by Jayce, Aven
“I’m not stupid,” Cove murmurs, heading down the stairs.
“Neither is Paul, and don’t you ever forget that. Now, take a seat on the recliner.”
Cove sees the tattoo machine on the coffee table as he sits in the faux leather chair. He swallows hard; eyes wide open. His hands shake as he looks around the room for Paul. It’s dark. The curtains are closed and there’s only one table lamp on in the space.
“Worried? You’re starting to look a little peaked. Would you like to repeat what you just said to me?”
“Repeat what?” Paul asks, entering the room with a bottle and three shot glasses in his hands. “Is our Star still acting out?”
“I think he might be coming around, although he did mention that his father might kill us soon.”
“Is that right?” Paul drawls. He places the glasses on the coffee table next to the machine, filling each one to the brim. “Take a shot, Cove, you’ll need it,” he says, handing him the drink.
Paul downs his with a smile and Doron follows with a shake of his head and a squint in his eyes as it goes down.
“Ooooh baby, that’s good,” Doron squeals. “I need one more of those. It’s been a long day.”
Paul pours two more and Doron quickly reaches for his, only to have a firm hand grip his wrist. He looks at Paul and then puts his hand down, waiting for permission.
“Our guest still needs to drink before we have our second round,” Paul says, turning toward Cove. “Drink up. You’ll feel better.”
Cove swirls the liquor around the glass and spills some on his jeans. He sniffs it, scrunches his face, and places the shot back on the table.
“Hold your nose and drink it, you’ll regret it if you don’t. I wouldn’t want someone to give me a tattoo while I was sober.”
Cove picks the shot back up, looking at Paul in disgust. “Do you really think I’ll be able to hide a tattoo on my body from my parents?”
“Where I’m going to put it, yes. Unless you want them to see it.”
“Well then, I guess I’ll have my proof.”
Doron disregards Paul’s request to wait and downs his shot. He stands and paces, then takes off his Yankees hat and throws it across the room. “Let’s wash him up and take him back, Paul. I’m tired of all of this. The money’s not worth going to prison. Jesus, we have our whole lives ahead of us, we’re only in our mid-thirties, and I just got married.”
“No, Doron, let Paul do it,” Cove says with a smile. “I can handle a tattoo. Can you handle getting butt-fucked in prison?”
Paul whispers to Doron to leave the room. “Go have a cigarette and come back in five. I have some things to show our friend.” Doron nods, puts his hat back on, and flips a cigarette into his mouth as he leaves.
Paul turns to Cove with a smile. He takes his laptop out of his bag and rests it on Cove’s lap. He opens a video and clicks pause, then takes a seat on the sofa next to the recliner. “You know, I make a lot of videos. I have been for a few years and it’s served me well. I have a nice home in Vegas and a few rental properties where we film, like this one for instance.” Paul raises his hand and waves it around the space. “But I want more, and you can help me get what I want. You’re a handsome little fucker. I showed your photo from the Rosens’ reunion party to a few of my clients. They told me what they wanted, and what they would pay in order to get it. I have to say, Cove, if you can do this for me for a few years, you’ll make a bundle yourself. Wouldn’t you like to buy your mother nice things?”
Cove is silent, emotionless.
“Cove. I know you love your parents. How about you click play and have a look at how much your father loves your mother.”
He’s a statue, detached, not moving a muscle. Paul lifts the screen up to the level of Cove’s face and selects play.
“Watch it.”
The video shows his father with Natalie, the woman who was just here. She undresses and dances in front of him, and his father clearly enjoys the show. She sits on his lap and they start to kiss. Cove closes his eyes, unable to watch what happens next.
