Angel in a Red Dress

The office buildings towered over him, a frozen tidal wave of glass and metal threatening to crash down. A herd of vehicles left clouding fumes in their wake, their passing lights unveiling sacred crystal structures. 

Alone, with a naked vulnerability, he was a dust mote floating at the mercy of the frigid wind, flowing with the breath of the city.   

A tall woman wearing a tight evening dress, the colour of blood, sashayed over and yanked him into existence. Her smile triggered a sugar sweet sensation that trickled down his chest.

“Hey, honey. You looking for a good time?” She touched his arm. At this moment, feeling another human’s electricity prickle his goosebumps, he wondered, am I human?

“I want to be inside.” He stated, his words hard to find. 

“Well, I have an apartment down the block,” she caressed his arm. 

Indulging in the loving rub, he closed his eyes, feeling the river of running motors and squealing brakes wash over him, “Yes.”

Her giggle was like the babble of a spring brook. “You seem pretty fucked up.”

The tone implied a familiarity he took with faith, trusting her to lead the way. They weaved through the undulating pedestrians, their stares assaulting him. Adverting his gaze downward, he watched his thumb lick the silver band embedded on his finger. 

***

Her apartment was swamped with a musky odor that seemed to stain the lights yellow. The front door led to the kitchen, overflowing with dishes and torn packages, frosted with white plastic bags. They trekked through, her heels stabbing the soft linoleum, and entered the living room. A black CD player was displayed on a throne of painted plywood with pillars of CD cases on either side. There was a wooden rocking chair with a flattened Looney Tunes cushion strapped to it like a beaten hostage and a blue polyester couch sprouting a mound of clothes. 

“Sorry for the mess, I just got over the flu.” The tall woman said.

He did notice her voice seemed oddly gravelly. Studying her as she swept a clean spot on the couch, he took note of her stick figure with pointy hips that jutted through her frayed red dress. There was a multicoloured aura that fell over her, he followed the colourful rays that were shooting out of a tree sitting on top of a table. “You have a tree in your house.”

There was a concerning moment of silence, did he say something wrong?

“It's 100 for just a bj, if you want more it's 150 half an hour and 240 for one hour.”

His brain lit on fire as it did the math, the digits connecting, feeding and reproducing. “That’s a 20% discount for one hour.”

Again she fell silent, her thoughts hidden under her powdered face. “So, one hour?”

“I believe that’s the best option, yes,” he answered while being transfixed by the kaleidoscope of lights emitting from the small tree.

“Okay dokey, I’ll just change into something worth your money. You can put the cash in the jar,” she pointed at a calcium stained fish bowl. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Her absence sucked the warmth out of the room. Closing his eyes, he fell into a cosmos of red and green, every star cold and lifeless. Opening his eyes, he realized that none of this was familiar to him, he was a foreigner, lost and confused. Surveying the land, he discovered a tower of radios tucked away in the corner. Drifting towards it, he saw some had their covers on, but others had their green innards exposed, while some looked like cribbage boards, tinseled with wires.

A stomping of footsteps grew as the woman returned, her dress peeling off her shoulders. “I forgot my purse,” she said and went to stride back out.

“What are these?” he asked, wanting to keep her in the room, afraid he would forget he was human again. 

“Radios, I like building transistor radios. Here.” He noticed big blue veins webbed the back of her hand as she reached past him, he turned to watch it flick a switch while her flowery scent nuzzled in his nostrils. A trumpet of static blared out of the radio, sizzling through his head. The sharp fuzz felt lethal as it rattled his skull. A pattering of snare drums broke through, driven by a bass that marched through the static and then, an angel sang through the fuzzy audio clouds, “I have no gift to bring, that’s fit to give our king.”

For a moment he didn’t know if his eyes were opened or not, colours flickered around a pulsating gold. Another angel whispered in his ear, “Better?” The velvet singing dripped to the back of his head, numbing it with a glorious sweetness. 

“Yes.” He heard his voice fall down a waterfall of music, letting the melody carry him to the backstage of a Christmas play. A pleasant pine wood essence spiced the air. He was an eight year old boy, dressed in a white shirt with matching jeans that were soaked with urine. Laughter frothed behind the propped up wall, all adults snickering at him. As his head seared with heat, he prayed, thanking God his father couldn’t make it today. He repeated the prayer, over and over, closing his eyes, etching it into reality, writing it out to the heavens, ‘Zack was here.’ 

A ringing snaked through the music, he opened his eyes, he was back in the dank city cave. The woman was gone. The ringing was wailing from a wall mounted phone, its intestines hanging below its plastic body. It burped a beep and began speaking, the tall woman, her voice riddled with hissy pops, spoke, “Hey, you know what to do.” 

Her voice was replaced by an older woman’s, “Hello Zachary, this is your mother, giving you a call. We’re all wondering how you’re doing this Christmas Eve?” The voice choked.

The tall woman shuffled in, her satin robe shimmered like liquid.

