She gasps. “How could you even think of missing it? It’s the biggest fall event of the year!”
Weston places his arm over his eyes, blocking everything out.
“Quinn?”
“Evelyn, it’s not my thing, okay?”
Her head bobs from him to me, and then her eyes narrow. I can tell she blames me, which is ridiculous.
Her tone takes on a cruel edge. “So, Special, what exactly is your background?”
I’ve had enough of this whole charade. My background? What is she? A private investigator?
“Well, Evelyn, I used to be a pole dancer. I made quite a bit of tip money at Miss Kitty Kat’s Klub. You know the place, I’m sure.” I pat her hand. “It’s a gentlemen’s club in your neck of the woods. But after I had a few kids, I decided to give it up.” I circle my hand in the air. “You know, so I could spend more time at home with the kids. And my baby daddies didn’t want me doing too many lap dances and peep shows anymore. After all, I’m a mama now. Anyway, I ended up tearing my ACL when I did the upside down splits. I wrapped my leg around the pole, but somehow during my spin, I lost my grip. Sometimes those things just happen.” I scrunch up my face. “It was just dreadful at the time. They had to carry me off stage. My G-string ripped and everything was hanging out, if you know what I mean.” I give her an exaggerated wink. “Anyway, after that mess I decided to open up a shop in Vegas where I run a place called Special’s Strip Squad, and you wouldn’t believe how successful it is.” I clap my hands like I’m giddy with joy. “I mean, if you want to get some tips to open one up yourself, just give me a call. We’ve also gotten into tattoos and piercing. So if you ever want your nipples or clit pierced, let me know. I know just the person who can do it.” I lean closer to her and whisper, “You wouldn’t believe the enhancement to your orgasmic pleasure the clit piercing gives.” Then I pretend to check the time and say, “Oh, snap, time got away from me. I really do have to go. You know the time difference in Vegas? Well, I’ve got this teleconference in thirty minutes. We’re reviewing some new moves for the girls.” I look at Weston and he’s every bit as shocked as Evelyn is. I pinch his toes after I grab my jacket and say, “I’ll be in touch, sugar.” I blow him a kiss and rush out of the room.
I have no idea where all that came from, but I do know one thing. Weston and I are from two opposing ends of the spectrum. This will never work between us. I’m just a working class girl and could never fit into his world.
14
Weston
What in the hell was that? I can’t begin to process what just happened. Then, one glance at Evelyn and the pieces fall right into place. Damn, for a minute there, Special even had me going. Suppressing my laughter takes everything in me. It’s a lot more difficult than one would think. Special’s Strip Squad? And the thought of Evelyn getting her nipples or clit pierced nearly pushes me over the edge.
“Just who is that woman, Quinn?”
“She’s a friend of mine.” A small chuckle sneaks past my lips.
“My God, who are you hanging out with these days? Strippers and pole dancers covered with those awful tattoos.” She shudders.
“Careful, Evelyn.”
My tone carries an icy edge, and her eyes flash with anger.
“What in the world are you doing with someone like her?”
“Whatever I damn well want.”
Evelyn fires back, “Oh? And what is that? Hanging with the riffraff of the city?”
“She’s not riffraff. She’s a genuinely kind person, unlike many people I know. Stop being so cruel.”
Blakely chooses that moment to breeze into the room.
“Hello, baby brother.” She presses her cold lips to my cheek. I’m beginning to think I was adopted. Except when I look at my sister, it’s hard to deny we share the same DNA. Her dark hair and gray eyes are too similar to my own to deny we’re closely related.
The tension is thick and Blakely is astute enough to pick up on it. “Did I interrupt something?”
Evelyn isn’t one to miss out on an opportunity for a dig. “Not if you don’t count Quinn’s tattooed ex-stripper friend leaving.”
“What?” Blakely asks, eyeing me with suspicion.
Evelyn doesn’t bother sparing any of the details. She talks so fast, I can’t get a word in edgewise. When she’s finished, my sister looks like she just got hit by a train, minus the blood and guts, of course.
