by Janna King
“I think Ruby was abused,” Mia continued. “More than once. And it might be happening now.”
“You think she was?” scoffed Presley. “Well, I know I was. By my uncle.”
Mia searched Presley’s face for a tell, then felt terrible she thought Presley would make this up in some sort of sick competition.
Presley’s blue eyes grew teary, though her jaw was tight. “As my daddy used to say, ‘Gotta nut up,’ though Lord knows I didn’t tell him about his demented fuck of a brother. He would’ve chopped his balls off and fed ’em to the neighbor’s pitbull. And then he would’ve fed me to the pitbull.”
Mia stared at her, still searching.
“I took care of it myself.” Presley sniffed back the tears before they fell. “The second time he tried, I fought back.” She caught Mia’s stare and chuckled bitterly. “You don’t think I can fight, do you? It’s amazing what adrenaline’ll do. I was a quarter of his size, but I punched and scratched and kicked with everything I had. Knocked two of his teeth out. He told everyone it happened in a bar fight. ‘You shoulda seen the other guy,’ he said. Yeah, shoulda seen her.” Presley spat the last three words.
“Presley, I’m sorry that happened to you,” said Mia.
“Can’t throw your life away because you were handed some crappy cards.” Presley tilted her head at Mia. “No amount of your pity—sorry, I mean, friendship—is going to stop that sinking ship. That girl, she’s out to self-destruct.”
Mia looked away. “That’s a little dramatic.”
They pulled up in front of house, its windows dark.
“She’s a junkie whore, plain and simple.” Presley shrugged.
“Presley!”
“Not a figure of speech. Not hyperbole, but truth. Mac told me.”
Mia whipped toward Presley. “Mac enables her!” she blurted. “He sells her the drugs.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw Mac give her a packet of white powder.”
Presley’s mouth was agape. She shook her head. “When did this happen?”
“A few weeks ago. That first night at The Rabbit Hole.” Mia’s words tumbled out in a ramble. “I didn’t want to tell you what I saw because I wasn’t sure. Everything was new and coming at me. Then, you liked him and, you know, The Girl Vault.” Mia exhaled. “But I saw them meet again at the liquor store in town.”
“So you’re telling me he’s a drug dealer?” Presley balked.
“I’m saying that he might not be just some fun-time bad-boy fantasy. Believe me I’ve had those.”
“Get out!” Presley pointed. “Get. Out.”
Mia got out of the G and closed the passenger door.
“What are you doing?” asked Mia. “Aren’t you coming in?”
Presley didn’t turn the motor off. “No. I’m going to find out if what you’re telling me is bullshit.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Why? Because it’s bullshit?” Presley tucked her hair behind her ear as if she was ready to hear a different truth.
“No. I just think you should leave it,” answered Mia. “What good is it going to do to find out this information?”
“No one drags me into the mud without a fight,” said Presley. “And if what you’re saying is true, by being with him, I’m muddy. He knew that.”
Mia kept her hand on the passenger door handle.
“Move.” Presley revved the motor, prompting Mia to pull her hand away. “If anyone asks where I am, tell them I went back to the party to help clean up.”
“How is that believable?”
Presley’s eyes turned skyward as she concocted. “I wanted to do a fun after-party Snapchat story . . . that’s going to coincidentally fail to post.” She started to drive away, then stopped. “Better yet, I won’t say anything, if you won’t say anything.”
Presley drove off. Mia walked up the porch steps to the front door. She stopped and looked at the closest beach cruiser.
TWENTY
This is a little out of the way,” J.P. said to Jade. They leaned into each other in the back of an older Lyft Subaru as it wound around the long, curving roads of Nantucket’s largely uninhabited northeast shore.
“It’s part of what makes The Wauwinet special,” said Andy, the Lyft driver, according to the app on Jade’s phone. Andy’s dark tan implied that he drove drunk tourists around Nantucket all night so he could spend all day kiteboarding.
“We’ve been driving for twenty minutes,” replied J.P. as he looked out the window at the landscape. There wasn’t a home in sight.
