The Inheritance

by Zelda Reed

  Neal works the room with ease, beer in one hand as he slaps the shoulders of all the men, diving into quick conversations before jumping out. He circles the pool table like a shark, glancing over at me, daring me to come closer but I down my bottle of water and look away. I focus on Ashleigh, who blushes beneath the low light of the basement, the blond (Chris) mercilessly flirting with her.

  After thirty minutes Ashleigh bustles over to me, her smile bright as she says, “Come on, they’re about to start the game.” She grabs my hand.

  “What game?”

  Ashleigh pulls me where two couches and a few chairs are set up in a sharp circle. We sit on the leather couch, pressed together on a single cushion, resting on the edge as slowly the entire club gathers around us.

  “Most of you know the deal,” Nicky says, lounging at the head. “But for the ones who don’t,” he glances at us, “we always end on a little game of truth or dare.”

  A round of shouts and whistles float through the circle, mischievous glances thrown our way.

  Truth or dare. A game reserved for teenage girls and their slumber parties, always played after sneaking drinks of a bottle of cheap wine, their cheeks flushed as they whisper: I dare you to kiss Bobby tomorrow. Tehehe. But this group of men with flecks of grey hair, men who were handsome, who were thin, who were desirable, push themselves to the edge of their seats, their palms sliding together in excitement.

  “The rules are simple,” Nicky continues. “You gotta tell the truth if asked.” My eyes flicker towards Neal who watches me over his beer. “Being in this circle, right now, means you’re up for anything. So if you roll a dare, you gotta do the dare.” He looks at us. “Understand?”

  Ashleigh nods excitedly.

  “Alright.” Nicky tosses Ashleigh a single red die. Four sides, truth written on two, dare written on two. “New members always roll first.”

  The focus shifts towards Ashleigh, her small hands rolling the die between her palms, eyes fixed on the coffee table in front of us. She takes a deep breath, rattles and rolls. The die hops around on the table, click-clack, click-clack, until it lands.

  “Dare!” Nicky screams. A pair of men high-five. Neal and Chris exchange a glance. Ashleigh smiles nervously. “Pick a number one through ten, sweetheart.” She picks seven. Starting with Nicky, the men count off. One, two, three, four, five, six, “Seven’s Jensen. Tell us, what are you gonna dare little Ashleigh to do?”

  Jensen’s silent for a moment. “I think it’s high time we get back at your neighbor for calling the cops last Christmas, don’t you think?” The men all agree. “She’s got this award winning squash, always talking about it. Keeps it locked up in her dining room. I dare you to go over there and drop it, right in front of her.”

  Ashleigh releases a sigh of relief and I know exactly what she’s thinking. Nothing sexual, thank god. “I think I can do that.”

  “There’s no thinking in this game,” Nicky says. “You either do it or you don’t.”

  “What happens if you don’t?” I ask.

  All the men exchange a glance. Nicky says, “We’ll worry about that when the time comes.” He claps his hand together. “Jensen, you go with Ashleigh while she completes this dare.”

  Chris rapidly finishes his drink. “I’ll come along too. Just in case Miss Skinner loses it, which she inevitably will.”

  Ashleigh flashes a grin – here goes nothing – and passes me the die, the three of them marching up the stairs, drunk soldiers heading to war.

  “Caitlin, you’re next,” Nicky says.

  The die scrambles in my hand, palms sweating after every second passes, the room’s attention focused on me. I shoot for the middle of the table but get the edge, the die clumsily rolling until it lands on: “Dare!” Nicky screams. He laughs. “We’re on a roll tonight. Pick a number between ten and twenty.”

  I pick fourteen.

  The counting off starts again: one, two, three, four. The voices crescendo around me, the long trail of numbers leading closer and closer to Neal. His eyes glaze over the heads of the other men, silently counting them off. Is it me? It isn’t.

  Fourteen sticks with, “Carl, she’s all yours.”