“What the hell, Quinn?”
“Now that Evelyn is done, I’ll explain. Special was blowing smoke up her ass. She is not an ex-stripper. She owns a restaurant and bar in Virginia Highlands.”
Blakely turns her nose up. “Oh, and how much of an improvement is that? From stripper to bartender.”
Maybe if I close my eyes, they’ll both disappear. I try it, but when I reopen them, they’re still here. Fuck me.
“Jesus. Have you always been this snobby? Not everyone was lucky enough to have been born with a silver spoon in their mouth, sister.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” She blows out a breath. “That doesn’t mean you have to socialize with her.” Her haughty look isn’t budging.
Evelyn wears a smug expression. What’s up with that? She’s been after me for the last few years, and I have no idea what it’s going to take to get it through that thick skull of hers I am not interested in anything she has to offer.
I make a suggestion. “Let’s do this. You decide who you want to be friends with, and I’ll decide the same.”
Evelyn decides to change tactics, indicated by her pout. I want to tell her that won’t work either, but my mouth remains shut. I’m tired of arguing with these two. Evelyn reaches into her monstrous Prada handbag and pulls out some magazines and a giant bag of Peanut M&M’s. “I brought you these.” She arranges them on my bed like some sort of window display.
“Thanks.”
Then she offers me a sickly sweet smile. “I know how much you love Peanut M&M’s.” She runs her finger over the bag as she stands there, grinning.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” What does she want me to do? Kiss her? It’s an awkward moment. Even Blakely gives her an annoyed look.
“So, Quinn, Dad said you did this on a construction site.”
“Yeah, it was a stupid error. I wasn’t paying attention like I should’ve been.”
“Oh, Quinn, you shouldn’t go up there alone,” Evelyn chimes in. “Something serious could’ve happened.”
My brows shoot up.
Blakely swings her head around and says, “Get real, Evelyn. His job involves visiting construction sites. He does it all the time.”
Thank God. Evelyn actually appears chastised. Blakely may be the only one who intimidates her.
“So, how much longer will you be in here?” my sister asks.
“I suppose until they determine the infection is under control.”
“Hmm. Well, maybe you can get out of here soon. These places are depressing.”
“It’s not so bad. The nurses are nice.”
She looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind. By her standards, I probably have.
“But hospital food sucks. It’s gross. After Loralee was born, I practically ran out of the hospital.” She’s referring to my niece.
“I’m not a picky eater. I like just about everything. I don’t find it bad at all.”
Blakely wrinkles her nose, and Evelyn follows suit. She acts like my sister’s clone, mimicking almost everything she does.
“Mom sends her regards.”
“I guess she didn’t want to do that in person.”
“You know Mom.” Blakely shrugs.
“All too well.” My mother is a crazy bitch. She wouldn’t walk across the street to give a man dying of thirst a sip of water. How did I luck out and end up with parents like mine? “Was she overwhelmed with work or something?” I’m being sarcastic. My mother has never worked a day in her life. We had nannies so she didn’t even raise her own kids. She’s probably never changed a diaper. I wonder if B
lakely changes Loralee’s diapers.
“Quinn, be nice.”
“I am being nice. I’m also being honest.”
Blakely remains silent.
Evelyn pipes in, “I adore your mother. When I was working on the Children’s Cancer Charity, your mom donated the biggest check. She was great.”
It’s easy to put a pen to the checkbook. But did she put any work into it? Did she offer up any volunteer hours? Tilting my head, I stare at the ceiling tiles and start counting the little dots on them. Maybe that will calm me down. Evelyn and Blakely discuss something, but I ignore them. My mind is on other things—like the time I wanted my mom to help me with a drawing when I was a kid. I always loved to draw, especially buildings and houses. One day I was drawing our house, and I wanted my mom to help me. Instead, she shoved my picture and me aside so she could focus on something else. I can’t remember what it was, but when she pushed my picture away, it tore. I snatched it up so it wouldn’t be completely ruined before I carried it back to the playroom and taped it together. Looking back, I can see it was my way of trying to fix my broken heart. Even though I was very young, I knew then my mother didn’t love me. She never cared or showed any interest in anything I did. And she hasn’t changed a bit over the years. Still the same self-absorbed woman she was when I was a kid. I doubt my mom would show up at the hospital if I were on my deathbed.
