by Reed, Zelda
He choked out a humorless laugh. “Please don’t pretend you know anything about my mother. You’ve been here for all of one day.”
Chace turned away from me, his gaze fixed on the view outside of his window. His bedroom faced the back of the house, the bay water lapping against the rocks, the rolling green hill leading down to the docks. It was a calming image, one that was bound to be therapeutic if I hadn’t pushed him.
“I don’t have to know anything about your mom because I know you.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” I hissed. “I know you don’t like it when plans are sprung on you, which is part of the reason why you’re pissed, because you probably thought you’d spend the day writing and now it’s ruined because you’re pissed off. And…” I swallowed my words before they rushed back up. “I know you run away from most of your problems, like you’re running away from Jennifer.”
Chace turned around. “Because you care so much about Jennifer.” He stepped forward. “Were you thinking about her all those times you were staring at my cock?”
A hot flush ran up the back of my neck.
“Yeah,” he said with a slow nod, “I noticed. I noticed since the first day you walked into my office, giggling with the top button of your blouse undone, leaning over so I would take a look at your breasts.”
He advanced on me, his body inches away from my own as he walked a slow circle around my frozen frame.
“I bet you hoped I went home and jerked off to the thought of you bent over in front of me.”
I said nothing.
“Were you thinking about what Jennifer might think about that? Huh?”
I swallowed a bundle of nerves, forcing myself to look at him. “This isn’t about me and Jennifer.”
“Oh but it is, Veronica.”
I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth, the wound from the night before still there, though it was no longer bleeding. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? That’s who you pretended to be.”
“I could say the same for you, Nick.”
Chace smirked and wagged his finger. “The difference is I came clean, remember? But not you, you had your chance to take off that mask but you wanted to keep playing dress up.”
“Nothing else was going to happen between us. There was no use breaking the illusion.”
“And yet,” Chace wiggled his fingers. “It’s been shattered.” He stopped circling me, one hand in his pocket as he stood inches away from my body. “So don’t act like you fucking care about Jennifer. You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s not true.”
“Yes it is,” he hissed. “If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have stood me up. You wouldn’t have ignored my messages. You would’ve been an adult and owned up to what you did. Which you still can’t do.”
“You’re upset because you couldn’t take me out on a date?”
Chace scowled. “You’re missing the goddamn point.”
“No. I don’t think I am.”
Chace ran a hand through his hair. “You are. You don’t give a fuck about whether or not I do this interview and, as I’ve said before but I’ll repeat, you don’t give a fuck about Jennifer. You came in here for one reason and one reason only.”
My voice was small. “And that is?”
“Subconsciously, you’ve made up your mind.” He stepped forward, the tips of his shoes pressing into mine, the other hand sliding into his pocket. “Now, you can either drop to your knees and slide my cock in your mouth, or you can get the fuck out my room.”
I couldn’t stop my eyes from dropping to his jeans, a light bulge rounding between his legs. My mouth watered with want, my heart speeding up at the prospect of sucking him off right then and there, but my brain knew better.
I looked up at him, hardening my gaze as I said, “You think I don’t care about anyone else but myself, but you’re the one letting a whole room full of people – your family - down.”
Chace was building his retort in his chest but I didn’t want to hear it. I turned on my heels and exited his bedroom, my chest tightening with every step I took towards the guest wing.
I’d never spoken to Chace like that since I started working for him. There was no way he wasn’t going to fire me now.
Five
The last thing I wanted to do was give into the fear of losing my job and hole myself up in the guest room. I refused to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers curled in my lap as I mentally scrolled through the list of bills my sister and I paid monthly - water, heat, electricity, rent, cell phone, pharmacy, insurance, food – while I tried to decipher how long I could remain unemployed before my savings ran out. Instead, I sat on the back porch, one leg kicked over the other as I watched the small waves of the bay lap against one another.
My thumb was in my mouth, the thick nail pressed between my teeth, when the back kitchen door opened and closed. I refused to glance over my shoulder, my chest tightening at the thought of Chace wandering outside to hand me my final paycheck before calling a cab to take me back to New York.
I held my breath in my stomach, splitting my thumbnail in two before Tyler sat across from me.
We said nothing for a long while.
From his pocket he pulled a worn packet of cigarettes, slapping them on the picnic table before rummaging around for a light. With his teeth he slid one from the box, quickly lighting up the tip and filling his lungs with smoke. The smell of it reminded me of my mother, who smoked in her bedroom with her head out the window and legs resting atop the bookshelf, the inside of her fingers stained black from years of smoking. She would always smile whenever I caught her, winking before she begged me never to start.
Tyler coughed and I looked over at him. “Sorry,” he said, beating his chest with his fist. “Sorry, I should’ve,” he coughed again. “I should’ve asked if,” he held up the cigarette. “If you didn’t mind.”
“I don’t,” I said, turning my attention back to the water.
His eyes burned into my profile. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
The box on the table rattled. “You want a cigarette?”