“We want to know when are you coming home?”

Plucking up the receiver and setting it back down, the voice died. 

“Who’s Zach?” he asked, hopeful that it was him, that he was human.

“Don’t worry, he’s not home right now.” She turned her smile on, “You’re still dressed?” her eyes shifted down to his waist. Sauntering towards him, she reached out and fondled his soft fruit through his pantsuit. Her face hovered over his, her hot breath tickling his mustache. With her other hand, she unlocked his belt and whipped it off.

The image of the belt dyed the air, leaving a ghostly trail. He reached out towards it as he felt his pants fall and his boxers pulled down. Looking down he saw her blonde wig bob around his knees as she stripped off his shoes. Picking up his pants, she folded it and rolled it up like a poster.

“You doing laundry?” he mumbled. 

Her drawn on eyebrows hooked up, “You’re gonna have to pay extra for that, darling.” She walked away, placing his discarded clothes on the coffee table, she paused, “There’s no money in the bowl. Do you not want to do an hour?”

He woke up, remembering he was tripping, his old high school friend had given him foul tasting seeds. What were they called? A chuckle boiled over him, his friend said they might be strong, looking at the transvestite hooker who was staring back at him, he had to admit they were indeed. 

“What do you want, honey?” She asked, letting the belt drop on the coffee table, the buckle clinking on the glass. 

The memory of how he got there felt like a dream, the details fading away as he pieced through it, what exactly happened, how did he get here? He put the fragmented pieces together, this hooker must have seen his Armani suit, his Royal Oak watch and his Gucci dress shoes and pinned him as a mark. Once she saw how incapacitated he was, she saw a goldmine. He knew what game she was playing, pointing at her, he said, “I know who you are, trickster. You spider, catching drunks on the streets, luring them back to your feeding nest.”

“Huh?” she seemed genuinely perplexed. 

“Don’t bother playing dumb with me. I know your sales tactic. I’m a CFO at Bluerash, and I’ve battled dragons, you think a spider will catch me?” Panic surged within him as he felt his sanity dissolving again. The trip wasn’t over, it was coming in waves. Heading to the door, he scurried through the cramped kitchen. 

The spider shouted after him, “Where are you going?”

“I got to get out of here, while I still have both my kidneys!”

“Don’t you want your pants back?”

“Ha!” he shouted, “I’m not falling for that!” He slammed the wooden door shut.  

 Crossing the threshold, he realized he had no memory of going up to the apartment. Looking down, he saw stairs circling along the sickly yellow walls, only to discover they had no steps. The grey carpet stretched across the smooth ramps. The thin metal railings wobbled, waving in the heat of the building. There was no getting around it, he had to go down the carpeted slides. 

Approaching the edge, he gripped tightly on the loose railing and dipped himself into a sitting position. Pushing himself down, he braced to slide, instead, the carpet stuck to his bare bottom, causing him to bounce; filling his hair with static. 

Making it to the bottom of the first ramp, he grabbed the railing to peer down. A pink spark shook him, he was awakened by a honk that echoed through the parking garage.

Heavy bags were tearing into his hands. His wife was walking ahead of him, holding Lucy’s little hand, who was doing her best to keep up, her pink sandals clapping the concrete ground. 

They stopped at a red minivan and she began tearing the bags away from him, her eyes never meeting his. “Why are you giving me the silent treatment?” the words vomited out of him. 

Sandra, the woman whose eyes he would love to get lost in, glared at him with rage. “This isn’t the time, Edward.” 

Seeing worry glaze his daughter’s face, he looked away and leaned to Sandra’. “Why? Because you want to stay mad at me?”

“Because it’s Christmas.” She said turning her back to him.

He couldn’t believe it, the nerve on her, he scoffed and dropped the bags. Sandra’s head sagged when she heard this, knowing a fight was unavoidable. It was her fault, he thought, she should have said something as soon as he told her he couldn’t be home for Christmas, instead of quietly nodding her head and saying, “Okay.”

But it wasn’t okay, he knew that, he knew she would not say a goddamn thing because she’d rather take it out on him in her passive aggressive manipulations. “Oh, it’s Christmas, I forgot it’s Christmas.”

“Eddy,” she said.

“Oh no, let’s not talk on this holiest of holy days. What a crock of shit. You act like it’s so special, yet you take us to a mall instead of a church. It’s a commercial holiday, conjured up to dupe the consumers into buying shit before the last quarter ends, but God forbid I’m not home on the days marked on the calendar because it’s so important to you.”

She nodded her head as she crossed her arms, “You done?”

“Yep,” he said and walked away.

“Daddy.” Lucy’s meek voice ricocheted off the concrete walls, “Daddy.”

Pain enraptured his soul as his rage carried him on. Embarrassment ripped into him, never did he think he was so small and petty, but here he was. He thought, ‘Now what do I do with this information, knowing I’m less than human?’ His body coiled in flaming regret. 

