by L. J. Woods
Tall trees line the streets, many with a red “Huang 2020” sign pinned to them. Boutiques with designer names go by between sparkling jewelry shops. We pass high-end department stores. Pilate studios. Pretty cafes. I feel like I’m in the twilight zone. A rich, expensive version of it anyway. This morning Willow and I pawned one of our mom's rings for lunch money. And now we're in a luxury vehicle cruising downtown Eden.
I turn to Willow who looks as in awe as I am, her head whipping and turning, eyes bugging out of her head. Before I can point out Fendi and Gucci, our driver turns down a road lined with more tall bushy trees. We pass mansions that look like they could house thousands. Some with large gates, others with long driveways.
“I’m sure The Archibalds will fill you in on the lay of the land. And if you need anything, just call. For now, welcome home!” An iron gate opens up before us, our driver pulling the car through.
A house the size of one of my old schools sits behind it, the perfectly paved driveway lit up like a runaway. It's massive. Like one of those homes you'd see in a lottery ad. The grass and hedges are all neat and proper and I've already lost count on how many spotless windows I can see.
Our driver parks the car and Holly hops out to open the door. When my feet are on the pavement I get a good view before I pull my sister by my side. We’re a long way from home and with how big this house is, we may as well be on Mars.
“Don’t worry. Henry will take your bags to the door. Vincent will greet you inside.” Holly looks back at the house, a stone path leading to a big brown wooden door. “For now, welcome to your new life!”
Two
The chords of the electric guitar blare through the speakers of the polished kitchen.
I hold the tip of the Bic between my teeth, ignoring shiny golden fixtures for the empty page in my lap. Jimi's voice blends with the melody, his hypnotizing sound bouncing off powder-pink walls.
Perched on the granite counter, the soles of my Docs thud to the rhythm. Eyes on my tattered notebook, I’m begging for inspiration. But when the guitar stops I zone out, the words to "Purple Haze" escaping my lips before the guitar kicks in again.
I drum the pen against my bare knee, tapping my finger on the other. Bopping my head to the song, dark curls fall in front of my face. I’m making the best of this moment. In such a shimmering clean room, in such a new world, this music is my medicine. My release.
A fancy bottle of bourbon to my left, old Ramones shirt overtaking my frame, I let out my first deep breath in a long time. I’m feeling the first bit of warmth since I set foot in Eden Gardens and finally, I’m going to bask in it.
“Miss Rowland!" The music cuts, Vincent appearing in the room like a dark cloud, his hand on the white panel of switches. His voice is deep with a British accent and he always speaks as if he’s bored with life. “This is not a dive bar and you are not of age.”
So much for basking in the moment.
I lean my head against the fridge, messy hair blocking out most of his suit, “Looks more like the Hilton on steroids.”
He sighs, capping the bottle with white gloves before his brown eyes shoot daggers my way. They land on what’s beside me, gray brows lowering. “And those are for Mrs. Archibald.”
Looking at the small cardboard box on my right, my mouth waters at the colourful sandwiches all in a pretty row. The taste, albeit new, is pretty damn addicting. And that texture. Soft yet crunchy. So good! I’m not one for fancy treats but French macarons are a hell of a long way from PB&J on stale bread.
I shrug as he grabs the box. “I’m sure mommy dearest wouldn’t mind if I had a few. What’s hers is ours right?” I lean back against the counter with a lift of my eyebrow, crossing my arms across my chest.
He shoves the box closed before straightening his tie. While he’s annoying, Vincent doesn’t look all that bad for a man of his age. His nose is broad, tight lips surrounded by a white beard and stache. With the little smirk he gives me, he almost looks like Morgan Freeman.
“May I remind you, Mrs. Archibald is your foster mother.” He puts the box back in the fridge, his choice of words telling me I don’t belong. But I already know that.
When he closes the fridge door, I put my hand above his on the handle. “You know, you and I aren’t so different, in case you can’t tell.” I move my eyes to our hands, his skin only a few shades darker than mine.