“Like father, like son, I always say.” Paul laughs, closing the video. “This would be great for your mother to see, it would do wonders for her marriage. Of course, it might interest her more to see the one of you. What would she think to see you and your father with the same woman? I suppose she’d think that your father must have had something to do with this, wouldn’t you say? Hmm, Star? But then again, maybe you and I could keep this our little secret,” he winks, opening a second video. This time the screen displays a meeting room at his father’s office. Dayne and Doron Rosen and Cove’s father are pondering NOVA. Cove listens as his father discusses what the move into this territory will mean for everyone financially, and the best means of security for the sites.
“Our safety is our top priority. This is dangerous ground, we all know it, but I think I have the site secure and all the bugs worked out. We can bring in some eighteen-year-olds; we already have a handful in the business that look to be around thirteen. But we need to be careful and make sure everyone on this project is doing the correct checks on these employees. We recently had two sweet sixteens slip into the system. The men also need to look young, very young. Our clients for this line are mostly women; rich, lonely women, and we all know the other group requesting it aren’t the safest clientele to have, but they’ll pay us a fortune for any video with young boys, real or not.”
Paul closes the screen and puts the laptop away.
“Sounds like your father is in charge of a lot of this. I wonder what the police would think after seeing everything I just showed you.” He slides the shot across the table, moving it closer to Cove.
Cove swallows the drink, slams the glass down and lets out a cough.
“Good boy.”
“Why do you have to do this to me? To us? Don’t you have any kids? Don’t you feel bad? I don’t understand. Is it all just about money?”
“You have a lot to learn, little Star. Everything is about money. Everything.”
Doron walks back in and slumps on the sofa. His body smells of smoke. He places his feet onto the coffee table, more relaxed than when he left. “Let’s do this shit so we can get the fuck out of here.”
“Sit on him, I’ll get the ink. It will just be an outline so it won’t take long.”
Doron kneels onto the recliner, places his knees to each side of Cove’s legs and straddles his hips.
“I don’t want to do this. Take me home. I won’t talk, I promise. Just let me go,” Cove pleads in a high-pitched voice as he struggles to move the 220-pound body off his legs. “You fuck, let me go.” He pounds Doron in the chest. Doron grips his hands, leans forward and holds them above Cove’s head.
“I’m not gonna argue with Paul, you’re his project. His baby. Close your eyes and relax.”
“Give him another shot,” Paul says, returning to the room. He pours alcohol in the glass for Cove. “Here, you need it.”
Doron releases Cove’s hands and takes the shot from Paul. “Drink it,” Doron demands.
Cove gulps the drink without hesitation, handing the empty glass back to him with a shaky hand. Doron places it on the side table, noticing the paleness in Cove’s face.
“Scared?”
Paul adds the ink to the container and plugs the machine into the wall. He steps on the pedal to check the movement of the needle. “Perfect. Take off his sweater.”
“No wait!” Cove yells. “Where are you putting it?” He pushes against Doron’s arms in an aggressive fight to be free of the chair. “Please!”
Doron pulls the bottom of the sweater up. Cove tenses, his face strained, his eyes frantic and full of fear. He shudders, and with one quick jerk forward, vomits down the front of himself.
Doron steps away, looking down at the mess. “Fuck, Paul.”
“Just take his sweater off, he’ll have to clean himself up later.”
Cove’s bottom lip trembles and tears fill his eyes. �
��Paul, please,” he whispers.
“Doron… leave.”
“What?” Doron turns, not sure he heard Paul correctly.
“Go home. You’re done. Go take care of your family. I’ll finish this myself.”
“Are you kidding?”
Paul puts the tattoo machine down, sits back on the couch and places his hands in his lap.
“You’re eerily calm about all of this, Paul. Lifeless. Insensitive. I can’t stand it.”
Paul clenches his teeth, looking into Doron’s eyes. “Leave.”
Doron straightens his shirt and hat. He looks down at Cove who’s quivering in the chair, vomit on his chin, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Paul…the kid looks bad. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Get out, Doron. Now.”
Doron leaves the room, and a moment later Cove jumps at the sound of the back door as it slams shut. He’s alone with Paul.
