Felony Ever After

by Helena Hunting

“It’s an ice pack. For my man business. Listen, I understand you’ve quit. And I know what I was doing looked crazy.” His eyes darted to hers for a moment, and he put one palm on his chest—perhaps to indicate how heartfelt his words were? His other hand settled across his genitals, maybe to express his continued fear of her.

  “Crazy would look like a winning lotto ticket compared to the shit show I experienced in your office.” Verity crossed her arms over her chest and tried to use her peripheral vision to scope out any nearby home decorations that could be used as weapons.

  Lay stepped closer.

  “Do not close that door or so help me God I will scream so goddamn loud you’ll wish you were dead.” She pointed to his hand at the edge of her front door. “And then I will make it so.”

  He sighed. “Okay, there’s no great way to explain this to you without sounding like a creeper. But I’m not. I just love latex. The dolls are a way of life for me.” Lay shifted from one foot to another. “They’re a safe way to experiment in—”

  She interrupted his speech, stomping her foot. “Knock it off! Stop. Good fucks out loud, you do not know how to take a hint. Hopefully the restraining order I filed on the way home will teach you to shut your noise-making face hole.”

  It was a lie, but damn, she would file one—if she lived through this encounter. So she hoped it was more of a prediction than a lie.

  “You didn’t stop; I followed you,” he countered. “I know. I know that makes it sound worse. But for right now, for your own safety, I’m going to confide in you so you know the truth. And you can yell, throw things, whatever, but my conscience is clear when I leave here today. I’ll have told you everything I know.” Lay gave her a very determined look. “That bike messenger you like so much is a problem. Has a problem. Is a problem.”

  Verity rolled her eyes.

  “No, wait. Seriously. Okay, so I like the company of latex companions, and yes, the one you saw today was supposed to be you. But—”

  Verity flailed her arms, and he began speaking as fast as an auctioneer.

  “I like women at work, and I like latex, so I found a company online that custom makes the dolls. First you build the body according to precise measurements, then you send them a cast of the face, and five months later you get a gorgeous, hand-painted sex doll that you get to keep and dress however you’d like, and they just love you forever.”

  Verity felt a little nauseated. “You have more than one of these?”

  He nodded eagerly, seeming oblivious to her horror. “These dolls are supposed to be one of a kind, but when I went to a doll-lovers convention in Las Vegas with some of my buddies—we call ourselves Humpers of Pumpers—I found out there’d been at least three more Paulines made. She’s my beauty. I created her with my own hard work. The company’s one-of-a-kind promise was a total lie.” He was agitated, like a petulant child.

  “Pauline from accounts receivable?” Verity had once heard that Lay had dated Pauline.

  He nodded, and had the decency to look sheepish about it.

  “So the creepy sex-doll makers made extra Paulines. Did she know you made the first one?”

  “Yes. Absolutely. You’re the only doll I’ve ever tried to make without my lover being in on it. Many women find it very flattering—and a threesome with themselves? Well, that just adds to the appeal.” He winked at her, then seemed to think better of it and pretended to wipe at his lashes as if something was in his eye.

  “How many dolls have you had this company make?” Why am I asking these questions?

  “Well, you would have been the fifth.”

  “And the first non-consenting employee to model for your latex pleasure?” Verity had no idea why Lay seemed intent on telling her all of this horrible, nightmare-inducing information. “I could sue the living shit out of you.”

  “Please, no. Look, I realize now it was a mistake not to have your permission. I just have to tell you this. Then you’ll understand. Here’s the thing: that bike messenger. I think he’s the reason the company is making the girls into mass-produced products. I have a bad feeling about him. He knows how particular I am. I have a very good eye for aesthetics—hence all the pens you picked up. I was researching the curve of your calf. The gentle slope of your bum—”

  “You need to knock that off right now.”

  “I’m sensing that.” Lay put up his hands and took a small step backward.

