Violet Grenade

by Victoria Scott

  “Take a breath, Poppet,” someone says, shaking her head. “Good God.”

  There’s a bar separating the seating area from the kitchen. Cain rounds the counter and appears with a plate in his hand. He lifts it slightly and then places it down at an empty spot next to Poppet’s seat. Cain doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t look at anyone. He only heads back to the kitchen, a Teflon spatula in one hand, and keeps his mouth shut.

  “See?” Poppet says with a bounce. “Even Cain thinks we should be friends. That’s like the most interaction he’s had with anyone all year.”

  “Serial killers don’t speak much, isn’t that right, Cain?” one of the Daisies jeers.

  Poppet frowns. “I wasn’t being mean. It’s good that Cain is communicating.” Poppet leans toward the back of the kitchen. “I wasn’t being mean, Cain. Honest.”

  Poppet releases me, and I suck in a breath. She straightens, and her breasts expand. She has the largest boobs of any girl her age, ever. Her hair is blond and curly and she wears glasses. She’s small, with fine bones, but her voice is like crystal breaking.

  “Come sit with me,” she says. “I’ll show you around after we eat.”

  I pull my chair out as Poppet eyes my green wig with obvious interest. I like Poppet. I like her too much. It’s something I hate about myself. How easily I fall for people. It’s why I have to keep my walls strong. It’s for other peoples’ safety. If they’re too encouraging, I’ll cling and never let go. Even after they’ve left me, even after they’ve told me I should move on too—I’ll still love them.

  Because they cared.

  The kitchen is straight out of a County Living magazine, but in every corner there is something unexpected. A fireman’s hat. An origami swan glued to a window. A rabbit mount with a lei around its furry neck.

  It looks like Grandma went out of town and the grandkids threw a rager in her house. I inspect my surroundings and shove a bite of cheesy scrambled eggs into my mouth. Before I can help myself, I let out a moan of ecstasy. Everyone stops.

  Cain looks up from buttering toast.

  I swallow the eggs and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Sorry.”

  Poppet roars with laughter. “It’s good, right? I never had food like this before I came here. Cain can cook a mean meal. He puts cottage cheese and sweet onions in the eggs.”

  She’s about to launch into a detailed explanation of her past culinary experiences when the back door swings open. A girl takes two steps inside and puts a hand on her hip. Her eyes roam over the girls eating, and everyone stops to look at her.

  She’s wearing red lipstick. It can’t be later than 9:00 a.m., and she has on cherry red lipstick. “Get the other girls up. Twelve hours until doors open. We’ve got a lot to do in that time.”

  The girl glances in my direction. She takes me in, every last dollop there is, and grimaces. Her chin rises almost unperceptibly, but I catch the movement.

  Know your place.

  She’s wearing a purple silk violet. Her eyes flick to the flower and back to me. If the flowers somehow separate the girls, I have no doubt where she falls in the rank. I’m not sure why the desire arises, but it rears its ugly head all the same—

  I want that flower.

  “You heard the girl,” Mr. Hodge booms, appearing through the hallway again. He stands over one of the girls, his great belly pressed into her back. He isn’t smiling anymore. “Eat up. But not too much. Don’t need porkers around here.”

  “Jesus,” a Carnation says loud enough for him to hear.

  Mr. Hodge grabs a plate from the kitchen and leaves at the same time Violet Girl does.

  “That was Lola,” Poppet whispers. “She’s Top Girl here, which means she makes the most money. But we do all right, too.” She elbows me. “Come on. Hurry and finish. Tonight will be here before you know it, and there’s a lot you need to learn before then. Madam Karina will take you through the rules of the house, and I’ll tell you the stuff you really need to know.” She elbows me in the ribs and winks.

  Though I’m itching to learn what I’ll be doing here—and wondering about that word, Madam, now that both Ms. Karina and Poppet have used it—what I’m most concerned with is this Top Girl, Lola, and exactly how much she earns. Bailing Dizzy from jail will cost a lot. Does she make that much? What about enough for a house? Could that kind of opportunity exist here? A chance to afford a safe, permanent place in this world?

