The Cabin

by Alice Ward

  “Better safe than sorry.” I grabbed the condom and rolled it on.

  I needed this, this would help. Her muscles constricted around me as soon as I entered, and I felt a tightening in my gut.

  Pumping hard and fast, I growled, forcing myself not to come.

  “I’ve been doing Kegel exercises,” she boasted as she spread her legs out farther, giving me room to dive in deeper.

  “They’re working.” I tried to control myself, but she really had been honing her skills.

  Soon, I was lost in the sensations, and we found the rhythm we had become accustomed to. I stopped all my worrying and second-guessing and just let myself enjoy what she and I had. She climaxed several times before I did, and when we were done, we had a raw fish feast. She was smart, funny, beautiful in an angular kind of way. I loved that she was just in this for the sex and nothing more.

  “Why do you come here each week?” I was curious, we could have stopped this a long time ago.

  She shrugged, swirling a finger through my chest hair. “I like fucking you.”

  “Do you ever want more than just this from me?” I hoped the question didn’t open a can of worms because I certainly wasn’t going to give her more.

  “Nope. I don’t need you as anything but a distraction. You’re perfect.” The truth was refreshing. “The stuff doesn’t hurt either,” she said as she admired the diamond tennis bracelet I gave her for Christmas.

  This made me laugh, and right now, laughter felt good. I couldn’t help but think of “Caitlyn, the refuser of desirable rich men.” Why could Rachel so easily agree to this and not Caitlyn? The answer was simple, of course, but I felt daunted. Every little girl had a dream that her prince would show up on a white horse, and yet Caitlyn’d slugged both horse and prince in the face before the prince could even say, “Hello, my name is Charming.” I had to know more.

  After Rachel left, I called Ma’s Diner in Connecticut and found out that Caitlyn the Prince Slayer’s name was Ashcroft. A quick Google search told me she was twenty-four, lived with an elderly relative, and had some limited success as a painter. I sat back in my desk chair and pondered my next move. Just then I got a text.

  I love love love catfish. You did it!

  Smiley faces filled the rest of the screen all the way down to the bottom. I couldn’t help but laugh. If he only knew.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Caitlyn

  That was definitely the craziest thing that ever happened to me. It took a fair bit of time to recover brain function after looking at the amount of money he left. The asshole gave me a fifteen-thousand-dollar tip. What kind of insane madman does that? I didn’t care how much money you had, you don’t just give it to a complete stranger like that. I’d read stories on Facebook that were similar. There was one I remembered about a kindhearted patron who had left a woman with a bunch of kids and a great backstory a hefty amount. That guy was a hero. Their story deserved to go viral cause it made everyone fuzzy and gushy and restored their faith in humanity. But this guy… this guy nearly propositioned me, and I verbally bitch-slapped his inappropriate ass back into its place, then he gave me an ungodly amount of money. This was not Upworthy compatible.

  After the delirious haze of shock had settled around me, I realized I actually had to do something, like move, or talk to all of the shocked and surprised faces surrounding me. The first person to pierce my bubble, of course, was Ma.

  “Well, I can’t cash that out tonight, hope you’re not expectin’ it right away!” she growled in her usual Ma manner.

  “No, of course not, Ma.”

  I could tell she was irate with jealousy. I understood, I certainly would have been. I had to think fast. Even though I desperately needed the money, it wasn’t mine. I’d done nothing admirable to get it and frankly, it felt wrong to take it. Someone who clearly had more than they needed dangled a morsel in front of a person they assumed was starving, what a petty little game. While I wanted to be righteous and incensed, I had to admit that his gesture had my imagination fired up. The way his eyes looked at mine and then that crazy unspoken connection… it was hard to ignore.

  I was smart enough to know I wasn’t falling for him exactly, no matter how devastatingly gorgeous he was, but I was going down hook, line and sinker for the fairy tale. The idea that someone waltzed in, swept you off of your feet, and made your life happily ever after. That idea was hard to resist. Happily ever after was a free pass forever, inspiring a lifelong motto of “no worries… always be happy.”

