Boys and Burlesque

by Ripley Proserpina

  For a while, it had done what I needed it to do. It protected me. So when people called me a whore, or a slut, or men tried to grab my ass, it didn’t touch me.

  But with the boys, I didn’t need it. They were my armor. They were my protection.

  The suit fell away, clattering to the ground where it disappeared into smoke.

  I opened my eyes. “I love you, too, Westin.”

  His eyes opened wide, filling with tears that rolled out the corners and down his face as he gathered me so tight I couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t need to.

  And I held him just as tight.

  The boys were watching us, their breathing loud, echoing off the marble floor and tiles. I kissed Westin’s face before turning away to look at Josh, Brant, and Landry.

  They stood so close, poised like they were ready to sprint to the end zone.

  “I love you.” I met each one’s stare. “Josh. You brave bastard. Landry. Brant. I fucking love you. And I forgive you. All of y'all. It hurt what happened, but we were kids. And we’re stronger now. So if you want me…”

  They swarmed me. Hands touched me. Arms held me. Lips kissed me. Wes’s declaration about taking me was forgotten in this moment. There was only us, trying to be better and clearing eight years’ worth of hurt.

  At some point, we all ended up in a tangle on the hard floor. My legs were draped over Lan, my back against Westin. I held Brant’s hand and played with the long locks of Josh’s hair.

  My ass was asleep, I was covered in scrapes, but I’d never been so comfortable in my entire life.

  “I’m lying here,” Josh’s head was propped on Westin’s leg, “and I’m thinking about how fucking old I am because there’s a crack in the ceiling, and I think, for the prices people pay to live in New York, it should be in perfect shape.”

  I snorted, turning my chin toward the ceiling. Sure enough, there was a long crack in the plaster. “To be fair, who sits on their bathroom floor and stares at the ceiling?” I asked.

  “If you were in the tub, you would.” Brant jerked his head toward the clawfoot tub about ten feet away. “You could live in this bathroom. It’s half the size of my apartment.”

  It was pretty big. The whole place was massive. It made the disparity between my life and theirs apparent, but I wasn’t embarrassed about it. There was an easiness between us now, that—I hesitated even to think it—was just like it should be.

  Like it used to be.

  The doorbell rang, and the boys tensed. “Miss Belle?” It was Mike.

  One by one, we stood and made our way down the hall. I forgot where my crutch was, but Brant put his arm around my waist and helped me hop.

  Landry opened the door, revealing not only Mike, but Al, Nick, Steven, and two men who must be NYPD detectives.

  “Did you find him?” Landry asked.

  “Can we come in?” It was hard to tell one detective from another. They were both pale, had short haircuts that followed the shape of their skulls, rumpled suits, coffee, and dark circles under their eyes. However, the one who spoke seemed slightly younger than the other.

  Landry opened the door wide enough to let everyone in. We made our way to the living room, which had plenty of seating for everyone. I caught the younger detective glancing around, taking in not only the furnishings, but the view, while the older one seemed interested in the boys. He stared at each one, like he was mentally cataloging their features and trying to work out who they were.

  I should probably get used to that. I didn’t plan on letting them go anywhere.

  I followed the older man’s gaze to Wes and Josh. In the bright sun streaming through the window, I saw again how dirty they were, and unlike me, they hadn’t cleaned themselves up. Wes rubbed a hand down his face, leaving a streak of gray over his skin. Those hands had been on me earlier. I glanced down at my outfit. I was wearing black, but there were streaks all over my clothes and a well-placed handprint on my chest.

  Oh well.

  We’d just survived someone trying to kill me—I earned that caress.

  “I’m Detective O’Bryan and this is Detective Santaw. Your security team, as well as LVPD, filled us in on what’s been happening—”

  Westin interrupted him. “What did you find?”

  Detective O’Bryan sat back, annoyance flashing across his face. “The investigation is ongoing.”

  “Shell casings? Bullet holes?” Westin ignored the clear shutdown. “Fingerprints? There’s got to be video.”

