Page 36 of Lie with Me
The car pulls into an underground garage and then parks. When we get out, CJ escorts me to a nearby elevator. The parking garage is completely deserted. There isn’t another vehicle or human being in sight. I’ll admit my imagination is now working overtime. We step into the elevator, and CJ pushes the number twenty-seven. As the elevator whisks us upwards, my anticipation grows. Where are we going? A gala? An elite private dinner? An auction maybe? I want to know so bad I could bust. When the elevator dings and the doors open, we are met with a loud rumble of a well-dressed crowd, bright lights, and vibrant atmosphere. CJ hands his invitation to a very large, intimidating black man who is guarding the elevator door. He takes the white card and scans it under a black light. It lights up with invisible letters. The man nods and then steps aside so CJ and I can enter the room. I am completely bewildered by now as CJ leads me through the bustling space to a set of doors. He throws an excited smile back at me, right before he opens them. As soon as they swing on their hinges, I hear the distinct sound of a bell. My jaw drops as we enter the room. In the dead center, surrounded by elegantly set tables, is a boxing ring. It’s a vast contradiction to what I know. There are two men throwing punches as a moderate crowd looks on. I stare up at CJ, completely confounded. He just grins, his playful brown eyes glittering in the spotlight.
“I’ll explain everything at our seats. Come on.” He jiggles my hand and walks to a table front and center, ringside. We’re served champagne the second we sit down by a white-gloved waiter. I take a sip, eagerly awaiting this explanation.
“Do you like boxing?” CJ asks as one of the fighters takes a jab straight to the nose.
“I do, actually. My father is a huge fan of the sport. We watch all the fights.”
“Who’s your favorite boxer?”
“David Lemieux.”
“Why him?”
“He’s hot.” I shrug.
“Oh, really?” CJ laughs.
“Yeah. Do I need a better reason?”
“I guess not.”
The round ends and the fighters go back to their corners.
“So are you going to explain all this to me, or what?”
CJ flashes me his signature rascally smile. “It’s a fundraiser of sorts. For wounded warriors. Once a year, a group of veterans called the Punch puts together an underground boxing match. Most of these guys are ex-military. It’s an honor to be asked to participate, but it’s no-holds-barred, bare knuckle fighting.
“Easier chance to get hurt?” I ask.
“Pretty much, but the bragging rights are for life.”
“I guess that’s worth the internal bleeding,” I quip as I take another sip of the dry champagne.
“It is,” he confirms confidently. The bell dings and the fighters return to the center of the ring. They dance around, throwing punches while the entire room yells for one of them to go down.
As we watch, a man approaches our table and CJ stands to greet him, shaking hands like old friends. He’s tall, with jet-black hair, a five o’clock shadow, and a huge scar slashed diagonally across his left eye. His presence actually makes my heart race. Even though he’s dressed in a formal tuxedo, you can feel his feral energy and see the rawness in his hazel eyes. I standguardedly as CJ introduces me to one of his oldest friends.
The man named Slade extends his hand, and I take it tentatively as he looks me over like a ribeye steak ready to eat.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” His voice is kind, but his smile is cagey.
Finally?
“Nice to meet you, too.”
Slade and CJ exchange a few words while I stand huddled under CJ’s arm. He doesn’t like me to go far, and at this particular moment, I’m thankful for that.
With a polite good-bye, Slade walks off into the cluster of tables behind us just as we are served pasta. I don’t realize how hungry I am until I smell the fresh tomatoes and basil.
Throughout dinner, two things continuously happen. One, CJ never removes his hand from my thigh. It’s as if it is superglued there, and I don’t mind one bit. Two, people constantly stop by to say hello to him, like he’s a celebrity in the room. Everyone seems to know who he is. He introduces me to each person, never once making me feel invisible or forgotten. There are many veterans, as well as active military, in attendance. I met one man who had two amputated legs but the most upbeat personality. He was absolutely an inspiration. After speaking with him, it felt like my insides were glowing. When I got dressed earlier this evening, I could have never prepared myself for the amazing people I was about to meet.
By the time dessert is served, it is nearly impossible to wipe the smile off my face. It’s an odd combination—gourmet food, boxing, and formal wear—but somehow, it works.
“Excuse me.” Someone taps the microphone in the middle of the ring. I’m sorry, not just someone. Slade.
“I want to thank everyone who came out to show their support to our veteran and wounded warrior program. Fight Night has been a long, outstanding tradition in the military community. It has raised hundreds of thousands of dollars over the last fifteen years, and tonight has only added to that running total.”
The room applauds.