“Quinn? Earth to Quinn,” Blakely calls out.
“Oh, sorry. I guess the pain medication they gave me kicked in.” I yawn for effect.
“Do you want us to leave?” Blakely asks.
“You know, you do look a little pasty.” Evelyn puts her hand on my forehead. “But you’re not feverish, thank God.”
“I think we should go so you can rest,” my sister says.
“You’re probably right. Thanks for stopping by, and thanks for the gifts, Evelyn.”
“Anything for you, Quinn,” she breathes. Please get your ass out of here.
They leave and the iron band around my chest disappears. It’s terrible to feel this way about people you’ve known all your life, especially when one of them is your sister. Blakely knows Mom is nutty. We’ve talked about it before. But she still sticks up for her because she’s locked in that world. Maybe she belongs there. Her husband is one of them too. I hate to say it, but I haven’t spent enough time with him to know whether or not he’s a mindless fool or if he actually has a brain. Getting involved with my family makes me edgy because I know they don’t care for the man I’ve become, so I avoid them as much as possible.
Then I remember Special and what she told Evelyn. A hearty laugh rips out of me when I think of the tale about the pole dancer. I had no idea she had such an imagination. I call her, and when she doesn’t answer, I leave a message.
“Yes, I’m trying to reach the owner of Special’s Strip Squad. I’d like to set up a time for a lap dance.” Keeping my laughter at bay proves impossible, and I end up roaring into her phone. The recording cuts me off before I can add anything else. I’m still laughing when the nurse comes in to take my temperature and blood pressure. They’ve finally unhooked me from the machine that monitors my heart and beeps all the time.
“It sounds like someone is having way too much fun tonight.”
“Not exactly,” I answer. “But something funny did happen.”
“Care to share?” she asks.
“Maybe another time.”
My phone dings with a text, and when I read it, I chuckle again. It’s from Special.
Sorry, the lap is out of order. We do, however, have a broken pole that might be put to use. Caution is advised. Torn ACLs, groin muscles, and a possible broken penis may occur.
I text her back: Call me in ten.
I get a fast OK back from her.
When the phone rings a little while later, I answer, “So my friend ran you out of here, huh?”
“She was a little over the top for me.”
I laugh, answering, “Um, I think you have that in reverse. That story you told had her head spinning. She didn’t know what to think about you.”
“I’m a good storyteller. What can I say?” Special chuckles.
“Where did you come up with that?”
“The truth is, I have absolutely no idea.” We both share a laugh.
After a couple of seconds, I add, “You missed my sister. You could’ve had a double whammy.”
“Um, no thanks. One was enough.”
Then we’re both quiet until she says, “Look, I’d better go. I’m still at work.”
“Sure. I need to sleep too after the stuff they gave me.”
“I get it.”
“Special?”
“Yeah.”
“Tomorrow, I have a story of my own for you.”
“Okay.”
We end the call, but the vibes I’m getting aren’t good. They feel more like a finality.
15
Special
“Why the glum face?” Jeb asks.
I raise and lower one shoulder as we clean up. Delores left the kitchen spotless and went home about thirty minutes ago. Weston called and texted twenty-three times from yesterday to today. I haven’t responded, and decided I won’t. We don’t even belong in the same room together.
“You’re scowling,” Jeb says.
“I am not.”
He leans back and studies me for a second. “Look, Spesh, I’m forty-eight. While that may seem old to you, I still have my eyesight.”
The corners of my mouth curl up. “Okay, I was scowling.”
“Care to share why?”
“No.” I scrub the top of the bar like a maniac.
“Careful there. You’re gonna take off the finish if you don’t ease up.”
