The Disappearance of Valentina Moreno

Chapter 4b - Casanova

It’s now ten PM, and I’m tugging at the micro-sized black dress, hugging my body while staring into the mirror. According to Julian, nothing in my closet was good enough for Casanova, so he insisted I borrow a garment from his sister Sofia for tonight. Except it was a bad idea because I was not built for this bodice.

“Are you done fussing with the dress?” Julian stands in the bedroom doorway, tapping his watch. 

“Maybe,” I huff at his reflection.

“You look hot. Don’t overthink it. We don’t kill ourselves at the gym for you to be picking apart your body.”

“I’m not.” I adjust the strapless neckline.

“I can see the wheels of criticism spinning in your head.” He strides up to me and places his hands on my shoulders.“Stop being self-conscious.” 

“My boobs are too small.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got the ass to make up for it.” He spanks me, and I gasp. “How does a white girl end up with a Latina booty?”

As the words tumble from his lips, my eyes dart to his, and neither of us has to say it because Valentina Moreno is still a hovering murky cloud, waiting to unleash a monsoon of doubt again. 

“That was dumb. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine.” I wave my hand and then tug on a smile.“Besides, there’s plenty of white girls with big booties.”

“Like Jerry’s daughter.”

“Oh, God. Please don’t start with Winnie again.”

Tossing his arm over my shoulder, Julian guides me out of the apartment while torturing me with filthy fantasies about our boss’s daughter. I know he’s only doing it to pull me away from the bottomless pit of Valentina Moreno. 

And it’s working.

When our Uber double parks in front of Casanova, I’m a little buzzed from the to-go booze Julian prepared for us. We slip out of the eco-efficient car, and I nearly stumble over my feet, but my dear friend steadies me.

“You damn lightweight.”

“It’s these heels you forced me to wear!” I scowl. 

“They make your calves look badass. Now stop complaining, and push your tits out because we’re having a good time tonight whether you like it or not, and you will have a shameless make-out with some random guy.” 

“Ugh, why?”

“Why not? Live a little.”

“Fine, but that means you can’t kiss any girls. Tonight you are my wingman, and I can’t have you wandering off with some chick wearing a napkin-sized dress, ok?”

“Deal.” He extends his elbow, so I smooth down my borrowed dress and slip my arm through his.

As my heels click across the pavement, I must admit we make quite the handsome pair. He’s wearing a black button-down shirt to match my dress, and he has the sleeves rolled to his elbows to show off the ink on his forearms. The outfit would look rather simple if it weren’t for the diamond-encrusted watch or the gold chain peak-a-booing from under the shirt. 

Together, we approach the front of the line the way Lisa instructed and let the bouncer know we’re her guests. His fingers move across the tablet in his hand, and then he tells us to hold out our wrists before placing bracelets around them.

“Show this to one of the bouncers, and he’ll take you to your booth.” Then he steps aside and motions to the open door swathed in darkness. “Have fun.”