  “What makes you happy?” he’d asked.

  Seeing people filled with joy made me happy, it was still love, but a different kind. I could have given all the money to Gran, but it wouldn’t have made her happy. She never put much value on money, which was why she always just had enough. She would have made me give it back or possibly done something stupid with it like buy a collection of ugly dolls on QVC, just to prove money was momentary. I absolutely needed the money for school, but did I want to earn it this way? It wasn’t enough to change my life forever. I was going to share with Linda, but again… that was just two of us. As I looked at all those shocked and jealous faces, I realized that this money would only bring me their scorn and envy, so I did what made me happy.

  “Since there were seven of us working tonight, not just me, I want to split the money. Two thousand for each of us, and then we can donate the last thousand in the restaurant’s name to the Youth Center for the Arts. Okay? That way it’s fair for everyone.”

  The shocked and astonished faces slowly morphed into joyful looks of wonder. See, that was happiness.

  When I got home, it was nearly three in the morning. Gran had fallen asleep to the TV. An episode of Locked Up was blaring a jarring story about a man’s meth addiction causing him to have an altercation with a prison guard. Bless Gran’s heart. She had a few pen pals in prison, people who the church referred before our scandalous disbarring. She had a massive heart, and I think she watched shows like these to dig a little deeper into humanity, trying to sieve out the infinite truth of existence, especially for those who struggled.

  “I don’t know how you can sleep to that, Gran,” I whispered in her ear as I tried to rouse her.

  “Hmmm,” she said in a sleep-glazed grog.

  “You have to go to bed,” I told her more loudly.

  “Right, right. Just making sure you got home okay.” She stood up and headed to her bedroom down the hall. “You have a good night, kiddo?” she asked as an afterthought.

  “Better than most. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Sweet dreams.”

  “Night, dear heart.”

  I was too wired to sleep. Ironically, I understood why the star of My Fair Lady sang about wanting to dance all night. I shouldn’t have been feeling the way I did about my Professor Higgins because he was nothing more than a moneyed bully. Well, to be fair to ol’ Eliza Doolittle, her Professor Higgins wasn’t too different than mine. He was simply a rich player who liked to toy with people. Despite this fact, everyone at the diner tonight night went home with a tiny piece of happiness.

  Michael, the thirty-five-year-old dishwasher with five kids, burst into tears when we told him the news. I got a hug from Linda, and even more shocking, from Ma as well. It felt amazing. So, in addition to his virtuosity as a flirt and an indecent proposer, the rich dude tonight made magic. And despite my wanting to hate him for everything he stood for, I found myself fascinated too. Why me? As I stared at the TV, all I could think of was that man. I didn’t even know who he was. I remembered how soft and subtle his lips looked but didn’t even bother to find out his name.

  I remembered his signature. KP. Just two initials. Who could possibly be rich enough to be only known by two letters? Like the ultimate researcher, I googled “KP and millionaire” to see what that dredged up. I was fully aware of how lame I was being, but it was oh-my-god o’clock, who cared? Two significant hits came up as top search results. A rapper named KP Million and Kembrough Preston, hea
d of production and owner of Lakeshore Pictures. After looking at my search results, I was pretty sure… like one hundred percent sure that KP from Ma’s Diner was not a rapper. No way. I clicked on Kembrough Preston. The named oozed pretense, this had to be my man.

  Boom! There he was, one of the most successful movie producers in New York. My first thought was, why not Hollywood? New York for movies was like pork being “the other white meat.” Maybe he was a hack with family money and his film biz was a side gig. A quick IMBD search shut me up. The man was a god. Well, my mind rambled, there was always bacon. Pork was bacon anyway. Okay, dammit, now I wanted the bastard. I didn’t think I would take him up on his offer, but in my head, I revisited our exchange at the diner.

  “You know what, Kembrough Preston,” — paused to cough at such a ridiculously pretentious name — “I think I’ll take you up on that fuck after all.”

