by Julie Cannon
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”
Peyton laughed. “It doesn’t matter how you play. It’s all in good fun and for a worthy cause,” Peyton said, very interested in Leigh’s reaction. The LGBT Youth Center desperately needed extensive repairs, its eighty-year-old building showing its age.
Peyton chatted up the other members of Leigh and Jill’s group enough to be polite, then went on her way. She would have liked to stay longer, but it was their turn to tee off, and she had other things to do. She’d taken a quick detour to see Leigh, and her welcoming smile was well worth it.
Peyton ran into Leigh twice more before the day ended, close to five thirty. By the time dinner was over, the speeches and thanks conveyed, and the awards handed out, it was almost ten. Several players took advantage of the Copperwind free Uber service to get home safely. Peyton saw Jill leave earlier, and when Leigh was ready to go, she walked her out.
“Is free escort service part of the registration fees?” Leigh asked teasingly.
“Absolutely,” Peyton replied, her blood warm from Leigh’s laughter. “I hope you had a good day.”
“Absolutely.” Leigh knowingly echoed her. “The weather was perfect, and we had a great group. We didn’t golf worth a damn, but we had fun, and that’s what was important. That, and the thousand bucks I dropped at the silent auction.”
The auction was one of the tournament favorites, with businesses all over town donating goods or services to the cause. It was a tax write-off for the donors and the buyers, a win-win for everyone. A piece of paper and a pen lay next to each item, and the bidders entered their bidder number and amount they were willing to pay. If another bidder wanted to raise the price, they repeated the process until the bidding closed. The name and amount at the bottom of the list won. All the elements of an auction without all the noise.
“What did you win?” Peyton had been outside when the winners of each item were announced. Must be nice to have that much discretionary money to throw around. After the money she gave her parents and Marcus for rent, she barely had enough to cross the street.
“A golf lesson with an instructor of my choice at some swanky golf course called Copperwind,” Leigh said as if she’d never heard of the place.
“Really? I heard that was one of the most sought-after items.” Peyton had noticed the bidding climb in hundred-dollar increments the few times she passed by the table and remembered seeing the same number every third or fourth line on the sheet.
“I don’t know who number eight was, but I wasn’t going to let that item get away.”
“Well, be sure to cash it in. That’s a lot of money to spend if you don’t use it.”
“Oh, I definitely will,” Leigh said. “This is me.” She pointed to a bright-red Audi A4 as the lights flashed and the dome light lit up the interior.
Peyton had a case of nerves, as if it were the end of their first date and the will-she, won’t-she-kiss-me question was hanging in the air. Of course she wouldn’t kiss her. Leigh was a member, and that was a no-no.
“Well, thanks for walking me out. I had a great time,” she said, opening the driver’s door.
She hesitated, looking in her eyes, then to her lips. Peyton wasn’t sure, but all indications were that Leigh was going to kiss her. Instead she simply said good night.
“Good night. Drive safe,” Peyton said just before she closed her door.
Peyton watched Leigh drive out of the parking lot, and her red taillights turned onto the main street. What a bizarre ending to an interesting day.
Chapter Thirteen
The pounding on her front door woke Peyton from a fitful sleep. Between dreams of Leigh Marshall and nightmares that her early release was a mistake, she hadn’t slept much. She quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, knowing who was there. She stopped at the desk and pulled out a small tape recorder and turned it on. She hid it behind the clock on the shelf.
After Conway’s first midnight visit, Peyton had bought the voice-activated device for her own protection, after he intimated that he was looking for more than compliance to the terms and conditions of her parole. Nelson had taught her how to side-step ugly situations, and she had effectively done so that time and several others as well. She knew there would be a time when she wouldn’t be able to. With guys like Conway, there always was.
Manny Conway pushed the door open, slamming it into the wall, his hand on the butt of his gun holstered on his hip. He grabbed Peyton on the shoulder, spun her around, and pushed her up against the open door.
“Who you got with you tonight?”
“Nobody,” Peyton said as she gritted her teeth at the indignity of his hands on her. The first time it happened, he said he was searching her for weapons or contraband. She knew that wasn’t the case. He was copping a feel, nothing more.
“On your knees, cross your ankles, hands behind your head,” he growled, looking around. She knew after he cuffed her that he’d search her apartment. This was the standard welfare check he subjected her to. She didn’t struggle or say anything. It would only give him an excuse to revoke her parole.
Peyton fumed as she heard him rummaging around in her bedroom. The last time he was here he’d pulled everything out of her dresser, including the drawer, and from her closet, tossing it all on the floor, where she was left to clean up. It had taken her all day to wash everything she owned. Peyton couldn’t stand the thought of putting on clothes his slimy hands had touched. She threw out all her underwear and bought new ones.
She made a mental note to install hidden security cameras in every room so she could document, without a doubt, his inappropriate treatment of her. At least she thought it was inappropriate. What the hell did she know about the roles and responsibilities of a parole officer? She’d assumed they had a job to do, not that they would get off on humiliating their parolees.
“So, you didn’t get lucky tonight, Broader?”
Conway might have thought he was going to get an answer to his intrusive question, but no way would she give him the satisfaction. It was none of his fucking business.