  “Your conspiracy theory does not make any sense, nor does it defend anything you’ve done. You’re trying to blame my boyfriend because he delivered a few of your crazy boxes? You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

  Verity ran for the couch and grabbed her phone only to watch it flicker once before the battery died. She heard Lay close the front door behind him.

  “Listen, I’m not done,” he said. The floor creaked as he made his way closer.

  “You are so, so done, Larold. Like, history.” She pretended to dial on her blank phone while she begged her racing heart not to explode.

  “Okay, is your boyfriend… secretive? Is his family rich? Like, not my kind of rich, but richer?”

  “Richie Rich?”

  “Yes. Because I think his uncle owns the company that makes the dolls. All of us latex lovers are a very tight-knit group. Super tight. Like a fist—a fist with a little moisture.”

  Verity stepped up and slapped him across his stupid face. He nodded.

  “I deserve that; I get carried away. I just love the dolls.” Lay stepped backward, hands in the air.

  “I’m getting a sense of that.” She pretended to speak to a 911 operator. “Yes, hold please. Either this intruder will get to his point or I’ll have you send the SWAT team over to staple his balls to his shoulders.

  “Hudson Fenn is the nephew of Bill Janpo, owner of HoneyBee Enterprises. The dolls are called HoneyBees. Because they’re so sweet. And you stick your prick in them.”

  She sat down hard on the couch. “That doesn’t even make sense. Bees prick you. And how do you know anything about Hudson? All he did was deliver a few lousy packages.”

  “Like I said, we’re a close-knit community. Or we were. I’ve been betrayed, and I can’t rest until I stop whoever’s making these extra dolls.” He pouted, sitting next to her on the couch. “But we have to proceed carefully. I don’t want to spook them and ruin my chance. We need to protect the one-of-a-kind dolls,” he added, reaching out to clutch her arm. “They’re my designs. For me. And only me.”

  “What do you mean we?” Verity whispered, removing his hand from her arm with a shudder. “You’re still making no sense, and also, I quit, remember?”

  “Well, fine. But has Fenn been paying really close attention to your vagina?” Lay asked, taking the conversation officially to the funny farm. “Almost like he was inspecting it?”

  Verity slapped him again and pointed to the door. “Seriously. Out!” she commanded, moving to a safer spot across the room.

  Lay stood, but kept talking. “That’s the next thing HoneyBee is rumored to be working on. Vagina replicas.” He nodded as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “I’ve heard they hired an MIT grad to perfect their design process.”

  MIT? Where Hudson supposedly went? Verity wasn’t a fainter, but now Lay’s words circled around in her head against a backdrop of her most private moments with Hudson. Could any part of this craziness be true? Before today, a latex copy of herself had seemed beyond the realm of possibility, but looky what Larold had in his office bathroom…

  “Scientifically superior genitalia—I won’t lie, that does appeal to me.” Lay was still talking as if this were a subject she wanted to discuss. And he was still in her apartment. “Does Hudson have a space he keeps secret? Somewhere you’re not allowed?”

  When everything in her apartment started to blur, Verity knew she wasn’t going to get Larold out before she checked out. She was going down. The last thing she saw was Lay looking at her oddly. Then black.

  Verity Michaels @VerityPics
03

  Vagina Inspections will be in room three. Vodka chasers. #NightmareFuel

  Verity Michaels @VerityPics03

  Ever have one of those days where sex dolls make perfect sense? #NoMeNeither

  Chapter 17

  Come Again

  Debra Anastasia

  Waking up in Larold Lay’s arms was even more horrible than she could have imagined. Handsome as he was, his breath smelled like glue. His neck was sweaty, and beads of moisture had all lined up on the starched collar of his shirt like they wanted to jump ship.

  He was massaging her back. Verity became a slapping machine the instant her consciousness fully returned. “You Barbie doll-screwing fuck knob! Back up off me!”

  He let her go, and she tumbled to the floor, her butt recognizing its old pal hardwood once again. She bounced up and swayed a bit. Fainting was weird shit.