  “Yes,” Detective Santaw, the older man spoke. “All those things. We’re reviewing tapes. We have what LVPD didn’t have—fingerprints. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Your security team has no leads on a possible suspect,” O’Bryan said, glancing at Mike.

  Poor Mike. He had aged about ten years in the last hour, but he sat up straight and met the man’s stare. “We have too many leads,” he said. “It’s easy to offend people when there’s hiring and firing. And Miss Belle’s job leads people to make certain assumptions about her—which leads to threats.”

  Next to me, Josh tensed. “What kind of threats?’’

  I knew my team intercepted emails, voicemails, and letters from angry people. I knew those things existed. My team hadn’t always been this big, there was a time when I opened those hateful things, but it had been a long time. And after Jonathan, I had hoped they’d lessened.

  “Most of them seem run-of-the-mill, but the problem is, we never really can tell which ones are genuine until something happens and we can put the pieces together.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Westin grumbled.

  I was with him, but I saw the point. If I got seventeen messages that all told me to go fuck myself, and one of them happened to be from the same guy who’d shot at me, then we could compare fingerprints and have an a-ha! moment.

  “Steven is taking us through the files of people who have been let go for one reason or another. Hopefully, those prints will be usable. We just need your patience.” Detective O’Bryan’s gaze went right from mine to Westin’s. “Is there someplace you can go?” he asked. “Somewhere no one knows of?”

  I could stay anywhere in the world I wanted, but I couldn’t go anywhere. There was rehab. Meetings. How could I possibly just up and leave?

  “We have a place.” Landry side-eyed at Westin, who nodded his head. “We could go there while you do whatever you need to do.”

  “I can’t,” I answered immediately. “There’s too much to do.”

  “There’s nothing that matters more than your life.” It was the first time Steven spoke. He stood straight, and though he was pale and sick-looking, he stared hard at me. “You’re going. Wherever it is. Don’t tell me. Don’t tell anyone. Just go.”

  “But—”

  Steven strode toward me, knelt at my feet, and gripped my hands. “For the love of God, please go. I almost saw you die today. I’ll take care of all of it.” He said it again, “Just go.”

  “The faster we go, the less chance there is he’ll be able to follow us.” Brant jumped to his feet. “What do you need?”

  A little shell-shocked, I answered. “Just clothes. Toothbrush.”

  Brant left and I heard him rummaging around my room.

  “You’ll let us know about anything new,” Landry commanded. He crossed his arms, looking every inch the officer. “Steven has my contact information.”

  “What about rehab?” I asked.

  “I’ll call Nell and have her send a plan. She’s shown you everything you need to do. Just keep doing it.” Steven stood next to Landry, and I realized I was outnumbered.

  “Okay.” I told myself I wasn’t giving in. Everything I wanted, I had to be alive to accomplish. So I’d go to wherever, and I’d stay alive.

  Detectives O’Bryan and Santaw stood, shook our hands, and left.

  Steven hugged me. A weird event in and of itself. “You be careful,” he whispered into my ear, squeezing me tightly. “Listen to these guys. They’re the only o
nes I trust you with.”

  It seemed like it took no time at all to be packed and ready to go. There had been a quick division of labor, with Josh and Westin taking off to get a car. Brant studied maps on his phone, and Landry stood over his shoulder, approving and disapproving of routes.

  I put the crutch on my leg. My bag was packed, my scooter disassembled but ready to go. Steven had made a list of my contacts—on paper—and handed them to me to shove into my purse. “They’re going to get you another phone. I hadn’t realized you might be tracked by it.”

  “You’ve got to be joking.” I was a dancer, not some operative in the CIA. Certainly I didn’t merit cell phone tracking.

  Brant’s phone chimed. “They’re here.”

  “Basement?” I asked. As far as I knew, the police had cleared out.

  “Yeah,” Brant answered. “I’ll go down first and text.”

  “I can go, too,” Mike said. He’d been sitting on the couch, watching us make plans all afternoon, reminding me of a puppy who knew their family was going on vacation and not taking him.