  Go to bed, Caitlyn Marie Ashcroft. You’re starting to sound like a wanton, money-grubbing wanna be.

  I liked teasing myself, cause I was teetering on the edge of sanity, and I needed to keep myself grounded. While I slightly regretted that I would never see KP, the dashingly inappropriate and sadly named billionaire, at least I had my moment. It would be a fine name-dropping moment in years to come — when I was lonely and poor, still working at the diner with Linda, for the rest of my life.

  Remember that time when KP, the famous billionaire, wanted to fuck you? And you turned him down.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  KP

  Tuesday morning, I was restless after my evening with Rachel. While I had always enjoyed our time together, I felt unusually uninspired by our sexual exchange and considered calling the whole thing off. Everything I attempted to do felt listless and boring compared to the electrical thoughts Caitlyn ignited within me. I was being a child, I knew. There was no such thing as love at first sight, but hyper-charged, raging lust, definitely!

  I wasn’t sure what my next move was going to be. I felt restless and disappointed in myself for not coming up with some kind of brilliant plan immediately. I couldn’t just stalk her, that would be criminal. The catfish was certainly no reason to return. I had to find a way to snare her, if only for another opportunity to talk.

  I decided to revisit my Google search of the elusive Caitlyn Ashcroft to see if I’d missed something. Specifically, I wanted to discover anything that would give me an insight into how to reach her. As I searched through the few files that came up under her name, I found that she recently had a showing at a small gallery in New Haven.

  I leaned across my desk far enough to see my assistant hard at work logging the daily files into production folders on her computer. A tedious daily duty, and one I was happy not to be doing. Sandra was a good assistant, very diligent, but she wasn’t a tiger. She would probably be an assistant all her life. Only those who really grabbed the industry by the balls actually made it past the cube in front of someone’s office.

  “Sandra, call the City Gallery in New Haven and have them hold all of their Ashcroft pieces for me. I’ll be there around nine-thirty, give or take.”

  “Sure thing.” She was always chipper; it kept me from raging at her.

  I had a reputation, quite a villainous one, that had most of the trade publications depicting me as a screamer. They weren’t wrong, but with Sandra, I barely raised my voice. She was capable enough not to make me insane. I knew she would be able to get me an appointment, and I started to feel exhilarated knowing I was heading for a clandestine voyage into Caitlyn’s world. It was stalking, but in its acceptable form.

  I felt a pique of amusement while watching the director’s cut of one of our films. Beau Brandegauet’s cuts were usually entertaining because the director took his little horror franchise so seriously. He treated each installment as if it was the next Shining, but it was drivel. However, despite its light artistic value, it was a box office maverick. I agreed to his cut in the contract but already had our editors sifting through the footage and creating the real masterpiece. A slasher hit with lots of spooks and bumps, some tight shots on gratuitous fornication, and we would have another blockbuster on our hands. I settled in with my latte and a good sense of humor as I watched the slow-mo fucking scenes before our killer knifed the brainless beauty in the eye. Such pretense. People didn’t like slow-mo these days. They wanted it hard, fast, and bloody. I was writing my notes when Sandra interrupted my work.

  “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Preston, but the gallery manager won’t be able to accommodate your request for nine-thirty this evening.” She looked like she was going to pass out, as she rarely was unable to secure whatever I demanded.

  “Is he on the phone now?”

  “Yes, sir, he would like to know if you want to schedule for another day?”

  “Tell him, no. I’ll be there tonight. Thank you.” With a wave of my hand, I dismissed her.

  Yes, I was a complete asshole, but I always got my way, and I was too agitated to be accommodating.

  While Sandra was on the phone making profuse apologies — whatever it took, I didn’t care — to the gallery manager, Lucas waltzed into my office. He was my best friend. We had known each other from childhood. He became a lawyer and general do-gooder of the people, and I became a nasty, albeit successful, movie producer. But I was in no mood for him today. I was too tense.

  “Sparring match is tomorrow night,” I said, not looking up from the abysmal director’s cut of the movie.

  “No, it’s not, I have to reschedule.”

