by Sage Rae
Penelope
A stick-thin woman with a sharp nose, wearing an impossibly strange, fashion-forward jacket with an asymmetrical collar (nothing Winnie had ever seen before, in a sparkling green that made her avert her eyes), awaited them at the front door of the restaurant. The woman puffed a cigarette, causing little lines to curve around her lips. As Winnie and the Russell brothers approached, the woman’s eyes darted up and down Winnie’s frame, and then up and down all over again. Winnie had never felt so on display, so much like the meat at the butcher shop. Her hands curved around her elbows. She tried to remain brave.
The woman tossed her cigarette to the ground and stabbed it out with her heel. Dan crept closer to her, dotting a kiss on her cheek. The woman grimaced, her eyes still on Winnie.
“This must be your new secretary,” the woman said, sticking her hand out. “I’m Penelope. Dan’s fiancé.”
“Really good to meet you,” Winnie said, her voice a bit too bright, a bit too country. Immediately, she blushed again, sensing that the woman was making fun of her in her head.
“Shall we sit down?” the woman said, her lips turning down.
Dan pressed his hand into the base of her back, guiding Penelope toward the door. Winnie followed, feeling Carter’s stern presence behind her. She sensed there was such tension, such animosity between the brothers, but she couldn’t gauge precisely why, or what to do about it. She was along for the ride. And although she ached to be alone with Carter, to banter the way they’d been allowed to the past few nights, she recognized that she was as much Dan’s secretary as she was Carter’s. She had to remain on both of their “good” sides, even if that meant listening to Dan’s boisterous, cocky stories. Even if that meant laughing at his jokes.
The French restaurant was long and thin, intimate, with white table cloths and shivering candles. The best-dressed in Manhattan sat, bored and sipping wine, gazing at their wives and husbands with dead eyes. Winnie had a flashing memory of the way her father looked at her mother, when her mother had the ruddiest, sun-burnt cheeks, the thickest, most calloused feet. It was nothing like this. It was filled with love.
Dan flicked his finger toward the server, who approached immediately. Winnie followed Penelope’s motions as Dan ordered them a first bottle of wine: folding her hands into her lap, leaning back in a cool, almost skeletal way. Winnie marvelled at this woman’s diet plan. What did it mean to be rich, to be so bony and cold? Did it mean voiding yourself of any pleasure? Winnie thought back to her favourite ice cream place at home—the way the liquid dribbled down her chin, and she licked it up. What were those thoughts? Why was she suddenly aching with homesickness?
Had she made a mistake, coming to New York with the Russells?
“Winnie, taste this wine first,” Dan said, bowing his head toward the glass. It had suddenly appeared there, as if dropped from a dream. Winnie blinked at the robust red liquid. “I want to see your face. I want you to guess how much it costs.”
Winnie’s eyes flitted toward Carter, toward Penelope. Carter’s eyes were averted, and Penelope was gazing at the candle, her cheeks a strange green. Winnie lifted the glass, ever the trooper, and sipped. The wine was acidic, almost forceful with its flavour, and she grimaced slightly. Nodding, she tapped the glass back to the table, giving Dan a queasy smile.
“Wow,” she offered.
“Really something, isn’t it?” Dan said. “Now, guess. How much a bottle?”
“Um. I don’t know,” Winnie said, her voice quivering. “I can’t even begin to guess.”
“Come on. I am ordering you, as your employer, to guess,” Dan said, his voice almost volatile.
“She doesn’t know, Dan,” Carter said, gripping his own wine glass. His eyes sparkled. “Leave her the hell alone, will you?”
“Um. Maybe like, one hundred?” Winnie interjected, hating the rise in Carter’s voice. His anger seemed to bleed through to her, making her swim with sadness. “One hundred a bottle? Two hundred?” She guessed again. Dan’s eyes grew bigger, his smirk deeper. “I mean. I probably sound like an idiot.”
“You do, darling,” Penelope interjected, leering at her. “But that’s what he wants from you.”