He pulls his hand away with a gasp. Like I’d said something that wasn’t completely obvious. He eyes me like I stink, lowering his voice with a glance at the entrance. “You’ll soon learn you don’t belong here, Rowland,” Vincent says my last name like it’s filth in his mouth. “No one cares about you or your little orphan sister.” His nose twitches before he turns on the heel of his shiny pointed shoes, sauntering away.
I bid him adieu, sticking out my tongue at the back of his stupid suit. How the hell does anyone get any work done in that getup anyway?
My shoulders fall, seeing the bottle disappear out of sight with him. And there goes the rest of my tranquillity. Rolling my eyes I hop off the counter.
What he said isn’t new. This is my twelfth home in seven years. I’m used to not fitting in. Not right away anyway. And I’m definitely used to people giving zero fucks.
“By the way.” Vincent peeks his head back in. “A Mister Zane called for you but I told him I work for the Archibalds. Not their pests.”
My jaw tightens at his name. Eyes dropping to the bottle in Vincent’s hand, I smirk, “Funny, it sure doesn’t look that way to me.” Patting his back on the way out, I make my way into the foyer. Vincent doesn’t know it, but by not giving me Zane’s call, he did me a huge favour.
A large chandelier sparkles in the sunlight shining above me as I make my way up the grand staircase. My boots squeak, climbing each shiny wooden step. Reaching a landing, I try to remember the way to my room. Was it the second floor or the third?
While deciding, I’m distracted by the window next to me, overlooking Eden Lake. The view is breathtaking. The water glistens in the distance, downtown buildings teeny and charming from afar.
This view makes Glendale Grove seem like a faraway world. I guess the more these rich folks can ignore those on the other side, the better. Out of sight, out of mind right? Too bad that shit doesn’t work for me. I’d been in The Grove way too long to change now.
Hearing a familiar giggle I smile, knowing who it's coming from. The main reason I’m putting myself through this hell.
Following the sound, I make my way down the clean, white hallway. I pass a gold chandelier and obscure large paintings before spotting a head of thick brown hair. She’s pressed against the wall, shoulders hunched in a new hoodie that's way too big for her small frame.
A smile pulls at my lips, “And what are you up to?”
Willow’s body stiffens before she turns around, chest dropping when her big brown eyes meet mine. She looks like our dad, narrow nose and high sandy cheeks. It breaks my heart, but it makes me smile.
Waving me over, Willow brings a brown finger to her lips. I take my time moving towards her on the hardwood floor, not wanting to blow whatever cover she has. When I get to where she stands, I peer above her head, running a hand through her straightened strands. She’s a few years younger but she’s catching up to me in height, and at five-eight, I'm not a short girl.
Willow points her chin towards the large white doors of the master bedroom. One is open, giving us a clear view of our new foster parents’ enormous bed.
I cover my mouth so I don’t say anything more, my eyes going wide. The faint sound of a squeaky spring gets louder in my ears as my eyes zero in on Eric Archibald’s hairy white ass. Tightening my lips, I hold in a snort. His ass bounces up and down with red on his saggy cheeks and I can’t look away.
A sputter of a laugh escapes my hold and Willow hushes me again. Out of morbid curiosity, I move closer, keeping my head against the space above my sister.
“Yeah, you like that?” Eric’s voice i
s low and grunty, but I can still make out every word.
I wince. Moans and groans confirming the vision scarring my eyes. A splay of blonde hair lays under my new foster dad and I’m happy I can’t make out his wife Nancy.
“Fuck me, Eric!”
Willow's head turns to me, a hand over her mouth, eyes like donuts.
“No way!” I gasp, both of us turning our attention back to Eric’s performance.
That didn’t sound like the Nancy Archibald we met last night, but the voice is familiar.
I cover Willow’s eyes. She’s fourteen and already well-informed on the birds and the bees but this is something no one deserves to see.
The woman sits up, and that’s when I see it’s Eric’s assistant Holly. She’d come to pick us up at the train station alone last night, but I didn’t know how dedicated she was to her job. A snort escapes my nose when I realize how cliche this all already is.
