by Ashley Logan
“Yeah. Told you he needed to vent. Just rub it would ya? I can drive the car, but if I can’t get out of it when I get home, I’m fucked.”
Sighing again, I massage the lump in his thigh. “You’re lucky I’m taking pity on you. And that I’m not some homophobic weirdo,” I add with a laugh.
Damon inhales sharply through his teeth and his leg starts trembling involuntarily. “I think you got it, just a little more.”
I work his muscle smooth again and he nods. “Just a little higher.”
“Here?”
“Higher,” he says, wincing. “And be gentle with me, Bruno. It’s my first time.”
Ripping my hand away, I glare at him as he laughs out loud and puts the car in his garage.
“You cheeky mother-! Honestly! You try to do a guy a favor, but all he wants is his cock rubbed. I don’t know how chicks put up with it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
SCARLETT
Peeking out my door, I see the hallway is empty. Letting out the breath I was holding, I adjust my bag straps and quietly close my door. The tag on my doorknob catches my attention.
Please make up the room.
Snorting, I look toward Bruno’s empty doorknob and smile. Mr. Suddenly Serious does have a sense of humor. What is he trying to say with these shenanigans? One minute he’s hot, the next he’s cold.
Taking out a pen, I change a few words and hang it back where it belongs.
Stopping by the kitchen for an apple, I make my way down to the street and walk to the metro. I promised Mom I’d come home today, since I didn’t have a chance to see her and Dad after the show. Taking out my phone, I let her know what time I’ll be at the last stop, so she’ll know when to pick me up.
It would be easier if I had a car and could just drive out to East Amherst myself, but it’s not really feasible in my current situation. The only time I need a car is when I go to see my folks, and Mom’s always more than happy to be my chauffeur. Empty nest syndrome, I guess.
I get a seat on the train and decide to text Violet.
Me: Due to your absence, I can only assume you had a steamy night with the good detective.
Vi: Oh. My. God. So much steam.
Smiling, I let my thumbs do the talking.
Me: About fucking time. Good for you. You can tell me all about it later. I’m on my way to see my folks.
Vi: Tell them I said hi. Have you told your Dad yet?
Me: Still working on the best angle. Not planning on destroying my angel-child image today though. Too tired.
Vi: I hear ya. All that dancing and barely a minute of sleep.
Me: No need to brag. It’s been a few months since I last got laid and I’m starting to have withdrawals. Even weirdos are starting to look good.
Vi: LOL. You have a problem.
Me: You have no idea.
Vi: Explain.
Me: Bruno’s acting weird.
Vi: Good weird?
Me: Weird weird. Still so moody he’s repellent, but... I don’t know. Nothing. It’s Bruno.
Vi: Interesting. We are talking about this tonight when we’re both home.
Me: It’s a date.
Putting my phone away, I watch the other people on the train, making up stories in my head about their lives. The trip goes quickly and soon enough I’m heading above ground and scanning the area for Mom’s little Honda. It’s hard to miss with its bright orange paintwork.
Climbing in, I lean across to give her a kiss.
“Hey Momma Bear.”
“Morning, Baby. You doing something new with your hair?” she asks, flicking the remnant curls of my ponytail.
“Nah. Kat did my hair all fancy for the cocktail after-party. You know me, I don’t give a rat’s ass about dolling myself up.”
After a moment of disapproving silence, Mom speaks.
“Debs called yesterday,” she says, having made the unconscious leap from vanity to my sister. Hiding my smile, I reply with an “Oh?”
“Mm-hm. Says she’s very busy at the moment, but she’s going to do her best to fly in for Christmas.”
“Great.” I say it with actual enthusiasm, because although I find my sister annoying as hell, if she’s not coming until Christmas, it means she won’t be coming to the ritual family birthday celebrations my parents force me to endure every year.
“Now, I know that means she won’t be here for your birthday,” Mom continues with an apologetic tone, as if she hasn’t yet realized that Debbie and I will never be close. “But I think we can still have a good time.”