  Then Hudson climbed in her window. Like he always did.

  “What the hell?” He looked wildly around the room, seeming completely unable to make sense of what he saw. Verity knew the feeling. He was so hot, and he looked so concerned. He couldn’t be a dirty liar, could he?

  Verity tried desperately to decide who to tell what. Her heart wanted to point at Lay and have Hudson beat him up, Power Puff Girl style, after she’d popped popcorn for the show. But her head knew she should find out if Lay’s claims had any truth.

  Her dilemma was solved when Lay stood, his huge groin looking even larger as he finally waddled toward the front door.

  “I’m leaving,” he announced. “She fainted, so watch out for her.” Lay waved his arms behind him, hitting parts of the wall and door before his hand found the doorknob. He twisted it frantically, never taking his eyes off Hudson.

  Hudson advanced, and Lay scrambled to get out, shouting, “Don’t forget what I said!”

  Hudson turned back toward her when he reached the closed door. “Did he take your quitting really hard? Do I need to go kick his ass?”

  Verity tilted her head and tried to memorize him. The testosterone, the offer to be her protector, the way his tattoo crept up his neck. She sat down on the couch after she felt the mental picture snap its shutter. “Thanks, but I think it’s okay. I’ll take a rain check, though.”

  Hudson sat next to her and pulled her close. He smelled magnificent. His weight on top of her might be the only thing that made sense at this moment.

  “Honeybee.” He massaged the back of her neck, but this time his nickname for her sent a chill through her body.

  She shook him off and scooted away. He was a lot to take in her personal orbit. Everything seemed a bit much at the moment.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s just, Lay said some things that upset me.” She bit her index finger. Is Hudson a liar? She felt her heart drop to her stomach. Is our whole relationship a lie?

  “That’s it—he’s going to learn what it’s like to get pounded by Hudson too.” He punched his fist as he stood, then seemed to realize his threat wasn’t exactly as intimidating as he’d intended. “Not sexually.”

  “I assumed,” she assured him. “Anyway, what he had to say was about you.”

  “Come again?” His eyebrows knitted together.

  “I wish it were that simple,” she said, more to herself than him. “He said some crazy stuff. And I’m sure it’s all lies, but I think I should ask you—”

  “Okay, sure. I can’t imagine what that guy could have to say about me that would affect you this way. I’m dying to hear it.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  He didn’t actually look that excited to hear it. Verity already knew sharing personal information was not Hudson’s favorite thing. But she owed it to herself to be thorough, didn’t she? They had to trust each other.

  “Can you just answer one question? And I know it’s off the wall, but…” She looked at her feet before regarding him again. “Does your uncle own a sex doll company?” She covered her mouth after she asked, almost literally closing the gate after the horses had escaped.

  Hudson’s face cycled through several emotions at once. Disbelief. “Really?” Indignation. “Really?” Disappointment. “Really. He does. That’s what this is about? That’s some sort of huge problem for you? I don’t see how that affects us one bit. Your ridiculous boss came all this way to tell you that?”

  He stood and headed toward the window.

  “No! I mean, I was surprised, but that’s not what I’m worried—there’s more to what he told me…” She stood quickly as the possibility the rest might be true as well loomed large. She swooned a little. This fainting was a real problem.

  In an instant, Hudson’s arms were around her. “Shit. Do you need to go to the ER?”

  She touched her forehead with her fingertips. “I don’t think I ate? Today has been such a whirlwind, and I had all that adrenaline from my triumphant exit. And then Lay was here… I bet it’s just low blood sugar. You can go. We’ll talk later. I’m sure this is nothing.” She shook her head as he unwrapped his arms from her shoulders. She thought he was leaving, but instead he went to the kitchen to get her some orange juice.

  She drank the whole cup.

  “If that doesn’t make you feel better, we’re going to the ER.” He sat in her armchair. “And I’m not going anywhere. When you’re ready, tell me the rest.”