Her baby blues land on us before her lids expand, “Shit!” She gives Eric a bop on the head before he stops moving his wrinkling hips.
Willow scurries away, her old Nikes squeaking against the wood. Eric’s head turns towards the door, dark blue eyes locking with mine.
“Fuck.” I push off the wall, speedwalking to the stairs, my sister already out of sight.
I hear the sound of cursing and the tinkling of a buckling belt behind me before a warm grip lands on my wrist. With a tug, I’ve spun around, the scowling face of Eric Archibald taking over my view.
His red face is sweaty, eyes narrow, chest heaving. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
I wince, jerking my head back. His breath smells like pussy and coffee, and his grip is only getting tighter. He’s angry, but when aren’t they?
I pull against his hold but he doesn't let go. “Next time try closing the door when you want to get off with your assistant.”
Eric’s glossy blues go wide and before I know it, his sweaty hand wraps around my throat, my feet lifting off the ground. His hold is tight, and I’m already gasping for air when my back hits the wall.
“Listen, kid,” he growls, lifting me by the neck until I’m at his eye level. I’m tall but he’s taller, my feet dangling below me. “I’m trying to make your life easier so why don’t you do the same for me huh?”
I smirk. It’s all I can do considering the irony of his statement, his chunky hand cutting off my air supply. It’s enough to get him to loosen his grip, my boots landing on the floor with a thud. I straighten my shirt before I turn towards the stairs. The best thing to do right now is to get away. I’ve come toe-to-toe with physical abusers before and there’s usually no sense in fighting.
When my hand hits the railing, the other on my throat, he calls from behind me, “Wait a minute. Since you have so much time on your hands, I got you a job at Cindy Huang’s Cafe.”
I’m unsure if that’s the name of the shop or the owner but I take a look around the space before I ask my next question. Everything glistens, halls smelling like Lysol. Turning around I eye him up, his slacks wrinkled, chest as hairy as his face and ass. I raise an eyebrow. “Really? You want me to work?”
“Oh,” he smiles a smile that’s far from friendly. Wiping at his nose, he takes a step further. “You think all this is yours? You’re eighteen in what, a year? Better get a head start on fending for yourself. I didn’t wipe that filthy criminal record of yours for nothing.”
I roll my eyes and turn around. While the idea of working at some posh cafe makes me want to turn my skin inside out, making money in Eden isn’t a bad idea. I’m going to need all the money I can get my hands on if I’m going to try to take custody of Willow after my birthday. Paying rent and bills is one thing. Affording a lawyer is another.
“Oh yeah and Joelle?" he calls again, voice taught and low.
I grip the rail, jaw tightening before I turn around to look the animal in his eyes. “It’s Jo.”
He lets out a low chuckle, “What? You think people here won’t find out your real name? It’s easy to find secrets in this town kid. Which reminds me, this thing you saw today?” He gestures down the hall. “That’s between us unless you want your ass out on the street.”
Better than in Eden. But for Willow, I won’t risk it. I'm not naive to think that a richer couple would be any better than any of the homes I’d been in since I was ten. But it makes me wonder.
He turns to walk away and it’s my turn to pull the brakes. “Why are we here Eric? You obviously don’t need the money and you clearly don’t give two flying fucks about us.”
Eric’s brows furrow and I give him a sly smile. That's right. I don't fall in line at the snap of a finger. His strained expression turns into another smug smirk. “Let's just say, you're great for my resume." He turns around walking back to the bedroom. "The interview’s at five. Don’t keep my driver waiting.”
“Thanks for coming Low.” I wrap an arm around my sister’s shoulders, staring at the black and white storefront.
There's no way I'm leaving Willow with that psycho. So if I have an interview, she's coming with me. Along with my copy of The Great Gatsby, Willow carries an almost decade-old tablet to keep her company. I’d bought it for her from a pawn shop in The Grove. That was when Zane and I were making decent cash with our operation.
“Believe me,” she says, staring at the front of the shop with me. “I’d rather be here with you.”
