The NOVA Trilogy Boxed Set

by Jayce, Aven

  “So do you have a boyfriend then?”

  “Perhaps,” he says.

  “Too personal?”

  “Yeah, is there something else I can help you with, Chatty Kathy?”

  “I’m bored and I have cabin fever. What am I supposed to do?”

  “There’s an iPad over in the desk drawer. You can go online, but we’ll monitor everything you do, so no emails. You’ll get cut off immediately. Shop, read, or play solitaire.”

  “Sounds dreadful.”

  “What, you don’t like to read? It will take your mind off your present situation.”

  “I read. It’s just that this doesn’t seem like the time to start a new novel, that’s all.”

  “Suit yourself, I need to get back to work before Paul kicks my ass.”

  I open the desk drawer and find the iPad, unplug it from its power source and pull the blanket full of vomit off the bed. I lie chest down on the sheets with my feet swaying in the air. Carl’s gone and the flat screen is dark and silent.

  The homepage when I open Safari is set to the Jameson Industries Website. The advertisement for the expo that just ended takes up half the page. There’s a photo of the woman I saw who had the breasts the size of Montana, and the full wall display of vaginas. I enter the expo page and see that you can register for a private dinner with my father, which must have been what we interrupted that evening. It costs five hundred dollars to dine with him. Five hundred fucking dollars?

  There’s also a new product sneak peak teaser page including the cattail plug; an anal plug with a long furry cat tail coming off its end. A list of the porn stars that will be available for autographs and pictures ends the information page.

  I go back to the company homepage and click on the products tab. There are eighty-four pages of items for purchase. “Jesus,” I whisper. “I can only imagine how much this brings in. They must have a constant flow into their bank accounts.” Magazines, books, posters, videos, toys, clothing, even coffee mugs and shot glasses with the company name, or you can have your favorite porn stars name engraved. There’s a top ten products tab that I click to find that the Butterfly Kiss by California Exotics is their hot seller. A 3-speed clit and G-spot stimulator that’s even waterproof. Thank God I only see them offered as new and you can’t buy any used products like on other sites. I scroll through the cock rings, anal beads, bullets and magic wands, ending with the soft and sensual realistic feel dildos. I see my new friend Carl has a nine-incher for sale. Yes, I can buy a Carl Caverns dildo and have it delivered in a discreet package by tomorrow. I close the page in case he’s watching. I wouldn’t want to send out the wrong message, but like he said, whether he’s on that screen talking to me or not, they can monitor my usage. He probably already knows I’m viewing his shaft. I wonder if they make a mold and just how close it is to the real thing.

  I shift my position on the bed and lean against the headboard with my knees up and the iPad on my upper thighs. I’ve never researched my father, since I never had a reason to believe there’d be anything online about him. I mean, I’ve seen his Fox Palace hotel and casino, but it’s just like all the other online hotels in Vegas. You click on the site, view a few photos, check out the schedules for upcoming events, and make a reservation for a room. Nothing I needed to look at more than once. Now what’s before me is a secret life and I’m curious as to what’s hidden within this site. I come across a photo book of female nudes by Leondra, and the magazine that she’s the lead photographer for. There are numerous three-to ten-minute videos to watch for free, but nothing about Cove. I don’t see one product, photo, or video, nothing with his name. How can someone so famous in the company not exist on their site? I read the ABOUT page wondering how much information my father will divulge.

  Jameson Industries offers adult products and services for private, business, and home usage. Our main office is located in Las Vegas, Nevada, with smaller branches in Los Angeles, Denver, and St. Louis.

  Below the short paragraph are three mugshot style photos of my father and the Rosen twins. I click on each one and read a description of their titles in the company, education, and interests. I had no idea my father enjoys golf and fly-fishing. Where can you go fly-fishing in Nevada? What a load of crap. I click the Facebook tab and a new window opens taking me directly to their site. The cover photo shows an aerial view of the crowded expo floor from this past weekend. I wonder how many people they have employed in marketing to monitor and take care of their web presence? There’s probably an entire team of photographers, graphic designers, and social media experts working on this every week.