“So, my little Star. Let’s do another shot together. I have some things to discuss with you while you’re getting inked and I need you to be as relaxed as possible. The more you drink, the less you’ll feel, and the easier all of this will be.” He pours two shots, slides one over to Cove, then raises his glass and waits for his new employee to imitate the gesture. Cove submits and Paul gives him a wink, “to NOVA.”
***
I’m cold. Snow falls and sticks to my wet sweater that’s now frozen to my skin. Paul forced me to shower, made me wash the puke off my clothes, and then sent me out into the winter darkness. My hair is stiff. The ends have become icicles.
Six more blocks to warmth and safety.
It must be around five. Dad will be home from work soon. I want to hide. I have to run away. Where can I go? Mom is out on a photo shoot. Maybe I can go to her studio. No one will think to look for me there.
My feet are frozen. Paul kept my socks, t-shirt, and underwear. He’s sick. That fucker disgusts me. My stomach turns from the liquor. What did he make me drink? I think it was Vodka. I’ve had beer with my friends and my mother allows me to have a glass of wine at holiday dinners, but this was different. It burned my throat. I’m still queasy from it. I hate Paul.
Four more blocks to warmth and safety.
I will remember this day. Natalie and I together as Doron filmed us. Paul said people want to see it, that they’d pay money to watch it. Why? Will they laugh at me? Did I do it right?
How can I hide this from my parents? If Dad is part of NOVA, won’t he see my video? And why is Paul in St. Louis? Did he come out here just to do this to me? I know he plans to talk to my dad… maybe I should tell my dad myself.
Two more blocks to warmth and safety.
My chest hurts. The tattoo throbs. I should have puked in Paul’s face. That monster. He said he’d see me soon. How can I get away? Maybe I can stay in my bedroom for a while. Stay home from school. Pretend I have a cold, not go outside. If I go out, he’ll grab me and take me back to that house. I don’t want to go back there. Ever.
I shiver. I need to get this frozen sweater off. My fingers and toes tingle. It’s the first week of March and we shouldn’t have this much snow. It’s never this cold so late in the season. In another week there should be buds on the trees. This has to be the last snowfall.
The steps are shoveled. Dad must be home. He’ll be mad that I didn’t get that done for him and he had to do it himself. He hates walking up the path to our home in deep snow. It gets onto his expensive oxfords.
I open the door and the warm air encases me like a hug from one of my parents. I want my mother to place her arms around me, yet I can’t imagine I’ll ever enjoy the touch of a woman again. Not even her. I can’t tell her what happened. Not after what Paul said to me when he dropped me off. I don’t want to die. I don’t want my mother or father to go to prison for what they’re involved in.
The brown shag rug in my bedroom feels soft under my bare feet. I stand for a moment, staring into the full-length mirror that’s attached to my closet door. I look like a raccoon, with dark circles under my eyes and a deep shade of purple in the tips of my fingers and toes. I pull my sweater off and see the NOVA tattoo for the first time. The words are swollen; my skin is red. Paul taped plastic wrap over it and he told me not to get it wet for a few days. Bastard.
I throw up again and the vomit drips down my chest. I look at my stomach and think back to Natalie with her hands on my flesh. I wish Doron hadn’t been in the room. I don’t want a man to watch me do those things.
My stomach knots and I begin to cry. I cower in the corner of my closet next to a pile of dirty laundry. My father… I hear him… he’s coming up the stairs. He calls my name. I’m silent, searching for comfort in the fetal position.
“Cove, why didn’t you shovel for me today?”
The door to my room opens and he walks in.
“Cove?”
Silence.
“Dear God, Cove?” I hear him bend down next to me. His hand is warm against my flesh and I jolt from the contact. “Hey, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
Silence.
“Cove, come on. What happened? Are you sick?”
I turn my head so he can see my face, vomit fresh on my lips.
“Oh son, do you have the flu? Let’s get you off the floor and into bed.” He places a hand under my side and legs and begins to lift.
