Corrupt Desires

by Jennifer Bene

  Men like him always thought they could do whatever they wanted, say whatever they wanted, act however they wanted, but he hadn’t come up against her yet.

  “Well—” Bryant started to speak, but she cut him off with a polite smile.

  “Enjoy your meal, gentlemen.” Phee turned so sharply she felt her hair flare behind her, and she immediately went to take the orders of a new table. One side of her was trembling with nerves as the reality of what she’d said sank in, the idiotic tone she’d used… but the other side was being carried in branch like arms across damp sand as the ocean receded. Victory. Even though it would probably end up in a complaint, and a shitty tip.

  Half an hour later, Phee dropped the check off at the ocean god’s table without a second glance at him. Then she headed behind the counter to grab items from the bakery case for a to-go order.

  “Ah, excuse me?”

  Phee’s head snapped up to see Bryant leaning on the glass case, smiling as he looked her up and down. Damn him for his good looks. She made her voice calmly professional to cover the thrill that ran up her spine as those ridiculous eyes checked her out. “Yes? Can I do something for you?”

  “Actually, yes. I’d like six blueberry muffins to go, and your phone number.” His smile grew wider, and she hated that she’d failed to hide the surprise on her face.

  “That’s not funny.” Phee scowled, dropping the bag she had been preparing for another customer on the counter. Snapping open another, she started putting muffins in it as she fought the embarrassed heat in her cheeks. The ocean was rising in his favor again.

  “I’m not trying to be funny. I really would like your number, and I happen to like the muffins here.”

  “Why?” Phee folded the top of the bag over and stared at him across the case.

  “Because you make them fresh daily? Or at least, that’s what the menu says. If it’s not true, maybe you can tell me all the dirty secrets of this place over dinner.” Bryant grinned. “For example, does the soup of the day actually change every day?”

  Stupid, charming—

  The ocean wasn’t just rising, it was knocking down her line of tree soldiers, the sun glinting off sea foam as it eroded the earth from beneath her feet. Phee scoffed, fingers tightening on the paper bag. “Is this your attempt at interesting conversation?”

  “You asked me why I liked the muffins,” he replied, not losing the cocky tilt of his grin.

  “That isn’t what I meant and you know it. Why are you asking me for my number?”

  “Because I’d like to call it,” Bryant answered with a more serious tone, but his smile wasn’t fading. Brazen, he leaned over the register and grabbed a pen before ripping a napkin out of the holder. With a flourish of the pen he pushed the napkin towards her across the top of the bakery case. It had a phone number on it. “Listen, if you won’t give me yours, at least give me a call. I’m serious about dinner.”

  “Why?” Phee was too surprised, too unsettled by the shift in her actual reality and her internal fantasy to do more than repeat the same question.

  “Because I agree with what you said. You seem interesting, and you’re beautiful, and you did have the balls to suggest we go on a date.” Bryant grabbed another napkin and held it out to her with the pen, his grin widening. “Come on. Can I have your number?”

  Her head was spinning, all quick-witted remarks fleeing as a tidal wave of privileged charm built in front of her. Stop it. She slammed her heel down on the earth in her mind, her soldiers roaring their encouragement with the creaking weight of a thousand trees standing against the gale of a hurricane. On the outside she just smiled, grabbed the napkin, and wrote her number down.

  “That’s twelve dollars and ninety cents.” Phee handed him the napkin with her cell phone number on it and the bag of muffins at the same time.

  “I’m Bryant, by the way,” he said, smiling brighter than the sun outside the windows as he took the bag and the napkin and handed her a fifty.

  Avoiding his grin, she stepped over to the register to ring him up. “Thirty-seven and ten in change,” she muttered as the drawer popped open.

  “Keep it.”

  “That’s too much,” she said, half-way through counting the bills into her hand when he slid in front of the register.

  “Think of it as a bribe for your name?” Bryant tilted his head, still grinning like fucking with poor waitresses was his favorite game to play. In her head, the water was clouded with silt and leaves and sticks as the ocean met the earth in a clash, but neither side gave way.