  I’m horrified to see the second photo down the page is of Cove kneeling in front of my father. It’s a photo set with the title A Star’s reappearance in the desert. I open the set to see a group of photos from that moment the crowd at the expo went silent. There’s one with my back to Cove and my father, a close-up of Cove with his head bowed, another of my father turned toward me, and one of me as I leave. There’s a description next to the last photo that reads: Is this the future of Jameson Industries? Hundreds of comments follow. People, clients, fans, whatever you call them, want to know if I’m really Paul’s daughter. Some say they’d like to fuck me, others write that I’m hot and I’m the woman in their fantasies, then there’re a few who write long paragraphs analyzing what I could do for the company and where I should be placed for the best exposure. What the fuck? I type my own comment, signed in as a Jameson Industry guest on the iPad; Get a life, people!

  I see the comment and smile, then watch as it disappears. “What the?” I type it again. Gone. What, I can’t even type a simple message? Fine. I close their page and go to the Google home page. Now what? Can life be any more boring? I’m not the sort of person who can sit around and wait for things to take place. It’s not in my nature. “Eeeergh,” I growl, as I wrap my arms around my legs and rock on the bed.

  “NOVA,” I whisper. The last thing Mera and I did together before I left her place was to search online for NOVA. She texted me that she opened the search once I was gone; I wonder what she saw?

  I type it in and scroll past the obvious pages we already researched, ending with two Wikipedia sites. One for NOVA stars, and one for NOVA court case. That’s it.

  I read about Cove’s father, and that he was found guilty of the possession, production, and distribution of child pornography, endangerment of a child, and tax evasion. He was sentenced to twenty years in the Plains City Correctional Center. There’s no mention of Cove, Leondra, or Jameson Industries, only a link to child pornography laws in the United States.

  The screen on the iPad goes dark and Carl reappears next to me.

  “Can’t you just fucking be like other women and shop online or look at recipes?”

  “That’s quite stereotypical of you. What is this the 1950s?”

  “Find something else to do,” he demands and I’m left alone with blocked Internet access.

  The iPad gets tossed back in the drawer and I spend the rest of the afternoon in a state of unrest. I pace, nibble on cheese and crackers from the kitchenette, explore the closet that’s packed with clothes of different sizes, try to get the flat screen to show an actual channel besides Carl, do some sit-ups, and look at the tattoo on my body reflected in the mirror. I walk up the stairs in the bathroom a few times and stand outside on the balcony in the warm sun while I wait. It’s a surprise that this door is unlocked, but at three stories up, I know I’d never be able to jump or escape without breaking a leg… or worse. From up here I have a clear view of the pool that’s been empty all day. If I find out Mera’s aware of all of this and she’s done nothing to help me…

  I continue to pace and sigh for hours. Loud music plays in the evening and I start to wonder if they forgot I’m here. Did they get my menu choice? Will they pick up this breakfast cart and will I get dinner? Are they going to leave me in here to starve to death? Is that how they’ll get rid of me, a slow painful death through the deprivation of food
and human contact?

  It’s ten at night. An entire day has passed and my only contact with the outside world has been with a porn star through a flat screen.

  “Carl? You there?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  He’s not. No one’s around. Not Carl, my father, the Rosens, Mera... Cove.

  “What the hell?”

  I pound on the bedroom door and let out a burst of frustration. It accomplishes nothing. My hands throb. My head and shoulder still hurt. Surprisingly, I haven’t had a panic attack since I’ve been here.

  My eyes scan the room looking for a camera. I don’t believe Carl views me through the television. There must be something around, some way he’s watching me. I check the chandelier, alarm clock, chairs, pillows, and fireplace. All the obvious places are clear. My eyes examine all the smaller items placed throughout the room. A vase of fake flowers on the desk, pen and notepad, lamp, small ceramic bird statue, and a photo of the Fox Palace… all free of electronic devices. I lie on the bed and watch the ceiling fan above my head spin and circulate air. The ceiling fan… has to be. I race over to the bedroom door and flick the switch on the wall. It comes to a stop. I stand on the bed, and instantly see a small round camera with a tiny cord that runs into the ceiling. Perfect placement right above the bed. I wonder how many clients they’ve recorded in here, or if it’s solely for their employees’ “protection.” I believe the latter is what my father and Dayne would say.

