by Katie Ford
True, but hopefully any child related to me wouldn’t be the spawn of this whore.
Patricia is one area where Logan and I vehemently disagree. Again, my brother and I usually share girls, the stripper from last week being no exception. But he’d gone through some kind of dark period last year, probably ruminating over Kathryn’s death again, and Patricia had latched on when he was weak. She’d forced him to go to a shrink or something, and before I knew it, they were a couple and Patricia had moved in. Man, this bitch was manipulative.
I hated her guts, and she knew it. The good thing was, she didn’t know that Logan had fucked another girl last week, one that looked like our lost love, and I wasn’t about to tell her. Hey, if your boyfriend steps out on you, that’d be grounds for breaking up, but with Patricia, she’d probably just use the chains of guilt to bind Logan even more tightly.
My brother finally appeared, handsome and clean-shaven, dressed in a dark suit, no tie.
“Ready brother?” I asked. He nodded, searching for his money clip and thrusting it into his pocket before grunting, “Your car or mine? We’re headed to Newark right?”
I frowned. Newark? Was that where our dad wanted to meet for lunch? The hospital he worked at was in Newark, but he lived in Closter, a beautiful suburb of New Jersey. Why the fuck did he want us to meet him at work?
I shrugged. “If we’re going to Newark, better take your car,” I said. The grey Tesla was less flashy than the yellow Lambo, although car aficionados would spot it immediately.
“Bye Patty,” I said, using the nickname I knew she hated.
“Take care,” she said, kissing Logan goodbye. I could see him stiffen as she neared, like watching a rattlesnake approach. But he managed to accept her kiss before grabbing his keys and punching the light for the elevator. My brother wasn’t happy in his relationship, that was obvious … and the Donkey Club was only the most recent proof.
CHAPTER TEN
Logan
My brother and Patricia had been about to rip each other’s eyes out, I could tell when I entered the living room. Neither of them are the subtle type. Patricia was practically hissing, claws out, and my twin looked like he could pound concrete.
I sighed. I’d gotten myself into this mess, and it was up to me to get myself out. But I didn’t want to think about it now. With all the confusion swirling in my head, from the girl at the Donkey Club to the images of Kathryn, I just wanted to live in peace for a while, focus on the lunch with Dad, enjoy a nice meal. He’d asked us to meet him at the hospital, which was weird, but I assumed we were just picking him up before going to a restaurant nearby.
Unfortunately, when we called from the car, he instructed us to park and come in.
“No need, we’re happy to circle until you’re ready,” said Lance, his eyebrows raised at the surrounding neighborhood. Newark General is in a seedy part of town, and I wasn’t comfortable parking my Tesla in a place like this, valet service or not.
But with a big sigh, I gave in. What the hell, my dad was sixty-five, a busy, well-respected professional determined to work until his last day, and I might as well just say yes. We pulled into a public parking garage and the attendant’s eyes lit up when he saw my car. I sighed again.
“Take care of her okay?” I asked, handing him my keys. If I was lucky, he’d just take it for a quick spin and not a full-out drag race.
But when Lance and I showed up at Pulmonology Department, the receptionist directed us to the chapel on the second floor instead. “Your dad’s already there,” she said, her face giving nothing away.
Oh god. Probably a child had died and my dad wanted us to attend the wake, out of respect. I hated kid’s funerals, they’re ten times more depressing than an adult one, and we’d been to a few in the past.
My brother and I quietly made our way into the chapel and surprisingly, our dad was standing at the altar with a priest, no casket in sight.
“Hey Dad,” I said, giving him a hug. “What’s all this? I thought we were going for lunch.”
“How about McVittie’s?” threw in Lance.
My dad laughed. He’s a handsome man, even at sixty-five, and it’s easy to tell we’re related. All three of us are tall and athletic, although my dad’s shrunk somewhat with age, his posture slightly stooped.
“My boys are always thinking about food,” he chuckled jovially. “Pastor Vince, please meet my sons Logan and Lance, the non-stop eating machines of New Jersey.”
It was true. Growing up my brother and I had consumed enormous amounts of food, forcing our chef to go grocery shopping every day, and cooking had been one of the first skills we’d learned. I could make a make a mean steak, and Lance’s specialty was barbecue, complete with collard greens and corn.
But before we could confirm a lunch place, my dad spoke up.
“Logan, Lance, I’ve asked you here to be best men at my wedding,” he announced.
“What?” gawked Lance. I have to say that the expression on my face couldn’t have been any more flattering.
“You’re right in time to meet your new stepmom,” he whispered as the wedding march began playing, gesturing us to stand aside.
And like automatons, my brother and I took our place next to our father as the doors swung open … and there stood Kacey, from the Donkey Club.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lance
Holy shit! I was about to vomit. The girl we’d fucked last week was going to be our new stepmom? I felt physically ill, about to upchuck onto the chapel floor. Logan stiffened besides me, his face going pale, his expression unreadable.