“What’s the matter, Broader? Cat got your tongue? Or is it pussy? Your girlfriend wear out your tongue?” Conway laughed at his own crude joke.
Peyton clenched her teeth together so tightly she wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t break a tooth or two. The balls he had and the way he abused his power disgusted her.
“I asked you a question, Broader. I expect an answer.”
“I went to work, came home, fixed some dinner, and watched the ball game. That was the extent of my evening.”
“Hmm. You can’t tell me a good-looking dyke like you doesn’t get lucky every chance she can.”
Peyton had gotten lucky, as Conway so crudely described it, every time she’d wanted to. And she wanted it a lot. She kept her affairs brief and noncommittal, and she wouldn’t even go so far as to call them affairs. They were mere hookups, both her and the other woman getting exactly what they wanted. She wasn’t in the market for any kind of relationship and chose her women for the same attitude.
She’d been celibate for the nine years, two months, and eight days she’d been in Nelson. Three thousand, three hundred, fifty-four nights, give or take two or three leap years.
Even though she was surrounded by two thousand women, she wasn’t interested in hooking up with anyone. Hooking up meant you cared, and if you cared, people could use that weakness against her. Peyton refused to give anyone anything they could use to their advantage.
Conway trashed her living room, tossing the cushions on her couch before upending it and doing the same to the recliner Marcus had given her just last week. Finally, he stepped behind her, grabbed her cuffed wrists, and yanked her to her feet. Peyton stifled a scream of pain.
Conway stood so close behind her she could feel his stinky breath on the back of her neck, his crotch level with her hands cuffed behind her back. There was no mistaking how much Conway got off on harassing her, and Peyton resisted the urg
e to grab and squeeze. Finally, her hands were freed, and calmly and slowly she turned to face him, masking the anger in her eyes.
Conway licked his lips as his bloodshot eyes stared at her chest and ended between her legs, making several trips before he finally turned and walked out her front door.
Peyton rushed over and threw the deadbolt before her legs could give out. When they did, she slid to the floor, her back against the door, and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“God damn son of a bitch.”
Peyton didn’t know how long she sat there, but when the morning sun started to peek through the crack in the drapes in her front window, she got up, went straight to her computer, and ordered a dozen miniature video cameras from Amazon Prime, selecting same-day delivery. The entire system cost only a few hundred bucks, but it almost depleted her emergency money. At least if Conway came again as soon as tonight, she’d be ready for him.
Chapter Fourteen
“Peyton, are you all right?” Lori asked the next day at lunch. “And don’t say you’re fine, because I know you better than to believe it.”
“Conway dropped in last night.”
“Did he do something to you?”
Peyton had shared with her best friend the nocturnal visits of her parole officer, and Lori had threatened to report his behavior to his superiors. Peyton had convinced her otherwise, saying that not only could she take care of herself, but doing so would only increase the likelihood of her parole being revoked for some fictitious reason. Conway was a bully, and Peyton knew how to handle bullies. However, the very real possibility that Conway would revoke her parole for some trumped-up reason scared the ever-living hell out of her. If she needed to take his shit to be free of him, she would.
“No. Or I should say nothing he hadn’t already done.” It had taken Peyton the better part of the morning to clean up the evidence of his power play, and she still had several loads of laundry to do. She’d thrown away her sheets and had to stop and get another set on the way home.
“I know I’ve told you this before, but you need to be careful with him, Peyton.”
“I ordered some video cameras. They should be arriving sometime this afternoon.”
“I’ll get a babysitter, and Kyle and I will come over and help you install them.”
Lori’s husband was an absolute gem. Between him and Marcus, they’d turned the rotting empty space above Marcus’s garage into a nice apartment for her.
“And don’t tell me you don’t need any help. We’re coming. You can buy pizza. We’ll bring the beer.”
True to her word, Lori and her husband showed up at five thirty, the back of Kyle’s pickup filled with a ladder, drill, and various other tools he needed to effectively hide the cameras. It took them over an hour to decide on the right place to put each one, ensuring 100 percent coverage of her apartment. It took another hour to install the first one and connect it to the power supply. The second took half as long, and by ten thirty all of them were installed and they’d eaten a large pizza. The cameras were motion-activated, and she could control them with an app on her phone. Lori had programmed it for her and written step-by-step instructions on how to erase the video after Peyton had watched it.
“I asked around about how other parole officers operate,” Kyle said, popping the top on his beer. He’d handed Lori his keys two beers ago. Lori wasn’t drinking, as she was expecting their third child.
“And what circles do you frequent, Kyle?” Peyton asked.
“A colleague of mine has a son who, unfortunately, has gotten into a lot of trouble and has had several different parole officers.”
“Max is the greatest guy,” Lori added. “And his wife Fern, an unbelievable, kind woman. How their son ended being a serious drug dealer confounds us all.”
“Anyway,” Kyle said, “Max told me the parole officers his son Jonas had were nothing like yours. Sure, they didn’t like him and knew he was a fuck-up and would continue to be, but they didn’t harass him like Conway does with you. For the first few weeks they checked up on him all the time, once at night, but no later than ten thirty. And they certainly didn’t trash his place like Conway does yours.”