  Stalemate. Would it be stupid or smart to play along?

  “I promise I can talk about a lot more than café food…” His eyes dropped to her lips for a second, the lower tone of his voice sending a shiver down her back. He was flirting, and he was fucking good at it. A rich, cocky, jackass probably looking to entertain himself for a night with the mouthy waitress that would make a good story for his next lunch meeting. It irritated her for a second, but as she imagined him half-naked again, eyes tracing his broad shoulders beneath the boring suit, Phee didn’t think she’d mind being wined and dined by him — or ending up in his bed for that matter. But that would be all it was.

  It’s just fun. You will not fall for his bullshit.

  “Phee. My name is Phee.” She met his eyes, and he glanced over his shoulder once before turning back with a look of victory.

  “Phee,” he repeated, that low tone turning her name into a sinful promise. “Well, Phee, I’ll call you soon.”

  “You do that, Bryant.” She smirked, wrapping her fingers around the biggest tip she’d probably get all day.

  “Count on it.” He winked at her, grinning like he’d already won as he headed for the door and stepped out into the sunlight. In her head she was breathing hard, whispering commands in the language of the trees to fortify defenses at the beach because Bryant wasn’t done with her. That was obvious.

  2

  At the end of her shift, Alex had been surprisingly curt with her. He’d paid out their hourly wages in cash from the register, barely speaking at all, and then slammed the drawer shut harder than necessary. Regan hadn’t noticed at all. Hadn’t even caught the way Alex looked at her. Tense, irritated, almost angry. It had made her panic, worried he’d finally follow through on his threats to hire someone to replace her. Phee had tried to ask him what was wrong, tried to get him to talk, but he’d walked away from her. Flipping the lights off in the main café, he’d headed for the back door with a gruff shout over his shoulder to lock the front when they left.

  Phee’s hands were shaking when she locked up, retracing all of her fuck-ups during the day to try and pinpoint what had made Alex so angry, but Regan was oblivious to all of it. Babbling about Bryant the entire walk to the bus stop, grilling her for information and giggling at the idea that he might call. Phee was tempted to toss the napkin in the trashcan and forget the whole thing. What had she been thinking? Why had she even said something?

  Men like Bryant didn’t take girls like her out on dates.

  This wasn’t a fairytale. He wasn’t an ocean god, and she wasn’t a woodland queen. There was no epic battle to be waged between the two of them, and their brief banter back and forth at the café had likely just been a passing form of entertainment for him.

  Regan finally caught on to Phee’s mood and left her alone as they got off the last bus and boarded the train that would take them to their neighborhood. With each change in transportation the fog grew thicker, heading south where the city sloped down towards the lakes that kept the world wrapped in their misty embrace. When the train turned around the old C. T. Thompson warehouse, Phee felt the odd sensation of her stomach lifting as the train angled down sharply. The fading evening sunlight couldn’t broach the fog anymore, and she turned away from the window as it closed in completely. Occasionally, yellow street lamps would form will-o’-the-wisps in the world outside the train, floating and taunting, tempting foolish travelers to leave their safe paths
and go wandering.

  But Phee was done with being a fool for the day.

  Staring at her lap, ignoring the pools of light, she tried to read her book but shut it after only a few paragraphs. Romance was the last thing she needed to be feeding her overactive imagination right now. Tomorrow she’d have to grab one of Pop’s old spy novels, at least then she might not make an ass out of herself and lose her job.

  Fifteen minutes later, the robotic voice crackled over the speakers announcing their stop. Phee hurried to catch up with Regan, nudging her best friend with her shoulder as they stepped onto the platform. “Hey,” she mumbled, and Regan just rolled her eyes and wrapped an arm across her shoulders.

  “Hey back, sourpuss. You over your funk yet?”

  “Sure.” It was a lie, but Phee couldn’t explain what she was feeling. Stupid? Definitely. Only an idiot would have played along with the cocky ocean god’s game. Regan squeezed her as they walked down the sidewalk, filling the silence with an update on their friend Callie’s relationship drama. It was an apt reminder that romance was always better in books.