  “Mike?” I called. He came over to me, his jaw firm. “None of this is your fault. I don’t blame you at all. You know that, right?”

  “You don’t have to, Miss Belle.” He shoved his hands into his pocket, glancing over his shoulder at Brant. “I blame myself. Just take care of yourself, got it?”

  I put my arms around his waist and squeezed. “Take care of yourself as well.” I glanced at Al. “And I want to know all about the baby.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His smile was quick and wide. “You bet.”

  Brant went down with Mike, and minutes later, Landry got the call that we could come down as well. The ride down the elevator had my stomach in knots. Logically, I knew the same thing wouldn’t happen in the same place, but I couldn’t help it. For years, getting to New York City had been my goal in life. Right now, I couldn’t get out of here fast enough.

  Landry stood by the doors. He’d had me stand against the wall, then placed himself in front of me. I didn’t like that and had attempted to pull him closer to the side as well.

  His face was serious but kind as he shook his head. “You have to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

  That made me swallow hard. It made me think about his job, and if he had a lot of practice waiting for doors to open and bullets to fly.

  “You know everything about me it seems, and I don’t know anything about you anymore.”

  There wasn’t time to answer. “Get back,” he directed. The doors opened, and Brant and Josh were right there. Mike stood next to a nondescript silver sedan with heavily tinted windows. It wasn’t going to stand out as particularly nice, but it wasn’t some rust bucket that didn’t fit this apartment building either.

  With Brant in front of me, Josh next to me, and Landry behind me, we got into the car. Westin would be driving, though I couldn’t see with the tinted glass. I got inside, waved to Mike, and waited, unstrapping my crutch as the boys came around to their seats.

  “Are you ready for this?” Westin glanced back at me in the rearview mirror.

  I buckled myself in and leaned back. “Mr. Morehouse,” I turned on my accent thick. “Wherever are you taking me?”

  The door shut as Landry got in next to me and he started to drive away.

  “Have you ever been to Virginia?” Westin asked.

  I glanced at Landry, who was supposed to have gone to school there. “No.”

  “Well, buckle up, darlin’.” His accent matched mine. “You’re in for a treat.”

  Sixty-Seven

  Westin

  I don’t know how I ended up driving to Virginia and how Lan, lucky fucking bastard, ended up in the backseat within reach of Betsy.

  She’d fallen asleep about seventy-five miles ago, and her face in sleep was so distracting. Utterly relaxed, and beautiful.

  Like me, she was still dusty and dirty, her clothes smeared with whatever was on the floor of that elevator. Now that I was relaxed, I was feeling all of those bumps and bruises, but I wasn’t going to stop until I had two hundred miles between me and that city.

  Periodically, Brant had me get off the highway and wind my way through towns. Landry stared out the back window, looking for any indication that we were being followed. I had, too, but my friends were on it. This was just me—wanting to be sure. If someone was following us, I’d drop Betsy, turn around and run the bastard down. Solve the problem once and for all.

  “Need to switch?” Brant asked me when he caught me shifting in my seat again.

  “Nah,” I replied. It wasn’t much, but driving was something I could control, and I was looking for a little bit of that after the day we’d had.

  A crazy, fucking awful, but wonderful day. I had her back.

  I would never forget her voice, calling for me as those elevator doors closed. And then when she saw me in her apartment—the joy and relief.

  She loved me. If she hadn’t said it, I’d have known from the look on her face. It was the same one I’d seen a million times when we were younger. It took her over, shining out of her.

  I’d never be as strong as she was. Never. Because I knew, if our roles were reversed, I would have buckled under the pressure she’d handled. For fuck’s sake, look at me. Without her, I’d had no direction, no purpose. I joined the Navy because my friends did.

  The only thing I had any real commitment to was covering my body in artwork. I went along for whatever ride my friends were on, because I didn’t give a shit what happened to me. The only sliver of peace I felt, no matter how fleeting, happened in their presence. Might as well stick with them until I died.