“What he does is just not right,” Lori said. “He needs to be reported. I know you told us to stay out of it, and as your friends we are. But we also love you, and we worry about you and what he might actually do.”
Warmth flowed through Peyton at the honest concern of her friends, especially Kyle. Lori, she could understand, since she’d known her over fifteen years. She’d only met Kyle right before Lori married him seven years ago, and that was through thick, bullet-proof glass at the prison.
Peyton walked over and gave both of them a kiss on the cheek. “I love you guys too, and what you helped me with tonight will make it possible to do what I need to when I’m released from him. Now, you two get out of here, turn your babysitter loose, and have wild monkey sex. You know you want to.”
Lori laughed. “God damn, Peyton, you’re so right. I think Kyle keeps me pregnant because my hormones are off the chart.”
Kyle kissed his wife on the top of her head. “Dang, busted. But now that you mention it,” he said, pulling his wife to her feet and tugging her toward the front door, “that sounds like a great idea.”
Peyton was happy for her best friend. Would she ever feel the same? Would she ever want to?
Chapter Fifteen
It was eight o’clock, and Olivia’s birthday party was in full swing when Peyton arrived. She still felt a bit uncomfortable with Olivia’s family, but Olivia’s mother Grace and her sister Fran went out of their way to make her feel welcome.
Olivia’s father inquired about the club and her clients, and had asked Peyton several times for recommendations for improvements. He’d implemented several of them, and two more were on the drawing board to begin next fall. Peyton’s suggestion to offer discounts to collegiate golfers increased their sales by eight percent and provided a stream of new business as they brought their friends and family to play at Copperwind.
“Peyton,” Grace said, pinning her in the kitchen when no one was around. “I hope you know that we would welcome anyone you brought into our home.”
To say Peyton was stunned was an understatement. The subject of her sexuality had never come up in conversation, but then again, she had no idea what Olivia and her mother talked about behind closed doors. As much as she’d come to love Olivia, a flare of anger surfaced that she and her mother had discussed her.
Grace placed five perfectly manicured fingers on her arm. Peyton instinctively stiffened at the unexpected contact, then relaxed.
“I know what you’re thinking, Peyton. Olivia and Marcus haven’t said a word about you that wasn’t respectful or supportive. I may be old, but I’m not blind. I was waiting for the right time to tell you myself. It was too important to have Olivia be the go-between. Do you understand?”
The woman’s sincerity touched Peyton, and she laid her own unmanicured, callused fingers on top of Grace’s. “Yes, Grace, I do, and thank you.”
“Peyton,” her sister Natalie asked as she entered the kitchen. “Have you heard from Elizabeth?” Natalie and her husband had been invited to the party, as well as Peyton’s parents.
“No, I haven’t,” Peyton replied, quickly stepping away from Grace, feeling awkward and self-conscious.
“I’ve left her four or five messages, and she hasn’t returned any of them. I don’t know if she’s mad at me or what. But then again, she’s always mad at me.”
“She’s always mad at everybody,” Peyton commented.
“I know. I’m afraid for her, P,” Natalie said, using the nickname she’d given Peyton when she was a baby.
“I’ll go by and see her tomorrow,” Peyton said.
“And you need to read her the riot act. She hasn’t talked to Mom and Dad either, and they’re smoking mad.”
“You have such a way with words, Natalie,” Peyton said teasingly.
; “I know. That’s why I have a 97 percent conviction rate,” Natalie said, pretending to look down her nose at her and Grace.
“What about the other 3 percent?” Grace asked.
“Come on,” Natalie said, ignoring the question. “Olivia’s ready to cut the cake, and she won’t start without you two.”
* * *
“Elizabeth, open up!” Peyton shouted to be heard above the blasting music coming from behind the door. It was three in the afternoon. She pounded again, this time with her fist. “Elizabeth!”
Peyton tried the knob and found it unlocked. “Fuck.”
Her sister lived in a run-down apartment complex in an equally tired, old neighborhood where the landscape of choice consisted of peeling paint, weeds, and dead grass.
She slowly opened the door, standing off to the side. The last thing she wanted was for some idiot to shoot her, thinking she was up to no good.
“Elizabeth, turn off the music.” She eased her head around the doorway and didn’t see anyone in the front room. She knew her sister had a roommate, sometimes more than one, and Peyton suspected the apartment was a flophouse. Gray duct tape held the glass together in several exterior windows. A baby cried, and the smell of burnt grease permeated the hall. The place reeked of neglect and despair.
She kept her hands at her side as she slowly went through the front room, kicking an empty pizza box that had long ago fallen off the table and onto the floor. She heard noises coming from the bedroom but checked the kitchen first, finding it empty. The sink was full of dishes, the garbage overflowing. A large roach scampered under a pile of dishes on the counter. Peyton shuddered and turned away in disgust.
By the sounds she heard as she went down the short hall, she knew what she’d find. She peeked around the door, and sure enough, there was her sister with some guy, a skull tattoo covering his entire back. Neither of them knew she was there until she pounded on the bedroom door. Both heads turned and looked her way.