And Kacey looked just as thunderstruck, staring back at us, her big blue eyes wide and disbelieving. She was a vision in the palest pink, a whisper of chiffon that hugged her curvy figure, blonde hair swept up in some elaborate style. But wait, weren’t brides supposed to wear white?
As the music continued, Kacey stepped forward in time with the beat, and that’s when I saw an older lady in a white dress behind her. Oh thank fuck. Our girl was only the maid of honor at this impromptu wedding and not the main course. I heaved a sigh of relief and could sense my brother starting to breathe again as well.
Kacey moved down the aisle, not meeting our eyes, pretending that everything was okay. She smiled at my dad and nodded to him graciously. Obviously they’d met before, and she took a place to the left side of the minister, making room for the bride.
My dad and my new stepmom, I guess I should call her, were completely oblivious to the silent drama that was playing out all around them. They only had eyes for each other, big happy smiles, and dreamy expressions. Hey, I was happy for my dad, even though we’d gotten off to a somewhat awkward start with somewhat awkward conclusions.
The priest took us through the ceremony, and it was a little canned but still sweet. I’ve been to dozens of weddings, and they can be long and elaborate, but the beauty of a hospital ceremony is that it’s short, to the point, with a minimum of fuss but hitting all the high notes just the same. When we got to the “I do’s,” I thought my dad might cry, he was so happy.
Finally, the groom was permitted to kiss the bride, and we broke out into a round of polite applause, our claps ringing in the chapel.
As my dad looked up, he addressed my brother and I. “Boys, let me introduce you to Noreen, your new stepmom, and Kacey, your new sister.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kacey
I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I’d come home for the July fourth weekend as promised, and my mom couldn’t stop smiling, she wanted to share her secret. She’d gotten engaged to her pulmonologist, a doctor at Newark Gen and was getting married tomorrow in the hospital chapel.
“But Ma,” I protested. “How long have you known this guy?” I asked. “Two months?”
“Baby, we just met, but when you’re my age, you see a good guy and grab him if he’s available. I’m not like you, a pretty young thing. It’s not like there are men lining up at my doorstep asking for date
s.”
“But Ma, that’s not even it,” I said disbelieving. “I mean, you’re sick. Does he know just how ill you are?”
“Of course honey, he’s my doctor, and before you say anything, this is going to be good for both of us. I’ve been totally honest with him about my money situation, and I’ll be moving into his house in the burbs after this weekend.”
That was good. There wasn’t any way we could hide our poverty, so yeah, Doctor Phillips couldn’t be marrying her for some quick cash. And he had to know about her failing health, he was treating her after all. Come to think of it, she might not have that many years left so the shotgun aspect, morbid as it was, made a little bit of sense.
But I hadn’t been able to ask her many questions because she’d rushed me to the hospital after I changed into the pink gown I’d packed.
“Just bring something nice,” she’d requested. “Like something you might wear to a wedding.”
But I’d almost died when the double doors opened and I’d seen the men standing at the altar. Not the groom obviously, but the two masculine, domineering men flanking him, dark hair and green eyes flashing. It was the two men from the club … Logan and Lance.
Before you ask if I’d lost contact with them since that fateful night, the answer was yes, sort of. It wasn’t that I wanted to. It’s just that the other strippers cautioned me about seeing customers outside of work.
“Listen Kacey, you don’t know them,” warned Sheila, an older woman who still had a hot bod. “You know why strippers are always victims on TV? Because it’s true,” she emphasized. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“But … but I just had sex with them on stage!” I stuttered. “I feel like I know them already … sort of.”
“Yeah but that was here, with us here to protect you. Once you step outside, there are no guarantees honey, you’re just a corpse in the morgue.”
Okay, maybe that’d been going too far, but she freaked me out nonetheless. I’d met Logan and Lance outside after the show as promised, dressed in a trampy leopard print jacket, but the guys hadn’t cared. They’d gestured to a fancy car, indicating for me to get in, and that triggered an internal alarm. Never get in a car with attackers is the first rule of personal safety, right?
And so I’d shaken my head, done my best to give them a breezy smile, and taken a drag of my cigarette.
“Next time, okay?” I said, striding back into the club, adding some bounce to my walk. I could feel their eyes on my ass, watching every sway, but the twins made no effort to change my mind, to chase me.
Back in the darkened club, Sheila asked, “So what happened?”
“I told them next time,” I said. “They know where to find me.”
Suddenly Linda cut in, another peroxide blonde.
“Don’t listen to Sheila’s bullshit,” she snorted, her hair especially garish in the neon lights. “There’s no next time with guys like that.”
And unfortunately, it was true. Although I’d worked every night for the next week at the Donkey Club hoping to see them, the twins hadn’t come back. I’d consoled myself, telling myself that everything was in my head, they hadn’t looked at me as anything special. I was a dancer, after all, and had fucked them silly in public. I wasn’t exactly a good girl that you brought home to mom.
But now at the hospital, fate had brought us together again. Because Logan and Lance stood by their father’s side, astonishment in their eyes as I glided down the aisle. Holy shit, my mom was getting married to their dad? Oh my god, I’d accidentally had sex with my stepbrothers?