  Hopefulness blooms in my chest until Wilson grimaces.

  It’s almost all girls that work here. And it’s in the middle of nowhere. You know what this place is.

  If you’re not going to leave, be quiet, I reply. You don’t know anything.

  Out of all the places we could end up, Domino, this is the absolute worst. I remember the things we did, even if you don’t. And we shouldn’t be here. We should be anywhere else but here.

  Maybe he’s right. But I can’t leave.

  Or maybe it’s that I don’t want to.

  Chapter Nine

  An Innocent Offer

  Poppet shows me to my shared room on the first floor, but the girls already living there aren’t looking for someone to take up more of their limited space. So Poppet drags me to her room just down the hall. She bunks with two others for a total of three to the small space. One of the girls, a Latina with hair so black it appears blue, stands up from a twin bed.

  “This is Domino,” Poppet says. “And I was wondering if maybe she could stay with us. The room she’s supposed to stay in is, um, full.”

  “Where was she s’posed to stay?” the girl with the bluish-black hair asks.

  Poppet nods toward the hall. “In Raquel’s room.”

  The girl shakes her head and purses her lips. “I’m so over that girl’s mess. I’m in charge now. I swear on my mama’s grave if she don’t learn her place…”

  Her words trail off as she storms from the room and marches down the hall.

  Poppet’s eyes grow large. Or, as large as they can. Though Poppet wears glasses that magnify, her eyes are so small they’re almost nonexistent.

  The other girl—petite with freckles across every inch of her skin—walks over. “My name’s Michelle, but everyone calls me Candy. You can stay with us, I guess, but you’ll have to sleep on the floor. If it were me, though, I’d go back in there and stand my ground. Don’t be a baby, or it’ll get worse.”

  I look at the doorway and consider what she said. She might be right. I should stick up for myself. The girls will respect me more if I’m not a pushover, and I’ve never been one to back down from confrontation. But that was when I had Dizzy to back me up. Without him, I can’t help thinking it might be best to let them show their dominance. They’ll accept me over time if I’m not a threat.

  “I’ll sleep on the floor,” I announce. “I don’t mind.”

  The Latina girl barrels into the room. “Such bull crap. You take my old bed. I’ll be sleeping in Raquel’s room now.”

  Poppet and Candy startle at her announcement, but the girl only smirks as she loads her things into a tattered bag. “Teach that diva to open her fat mouth,” she mutters. Within seconds, the girl is pounding down the hallway again. Even from here, I can make out the shrill sound of girls arguing.

  Poppet starts to say something, but I’m already leaving the room. I catch up with the girl and tap her on the back. She swings around. “What?”

  “Thank you for that,” I say.

  She runs her eyes over my body. “This wasn’t a favor.”

  “It felt like one.” I shove my hands in my jean pockets. “And I’ll remember it.”

  The girl laughs like that’s hysterical and walks away. Once she enters Raquel’s room, the arguing grows louder and I head back to Poppet and Candy. They’ve cleared the sheets off the girl’s bed and bundled them into a tight ball. Candy shoves them in my arms. “Put these in the hallway.” She tops the sheets with a pillow and pats the bundle like one would the back of a van.

  �
�Where do I get new ones?” I ask, assuming putting them in the hall means they’ll get laundered. Before either girl can respond, Ms. Karina appears in the doorway.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in Raquel’s room?” she asks.

  My cheeks flush, and Poppet opens her mouth to respond. I step in front of her, refusing to let anyone else rescue me today. “I’d prefer to stay in this room.”

  Ms. Karina has changed into a green pencil skirt and black elbow-length blouse. Her knees are of the knobby sort, jutting away from her legs like they’re eager to strike out on their own. The woman shifts her weight to one side and crosses her arms. A smile lifts her mouth, and I notice one of her lower teeth is brighter than the rest. She sweeps her gaze over the room. “Candy, Poppet, get with Mercy about your chores.”

  The two girls nod, their backs rigid with respect.

  Ms. Karina curls her fingers toward herself, motioning me forward. “Come with me, Domino. Let’s chat now before my day begins.”

