Helluva Luxe Read Free

it encompasses whatever you’ve got from personal affects to decor: Any shade is acceptable when paired with enough darkness. That’s right, ladies. You can be as girly as you wanna be if you’ve got plenty of accoutrements brandishing spikes or the word “Bitch.” Preferably in cursive. It’s important to be an individual, certainly, but it’s more important to maintain your edge. So go on and paint those Jan Brady walls, but only if you scatter them with, oh say, sexy pulp fiction pop art in chunky black frames.
    “These paintings are incredible,” I said.
    And clearly originals. I could see texture and movement in the brushstrokes. There were eight in all, each depicting a strong, voluptuous woman beside a strong, voluptuous tag line. Embers crackled from their slim cigarettes, and their legs were as lean as their smiles. I wondered how the bartender slept at night with all that come hither in the room.
    “Yours?” I asked.
    “Ash painted them for me.”
    She creaked open a cabinet in the kitchenette and took down two mugs. Then she started digging around in the fridge and came up with a stained glass decanter. She popped the crystal plug and started to pour, grinning to herself.
    “Ash painted the ladies hiding in here, too, if you want to come check them out.”
    I walked into the kitchenette and took a closer look at the cabinet doors. Sure enough. They were crawling with women.
    The bartender went on.
    “She also did the ones sprawled across the ceiling over the dance floor. Not many people know about those because it’s so damn high up there. She’s a modern-day Michelangelo. You should see what she did to the bathroom. Not an easy place to drop your pants, that’s for sure.” She gestured toward one of the black accordion doors. “Ash says she doesn’t decide where to paint her women. They’re already there, waiting to be seen.”
    “Ash?” I finally asked.
    She set the bottle down and looked at me, puzzled. “The DJ,” she said, as if I should know. “And the owner. Her name is Ash.”
    My stomach quivered, then got hot. The bartender handed me a glass and nodded toward a fat red leather chair, lined with black cushions shaped like lips. I sat down and slid back. Every muscle in my body relaxed but one.
    “Thanks,” I said. “For your help and for the drink.”
    She fell into the futon across from me without spilling a drop and kicked her boots up.
    “Not a problem,” she said. “You kinda remind me of my brother.” The words materialized between us, hovered for a moment and dissipated.
    “Why would you say that?” I asked. Not something a guy wants to hear. Especially a guy with designs.
    “I don’t know,” she decided, boldly examining my face for clues. “Maybe it’s the shirt.”
    She winked at me then and downed half her drink.
    “I never make excuses for my wrestling shirts. Even to girls with knives in their hair.”
    She refilled both glasses and settled back again, completely comfortable with silence. Evidently, she had no trouble watching me, either. Her eyes were heating the room.
    “What’s your name?” I asked.
    “Rorke.”
    “In the last life or in this one?”
    She raised her glass to me.
    Another moment passed.
    “Where are you from, Nick?”
    “That depends,” I said.
    “Where were you last?”
    “Salem.”
    “Witch Capital of the World?”
    “The very one.” I nodded.
    “Why’d you leave?”
    “What makes you think I left?”
    “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”
    We locked eyes for a beat.
    “Do you always drink this much?” I said.
    “Only on days that end in why.”
    As she reached to take my glass, I realized it was empty. I didn’t say anything, just watched her get up and walk over to the sink. She ran the water and dried the dishes with a lace tea towel that said “I Like it Wet” in red cursive. I tried not to smile.
    “I’d stay away from Naenia’s bunch, if I were you,” she advised, palming something from one of the