Henry, Eric’s driver, dropped us in front of a shop that looks like it's been copy and pasted from the streets of Paris. Not that I’d know. In pretty black calligraphy, the letters “M-O-C-H-A” sit above a clean pinstripe awning. At the entrance are large french doors with golden handles.
Tugging Willow closer, we make our way towards the doors. Reaching over her, I push the golden handle. “Woah.”
Classical music plays over the speakers, the smell of coffee beans in the air. The vibe of the cafe screams luxurious comfort. Velvet sofas and leather chairs sit in front of round wooden tables, fresh white flowers on top. Glittering chandeliers hang from the dark ceiling casting light on stone walls.
“Joelle?” A woman with a short black bob appears near the back of the cafe, next to the marble bar. Her posture is like a Barbie doll, long nose on her stern beige face.
“Jo.” I keep Willow close as I approach her, hand outstretched. “Is it okay if my sister hangs out during the interview? She’s quiet. Pretty nerdy. She won’t be any trouble.”
An elbow juts into my waist but Willow doesn’t waiver, speaking up on her own, “I’ll take a seat over there.” She points towards a brown leather stool at the edge of the counter.
Eyeing us both, the woman scrunches her nose as she waves Willow along. A fitting gesture for her pink suit and white nails. Her earrings and necklace sparkle, diamonds catching the dim lights. Brown eyes, heavy with mascara, blink at me like month-old trash.
I fight the urge to smell my pits as her eyes wander my outfit. I’ve added a pair of bike shorts under my band shirt and even put my head of curls in a bun, no time for detangling. I watch as her eyes move to the tattoo on the inside of my forearm before they dart over to the other. I raise an eyebrow before she turns around, heading for the narrow hallway. “I'm Cindy. Follow me.”
She leads me to her office, “Cindy Huang” in calligraphy on the big wooden door. It’s as classy as the main room, a large white and gold desk in front of her pink tufted chair.
Cindy sits while I take a seat in the pink velvet chairs in front of her. When I’m settled, she stares me down before speaking, “Three days a week to start. I’ll have to order a long sleeve shirt to cover up those hideous markings but Maria left behind a shirt and smock. So you can start right away." She leans in, a hand by the side of her mouth. "She got deported and god, I’m so done with Mexicans.”
I jerk my head back, shaking her last comment out of my head. “Wait, is this the interview?"
She looks around the room like I’d told her the sky was blue before leaning forward. �
�Eric Archibald sent you right?”
I nod and she settles in her seat. “Great. Napkins need folding and we’re almost out of vanilla syrup. Maria's shirt might be a little small but it’s better than…that.”
“You want me to start now?”
She gives me another look like I’m stupid. “Yes, Jo. Any more obvious questions?”
I sit up. “Well, what about my sister? And tomorrow’s my first day of school. I don't even have any training. I really don’t think I’m ready.”
“Jo, if you don’t start today I’ll assume you no longer want this position.”
Well, fuck. Cindy Huang is playing hardball.
She reaches into a wooden cabinet before tossing me the shirt and smock. I catch it, sighing, “What should I do first?”
Cindy shrugs. “Whatever it is baristas do, Jo. Take some orders. Make a coffee. I don’t know. I have things to do.” She waves me away without looking and I sit, stunned for a moment.
How the hell does Cindy Huang run a place like this with an attitude like that?
Leaving the office, I notice the sign for the bathroom in front of me. It’s as luxurious as the rest of this mini palace. Golden framed mirrors on more stone walls, dark floors glistening as if brand new. I take a breath and go into a stall that’s more like a small room, sink on the inside. Pulling off my shirt, I swap it for the off-white polo Cindy gave me, cafe name over the breast.
I cringe looking in the mirror at my new getup. A tight shirt and tighter shorts. Cindy’s right, my average rack looks huge in this. Great.
Moving out of the bathroom, I head back to the main room to break the news to my sister. That’s when my heart fails me, breath stopping in my throat.
My eyes lock with one of the guys in a velvet booth not too far behind Willow. Like he knows I’m staring, those kaleidoscope eyes lock with mine. I grip onto the cold counter, my legs wobbly.