I laugh to myself silently. “I think you’re right, Mom. We’ll just have to do our best to have a nice time without her.”
Mom releases a contented sigh and nods. “I knew you’d understand. You’ve always looked on the bright side.” Looking at me a moment, I see that sadness come to her eyes and know she’s wondering how my life would be going right now if I hadn’t been partially burned to a crisp.
“Is there any other side?” I ask, waving her off as she pulls into our driveway. I’m out the car door as fast as possible.
“There she is!” Dad says, climbing down the ladder and wrapping his arms around me. He smells of freshly cut wood, and soap, and home.
“Hey Dad. Roof leaking?”
“Not that I can see. The forecast is for some weather, so I thought I’d just check the spouting. How are you doin’ Pumpkin? You sure were fantastic last night.”
“Oh yes!” Mom agrees, apparently just remembering the dance show they came to see. “Thank you so much for the tickets. You were wonderful,” she says, ushering me inside. “And Violet too.”
“She said to say hi. She’s busy with her new man.”
My mother gasps and does a little jig. “A man? Oh good for her!”
Nodding, I walk to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. “Yeah. ‘Bout time, huh?”
“I should say so. And what about you?” she asks, flicking the switch on the kettle. “Any men in your life? Deborah says her boss is very keen on her, but she has to keep turning him down because it would affect her career.”
“She’s his P.A. Mom. If she fucks her boss, it will definitely have an impact on her career.”
Batting at me with her varnished nails, she gives me a stern look. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.”
“Though she has a point,” Dad says, winking at me on his way past. I smile at him when Mom reaches for the teabags, still muttering about my language and how I only do it to bother her and to avoid the questions she asks. I get the same ‘have you found a man’ question every time I visit - as if my sole purpose in life should be to secure myself a husband.
“Tell me about that man you danced with in the last act,” she says more clearly as she hands a cup of tea to my father and takes her own to the little nook off the side of the dining room and sits on the afghan-covered couch, patting the seat next to her. It’s not so much an invitation as an order. Rolling my eyes, I sit next to her, knowing it’ll be over sooner if I don’t argue.
Gordon the slightly obese, ginger cat jumps into my lap as soon as I sit and begins drooling before I’ve even started petting him. Scratching behind his ears, I ignore Mom’s question and tell him how much I miss him.
“I’d like to hear more about that guy too,” Dad says, surprising me.
“Why? He’s just a guy I work with,” I say dismissively. “And live with,” I add, knowing how that sounds, but wanting to be honest where I can be. Dad has no idea I’m a stripper, and I think he’d probably have a heart attack if he found out.
“In that hostel-style apartment you told us about?” Dad presses, always suspicious as to how I live, because I’ve insisted they both allow me the privacy I need to become independent.
“Yes. We dance and we live. And work out at the gym. Nothing else. I might have a tea too, while the kettle’s hot,” I say, setting Gordon on the floor and evading my interrogation by walking into the kitchen. “I’m pretty tired after al
l the rehearsals and the show.”
“He’s very good-looking,” Mom says, still on track. I can feel her eyes on me even when my back is turned. I shrug as she watches my every move.
“Yeah, so? People are often ugly under the surface.”
“He’s a very good dancer too.”
I sigh. “His mom was a ballet teacher, I think. Something like that. Anyway, we don’t like each other, so stop digging.”
“Awful lot of time to spend with someone you don’t like,” Dad says, blowing on his tea.
“I agree, but right now I have to tolerate him in order to do what I want to do.”
“Dance therapy?” Dad asks, his eyebrows twitching.
“Yes. Bruno is just one of my many roommates. It actually helps to live and work with so many others in that regard. I never have to spend much time alone with him.”
“That’s a shame,” says Mom as she looks directly into my eyes. “Seems you two had quite the chemistry on stage. And don’t you roll your eyes at me.”
Groaning, I take my tea and sit at the table. “It’s called acting, Mom. The guy’s a jerk.”