“Mia and Presley went back to the house,” Jade whispered to him. “We would’ve had zero privacy.”
They pulled around the circular brick driveway of The Wauwinet, which was called an “inn.” But there was nothing quaint or inn-like about the opulent East Coast resort compound, with its sprawling main building and surrounding cottages. Conforming to the Nantucket Historic District Commission’s strict code, the cedar shingles remained unpainted, weathered to a soft gray.
“You meeting your folks here?” asked Andy, who opened the back door for Jade.
“Do we look like we can’t pay for this joint ourselves?” Jade gave a quick nod at the hotel.
“I didn’t mean that. It’s just a nice place.”
J.P. handed Andy a discount card. “Thanks for the ride. Come in to the store.”
“You work for Lyndon Wyld?”
J.P. nodded. “But check out Perch hats—www-dot-perchhaberdashery-dot-com.”
“What’s a haberdashery?”
Jade snickered. Andy gestured to her M-Kat tank. “And you work for Maz? I spent a week’s pay on a pair of M-Kat kicks.”
“Why would you do that?” Jade cocked her head at him, seeming genuinely curious.
Andy was speechless for a minute, then he guffawed, pointing at her. “I get it. Reverse psychology.” He got back in the Subaru. “Well, whatever sales method you’re using, it’s working because you’re staying here.” He nodded toward the palatial hotel and drove off. “Nantucket’s finest.”
Jade and J.P. walked up the pathway in the center of the lush, green grounds that were fragrant with garden roses. The fireflies seemed to flicker in time to the crickets’ chirps.
“It feels like we’re marooned on an island on an island,” said J.P.
“Very meta, Scrotie,” chuckled Jade.
“Hey, I didn’t come up with my school’s mascot.”
Jade sashayed inside and up to the concierge at the long oak front desk.
“Can I help you?” said the concierge with a smile as tight as her ponytail.
“You have a room available.” Jade never asked. She told.
J.P. glanced around the elegant foyer. Candles cast a warm light over the antique couches, chairs, and traditional oil paintings. The grandfather clock showed 11:05, late enough that this luxurious public space was empty. He joined Jade at the concierge desk.
“We only have a cottage,” said the concierge, as if she expected the young visitors to turn around and leave with that information.
“We’ll take it,” said Jade. She and J.P. simultaneously pulled out their wallets and slapped credit cards on the desk. Jade’s was a Platinum American Express. J.P.’s was Black. The concierge choked slightly.
“You win.” Jade tapped J.P.’s Black Card as she put away hers.
The concierge slid the credit card over and typed into the computer. She looked at J.P., her tone more reverent. “How many keys will you need, Mr. Alvarez?” She handed the card back to J.P.
Jade answered, “One is fine.”
The concierge motioned to the French doors. “You’ll go out that way, to the beach and around the garden to the right.”
Jade and J.P. exited the foyer with Jade throwing a last look-to-kill at the concierge.
The lawn that spanned the side of the property facing Nantucket Bay was filled with vacant wicker lounge chairs. The hotel was bright inside but the path arou
nd to the cottage was sparsely lit by small hurricane lanterns.
Glass broke. “Bollocks!” They turned and looked up toward the noise. On a third-floor balcony, Grace was holding the top of a wineglass. Rising next to her was Jill, holding the stem. They laughed, tipsy.
In the dark corner of the path, Jade grinned. “That’s—” J.P. clapped his hand over her mouth.
They watched Grace grab Jill by the back of her head and kiss her hard.
Before Jade could say another word, J.P. pulled her along the path. He looked at the room key and found the cottage.
“Don’t ever shut me up,” snapped Jade.
J.P. unlocked the door and motioned her in. “I’m sorry. But I don’t really think we’re supposed to be here.”
“We’re not their slaves, J.P.” Jade lay back on the chintz comforter, her Miu Miu platforms still on.
“I thought you wanted privacy.” J.P. walked around the room, touching the hand-painted floral stencils on the pine wood walls. “If Grace sees us, that’s far from private.”
“She’s not going to see us.”
“Wow, this is so . . .” J.P. searched for the words.
