TO HAVE & HAVE NOT

10

Olivia

The next day, I was stepping into CeCe's apartment on Sunset Boulevard. The first thing that struck me was the vibrant decor that adorned the walls; tapestries of bold colors draped gracefully, mingling with eclectic art pieces peppered around the living area – everything from a surreal painting framed in gold to a hand-painted ceramic pot overflowing with herbs on the windowsill. The aroma of fresh chamomile wafted through the air, instantly soothing my worn-out senses. I felt a strange mix of comfort and insecurity; here I was, in someone else's home, clad in the wrinkled remnants of last night's outfit, still burdened by my worries and the overwhelming sense of displacement from my dire circumstances.

CeCe flitted about the kitchen as I took in my surroundings, her long copper hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of sunlight. "Here you go!" she chimed, handing me a chilled glass of water, her smile radiant and infectious.

I took a sip, the coolness refreshing my parched throat, a stark reminder of the luxury of something so simple yet so often taken for granted. Although my stomach churned with hunger, I didn't want to impose; I felt grateful for this small act of kindness.

We settled side by side on her plush purple sofa, "So what was his name?" she asked, her tone serious.

Confusion fluttered in my chest as I sipped the cool water, the refreshing liquid momentarily distracting me from the question's weight. "Whose name?" I replied, genuinely puzzled.

"The man who promised you entry into that party last night," she clarified.

I felt my stomach twist; the mere mention of him sent uncomfortable ripples through my mind. "Oh. His name is Mr. Waters," I mumbled, deliberately avoiding her eye contact as I wished more than anything to erase his name from my thoughts and forget what had happened between us.

CeCe's laughter rang out, sharp and sarcastic. She jumped up from the sofa, hands firmly planted on her tiny hips. "Oh really!?" she exclaimed, disbelief edging her voice.

"What?" I replied, bewildered, looking up to meet her intense gaze.

"I know Mr. Waters quite well," she said as she plopped back down beside me, a sense of crafty determination radiating from her.

In an instant, the atmosphere shifted; I felt her grip on my hands tighten, grounding me in the moment. "Let me ask you something," she said, her expression growing serious, "Do you believe in karma?"

A rush of uncertainty coursed through me as I shook my head slowly. "I don't know. Why?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. "He's going to get what comes back around," she said in a voice laced with evil, "and you're going to be the one to serve it to him on a cold dish." Her declaration surprised me, followed by an evil grin that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Panic rose within me, and I shook my head vigorously. "I can't do that. I'm not capable of blackmail, CeCe," I protested, my voice trembling just slightly as the weight of the idea settled uncomfortably around us.

She leaned in closer, undeterred by my feeble objections. "Well, not right now. But give me a week, and you'll be fine," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, her soothing and unsettling touch.

"You want me to seduce him?" I asked breathlessly, my cheeks flushing with disbelief and embarrassment. "I can't seduce a 60-year-old man!" I exclaimed.

She, however, only smiled wider, her eyes sparkling with mischief and confidence as she nodded in encouragement. "You can," she proclaimed, her belief in me unwavering, "And I'm going to teach you."

We dove into lessons that felt more like playful concoctions of wit and charm than mere strategy; she explained how to engage him with my laughter, the kind that made his eyes crinkle with joy, and how a well-placed compliment could light up the grey of his demeanor. We practiced the art of subtle glances that lingered just long enough to spark intrigue and crafted stories from our hearts, weaving them with just the right balance of innocence and allure.

With each session, I shed my anxieties, metamorphosing into someone who could enchant rather than just exist.

The thought still sent butterflies flitting around in my stomach, but as we concluded our lessons, I found a strange confidence blooming within me, and I whispered to myself, "Maybe I can do this after all."