  Verity sat for a moment, then put the cup down when she felt stronger, wishing desperately to move past the weirdness.

  “Are you okay?” He stood.

  She nodded her head. “Better. I’ll have a proper meal, and I bet I’ll be fine. No worries.” She stood and stayed sturdy on her feet to prove it to him.

  “Good. Now tell me the rest.”

  Verity sighed, took a deep breath, and did her best to convey Larold’s extra-sex-doll-copies conspiracy theory in a way that sounded as sane as possible.

  It did not go well.

  “I don’t… I can’t even… No way!” Hudson roared, his face a mask of controlled fury. “It’s a reputable company—I mean, if you’re into that sort of thing—not a pervert’s free-for-all! And you think I would betray their clients’ trust? I’ve got nothing to do with any of it except being related to the guy. You quit, and your crazy-ass boss—who had a doll made of you, yet another reason he needs an ass kicking—spews all this ridiculous crap on you, and you believe him? Over me? I thought we trusted each other.”

  Verity opened her mouth to speak, but had very little idea where to begin. She didn’t want to be an idiot about things. She couldn’t stand by and let someone lie to her. She’d seen how that turned out before. “I don’t know what to tell you, Hudson. I’m just trying to understand all this.”

  “I’m going to give you some time to do that,” he said.

  He turned and slipped back out the window, and Verity watched instead of stopping him.

  Verity Michaels @VerityPics03

  Well, that was an unexpected turn. #Fainting #HoneyBee #Dolls

  Hudson Fenn @tatwhiteknight

  Trust before busts, I always say. #PlotTwist #PainHurts

  Chapter 18

  Poor Decisions

  Debra Anastasia

  After she made herself some damn food, Verity spent the afternoon tweeting and attempting to sort through everything that had happened to her before noon that day. When Hudson failed to reappear in her window or respond to any of her tweets, she found her feelings on his part of the matter growing more and more disgruntled. He’d really been that pissy because she asked some questions? Clearly he’d never found a partially assembled latex version of himself in a boss’s bathroom before. Probably another perk of being a bike messenger and renegade mysterious dude about town. And his relationship with his mother had obviously been very different than hers—starting with the fact that he had one.

  Verity’s flaky, lying mother was an artist. Well, that’s what she claimed to be, but the splash canvases she specialized in didn’t seem very emotionally deep. Maybe an explanation fr
om the artist would make it all clearer, but Verity hadn’t seen her since she was three. In her young mind she’d built her mother up to be a beautiful but busy princess.

  Verity had held on to hope for her mother her whole childhood. She became a master at inventing excuses she didn’t show for visitation after promising the opposite. Verity would smile and let her father know it was okay while he seethed. The mumbling under his breath always continued for a few days after Verity had been disappointed.

  Sometimes Verity wondered if she’d wished so hard for her mom to show up so her father would be happy. And as her childhood morphed into her teens, her heart had hardened toward her mom. She’d been even more angry when she realized her mother’s irresponsibility and the pain it caused had ruined all types of art for her dad. Even after Verity showed him her business plan, he’d been extremely wary of her photography dreams. She’d wanted to prove to him that even though she liked to look at life through a lens, she could think like a business owner.

  And then the business he’d helped her start, against his better judgment, had failed. She knew helping her find a job in New York City—the real business world—had made her dad feel relieved and confident in her future for maybe the first time since she’d finished college with a fine arts degree. Then she’d held on to that job for less than a year. Maybe she was as flaky as her mother had been.

  She sighed. And as five o’clock rolled around, she decided she needed reinforcements.

  She texted Angie:

  Please go to the liquor store and buy all the liquors right now.

  Angie got her back almost instantly:

  On it. Legend. Big Ballio-Haver. Epic. #BossLevelBossShaming

  Verity tried to clarify:

  Quitting is about one-tenth of what happened to me today. Vodkaaaaaaaa!

  Angie sent her ten booze emoticons, followed by a series of question marks.