“He’s a jerk to you?” Dad asks.
“Yes.”
“So you don’t spend time alone with him in case he tries to pull something?”
“What? No! He’s not a bad person, he’s just annoying as fuck.”
“Scarlett!”
“Sorry, Mom. No Dad, Bruno isn’t going to attack me. Can we drop this now? I have zero dating interest in any men currently, least of all Bruno Jackson. I’m glad you enjoyed the show, but I am twenty-three years old and very capable of looking after my own love life. How is Auntie Jen?” I ask, brushing hair back from my face and frowning into my tea.
After a brief period of intensive eye contact, my mother finally relinquishes her mission. “She’s doing much better. Ally made the cheerleading squad too. I told Jen if she wants any hints or help, she need only ask her cousin Scarlett.”
“Sure,” I say, with feigned enthusiasm. It seems a lifetime ago that high school cheerleading was my claim to fame. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Ally. Doesn’t she still play with Barbies?”
“Oh no,” Mom says, shaking her head rapidly. “She’s fifteen now; very mature, and so pretty.”
Consciously trying to prevent my eyes from rolling, I smile and down my tea. “Well then I’m sure she’ll do just fine. Excuse me.”
Putting my cup in the sink, I head out to the yard. Breathing in the smell of lawn clippings, I soak up the green. This is what I miss with inner-city living; the chance to be immersed in green right outside your door. Wandering over to the woodshed, I notice Dad has barely started his winter stack for the big fireplace in the living room. What looks to be about a tree and a half worth of sawed rounds lie in a large pile to one side of the shed.
Taking off my sweater, I hang it on the open shed door, set a round of wood on Dad’s chopping block and take up his log-splitting ax. With great satisfaction, I slam the ax into the wood, splitting the round in two. Picking up one half, I bring it to my nose and inhale. Nothing smells better. Setting the half back on the block, I chop it into manageable pieces for the fireplace and throw it into a small pile by the door of the shed.
When I realize Dad is sitting nearby and watching me, the cut pile is much bigger. I wipe the sweat from my face and rub my shoulder.
“She feels terrible about mentioning cheerleading,” he says quietly as I set another round on the block. It’s got a few knots and I take a moment to work out the best angle to hit it. Winding up, I split it with one stroke.
“I don’t give a fuck about cheerleading, Dad.”
“Then why are you out here doing my chores for me?”
“I like the way it smells.”
“And?”
I swing again and again until the final section is cut and then I toss all the pieces onto the pile.
“Mom thinks the world runs on ‘pretty’ and in her eyes, I’ll never be pretty again. I know the world doesn’t run on ‘pretty’, but it’s fucking sad that my own mother can’t see beyond the surface. I know she loves me, and supports me with anything I want to do, but in the back of her mind, she’s disappointed that I’ll never be like Debs, or like Ally, and that her expectations of me are... compromised because of what happened. I just -” cutting myself off, I shake my head. Walking to the rounds, I roll a big one to the block and heave it on top.
“You’re strong.”
“It’s not that heavy,” I say reaching for the ax and turning in a circle when I don’t see it.
Dad chuckles as he hides it behind his back. “I wasn’t talking about your muscles, but those are strong too,” he says, walking around and putting the ax inside the shed. “I was talking about your resolve. A terrible thing happened to you. You almost died, but you didn’t let it keep you down. You fought every step of the way and you’re still fighting to prove to yourself and anyone else that nothing will ever stop you,” he says, watching me carefully. “During your recovery, you learned that you wanted more from life than you’d planned before the accident, and you forgot the small dreams you had as a child. You grew up and you grew up strong. Your Mother is strong too. She kept our lives together while you recovered, but she still grieves for the daughter she lost. That daughter needed her more. Those small dreams are what she thought were your big ones, and she gets their ruin tangled up with your scars. You know she would never mean to hurt you by the thoughtless things she sometimes says.”
Kicking a bark chip across the lawn, I wipe my cheek and nod.