  I follow her down the hall and hear the girl who snubbed me earlier, Raquel, yelling. I note the name Ms. Karina used, Mercy, and assume she’s the girl who helped me out. I make a point to remember her name. I make another point to repay the favor. If there’s one thing my waste-of-a-father taught me, it’s to never leave a debt unpaid.

  The house speaks in tongues as we make our way down the hall and up two flights of stairs to the third floor. It’s like it resents being crossed so thoughtlessly. Even the walls groan from the shifting weight, begging for holy water in its pipes and an exorcism in the foyer.

  The home’s quirks continue across every inch of the space, mimicking the kitchen. A stuffed monkey vulgarly straddles the staircase banister, a plastic pumpkin sits upon a small stand, wicked grin glowing, and the ceiling inside a room we pass is crisscrossed with purple crepe paper. Twice we step over a stack of things—the first time books, the second, records—and when we stop outside a closed door, I notice violets, one day wilted, strewn across the floor.

  “We’ll speak in my room.” Ms. Karina opens the door and ushers me inside, her palm flat upon my back. My skin tingles beneath her touch as if she’s burning my flesh. I like her hand there, and I don’t. Even before I landed on the streets of Detroit, physical contact was two-sided. On one hand, it’s a promise of safety and kindness. On the other, it’s a lie. A false hope. Something to believe in that can be hijacked all too easily.

  I’d vowed never to let anyone touch me again.

  Until now, apparently.

  Taking in the ornate gold mirrors and rich red paint, I find myself feeling grossly inferior. The furniture is such a deep chocolate that I can taste the color sliding down my throat. And the wallpaper isn’t like the kind downstairs. This sort reflects the shadows our bodies make as we move across the space, while in other areas it appears velvet to the touch. She points to a set of wingback chairs, black with gold stitching. When I sit, my body sighs with pleasure. It solidifies my longing to one day decorate my own room with, on second thought, a heavy hand.

  “Do you like the house?” Ms. Karina sits across from me, crossing one long leg over the other. The skin is loose on her calves, but appears soft to the touch.

  I sit up straighter. “I do. It’s nice.”

  Ms. Karina cocks her head like she’s turning that word over in her mind, nice. In the end, she grimaces, like she’s found it lacking. My muscles clench like I’ve failed an unimportant test, but a test all the same.

  “This place seems almost magical, like you said,” I try again. “And this room is fit for a movie star.”

  Ms. Karina leans forward at my praise, and a blush rises in her cheeks like summer tomatoes ripe for plucking. “Why, what a beautiful thing to say. Though you must be exaggerating.” She glances around the room, trying to see her surroundings through my eyes. I tuck a leg beneath me and lean forward, too.

  “No, really. It’s insane,” I go on. “Those drapes look like they cost a fortune, and that vanity…?”

  Ms. Karina stays quiet, silently urging me to continue.

  “I mean, I can totally see an actress brushing her hair there before she goes onstage. And all the throw pillows, the bedposts, the mirrors—I can tell you’re classy.”

  Ms. Karina laughs. She covers her stomach with one hand and her mouth with the other, and she laughs. The sound rushes inside me like I’m a stray cat who’s happened upon a birdbath. I lap up the noise thirstily and long for more.

  “I like you, Domino. You feel familiar.” She flinches like maybe she’s said too much. “But let’s get to it, shall we?”

  Some of the nerves I entered the room with have gone. Now I’m excited to hear what she has to say.

  “Each group of girls has a Point. That’s who you’ll speak with each morning to get your assignment. Assignments range from cleaning the floors to doing the wash to room searches. It can be anything the Point Girl feels needs to be done, really. If you progress to a new group of girls, there will be different chores. The Carnation Point is Mercy. It used to be Raquel, but she wasn’t up to the job.”

  I think about how quick Mercy was to attack Raquel for dismissing me from their room. Maybe she was telling the truth when she said she wasn’t doing me a favor. Maybe she was simply cementing her leadership among the girls.