  Phee lived half a block closer to the train than Regan, but she always walked her home and then doubled back to her apartment. Mostly because Regan was never observant enough to be trusted to stay safe, and after so many years together Phee had made it her unspoken responsibility to watch out for her best friend. At the door to Regan’s building, her bestie turned and hugged her tight. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with you, Phee. You should be on cloud nine tonight. That guy Bryant is hot and he wants to take you out. Who cares if he’s from downtown? At least take the free dinner, it’ll probably be way better than leftover café food.”

  “That’s not it, Regan.” Not all of it. “I just don’t know why Alex was so pissed. Do you think he’s mad that I flirted with a customer?” Phee tucked her hands in her coat pockets, fingering the napkin tucked there.

  “He’s only mad because you weren’t flirting with him. And fuck him anyway! Bryant will probably take you to some five-star place that has twelve courses or something.”

  “Alex doesn’t like me like that, Regan!”

  “Whatever makes you sleep better at night. Speaking of that, I’m going to go in and go straight to bed so I don’t feel like shit again in the morning.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll see you then.” Nudging her friend towards the door, Phee smiled a bit. “Maybe you’ll be less of a bitch tomorrow.”

  “Ha ha. You’re so funny.” Rolling her eyes, Regan gave her a quick hug. “Night, girl.” She kissed her on the cheek and then hurried to type in the code to get in her building.

  As soon as the door was safely shut, Phee turned to walk home. She hated the nauseous feeling growing in her stomach as Regan’s words bounced around. If Alex liked her as much as Regan believed, would he fire her for the way she’d behaved with Bryant? It had definitely been inappropriate. Everything about the way she’d acted around him had been inappropriate. And if she hadn’t been so busy fantasizing about him as some fucking sea god she likely wouldn’t have even opened her mouth.

  There goes your head getting you into trouble again, Phee. Her grandfather’s voice was in her head more and more often these days. Pop had always warned her that if she didn’t get serious about her life, she’d never have a life.

  Just like her mother.

  Thinking of her family turned the sour taste in her mouth to acid. Bitter memories replacing the worry over Alex’s odd behavior, and her own misbehavior, as she trudged home through the fog. Phee took her hands out of her pockets, abandoning the napkin that was likely just another disappointment waiting to hurt her.

  The real world sucked. It was needlessly complicated, full of social landmines and tragedy.

  Her mother had tried to protect her from all of that. Over a thousand bedtimes she’d told her stories of fairy princes, kings of fire, and little girls who battled with swords and commanded armies by speaking the words of the trees. For a handful of years, Phee had known what it was like to feel free. To skip school and go dancing in the park. To have candy for lunch, and sneak into movies, and steal sunglasses to stroll hand-in-hand in the glittering streets of downtown. Her mom had never made her feel small, she’d raised her to imagine herself as a golden warrior goddess, an unnamed superhero, a queen of fire and ice.

  But then things had changed, and her mother’s mind that had always been filled with magic and light… broke. She got sick. Became convinced that the Cabal of Freedom was trying to kill her, and with all of the darkness swallowing her whole there was no more room for ancient warrior queens, or mermaids in the lakes, or hidden mazes in the woods that led to lands of snow and ice that never made you cold. When her mother died, sick and confused in a hospital, she’d only been fourteen. And even though her grandparents had often had screaming matches with her mom, fights where they’d called her crazy for all her rantings about recording devices in the walls — they’d cried alongside her when she was finally gone. She had been their daughter first and had recognized none of them at the end. Just a broken woman screaming about poisoned water in the taps, which had hurt them all.

  Still, her grandparents had loved her, tried to teach her to be normal. To get her to stop believing that fairies hid in the trees, or that black scaled dragons flew through the fog at night. To give up the idea that she could be anything she wanted to be, that she could make a difference. All of the things her mother had taught her from birth.

  Set your sights too high and you’re bound to land on your ass.