  Carl’s one of those men who wakes up in a pool of his own sweat, his hairline and armpits drenched with it. He tries to wipe it away with the back of his hand but droplets quickly form again, rushing down his forehead, dripping off the tip of his nose. I can see his dare forming in his dark brown eyes, foggy with mischief and lust.

  He clears his throat nervously. “I wanna…I mean…I dare you to, you know,” he jerks his head towards one of the rooms.

  “No she doesn’t know,” Nicky says. “You gotta spell out the dare, Carl.”

  Carl clears his throat again, a hand wiping the sweat from his top lip. “A…Um…A hand job. I dare you to give me a hand job.” A few of the men nod in approval.

  A sickness settles in my stomach, a dash of red brushing against my cheeks. They’re all staring at me, leering, mouths parted open as they await my response. My shoulders press up to my ears as I make eye contact with Neal. He’s gripping his beer tight enough to turn his fingers white, his eyes narrowing. You don’t have to do this, and, don’t you fucking dare.

  Defiant sixteen year old me, awakens in my mind. “Okay,” I say, slapping my hands on the couch and pulling myself up. I look at Carl. “I’ll give you a hand job.”

  The cheers are deafening, loud enough to drown out Wrigley Field and instantly, I’m ashamed. My stomach tightens and twists, my body’s way of begging me to change my mind, but I have too much pride for that.

  I glance over my shoulder. Neal’s face is red with anger. His eyes meet mine and he quickly turns away.

  Carl follows me into one of the rooms, a little bigger than a closet with a single chair in the corner. He closes the door. There are no windows and a flickering light that hangs overhead, the walls painted a deep green, giving the whole space a seedy look.

  I can smell Carl, standing steps behind me, reeking of sweat and body odor. “I…” he wipes another film of sweat away. “I guess, I should…” He fumbles with his belt.

  My stomach lurches in my throat. “Look, I know I said I would do this but --”

  The door swings open. Carl cracks his neck towards the knob. He forgot to lock it.

  Neal storms inside, filling the small space with his height and his shoulders, eyes zeroed in on me.

  “Fuck off,” he says to Carl.

  “But…”

  Neal’s tone drops, his voice scooping out of the depths of his stomach. “Fuck. Off.”

  Carl blinks furiously. His fingers twist in his belt loops. Neal grabs his shoulder and shoves him out the room. He slams the door behind him and locks it.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I say, hiding my relief.

  “Were you really going to jerk him off?”

  I stick out my chin. “Didn’t I say I would?”

  Neal sneers. “Is that the kind of girl you are? Willing to fuck a man as long as he demands it?”

  He advances and I take a step back. No, that’s not the kind of girl I am, but there’s something about the way Neal looks at me that makes me defiant and angry. “And what if I am?”

  An animalistic growl grows in his stomach, the sound reminiscent of the way he moaned in my hotel room. He walks until I’m backed against the wall, my fingers curling at my sides as our toes press together.

  Mouths inches apart, Neal’s breath ghosts across my lips, my fingers itching to touch him. I keep my hands to myself.

  “Then you’re going to let me fuck you,” he says.

  I look up at him, annunciating every letter. “No.”

  Neal devours my mouth with his own, our lips clumsily smacking against one another, front teeth bumping against bottom teeth, like we’re desperate horny teenagers who’ve snuck away from our parents for a quick fuck. He knows I want this. His tongue swipes across m
y bottom lip and erases the “no” that’s settled there.

  This is not going to be the slow, passionate fuck of yesterday. There’s no bed, no gentle hum of the air conditioning, no romantic lighting to bathe us, just this tiny fucking room with the locked door and a crowd of men waiting on the other side. I won’t be surprised if a few of them press their ears against the door, fingers to their lips as they pick up on our mouths smacking together.

  Neal trails his fingers up my thighs and beneath my skirt, hooking them around my underwear as he shoves them towards my knees. My head tilts back, bouncing against the wall as he tugs at the sleeve of my blouse, stretching the neck to give him access to my collarbone. He bites down and a moan slips out of my throat, the palms of my hands pressed against his back as he fumbles with his belt.