I turned to him. “I don’t smoke.”
The corner of his mouth lifted into a smile. “None of the pretty girls do anymore.”
I thought I was past the point in my life where lines like that made my giggle and blush, but I couldn’t contain the swoop of red that brushed over my cheeks. An uncontrollable smile tugged at my mouth as I ducked my head and tried to hide it.
Tyler caught it immediately, his lips stretching to reveal straight, white teeth.
I pulled my legs onto the bench, knees pressing against my chest as I asked, “Why aren’t you upstairs?”
“I’m finished,” he said, taking another drag. “They only needed me for the photos.”
Tyler was dressed in a casual, but expensive suit. A navy blue jacket hung over a white shirt, no tie in sight, the top two buttons undone. His shoulder length hair was slicked back and brushed behind his ears, hiding its true length. Something, I assume, his father would’ve wanted.
“Can I ask you something?” he said, tapping ashes onto the ground.
“Sure.”
“Your parents still alive?”
It was a mildly invasive question and if we were anywhere else, I would’ve turned away from him, my answer hanging in the air between us.
I shook my head. “No. My mom died a few years ago and I never knew my dad.”
“How’d your mom die?”
I twisted up my face. “I’m sorry?”
“No, I --” Tyler released a nervous laugh, his hands up in the air. “I’m sorry. I just…I’m trying to make conversation.”
I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, wincing when Chace’s wound threatened to split open. “She was in a car accident,” I said. “Hit by a cab while she was going to work.”
‘Sucks’ was an understatement.
The morning of her accident Laura was packing for New York and I was sitting in class, texting her. She was finally taking the plunge and moving to the Big Apple, she and I moving into an apartment much cheaper than the NYU dorms. The conversation was steady, no message going unread for longer than a few minutes. But a few minutes spread into ten, then twenty, before Laura was calling and I was stepping out of the lecture hall.
Her voice was thick with tears as she muttered, “Something’s happened. Mom’s not okay.”
The train ride to Philadelphia was agonizingly long. When I arrived at 30th Street Station, I waved down a cab and headed straight for the hospital.
Laura was standing outside of her room, her swollen belly bumping into the nurse who explained our mother had hours to live.
Internal bleeding, she said. There’s nothing we can do.
All of it was happening too fast. My mind barely had time to register that I was no longer in New York before we were standing on either side of her hospital bed, our mother desperately trying not to choke on her own blood.
I had nothing and everything to say to my mother. I wanted to thank her for doing the best she could, for making sure I was able to go to college, for always being there when Laura or I needed a tube of lipstick. I wanted to beg her not to go, that it was too soon, that Paris and London were waiting for us to visit. But all the words were stuck in my throat, a strong silence moving between the three of us as Laura and I grabbed one of her hands and waited.
We were quiet for a moment before Tyler asked, “Were you close with her?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Were you close with your dad?”
Tyler stubbed his cigarette out on the picnic table. “Not really. But none of us were, I don’t think.” He hung his head. “He worked a lot. We rarely ever saw him and when we did it was because we failed a test or skipped a class.” He looked at me. “He was the one who punished us.”
I was seconds away from asking for a cigarette when the back door opened.
My throat lurched in my chest. Chace stood at threshold, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked between the two of us.
“Hey,” Tyler said, glancing at him.
Chace ignored him. “Alice, I need to speak with you.”
The fear of my losing my job rolled around in my stomach. “About what?”
His eyes narrowed. “Do you have something better to do?”
I stood up from the table, passing Tyler a gentle smile.
“You don’t have to be such a dick,” Tyler said to his brother.
Chace looked at him. “And you don’t have to tell me how to handle my employees.”
The kitchen was cooler than outside, the air conditioning on blast. The sounds of voices flooded the second floor – the crew and Bonnie and Evie chatting over the sound of camera clicks.
Chace led me away from the kitchen door, over near the island where he leaned against the counter and said, “If you don’t want this job, say so.”
My eyes widened. “What gave you that idea?”
He stepped closer, once again invading my space. “I’m not an idiot,” he said, lowly. “If you’re unhappy here, if you’re unhappy with me, I can call you a cab.”
“I shouldn’t have talked to back to you,” I said, voice shaking. “I’m sorry.”
“Of course you are,” he said.
“And I want this job. I need this job.”
“And?”
My eyebrows furrowed. “And…”
“Are you happy with me?”
I looked up at him. His mouth was twisted in a frown but there was something soft about his eyes. A desperate need to be wanted. But was I admitting to just wanting my job? Or wanting him too?
“Yes,” I said with a slow nod. “I’m happy with you.”
He moved close enough for his lips to hover over mine, his tongue poking out of his mouth and swiping against the cut on my bottom lip. My mouth dropped open to release an airy moan and he was gone, stepping away from me and out of the kitchen.
I was left standing there, my hands slightly trembling at my sides, my face staring into nothingness.