  Pop had been full of phrases to try and bring her back down to earth, to get her to be realistic. And just a few months after she’d moved into her own place, reality had shown up, uninvited and unwanted, and brought the darkness with it. Her grandparents died from a gas leak in their building, and Phee had found out she was completely alone in the world hours after everyone else. The neighborhood had been a buzz of activity when she and Regan arrived on the train, and the guilt Phee felt at being downtown when it happened still ate at her. If she had taken a factory job like her grandparents had urged her to, if she had just accepted her lot in life and stopped trying to be someone special, she would have known immediately. She could have been in the crowd of people who claimed the bodies as they came out. Instead, her grandparents had been labeled unclaimed and left in the hallway of the morgue as low priority.

  Unclaimed. Unimportant. Just paperwork.

  Just an elderly couple from the fog, together for over forty years, and at the end their lives had meant so little. Their only granddaughter managing to disappoint them one final time by not even being there to keep them out of a dingy yellow hallway.

  They had deserved so much better.

  Her whole world had crumbled, but Alex and Regan had been there for her. Alex had given her three days off, paid, and Regan had split her tips with her. When the morgue finally released their bodies, Phee signed the paperwork alone. Stood silently in a drizzling rain as a van took them away.

  She’d imagined their bodies being burned at the top of a great mountain atop towering pyres made of sticks. A hundred people crowding around them to sing at the stars and mourn them with her. And the stars had sung back, the sky a kaleidoscope of colors as the heavens wept with her, meteors crashing to the earth to light up the mountain tops in bursts of multi-colored light as she remembered them. Remembered her grandmother’s beautiful paintings, the way her grandfather would spontaneously bring home sweet cocoa for them. The way it had felt to be hugged by them both, loved by them. That was the ending they had deserved. One full of meaning and magic and stories.

  In reality, they had been cremated in a dismal building near the filthy shore of Nortok Lake, and she had scattered their ashes in the park that she and her mom used to dance in. The same place she’d scattered her mom’s ashes years before, beneath the same misty fog that turned the sun into a pale ghost.

  Standing in front of her building, she watched the fog swirling through the
yellowed, flickering light of a streetlamp and wondered if she’d ever be someone her grandparents would be proud of — or if she was destined to be her mother’s daughter.

  Responsible, reliable, and realistic… or a foolish daydreamer who kept a napkin meant for a girl who didn’t live in the dismal fog where the sun never touched the earth.

  Time held no sway over the ache in her chest, or the tears pricking her eyes as Phee plucked the napkin from her pocket. She was seven and screaming that she didn’t want to leave her mother. She was fourteen and sobbing in a hospital room. She was twenty and spinning in circles to spread ashes, drunk and crying. And she was here, now, twenty-eight and staring at the sharp lines of Bryant’s number, remembering for a moment the way he’d made her feel powerful and desired, the way his cocky grin had made her want to laugh and challenge him. But she wasn’t someone that could be with a man like him. It would be a joke, a flight of fancy — and she needed her job to pay the bills more than she wanted to find out if his lips tasted of salt water.

  Crumpling the napkin in her hand, she felt her chest tighten with the cry she refused to release and dropped it into the damp street. Leaving it to the fog and the filth in the gutter so that it wouldn’t be there to remind her when she woke up in the morning of just how foolish she could be when she let her mind pull her away from reality.

  Wanting more than you’re capable of getting just makes you sad, Phee.

  Her grandmother’s words this time, and she had to agree, because all she felt was sad.

  3

  Four glasses of whiskey later, Phee was curled in a blanket on the couch watching a stupid show just to try and brush away the gloom that had settled over her. It had been a long day, a weird day, but tomorrow everything would go back to normal. She’d bring Alex coffee, help him set up the café, and get back in his good graces. If she was lucky, it would be a clear day and she could enjoy the sunshine on her break. No dragons, no nymphs, no secret passages in the walls… just sunlight and sparkling glass buildings. The beauty of the real world. Boring, repetitive, but normal. Reliable.