet as Josh stands by me, clenching his fists and
ready to settle a score. As much as I appreciate the loyalty of my
new friends, I force myself to swallow my pride (and my pain).

“Forget it,” I wheeze. “I was out of
line.”

We stay at Club Cin-Cin until closing time in the
early hours, during which time I try to overcome my extreme
discomfort with dancing by looking around for simple cues on how to
move. Amara reins in her boyfriend enough that I don’t see him for
the rest of the after-party, and I put the incident behind us — for
now. At the end of the night, we make our way out of the club.
Madison is giggling by my side as we walk out into the chilly
autumn night. The others are caught behind us in the end-of-night
crowd. As we step outside she trips and stumbles into me. When I
catch her by the elbows she doesn’t instantly cast me a dirty look.
Her skin feels hot compared to the coolness in the air as I pull
her aside from the doorway. For a moment all I see of her is the
bright red of her hair below my chin. When she gazes up at me, her
expression is filled with ― joy. Those hawklike eyes of hers are
softened somehow as they stare up at me. No laser beams. Her hands
are curled up at her throat and she’s unfurling the fingers slowly,
moving them out toward my chest.

Just as she’s about to make contact, Josh calls out,
“There you are!”

This interruption puts the kibosh on whatever was
going to happen next. Her fists clench tightly and she bites her
lip, looking repentant as she takes a step back out of my grip.

“Where’d you go?” he asks, the answer clear before
his eyes.

“Nowhere, killjoy,” she tells him while still
gazing at me. “We’ve been right here making out the whole
time.”

His expression is one of hurt. Even I can see it. I
try to will him into looking over at me so I can shake my head and
let him know it’s not true. He’s staring at Madison as though she
just ripped out his heart and is now feeding bits of it to the many
pigeons of Paris. She takes one glance at him and tosses her head
back toward the sky.

“Take a freaking Xanax, Josh,” she finally says.
“I’m kidding.”

He tries to smile, but it barely registers and winds
up coming off as irrepressible twitching around the mouth. I’m
actually kind of relieved to see Amara and Arden come out from the
club among the end of night stragglers. The last thing I want is to
be any part of sorting out the awkward history of my new Canadian
friends.

“How are you making your way home?” Amara asks
them.

They exchange a glance before Madison replies,
“Métro, I guess.”

“Where do you live?” she presses.

“By Vincennes Woods,” Madison says. “Josh lives
near Père Lachaise Cemetery.”

“The last train leaves shortly. At this hour, you
will not be able to make a transfer to Château de Vincennes
station.”

Surprisingly, Arden flags down a taxi. Rather, he
steps out in front of one to make it stop. After being honked at
and cursed at in another language by the cabby, he replies in rapid
French then hands the man some cash, which has the effect of
cooling his temper. Money is a universal language and it speaks in
a pretty clear voice. Arden promptly opens the back door, motioning
Madison inside. She slides in and Josh is about to follow, but a
palm pressed against his chest stops him. With a slam of the door
and a quick pound on the window, the taxi pulls away, safely
transporting Madison back to her boarding house while Josh is left
staring after her.

Arden asks, “You have two legs, no?” He takes Josh
by the shoulders, spins him around, and points ahead. “Métro is
there. Two minutes. Come with us.”

We’re shepherded down the sidewalk. Amara and Arden
are in tow but they hardly say a word as we walk down the emptying
streets toward the nearest Métro station. Now that we’re out in the
quiet of early morning, exhaustion finally hits me.

“Dude, what the hell just happened back there?”
Josh whispers.

“Damned if I know.”

My usual fascination with the green iron archways
that mark the stairs leading down to the subway is dulled. From all
outward appearances I expect to enter into some surreal version of
a public transit system envisioned by Tim Burton, full of
Oompa-Loompa ticket agents and trains that look like giant
mechanical worms as they wind their way beneath Paris. During our
descent into the depths of the city’s subterranean world, my vision
of Transit in Wonderland fades. The stench of urine wafts up to
greet me. The Paris Métro system is massive and impressive in its
complexity, but it’s old, and it seems like some of the corners
have become public toilets. I pull the neckline of my shirt up over
my nose. While my senses adjust, I take a moment to look at the
route map that stretches out like a rainbow-patterned spider’s web.
Josh is headed in the other direction, so we part ways at our
respective train platforms. The time posted on the electronic
display shows it’s just after two in the morning. Much later than I
imagined. Luckily, the last train of the night hasn’t come by yet.
As we wait, Amara attracts a lot of attention, if not for her
beauty then for her tattoo, and Arden scowls at the offending
eyes.

When the train arrives, I sit across from them
trying to keep my focus elsewhere in case he gets the wrong idea.
All I want is to slump into the comfort of my bed and put
everything behind me. Sure, it was a nice boost to my ego to get
the attention tonight, but I have to chalk it up to a temporary
glitch in the regular programming that is my life. I can count on
one hand the times that girls have actually flirted with me, and
each time I failed to realize their intentions until well after
saying something inappropriate in response to their advances.
Personal life history aside, there was something really weird about
the whole turn of events at Club Cin-Cin. I’m the guy who stands at
the edge of the dance floor wondering why he even bothered showing
up. That’s the last thought I have before nodding off, completely
oblivious that my entire life as I know it is about to change.