Tyler opened the back door and I jumped, his eyebrows knitting together when he caught me.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m positive,” I said, turning away from him and calmly exiting the room.
Six
After Megra Jones and her crew packed up their cameras and lights and make-up and notepads, the tension in the Evans’ estate grew thick enough to touch.
Bonnie paced the lower floor, her mouth tight as she wrung her hands in front of her. When she passed the staircase she threw glances up to the second floor where Chace, situated in his bedroom, sat typing away at his desk. Bonnie, Evie, Tyler and I could hear it, the gentle tap, tap, tapping of his keyboard, echoing through the second floor and down to the first, surrounding and tightening around Bonnie like a rope.
She kept to herself for an hour before she stormed up the stairs.
Evie, who was situated next to me on the couch in the living room, popped her head up from her laptop and said, “Here they go.”
Bonnie’s voice was loud enough to shake the walls, her words like punches to the throat as she screamed at Chace. He was selfish, inconsiderate, an asshole. He wanted his father to die, that would make him so happy, wouldn’t it? He loved seeing his mother in pain, that’s why he came back, to see her falling apart so he could have more fodder for his shitty books.
Chace was quiet until Bonnie’s words turned to sobs. We couldn’t hear him, but the sternness of his tone ran through the house.
Then there was a crash.
“Get out,” Bonnie yelled. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
Evie shut her laptop.
I followed her to the staircase, standing inches behind her as Chace calmly walked down the stairs, throwing on a blue jacket as Bonnie raced after him.
“You want to act like your father never did anything for you, then don’t sleep in the bed he bought, or sit at the desk he bought, or…or…”
Chace refused to look at us, his head held high as he flung open the front door and slammed it closed behind him.
At the sound, Bonnie jumped, her shoulders and feet lifting slightly in the air. When she landed, she bent at the waist, both hands clutching her knees as she collapsed into sobs.
Evie rushed to her side, one hand on her back as she rubbed her shoulders, the other lifting Bonnie to a standing position.
“Come on, Mom,” she said, throwing an arm around her waist. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Bonnie pushed her away. She shook her head and mumbled incoherently, starting up the stairs. The two of us watched as she gripped the railing, shoulders shaking until she disappeared around the bend, her sobs echoing through the house until she slammed her bedroom door behind her.
I was nervous and unsure of what to do when Evie glanced at me.
“Should we go after him?” I asked.
Evie shook her head. “This happens literally all the time,” she said, casually heading back into the living room.
***
I said nothing until ten o’ clock bled into eleven and Chace refused to answer his phone.
Evie and I were on the back deck, popping grapes into our mouths as we stretched our legs on the picnic table bench.
“I need to find Chace,” I said.
Evie waved her hand. “He’s fine.”
I called Chace’s phone again. No answer. Straight to voicemail.
Staring down at the fluorescent screen I worried my bottom lip, tongue swiping over the closed wound, tasting flecks of dried blood and remainders of Chace.
I wasn’t on his side, I was on Bonnie’s, riddled with disbelief that Chace couldn’t swallow an ounce of pride to do something nice for his mother. One article. One photo.
For his family he supposedly loved. But he was still my boss and there was a knot growing in the pit of my stomach that told me he was something more. A crush? An unfinished conquest? A friend?
I unfolded my legs from the bench and stood. “The town isn’t far away, is it?”
“Not really,” Evie said.
“You think I can walk?”
She looked at me. “What makes you think he’s in town?”
I shrugged.
Evie smiled. She stood up with her arms stretched in the air as she said, “I think I know where Chace might be and you’re gonna need a ride.”
Seven
Evie drove a small red convertible with two cream seats and a large white steering wheel. It looked like something out of an old movie, the paint glimmering like jewelry but smooth like candy. We drove around with the top down, my hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of my neck, the smell of saltwater filling the air as Evie made a left and we entered the nearest town.
Rows and rows of boutiques shared sidewalk space with café’s and family-owned restaurants, flooded with low light. At eleven-thirty in the evening most of them were closed but a select few were still open, housing young and old couples with dogs and glasses of wine, lounging out front and soaking up the night air.
Westbound, the buildings transformed into bars packed with rowdy twenty and thirty-something’s screaming over booming waves of music. The noise rivaled Manhattan. Clusters of them watched as we passed, Evie driving slow enough to survey the men loitering in front of the bar, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other.
Down the alley and to the right was a wide parking lot and a lone industrial building. Propped along the roof was a small hot pink sign of a woman’s spread legs, thin loopy script reading: The Dirty Kitty.
Evie parked and checked her lipstick in the mirror. “Have you ever been to a strip club before?”
“Never.”
She grinned. “Well, you’re in for an adventure.”
We were both dressed casually, Evie in a short sundress and me in my shorts and blouse I’d been wearing all day. The men who loitered around the establishment straightened their shoulders when they saw us, their lips wrapping around whistles and hollers. Evie ignored with them grace, her eyes on the bouncer who didn’t ask for our ID or a cover, just opened the door and let us in.