  I didn’t even look at him. “No.”

  Another particularly gruesome death scene was playing out. They had a choice. The lead character could cut off his arm and feed it to his girlfriend before a bomb went off and killed them both. Or, if she ate her own arm, the timer on the bomb would stop. It was a “how much do you love each other” kind of thing. Of course, the director’s cut made it sappy, with too many close shots showing their agonizing decision. Should he cut his own arm off to save them? Should she eat it for the same purpose? It was good, sick shit, but again, it needed to be fast, dirty, and rough. This oozed 1970’s and was like vomit on a loop. Good thing I knew our editor could fix this.

  “Shit, that’s fucked up,” Lucas said.

  “You know what’s fucked up? This shit makes one hundred mill in the opening weekend,” I snarled back.

  “What has you so fired up this morning?” He knew me too well.

  “Nothing I want to share. So why are you dumping me?” I was being dramatic.

  “I have a date with this amazing woman, Alicia. She works at a funeral home as an embalmer. She has to work every night this week except for tomorrow, so she wins cause she might be it for me.” He was glowing, the bastard.

  “An embalmer? Have you lost your mind?” What kind of troll was he planning on dating?

  The glow didn’t dim. “If you saw her, you would lose your mind too.”

  “I doubt it, what kind of crazy becomes an embalmer?” I was actually very curious.

  “She wants to restore people’s loved ones as close to their original state as possible so she can give them back to their family and friends before saying goodbye forever. It’s her mission in life.” He seemed sincere, but I had to check.

  “You fucking with me, amigo?” I really wasn’t sure.

  He was all smiles. “You’re the one watching a man cut off his own arm, how is that worse?”

  I waved him away. “I really want to beat the shit out of you. See her next week.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. Tomorrow is off, but I’ve come to take you to The Dutch for lunch.” He grabbed the remote and threatened to turn off the TV.

  “Wait, just let me watch this last thing,” I said as I held him back.

  The scene had moved past the lover’s inability to complete their sacrifice in time. With his hand chopped off, and her unable to eat it, the room exploded. Such good tragedy. But then it continued, the living characters all talk, talk, talk, which was going to transl
ate into cut, cut, cut. I was getting too bored to care, so I took Lucas up on his offer.

  During lunch, I asked him how he knew that she was the one. I’d known him long enough to know that, “Hi, I’m Alicia, the embalmer,” wasn’t going to do it for him on its own.

  “I met her on a dating website,” he started.

  I was authentically shocked. “Shut up, you’re a G.I. Joe. Why do you need the internet?”

  I was always jealous of his good looks. I mean, I was handsome, but I always felt like my face was too angular, too chiseled. Lucas had a manly look about him, rugged. That’s why, when we sparred, I always went for the face, just trying to give him a little scar. I wasn’t really — mostly my aim was bad — but sometimes, that deviousness crept in. He knew it though and never faulted me my jealousy. He was the best friend for me because he was completely unaffected by avarice and vanity.

  It hit me hard. The little waitress was the same. She even had his brave defiance. She was like Lucas, only she was shockingly beautiful and made my dick hard, something Lucas, thank god, had never done. I was proud of myself and the Freud I had become.

  “I need the internet because most of the women I meet are vapid and self-centered. I needed to do a deeper screening. It also gave me a chance to get to know her. Tomorrow will be our first date.”

  He hadn’t even met the woman? “Then how the hell do you know she’s it? It’s all just circumspect.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Because she just has it, KP. That indescribable thing that raises your flag and gets your blood pumping. It’s what she says, how she sees the world, her face, her body—”

  “Which you haven’t seen.”

  He actually blushed. “We’ve Skyped. Skype can’t lie.”

  “How would you know, unless you got her naked on Skype?” His blush reddened. “No fucking way, you guys had cybersex?”

  “Well, you screw every woman on two legs,” he countered.

  “I am exclusively screwing one woman right now, thank you very much, but it’s all probably gonna end soon.” Shit, I hadn’t meant to say that.