  I write my father, or Carl, or whoever, a quick note.

  1) I want OUT.

  2) What did you do to Cove?

  3) You won’t get away with this.

  I place it on one of the blades of the fan, about a foot below the camera, and hope they can read it at such a close proximity to the lens. It’s worth a try. I don’t bother to cover the camera or rip it out just yet. I feel better about the situation just knowing where it is.

  Laughter comes from somewhere in the house, then loud music plays for hours. It’s a heavy beat and never slows to something that will lull me to sleep. I lie in bed and listen, identifying most of the songs as Drake, Eminem, and Jay-Z. At least they’ve moved into the twenty-first century with their musical tastes. I’ll assume that’s Dayne. He’s probably having anal sex again with Mera.

  “Oh God,” I moan and roll onto my stomach with a pillow placed over my head. “Make it stop,” I mumble into the bedspread.

  My eyes finally close after an hour of swear words spew out of my mouth about loud music, imprisonment, and boredom. I miss Cove. Yeah, I actually miss him. It’s been almost two days since I’ve seen him. I want to run my hand along his body, kiss his lips, smell his scent, inhale his breath, and fall asleep in his arms. I want to talk to him and spend time with him. Yet I’m drained, and full of anger due to his offer to my father, the exchange, that entire morning. And now, for hours, all I could do was think about him. I have nothing but my thoughts to keep me occupied while I’m in this suite. Sit, and think. Pace, and think. Shower, and think. It’s amazing how tired a person can get from doing absolutely nothing.

  ***

  “Sit.”

  “Mmm?” I moan. What was that? I listen, in a daze in-between sleep and consciousness. The room’s silent. Must have been a dream.

  I hear a squeak and sit up. The roll cart vanishes from the room and the door closes. “Wait!” I scream and throw the sheets off, racing to the door. “Come back!” I yell, as my fists pound the hard wood. Whoever it was, they’re gone, and I’m left alone in the dark.

  “FUCK!” I kick the door with my foot and yell. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… Dad?” I exhale and crawl back into bed as tears start to roll down my cheeks. I place my arm across my eyes and sob. My nose runs and my pillow is soggy. I throw it on the floor and lay flat on the bed, wondering how long it will take to fall back asleep. There’s nothing else I can do but lay here… and wait. I wipe my eyes and sniffle, trying to clear my nose so I can breathe.

  The alarm clock reads two. I sniff again, and my chest rises and falls in quick jerks as my body tries to settle itself from a bout of crying. The room feels different. Warmer, smaller, and… I sniff again… I smell vanilla and cedar. I’d know that scent anywhere. Cove’s in the room.

  I sit up and turn on the lamp next to the bed. He’s on the sofa in front of the fireplace, head down, his back turned to me.

  “Cove,” I whisper.

  He sits in silence, motionless.

  “I can’t decide if I want to hit you or hug you,” I say.

  No answer. No movement. I’m suddenly worried. Maybe he’s hurt, or worse, maybe they killed him. I stand and approach the sofa with caution, unsure of what I may see and how badly his face has been damaged.

  “Cove?” I say in a soft voice.

  He sits back and sighs with one arm over the sofa back and runs his hand through his hair.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, as I step closer. “Dayne told me how we were both set up.”

  He takes off his black oxford shoes and throws them against the wall. I quickly jump. “I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry that you just said that to me. You’ll fucking listen to Dayne Rosen’s words over mine,” he snarls, his body language emanating anger. I take a second step back as he continues to speak. “You promised you’d remember not to listen to any words exchanged in that office. You said you’d remember that I loved you,” his voice rising louder in volume.

  “Oh hell no. Don’t you dare turn this around on me,” I yell, walking toward him. “How could you tape me, us, our first time and not tell me.” I stop in front of him and he turns away. “Look at me,” I shout. He moves, his eyes glare and his nostrils flare. He has two days of stubble on his face, a black eye, dried blood under his nose and on his suit. The same suit he had on in the office. Where has he been? Has he bathed, eaten, or slept since then? I close my eyes and shake my head, still in a fight with my heart. I want to run into his arms and comfort him, but my mind tells me I should slap him. I lower my voice and sit on the sofa. “I’m sorry. You’re right, but so am I. You shouldn’t have taped us, and you know it, but I should’ve trusted your actions and words in the office.”