The same thoughts must have been going through their minds, although they managed to look calm during the ceremony, letting our parents enjoy their special time. But I could hardly meet their eyes over the table during lunch.
“Kacey,” said my mom. “You live in the city too. Is your apartment near Logan and Lance’s place?”
“Um no,” I said, my face flushing. “I live in Hell’s Kitchen and they live downtown,” I muttered. I didn’t want to add that I lived in a crumbling fourth floor walk-up easily accessible to the Donkey Club, whereas my new brothers lived in Tribeca, one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the city.
“Well, you guys should get together sometime,” encouraged my mom, “especially now that you’re siblings.”
I felt myself grow beet red at the word “siblings” and shot a quick look at my new brothers. Infuriatingly, they looked amused rather than embarrassed.
“Yes sister,” said Lance, ever the tease. “Let’s get together sometime. I live right around the corner from Logan, we’re happy to host.”
Even the word “host” made me flush. It made me think of hosting some kind of depraved sex party, where I’d be servicing the guests.
But Logan stepped in, smoothly and calmly, rescuing me from my obvious discomfort.
“Kacey, the least we can do is give you a ride back to the City. How about it?” he asked.
“Oh thank you, we appreciate it,” gushed my mom. “Kacey you’re always saying how the train is late, how it takes forever. Why don’t you ride back with them? It’s Sunday night, traffic shouldn’t be bad.”
“No Ma, it’s okay,” I said quickly. “I have a lot of stuff, I don’t want to burden Logan and Lance.”
“No burden,” said Lance.
“No trouble at all,” said Logan.
And so it was settled. My tattered suitcase was packed into the back of the Tesla, and I waved goodbye to my mom and new stepdad as we zoomed off.
“So Kacey,” said Lance. “This is interesting, given the circumstances. Your mom thinks you work at a non-profit?” He smiled wickedly, throwing me a glance from the front seat.
Oh god. I squirmed in the back. I was in such a small space with these men, their massive forms so close in the compact car. I flushed again, my breasts enlarging, my bottom moistening in the tight confines.
“Um … yeah,” I confessed. We’d talked about our jobs at lunch, and I’d hastily spoken before the twins could say anything. “I work in immigration reform at the Urban Justice Project,” I’d said quickly, giving them a swift glance, pleading with them to keep their mouths shut.
And my brothers had taken the cue.
“I’m sure you’re an excellent advocate,” said Lance.
“Your dedication to eradicating poverty is impressive,” added Logan, with a wry grin my way.
I was silently appreciative, shooting them a grateful look of thanks. But now the moment had arrived, and my brothers and I had a lot of ground to cover.
“My mom and I … I don’t want her to worry about me,” I said slowly from the back seat. “She’s sick and was worried enough when I headed off to the city on my own.”
“That’s true,” nodded Logan thoughtfully, eyeing me in the rearview mirror. “Our dad mentioned that he was treating her as a patient, and usually he only sees fairly complicated cases,” he said.
“Yes, so … I didn’t want to tell her that things didn’t exactly go smoothly when I moved to New York. I was supposed to have a scholarship to attend the New School, but somehow that got all messed up, and there was no money for tuition. So I figured I’d work for a semester, save up, and then re-enroll. But it didn’t exactly work that way,” I said shamefacedly. “I couldn’t find a job. Not even Starbucks. I guess since they offer health benefits and tuition reimbursement, everyone wants to work for them these days.”
My brothers exchanged a look. Okay, as high-flying real estate brokers, hearing me pine for a job at Starbucks was below their usual strata. But this wasn’t the time to mince words. They’d already seen me dance and knew what I did for a living.
“But baby,” said Logan softly. “Surely there was a place for you somewhere. Maybe as a nanny or paralegal?”
I smiled bitterly.
“Believe me, I tried,” I said. “To work childcare in NYC, you need a license, and most law firms want their paralegals to have college degrees,” I said. “Which I don’t have,
” I added pointedly.
My brothers exchanged another glance. I could tell something was brewing and it wasn’t good. But before I could say anything, we pulled into the driveway of an expensive-looking building, a doorman running out to greet the twins.
“Mr. Phillips,” he said courteously, nodding at them both. “Welcome back.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kacey
I gasped. I’ve walked past fancy buildings in New York but I’ve never actually been invited into one. It was the kind of thing that we talked about at the strip club, half-jokingly but with a sense of wistfulness.
“One day, my prince is going to whisk me off and I’m going to live in the Time Warner Center,” said Jumee, a cute button of a girl who’d only started recently.
“Yeah, yeah,” scoffed Linda. “Why would you want Time Warner? Go for 15 Central Park West, that’s where the real moolah is.”
And the chatter went on, these hypothetical palaces where we’d eventually find ourselves, away from the dingy back room of the strip club. Of course, this was all pie in the sky. Most of us didn’t have any skills other than stripping, and no education, friends or family as fallbacks either.