Black and Blue Ivy

Luther Black

I shivered on my way to the venue, but by the time Bentley and I entered the throng of warm bodies, I was glad I left my coat in the car. Bentley, ever the classic dresser, wore his usual Oxford cloth shirt with the button down collar. But he'd added a black leather jacket which definitely gave him some edge. And speaking of edge, I'd never seen so many black outfits in my life: guys in black jeans, strategically ripped to expose tattooed flesh, and girls in leather or vinyl mini dresses with fishnet stocking and towering boots. The hairstyles were just as wild.

Bentley clasped my hand tightly, parting the tightening crowd like the prow of a ship and steered us closer to the stage.

"See that?" he said, indicating the side exit. "Always stand close to the exit, especially with this crowd."

"Why?" I asked, looking around.

"Sometimes these shows get pretty rowdy." Bentley cocked his head toward a few young men muscling their way to right below the stage. "If a fight, or God forbid, a fire breaks out, we'll be the first ones out of here."

"A fire?" A flash of fear rippled through me.

"Worse case scenario." Bentley squeezed my arm, "I'm going to get us a couple of beers."

"Wait!" I tugged on his sleeve. "We're not old enough to drink."

Bentley flashed me a smile and yanked his wallet from his black jeans. "I never showed you this?" His wallet flapped open and I saw a PA driver's license.

"Your license, so what?"

"Read the fine print, my dear."

I grabbed his arm to pull the license closer. The light was dim inside the venue, but I could make out his birth date. "This says you're twenty-one!"

He winked. "But don't tell anyone."

Bentley turned and I watched his blond head bob through the sea of black-clad youth.

Wow, I thought. Bentley sure seems to know his way around the world. But the fact that he seemed so comfortable with faking, with lying, gave me pause. Had he ever lied to me, I wondered.

Brushing away the unpleasant thought, I gazed at the crowd. There were a few what Morningstar would call "old heads" in the crowd, middle aged men mostly wearing faded Slayer t-shirts and sporting long, but grey and thinning, hairstyles. I noticed a few biker types, rough looking men in leather jackets and face tattoos. One of those men caught my eye; I flicked my gaze to the stage. The opening band was just about to start. I felt an electrical current of excitement as the crowd surged forward. Someone standing next to me pressed against my side and suddenly I was glad to be standing near the exit. Just in case...

I smiled with relief when I saw Bentley squeezing his way toward me, brandishing two bottles of beer above the crowd. "Christ! I had to fight my way to the bar. Here you go Ivy." He handed me a beer. "Cheers." He took a long swig and smacked his lips. I wasn't much of a beer drinker. I had gotten so sick once after sharing a 40 of cheap malt liquor with a girl at the skate park that I vowed to never drink anything resembling beer again. Still, I took a small sip. It tasted cold and refreshing. I smiled at Bentley. He smiled back and brushed my long bangs from my eyes. Then our eyes locked and his smile faded.

"What?" I said, feeling self-conscious suddenly.

"Just marveling at how beautiful you are."

My heart thudded. The surging crowd pushed us closer together. The heat of Bentley's pelvis pressed against my side. Suddenly, the light inside the venue changed from warm pinks and ambers to blacks and blues. He leaned down and kissed me. His breath had that fruity beer smell, but I didn't mind.