  He’s cooler than Carl, more composed, the belt slipping out of the loops within seconds. He tosses it carelessly on the floor, unbuttons and zips open his pants, pushing them and his briefs to his knees.

  Neal’s quick about it, the way his hand settles on the back of my thigh, hiking my right leg around his waist. Hand on his cock, he rubs the tip against my clit, another moan passing my lips as he enters me.

  My blouse and hair scratch against the wall as he fucks me, hard enough for my fingers to curl and dig into his shoulders, the fabric of his jacket stuffed beneath my fingernails.

  Neal buries his face in my neck, teeth sliding against my skin, muffling the groans that fly from his throat. I pull the inside of my cheek between my teeth, biting hard enough to keep myself from crying out.

  Nate jerks his hips, faster and faster, the pair of us, clawing at each other. Desperate to get off.

  My orgasm builds quickly in the pit of my stomach, my legs opening a little wider to coax him deeper inside.

  “Neal,” I whimper in his ear, a single word warning for what comes next. My shuddering orgasm. I bite down on his shoulder, my moans swallowed up in his fabric.

  He comes soon after, releasing his teeth from my neck, a bruise festering and tightening against my skin. I can hear nothing but the sound of his breath against my ear, his heart pumping fast in his chest, beating in time with mine. He pulls out of me and a pool of wetness slides down my leg. Neal notices and pulls a light blue handkerchief from his jacket. Quickly he sops up his cum from my skin, trailing the soft fabric all the way up my leg, patting the inside of my thigh dry.

  We re-dress in silence, my underwear sliding up, his shirt tucking neatly into his pants. He’s staring at me but I refuse to meet his eyes. The whirlwind of lust has ended and we’re back to square two. He’s a liar and a most likely a cheat, just like my father, and after this I want nothing more to do with him.

  The basement door opens and three pairs of feet shuffle down the stairs.

  Ashleigh says, “I did it!” and a resounding applause fills outside of the door.

  I step around Neal, arm outstretched, ready to welcome the raised eyebrows and twisted smirks, but Neal grabs my arm. His hand encircles my wrist and I try to snatch it away but he tightens his hold. He swings me around until we’re facing one another.

  “You wanted this,” he says, hissing and almost desperate.

  “Maybe I did,” I say, yanking my arm. He tightens his grip. “But I don’t want you.”

  Neal pulls me close. I’m surrounded by the scent of him: sweat, sex and me, crawling all over his hair and skin. “You’re lying,” he says.

  “I’m not the one who’s a liar.”

  He drops my hand and I step away from him, fingers curling around the knob as I pass him one last look.

  “Goodbye Neal,” I say, wedging the door open, allowing the smell of us to spread to the rest of the basement.

  Thirteen

  Ashleigh hums, the entire cab ride back to the city. It occurs to me in that moment that it’s the first time I’ve seen her without tears, her thin layer of make-up untouched, her cheeks naturally flushed from the air rushing through the open window. She carries a certain energy that can’t be ignored, one that demands your attention and your smile. When she grins at me, it’s electric and I can’t stop myself from smiling back.

  She keeps my mind from slipping into too many thoughts of Neal, though his face pops up in my mind whenever I get a whiff of myself. I try to shake them out. There’s no use being angry when in two days I won’t be in this city again.

  We’re seconds away from The Palmer House when Ashleigh taps my knee. “Do you mind…And um…You can say no and everything but. All my friends went back to Wisconsin yesterday and I don’t really have anywhere to stay.”

  I sit up. “What?”

  “Well um,” Ashleigh turns towards me. “The dorms are closed for the summer – not that I was staying there, I moved out in the second semester - and Martin took the keys to the condo to give to you. Not that I would stay there because it belongs to you now and…I just…I really need a place to stay. Just for the night.”

  The cab pulls up to the hotel. The yellow lights of the city draw an orange halo around Ashleigh’s head, each strand glowing in the dark.

  “Okay,” I say. Her face lights up. “But just for one night.”