“Sweet?”
“I think that concierge was surprised we youngsters had the funds,” laughed J.P.
“She was definitely surprised when you whipped yours out.” Jade crossed her legs.
J.P. tossed his hat on the wicker rocker in the corner, kicked off his Top-Siders, and leapt on the bed. He bounced around Jade, touching the ceiling between each bounce. “Jump on this bed with me.”
“Never.” Jade tried not to laugh.
J.P. dropped on his butt, flopping back on the plush pillows next to Jade. “You’re no fun.” He pulled a peach from the basket of fresh fruit on the nightstand and took a juicy bite.
Jade shimmied her shoulder close to his. “I’m sure that video you took at the party says different. Let me see it.”
“Really?” J.P. threw his head back with a groan.
“Really.”
J.P. put the peach back in the basket and wiped his hands on a napkin with The Wauwinet seashell logo. He pulled his smartphone from his pocket and tapped in his password. The footage of Otto and Jade in the booth at the restaurant played: Otto leaning into Jade, licking the salt off her.
Jade put her hand on the inside of J.P.’s thigh. “Did that turn you on? Watching.”
“It was simultaneously repulsive and a turn-on.”
“That’s how I feel about your haberdashery mission statement.” Jade chuckled. She pointed to the video. “Post it on Instagram.”
“No way. That will not go over well with your dad.”
“On the contrary.” Jade ran her finger up J.P.’s torso and unbuttoned his shirt. “If you post that video, my dad will assume you’re not fucking me. It will absolve you.”
“That’s a stretch,” replied J.P. “I’m not posting it.” He pressed the side of his phone and the screen went dark. He placed it on the stenciled nightstand.
“Fine, but I’m disappointed.” Jade yanked her hand off his bare chest. “You’ll have to make it up to me.”
“I think I can do that.” J.P. leaned over her and kissed her. She responded, pulling off his shirt. He made his way down her body. She closed her eyes and let her head sink back into the pillows. Her lips parted in a moan.
TWENTY-ONE
Inside The Taken Aship, an old thirty-six-foot power cruiser, Mac and Eve sat on the floor at the glass coffee table, their backs leaning against the base of the faded and cracked leather couch. A brick of heroin wrapped in plastic was in the center of the table next to a pack of Marlboro Reds, a Zippo lighter, and two open beers. Ruby stood in front of them, holding her woven backpack, its top flap open. She looked sick, her skin pale and waxy. Her hair was still drying, tangled from the harbor plunge earlier.
Eve grinned at the heroin and winked at Ruby. “Good girl.”
“I’d like to buy an eight ball.” Ruby’s voice was weak. She found her Hello Kitty wallet in her backpack, fumbled for cash, and held the bills out, her hand trembling.
Mac shook his head. “I can’t believe Otto doesn’t give you a taste for your troubles.”
“He wants me to do it the right way,” replied Ruby. Sweat beaded around her hairline.
“I get it. We all have to be accountable.” Eve unwrapped the off-white brick. She slid an orange marine first-aid case from the side of the couch and flipped open the top, sifting around the contents and lifting out a small scale. She nodded to Mac, then Ruby’s money. “Count it.”
Mac reached for the cash. Ruby tripped as she passed it to him across the table, catching herself with her hand.
“You okay?” asked Mac.
Ruby nodded. She twitched as she watched Eve scrape the brick with a scalpel, weigh out the powder, and drop it into a tiny ziplock baggie. Eve clutched the baggie until Mac was done counting.
“All here,” confirmed Mac.
“Such a good girl.” Eve handed the baggie to Ruby.
Ruby took it with a wan smile. She lifted her nylon Wear National makeup bag from her backpack and unzipped it, pulling out a rubber tourniquet. “Do you mind?”
“Yes, we mind,” snapped Eve. “You’re not doing that here.”
“Okay, sorry.” Ruby put the makeup bag and the heroin in her backpack. She hoisted the straps over her bony shoulders and headed out.
Eve shooed her. “Enjoy.”
“Ruby . . .” Mac wore a concerned expression.