“Shit.” I stop to wipe my forehead. Tossing the cloth into the sink, I reach for the bucket and mop so I can get the floor cleaned up. As I turn, Jeb grabs ahold of my arm and says, “Sit.” He points to one of the barstools. I give him my really? look. And he nods. I take a seat only to appease him. Well, that and if I don’t, he’ll be on my butt forever.
“You gonna tell me what’s bothering you? I know it has something to do with that young man. You blew in here the other night like your ass was on fire. What the hell happened? Did he do something?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Do we have to talk about this?”
Jeb bows up like he’s about to beat the hell out of someone. “Did he touch you? As in, you know?”
“No! Oh, my God. That’s the most ridiculous thing ever. Would you stop? It’s not like that at all.”
He bobs his head a few times before he changes his stance. “Okay, then what is it?”
“His world is too different from mine. I’ll never fit in.”
“Oh, that.” He says it like it’s so insignificant it doesn’t mean a thing.
“Yes, that. A girl came to the hospital. A girlfriend or whatever. She made me feel like I was trash. It wasn’t pretty.”
“Hmm.” He rubs his chin a moment. “Did she treat you like trash, or did you allow her to treat you like trash?”
“What’s the difference?”
“A huge one, that’s what. You know, Spesh, people can do whatever they want, but it’s how you react that gives them power. If you sit there and accept it, you hand it right over to them. But if you stand up for yourself there lies the difference. Do you follow? In the end she puts her pants on one leg at a time the same way you do every day.”
“Yes, but it’s easier when you say it. The reality is—”
“What you make it.” His eyes bore into me. “Only you can decide how you’ll accept the way you want to be treated. If you put up with being insulted, then people will continue to insult you. If you stop them, they won’t do it.”
We’re at the end of the bar closest to the entrance when a horrific noise has me whipping my head around then ducking. A car crashes through the front of the building causing the windows to expl
ode, showering us in glass fragments. Jeb shoves the stool I’m on so hard I go flying and land on my hip, bruising the hell out of it. I have no idea where he ends up. All I know is a car sits half in the building and someone has to be injured.
“Jeb? You okay?”
“Yeah,” he groans.
“Where are you?”
“Over here.” I can hear glass and metal crunching.
“Don’t move,” I say.
“Why? You want me to stay under this debris?” he says, sitting up. He shakes himself off as I grab my phone and hit 911.
Then I tiptoe to the car, because the truth is I’m a chicken shit and scared of what I’ll see inside. But when I hear the moan, I scramble to open the door. Only it’s stuck.
“Jeb, can you help me?”
“Don’t think so.” Glancing at him, he’s cradling his arm, which is bent at an awkward angle.
“Aw, shit.”
“I’m fine. Nothing serious,” he says.
“Yeah, right,” I mumble. He looks like he’s going to need major help with that. A short while later, the place swarms with police, firemen, and EMTs. The EMTs handle Jeb, placing him onto a gurney and attending to his wounds. One of his legs is cut, and his arm is definitely broken. By pushing me out of the way, he took the brunt of everything. And thank God he did because that car ended up pretty damn close to where I had been sitting.
It turns out the driver was intoxicated. In fact, he’s still so inebriated he has no idea where he is. His injuries are minimal, scratches and bruises, but he is very lucky. Someone could’ve been killed.
When I look at the damage to the building, I want to cry, but the fact that both Jeb and I are going to be fine helps.
The EMTs insist I get checked out at the hospital because of the way I landed on my hip. The say if I don’t and have trouble in the future, I won’t have any recourse, or something to that effect. Jeb agrees, so I ride to the hospital with them.
The news is good—as I suspected my hip is only bruised. Jeb, on the other hand, has to have surgery on his arm. He fusses over me and tells me to go home. But I won’t leave him. I’d worry to death. So I wait several hours in the surgery waiting room until the procedure is over and he’s moved to a room. Delores has called already, panicked, because when she showed up for work, she saw all the yellow police tape as well as the mess out front. After my explanation, she calms down a bit and asks what she can do.
A Special Obsession Page 11