  ______

  We share a bed and I feel like I’m in college again, platonically bed-hopping with other girls because I could wake up next to my new best friend. We don’t tell each other stories in the dark, or whisper secrets against our pillows, but minutes after I click off the light, Ashleigh emits a soft sob from her throat.

  I try to ignore it, forcing my eyes shut and curled away from her, but it grows louder and I’m forced to ask, “Is everything alright?”

  Ashleigh turns to me. She’s wiped off her make-up in the bathroom. There’s no eyeliner or mascara to ruin, just blond lashes doused in tears as she says, “I’m sorry. I just…I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

  “About what?”

  “I can’t,” she wipes her nose. “I can’t go back to Wisconsin. I can’t spend another summer there. I’ll go crazy in that house with my parents. And I…I already told them I was staying here but that was before…Before…” She dissolves into sobs.

  “Before my father died?”

  She nods.

  For a moment I chew on my bottom lip, carefully mulling over my next words before I spit them out. “You can stay in the condo if you want.”

  Her eyes widen. “What?”

  “I was going to sell it but I can wait until August, when school starts back up.”

  “Really? So we’ll be, like, roommates?”

  I smile. “No, you’ll have the place to yourself. I’m going back to Baltimore on Wednesday.”

  Ashleigh’s eyebrows furrow. “But what about Neal?”

  “What about him?”

  “Don’t the two of you have something going on?”

  I shake my head. “No. We had a fling. A meaningless little fling that’s over.”

  Ashleigh frowns. “Oh. That’s too bad. He’s really hot and I’ve only heard good things about him from Julian.”

  “No offense, but I tend not to take my father’s word on anything.”

  A moment of silence passes between us before Ashleigh says, “He really did love you, you know.”

  “Everyone keeps saying that.”

  I turn away from her, her eyes on my back, signaling the end of our conversation.

  Fourteen

  In the morning I step out of bed and Ashleigh pulls the comforter over her head, snuggling deeper into the mattress. She remains that way until I’m dressed for the day: a casual yellow dress with white flats that makes me look like summer herself.

  She pokes out her head and mumbles, “Where are you going?”

  “To my father’s office,” I say. “I have to get the key to the condo.”

  She nods and buries herself again.

  Chicago in the summer is always sticky and hot, the humidity building sweat against my chest the minute I cross over St
ate. I have to manually shield my eyes from the sun, one hand over my eyebrows. I’ve forgotten my sunglasses on the bathroom counter. I think of Neal, how he keeps his sunglasses and handkerchief in the pocket of his jacket, always ready, always prepared. I wonder if he was some sort of Boy Scout.

  My father’s company goes through receptionists like most people go through packs of gum, fast and without warning. I don’t recognize the girl behind the desk – blond and gorgeous– but she grins when I introduce myself and says she’s heard a lot about me. I want to ask: From who? But I don’t really want to know the answer. If it’s my father I’ll sink into another hole of guilt, if it’s not, I’ll feel all the more vindicated, a feeling I’m starting to tire of.

  She calls Martin before leading me through the office, the entire floor renovated much like my father’s condo. Very mid-century modern with dark walls and smooth wooden cubicles, every chair and desk screaming I’m expensive. Everyone’s tied to their desks, chatting on the phone or typing an e-mail, so transfixed in their work they don’t notice me or the receptionist, passing them all and heading towards the other end of the office.

  We stop at a door without a nameplate. One of two executive suites. She knocks before pressing her ear to the door. “You can go in now.” She sways her hips as she walks away.

  I open the door and shouldn’t be surprised when I see him, but I am. My hand grips the knob as I furiously turn on my heels but the sound of ringing keys catches my attention.

  “You came for these, didn’t you?” Neal says, leaning against what’s now his desk. I start towards him but he hides the keys in his palm. “Close the door.” I stand, defiant. “Caitlin,” he growls. “Close the damn door.”

  I close his office door and remain near it, across the room from Neal. He looks good today. I hate myself for thinking it, his hair stylishly combed to the side, stubble scratching his jaw, his grey suit reflecting off his blue eyes.