“Aaew!”
“What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you hurt?” he asks, setting me down. He rubs my arms and legs. He feels my body, and then places the back of his hand on my forehead.
“Jesus, you’re frozen. And you smell like a bar. Were you and your friends drinking at Pagoda Lake again? I told you not to go over there. Did they push you in?” He touches my feet and stands, quickly walking over to my dresser for a pair of socks. “Your feet are ice cold, get out of the closet and put these on. If you’re not sick now, you will be if we don’t get you warmed up. Here.”
I don’t move.
“COVE,” he yells. “If you’re drunk, fine, we’ll talk about that later, but get your ass out of the closet.”
The strain in his voice and his insistence forces me to rise. I lift my upper body but keep my head down, too embarrassed to look at his face.
“Oh fuck,” he whispers in a horrified voice. “No, no, no, no, no, Cove. Son? Fuck! Paul, you shit!” He’s hysterical. I jump as his hand breaks through my bedroom wall. He pounds into it, again, and again.“Fuck!”
I keep my head down. I tremble from head to toe. My body jerks and I curl back into the corner of the closet.
I hear my father take out his cell, his breathing’s heavy and fast. He strides around my room while he frantically waits for Paul to pick up the call.
“YOU FUCK!” My father screams. “How could you do this to my son? You piece of shit! MY SON! I’m going to the police. You won’t get away with this. Any of this. Not this time you fucker… no, you listen to me. My son’s curled up like an abused animal in the corner of his closet. What the fuck did you do to him?”
There’s another loud crack against the wall and I wrap my arms around my ankles. I rock back and forth.
“No! I am going to the police…no you fuck… I can. I don’t care what happens to me, you’re not doing this to Cove. Don’t come near him, don’t touch him, don’t even think about him… Paul.” The room goes silent except for my father’s heavy breathing. He curses a few times then sits down next to me; his hand rests on my chest. “Paul,” his voice quivers in a low, defeated tone.
I wait, my father listens.
“Doron? No.” His hand travels around to my back as he lies next to me, trying to warm my body. I shake. “Paul…no. I won’t. Don’t do this I’m begging you…I can’t live like this. I won’t have my family be a part of this.”
My father places his head against mine, he kisses my forehead and I feel a tear fall onto my face. I can hear Paul’s voice as he ends the call.
“You really don’t get it do you? There’s no discussion after this
point, nothing to think about or talk about. Get your shit together, get your son’s shit together, and enjoy the benefits. I’ll have a check to you tomorrow.”
“I don’t want it,” my father responds dryly.
“Give it to our Star.”
“Don’t call him that. He’s not part of this.”
“Did you hear what I said to you? You’re fucked if you think you can change this. They want him.”
I hear the front door open. Mom. She’s home from work.
“Fuck, Leondra’s home.”
“Take care of things over there. I’ll be over tomorrow afternoon.”
My father throws his phone. He places kisses on my head, shoulder, and cheek. I feel smothered as he holds me close. “I’m sorry, son. I’m so sorry. Please be okay, please. I didn’t know.”
I hear my mother walk up the stairs.
“Fuck, stay here,” he whispers.
“Where are my two handsome men? Cove the second and my adorable young Cove the third? Come give me a hug. I’ve missed you guys today,” my mother calls out. Her voice is sweet, warm, and comforting. I don’t want her to see me like this. Don’t come in here.
My father stops her in the hallway as she approaches my room. They kiss.
“Hey beautiful. How was your photo shoot?” he asks.
“It was fabulous… are you okay? You look fatigued. Tough day at work?”
“Yeah, but I’m fine. I just have a few things to work out with Paul.”
“Well, Paul gave me a huge bonus for being there today on such short notice. We should celebrate. How about we eat at Rucker’s tonight? They have such wonderful food. I’d like to treat my boys to something special. Where is Cove, anyway?”