Ruby turned to him.
“Be careful,” he said.
“Yeah, be careful no one sees you leave here.” Eve followed Ruby to the door, making sure it was locked behind her. She walked back to Mac and straddled his lap, draping her arms around his neck.
“If I were the jealous type . . .” she purred.
Mac’s hands remained by his sides. “You’re not. You like to pretend you are.”
“If I were, I’d say you’ve got a hard-on for little miss junkie mule.”
Mac glanced down at his crotch. “Nope.”
Eve tilted her head. “Then what’s gotten into you, baby?” Her tone was condescending.
“I’m not down with the arrangement.” Mac stared at the door.
Eve reached into the first-aid case, brushing her breast against Mac’s shoulder. She pulled out a box of gauze, opening it to reveal cash. Mac tucked Ruby’s money inside.
“That cocksucker Otto built the store here so he could keep closer tabs on us,” he continued.
“Stop blowing yourself,” said Eve with a scoff. “He could’ve kept tabs on us without building the store. Who cares? It’s a means to an end.”
“I’m not sure if this is the way,” replied Mac as he put the gauze box back in the case. “Don’t you ever think about what we’re doing to people?”
“People like her?” Eve nodded to the door. “No. We don’t do anything to them. They do it to themselves. It’s not my business. This is.” She reached around for the brick and held it between them.
Mac’s eyes narrowed at her. “When did everything become a transaction for you?”
“When you stopped paying off.” Eve’s eyes, sad for a beat, locked with Mac’s before she placed the brick in the first-aid case with the scale. She dropped in the scalpel and covered it all with a folded thermal blanket, boxes of Band-Aids, bottles of peroxide and ipecac, and sundry ointments. She leaned into Mac’s ear. “We’re together now for one reason, to stop serving drinks to assholes in the summer and losers in the winter.” Eve shut the case’s lid and sat back, hands on Mac’s thighs. “Or do you want to end up like Frank—fat, bald, and sad?”
“I might want to find another way.” Mac’s hands remained by his side.
“Yeah, right. Like your music.” Eve climbed off. “Keep blowing yourself, because I’m sure as shit not going to.”
“That’s a shame,” muttered Mac as Eve disappeared into the bedroom at the hull.
She returned
with a duffel. “If you find your balls while you’re at it, let me know.” She yanked on her UGG boots by the door. “Until then, I’ll be at my sister’s.” She exited with a slam.
Mac rose and put the orange first-aid case in the boat’s upholstered storage bench, arranging life jackets on top of it. He sat back down on the floor against the couch, grabbed a cigarette, and lit it, tossing the Zippo on the table. He leaned his head back and exhaled.
The moon was high and the waters bordering Old South Wharf were calm. Presley parked the G among the line of cars. She applied lip gloss in the rearview mirror, giving her lips a smack. She put the gloss in her purse and started to get out when she saw Eve striding angrily down the dock. She shut the door and ducked down.
“Zero balls,” Eve grumbled to herself. She didn’t look in Presley’s direction because she was singularly focused on a beat-up, blue VW Beetle a few yards away. She chucked her duffel in, took the driver’s seat, and peeled out.
Presley exhaled. “Jesus.” After the coast was clear, she got out of the G. Taking long strides down the dock, she scanned the names of the boats. “Where is this stupid dinghy?” she muttered to herself, then saw The Taken Aship and scoffed. She smoothed her hair and rapped on the door.
“Eve, why do we do this every fucking time? I mean, you have a damn key.” Mac opened the door. “Hey,” he said, surprised to find Presley.
“Howdy.” Presley smiled, her lips shining with gloss.
“If I knew we were having a party, I would’ve dressed up,” said Mac, deadpan.
“Come again?” Presley looked confused, glancing around the empty boat.
“Never mind. What can I do for you, princess?”
“Party supplies, like you just said.” Presley peered past him. “Where’s your lovely girlfriend?”
“Shitlist,” said Mac. “Permanently on there.”
“That doesn’t sound fun.”
“You might be shocked at this, but life’s not all about fun.” Mac held the doorknob.