  I had a purpose now, and she was sleeping adorably in the backseat of this Camry.

  “Think she’ll like our place?” Josh asked. He was sitting in the middle seat in back and hadn’t complained once. He had to be uncomfortable, knees up to his chin, shoulders bumping against Landry. But the side of his leg was pressed against Betsy, and at one point, she’d rested her head against his arm. So I didn’t think he’d be asking to move seats anytime soon.

  He asked a good question. The place where we were headed, an eighteenth-century farmhouse out on fifty acres in rural Virginia, might not be her style. After all, she’d left Shawville without a backward glance, and Weatherby, Virginia was more Shawville than New York City.

  She might hate it.

  “I don’t know,” I said. I had part ownership in the place, though way less than Landry, Josh, and Brant. I’d bounced from job to job after I got out of the Navy, using my background as a mechanic to make ends meet. Wholly dissatisfied with myself, I shook my head. I needed a career—something that could support my family. Something stable.

  “The town is different.” Brant stared out the window. “I didn’t know New Jersey had farmland.”

  “I guess we’re far enough out of the city,” Josh replied.

  “Aucoin, my makeup artist, is from Brooklyn.” Betsy’s voice was soft and sleepy. I could hear her shifting in the seat. “His great-grandfather had a stable and horses, a pasture. That was the nineteen twenties, I think. Where are we going?”

  “Virginia,” Josh answered.

  Brant turned around, and now I wished I’d switched. I could only catch glimpses of Betsy when I wanted to stare. She was silent for a long time after that answer.

  “It’s a place called Weatherby,” Landry said, breaking the quiet. “The town is good sized with shops and restaurants. Our place is outside of town. Fifty acres.”

  “Wow.” She cleared her throat. “So, a farm?”

  “No,” I answered. “Or—it could be, but I’m not a farmer.”

  “We just wanted some space. We lived on base—next left, Wes,” Brant directed before going on. “We lived on base and socked our money away. We bought this place sight unseen when it was sold at auction. Josh found it on Facebook.”

  She laughed, and I smiled. “So have you still not seen it? This could be uncomfortable if
we get there and it turns out to be a tar paper shack with no running water.”

  “I’ve been there,” I answered. It gave me something to do when I needed to get away from everyone and blow all the bullshit out of my head by racing across the desert going a hundred miles an hour. “It has heat and water. It needs work, because it hasn’t been updated since the eighties.”

  “Nineteen eighties?” she giggled.

  “Nineteen eighties,” I confirmed. “Lots of wallpaper and laminate. But the land is really beautiful.” That sounded stupid. The land is beautiful?

  “Tell me about it.”

  Josh took over. “There’s an apple orchard. A garden. It’s all overgrown, but I bet it could be cleaned up. There’s a carriage house where Wes found an old sleigh, and there are stables.”

  “No horses,” she added.

  “Nope. Not when we’re gone for eighteen months at a time. Who would feed them? Wes?”

  I flipped Josh the middle finger. I got along great with animals, especially horses. They had the kind of attitude I liked.

  There was a flash of blonde hair as she leaned over Josh and looked out the windshield. “We’re taking the long way?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Brant replied. He reached in the back to take her hand. She leaned forward, probably to squeeze it, before she leaned back.

  “How many hours?”

  “At least seven,” he said. “Let us know if you need to stop.”

  She shifted again. “If we have hours, I want to know about your lives. What happened after y’all left?”

  Sixty-Eight

  Josh

  Unsent email to tinydancer@gmail.com from derryfarmer@gmail.com

  June 1, a year ago

  Bets,

  We got back from deployment. If you asked where, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. Not that you would. You don’t even know I’m in the Navy. I’m six years, eight months in, and this is it for me. I’m done in September, and not planning on re-upping.

  Brant is staying in though, Lan, too. Though Lan’s way higher up than me. Wes was for a while. Then he quit. Hated people telling him what to do. I don’t know if you’d recognize him now. I’m not sure I would.