  “As you’ve probably noticed, each girl wears a flower. Carnations live on the first floor, the Daisies on the second, and Tulips on the third. Behind the main house are two guesthouses. The one to the left is reserved for the Lilies, and the one to the right is for the Violets. You will not, under any circumstance, go into those houses.”

  Ms. Karina shakes her head, and I find myself shaking my own along with her.

  “It’s a sign of respect, Domino. Those girls worked very hard to have a place of their own, and it would be rude to violate their privacy unless you were invited inside. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “Of course you do.” She walks to her window and gazes out. “I saw you noticing the garden outside. My mother loved it very much. I think maybe she loved it more than she did me.” Ms. Karina laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. “She used to line these flowers up in neat rows according to which pleased her best, and every year they bloomed she would act as if she performed a miracle.”

  She checks to see if I’m listening, seemingly wary to continue. When she notes how I’m hanging on every word, she returns her gaze to the garden. “Mother only ever cut the flowers on our birthdays. She would choose her favorite for my sister. Not me, though.” She flicks her fingers toward the garden as if she’s remembering the blossoms greedily soaking up the sun. “I got the flowers from the first row. Always the first row. Always the ones she didn’t care about.”

  I swallow, unsure of what to say.

  “Do you know why I’m telling you this?” she asks.

  I shake my head though she isn’t looking at me.

  “All my flowers are important to me, Domino. This house, it’s my garden now. I make it grow, and I love my blooms the same.” Now she does look at me. “But it’s not always about what I find beautiful. Other people come to see my flowers, too.”

  Someone knocks on the door, and she calls for them to enter. Cain steps inside holding freshly ironed sheets and a plush pillow. The scent of breakfast clings to his body—turkey bacon and butter melting on the griddle. His gaze stays locked on the linens.

  “Would you like new bedding, Domino?” Ms. Karina asks.

  There’s a part of me that wants to say no. I don’t want to take anything from this woman who says she likes me and whose laugh shoots through my bloodstream and whose stories about flowers I don’t understand. But if Dizzy were here he’d say to never turn down an offer like this. If it’s free, it’s free. Don’t be too proud, Domino.

  But pride was never my problem, and I think Dizzy knew that. My problem is I can’t handle being crushed when people aren’t what they pretend to be. More than that, Wilson can’t h
andle it.

  “Cain, come over here,” Ms. Karina says.

  He does as she asks.

  And then he’s just there, head bowed, arms full of the sheets I won’t take. I’m a jerk for allowing him to stand there like a statue. Every inch of his body is rigid with the desire to flee the room. So I stand up and close the distance between us.

  The sheets are white like Dizzy’s shoelaces. White with the purity of a second chance.

  I take them.

  As they are transferred from the boy’s arms to mine, his head raises. Our eyes meet for the second time today. He appears guilty, and angry. Behind that dark gaze brews fire and brimstone. It’s like he’s asking me to read a silent thought, but I’m focused on the hard muscles along his clenched jaw.

  Cain releases the smallest of sighs as he turns and exits the room. Ms. Karina asks me to sit back down. I do, awkwardly, with the sheets spilling over my arms. I shuffle my new temporary belongings, and my finger finds an unexpected hole in the chair’s ornate armrest. It’s large enough to dig my nail into.

  The woman stares at the sheets, a smile playing on her lips.

  She seems absolutely delighted that I took them.

  Chapter Ten

  Assignments

  Ms. Karina answers very few of my questions, and instead shuffles me back down the stairs when Mr. Hodge says she has a phone call.

  “Anything you want to ask me, you can ask them,” she says outside my new room. Then she turns and clicks down the hallway.

  Candy inspects my sheets and purses her lips. Poppet, however, offers to help put them on. “After this we’ll go see Mercy.”

  I pull the sheet across the blue and white pinstriped mattress and glance around. Poppet and Candy’s room is a blinding shade of white with posters of actors and musicians strewn across the walls. Above Poppet’s bed is Taylor Swift in a sequined dress, one hand clutching a microphone, the other waving toward the crowd. And over Candy’s bed is Channing Tatum, a heart drawn over his chest with Michelle written in the center. Many of the posters curl at the corners, in desperate need of fresh tape.