“Daddy.” 

A coldness pressed against his forehead, he peered through the metal railing, they extended down a dark chasm. “Where are you going?” An angel bellowed from above. Craning his head back, he saw the step-less stairs led to a blinding whiteness. 

“I’m going down, I don’t want to live anymore.”

The angel laughed at him. “Come back up, stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

Sighing, he closed his eyes. The truth sank in, he can always go back up. Except when he looked up he saw the ramps too steep to climb.

The soft voice of the angel spoke as a hand breached the cascading white light, “Get up, you’re going to get shit stains on the carpet.” It was the tall woman, her silky robe caressed his wet cheek. 

The stairs now had steps, he shook his head and looked back down to find the stairs led to a dimly lit hallway, three stories down. Looking up, he saw the plain white stucco ceiling. Disorientated, he let her lead him back to her apartment. 

Back in the warm amber suite, he felt nauseous and fatigued, he didn’t know if he wanted to throw up or fall asleep. The cold outside wafted over his bare buttocks as the woman swung the door shut. 

“Now,” she sighed, “What are you on, dude?”

Glancing over his hunched shoulders, he said, “Morning Glory seeds.” That’s what it’s called, he thought. 

“Okay,” she gently pushed him through the kitchen. “Never heard of that one before. So, you’re just tripping your balls off?”

Nodding his head, he stopped and shut his eyes, holding down his upset stomach. Swallowing hard, he felt the woman’s hand rub his back, her long nails catching on his dress shirt. “I don’t have any money,” he felt obliged to tell her.

“I know, I went through your pockets, all you have is a hotel key.”

That made sense, he left the Hilton in a hurry. He remembered being suddenly afraid of the phone in his room, believing Sandra would call any second to divorce him and take Lucy with her. 

“You just need to chill for a while, until you come back down to earth.”

Clearing the couch completely so he could lay down, she let go of her perfect posture and seductive hip thrusts as she rummaged around, hunched over with an arm full of clothes. Patting the dust and crumbs off the cushions, she said, “Here.” Without hesitation he sank into the couch, feeling the rusty springs moan under him. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked curling up into a fetal position.

She gave him a side eye, “Because … you’re human.”

The way she said this made it seem like it was the most obvious answer but it wasn’t to him. He wondered if he ever knew what being a human meant. 

“You want to listen to music?” She asked, tweaking one of her radios.

“Sure,” he sighed.

“What kind?” The stations buzzed in and out.

“Christmas music?” He asked, hoping it would anchor him to this time and place, terrified another wave would come and carry him away again.

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

Craning his head up, he saw she had taken off her wig, exposing her masculine features. “You don’t like Christmas music?” 

“No.” She plopped down in a rocking chair, its creaking cackled under her. ‘Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer’ played as she rocked back and forth, her eyes drifting off.

“Yeah, I hate it too.” He said.

With her bare leg hanging over the armrest and her head leaning off, she glanced at him, “Why do you want to listen to it then?”

Shrugging with his free shoulder, he replied, “It seems safe. Like a happy place.”

She shook her head and stared at the ground, “Not to me, it just reminds me of when I embarrassed myself in front of the whole school.” Her chair creaked along with the music.

“What happened?” he asked, somehow knowing what she was going to say.

“Well, I was in elementary and my school was putting on a play, the Littlest Angel, ever heard of it?

“Nah,” he yawned. 

“Well, I was the understudy for Jimmy Masterson who was playing the titular Littlest Angel. It made sense he had the the voice of an angel and everything else, looks, charm, everyone loved him, including me. 

“Anyways, what he didn’t have was a strong stomach, he ended up locking himself in a washroom stall, so I had to go up. Stuff in a wardrobe two sizes too small, I looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy. 

“Well, Jimmy had a weak stomach but I had a weak bladder and ended up pissing myself. I was hoping people wouldn’t notice but when it came time to hug Jesus, he definitely noticed because he ran the other way. Everyone lost their mind.” She chuckled and looked over at him. Her smile dropped when she saw his eyes. 

“That sucks.”

Her chair stopped rocking, the creaking fell silent. “That’s all I wanted, to sing my heart out on stage, to play the angel and I fucked it up. Story of my life.”

The song changed to ‘Let it Snow’, filling the silent room. 

“You were my angel,” he felt compelled to say.

Snorting, she averted her eyes from him, “What?”

“When you came down the stairs, you were my angel. Thank you, for taking care of me.” 

“Don’t worry about it, I know what it’s like to lose your mind. Just be grateful that you’ll get it back,” her chair began creaking again, “Thanks though.”

As he came back down, they stayed under the twinkling electric tree, seasonal melodies lullabying them from a tiny, tinny speaker. They exchanged childhood memories, some funny, some happy, some sad and a lot much too dark for this meager Christmas story. A deeply intimate night, it was the best Christmas gift either of them would have never asked for. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep, content that he was human, while she hushly sang along with the radio.