“You constantly amaze us with your strength and determination. It’s something people without them can’t quite understand, but I think you are the most beautiful girl in the world,” he says, folding his arms around me. “Now if you’re done chopping wood, it’s lunchtime, and your Mom has made your favorite.”
Sniffing, I laugh a little. “What? She felt so guilty she made country chicken casserole? How on earth did she have time for that? I’ve only been out here half an hour.”
Smiling broadly, he kisses my forehead and keeping an arm around my shoulders, he leads me back to the house. “She made it yesterday morning. She’s been looking forward to seeing you all week.”
Sniffing again, I look up through the kitchen window to see Mom smiling apologetically and holding up her casserole offering. Smiling back, I take a deep breath and climb the back steps.
WITHOUT DAD AS A BUFFER, the ride back to the station with Mom is a little tense. At first she plays the radio, her fingers tapping out the beat nervously against the steering wheel as she drives. I look out the window and pretend not to notice her looking at me every few seconds.
“You know I love you, Darling,” she says, turning the radio off.
I try not to sigh. “Yes, Mom. I know.”
She nods. “I only want the best for you.”
“Yeah. I get it.”
Frowning at the road, her hands tighten on the wheel as she builds to whatever she’s about to say.
“I know you’re a grown up and can make your own decisions, but sometimes I don’t necessarily agree that it’s what is best for you.”
Taking her eyes from the road briefly to meet mine, she gives me a tight smile. I return it, just as tightly.
“What are we talking about here, Mom? Me dating, or me stripping?”
“Forget I even mentioned the dating. I’m sure it’s a difficult thing to manage, what with Kenny and... everything else. It’s hard enough to recover from a break up without the host of other things you must have to deal with. I only mentioned - Bruno was it? - because I thought I saw something there. I also don’t want you to miss out on the wonderful things in life that other girls your age are out enjoying.”
My head sinks into my hands a moment, before I stare at her. “Oh my god. Are we talking about sex?”
My Mom’s cheeks heat and I can’t help but laugh a little. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. I have sex. Safe
sex,” I add quickly, before she can steer into that uncomfortable conversation.
Her cheeks burn a bit brighter and her eyes stick to the road. “Oh. Good. I guess doing what you do opens up opportunities for that.”
Sighing, I lean my head back on my seat. “I don’t sleep with guys from the club, Mom. It would be creepy and I’m not that desperate.”
“Oh,” she says again, nodding. I can tell by the way her shoulders relax a little, that she’s pleased about that. “Good. How long do you want to keep stripping?” she asks in a purposely casual way.
“As long as it takes to feel completely comfortable in my own skin,” I reply, looking out the window again to hide my face. “Which isn’t yet, if you were wondering.”
The silence between us bulges before Mom sighs quietly. “I’m sorry to hear that, Baby. Have you given any thought to telling your father?”
“Why? So he can be as disappointed as you are?”
“That’s not fair, Scarlett. I’m supporting you, aren’t I?”
Because you pretend to understand why I need to, but part of you thinks that I might never amount to anything more and it kills you.
“Sorry, Mom. I know my dancing is hard for you. I don’t see why it has to be hard for Dad too. He wants the best for me as well, and one day I’ll have it, but he doesn’t need to know the details of how I get there. Recovery is a journey and my dancing is just part of the process. There’s no need to worry him for no reason.”
“You don’t want him to think less of you,” she says, still not looking at me. “Scarlett honey, there isn’t a thing you could do to stop that man from thinking the world of you.”
“Except dance naked for money.” Rubbing my forehead, I run my hand over my face. “I don’t like lying to him, and I’ve been trying to work out the right way to tell him, I just haven’t found it yet.”
“Maybe if he met some more of your friends?” Mom suggests. “Once he sees how lovely they are, he might take it easier. I mean, he adores Violet.”
I shrug. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
“Good,” she says pulling up to the curb near the station. “It’s getting harder to distract him from the truth.”