  “I was trying to give you and everyone what they wanted.”

  “What about you? What is it that you want? You were trying to sell me to my father… to the industry.”

  “I fucking said not to listen to what your father and I said,” he shouts. “You know as well as I do that I can’t have what I want. I’m going to spend my life giving people what they need and desire.”

  “Why couldn’t you have told me what you were doing?”

  “It wouldn’t have been the same if you knew. Not as passionate, not as real,” he says, taking off his jacket and tie as he lowers his voice. “You’d think about the camera, what you said, how you sounded and looked when you came.” He rolls the sleeves of his shirt and I notice a cut on his arm and more blood on his clothing. “It meant something to me, whether you believe it or not. I would’ve never given myself to another woman, no one’s ever captured my heart like you, and I’ve never felt so sick and broken because of it. I don’t have the words to explain what you’ve done to me. I wanted that time with you to be about what we saw and felt in that moment. Nothing else.”

  “You could at least apologize. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you in that office and about everything that we’ve gone through, but I’m not taking all the blame.”

  “I’m not sorry, Sophia.”

  “What?” I question and lean forward on the sofa. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me. Fuck you if you think I’m sorry. I was in a perfect moment with the woman of my dreams, and I’ll never regret that time, even if this company has control of it now. I can’t change who I am and what I did. We were together and that’s all I wanted. This fucking company is separate from my heart, but I still have a job to do, and I know I needed to help you. This is how I’ve spent half my life and I don’t give a shit anymore that I recorded us. That wa
s all them, not me.”

  “No, it wasn’t. You made that decision, not my father and the Rosens,” I say in a harsh voice.

  “No one gave me a choice, not you, not any of them.”

  “You need to learn how to make your own choices,” I yell as I stand and pace in front of him. “So, you’re really not sorry you gave that to my father? You think they should market us? Me? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “After the way you treated me the other morning, I really don’t care. All I care about is never feeling the way that I did when you walked out that door. I stayed by your side through all of this and you turned on me in that room,” he yells. “Remember that night under the stars? You said you’d be right by my side. You said you wanted to be in that office to support me, no matter what I said to Paul or what I had to do. Those were your words. I haven’t slept, or been able to eat. Your father gave me a bottle of liquor and locked me in the theater room with early NOVA movies continuously playing on the screen. I wish they would’ve killed me instead. I’ve just stepped out of one hell and into another. Now I’m locked in a room with a woman who’s ripped my heart in two, who hates me, and who wants me dead.”

  “That’s not true. How could you say that? Why are you acting like a shithead?”

  “See.”

  “Enough!” my father’s voice silences us. I jump and Cove throws his head back on the sofa and sighs.

  “I was wrong, I’m in a whole other hell now.”

  “Both of you, in my office,” he says, dressed in black silk pajama bottoms and a black silk robe.

  “Great,” I shout and walk quickly to the door. “Get me the fuck out of this room.”

  My father grips my arm and holds me next to him. “Let go,” I demand in an unforgiving tone.

  “You and I need to talk. Then I’ll bring you back here until morning, which is only a few hours away,” he groans as he looks at his watch. “Cove, now!”

  He rises from the sofa and follows us out. He keeps his hands in his pockets and his head down as he walks. We enter an open space at the end of the hall, just past my bedroom suite. The ceiling soars to fourteen feet and is composed of exposed wood beams stained a deep cherry color with recessed lighting. The floor is a grey stone with a dark six-foot square of black tile in the middle. A coffee table rests on the square with a set of four chairs, two on each side, completing the space. A small lamp casts a warm yellow glow on the plaster wall in front of us and a full stone wall is to our right. We walk through and stop at a set of wooden double doors carved in an elegant pattern. With its richly decorated wide molding it reaches the height of the ceiling. He pulls one side open and releases my arm, allowing me the freedom to step inside on my own.