“No, no. Don’t be ridiculous,” Dan said, cackling. He tapped his chest with a thick hand, gazing at Winnie with what looked like pity. “I don’t think you sound idiotic. Just inexperienced. And darling, that’s why you have to stick with me. I’ll teach you everything you need to know. And when Carter and I need you to prepare, say, a nice dinner for a client out, you’ll understand that a bottle of wine should cost no less than seven hundred dollars, if the client’s one we’re preparing to rely on.”
Winnie’s heart felt pierced. Seven hundred dollars? That was far more than her rent—a number she’d struggled to reach, just days before. She adjusted in her chair, reaching for her notebook. With her pen in hand, maybe she could reach a stasis. She could centre her thoughts, perhaps. Focus.
“Why don’t we order a fucking meal, Dan,” Carter scoffed, drawing his menu from the table. His voice was gritty. “And stop trying to show off to Winnie, who hasn’t cared about money a day in her life?”
“Oh, she will, though. It’s addicting,” Dan said. His hand fell over Winnie’s, as she began to scribble over her notebook. She stopped her rapid scribbling, her heartbeat darting up toward her throat. “Everything you could ever want, at your fingertips, Winnie. Winnifred. I mean, imagine it. What is it that you most want in the world?”
Winnie’s cheeks steamed. Beside her, Penelope snapped her fingers toward the waiter, and her dry voice requested a martini. Carter’s voice bolted over all of them, demanding that they order several appetizers, as Dan was clearly “out of his mind” after those cocktails at the previous bar.
“Ha. As if I, my brother, would ever be out of my mind,” Dan said. He turned his attention back toward Carter, removing his hand from Winnie’s and cracking his knuckles. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
“Think you’re the same old asshole I’ve known since birth,” Carter said, his nostrils flared. “Just a bastard, spewing nonsense.”
Suddenly, Dan bolted to his feet. He moved so quickly, and he was so broad, strong, that his crystal plate shattered to the floor. His hands were in fists, and big beads of sweat fell down his cheeks. He stared at Carter, the whites of his eyes turning red. Beside him, Penelope gazed on blankly, as if she’d seen this kind of thing a million times before.
But Winnie ached. She felt on the cusp of a breakdown, quivering, her stomach burning with the tension. She followed Dan’s suit, rushing to her feet and turning toward the back bathrooms. She placed her hands on her stomach, feeling it flutter. Behind her, she heard Dan and Carter swapping volatile words, yet couldn’t quite make them out. Her eyes allowed first one, then several tears to escape. Within seconds, she hustled into the back bathroom, falling onto the edge of an old-fashioned fainting couch, reaching for a napkin. She dabbed at her cheeks, her thoughts swirling. In the mirror, she saw a girl very nearly her size and shape, wearing clothes the old Winnie would have never dreamed of putting on. They were tight against her throat, inhibiting. Winnie parted her lips, yearning to sing—something she’d only been doing in the shower, since she’d arrived in New York. Each time, her stomach had filled with butterflies. Some small part of her had known that the butterflies were there for Carter, making her heart surge with something very much like love.
She had to push it back. To drive it away. This—this was her only job. And it paid damn well.
It was probably all confusing to her because she was a virgin, she told herself, slipping her hands along her thighs. She was inexperienced, fearful—which meant that any story Dan told her made her ache with fright. Cocaine? A huge risk. And risks, in and of themselves? Coming to New York was the first real one she’d ever taken.
She didn’t understand them. Maybe she would never understand anything.
She’d thought that her and Carter u
nderstood one another. That they’d seen something of one another’s souls. But it was clear this was yet another thing she’d created in her mind. She was always so fanciful, so creative. She could craft worlds within the bigger one, worlds that no one else saw. And, if they were unseen, unfelt, unheard by anyone else—they didn’t truly exist. Winnie had to remind herself of that.
Suddenly, the door burst open. In the doorway, Penelope stood—almost six feet tall, towering over the quivering Winnie. She jabbed her elbow outward, such a sword, and gazed down at Winnie. A small smirk wove its way across Penelope’s face.
“Oh, honey. What’s gotten into you?” she asked.
This was it, wasn’t it? Winnie marvelled. All women stuck together, checked up on one another in the bathrooms while the men blabbered on outside. This was the rule of the prom, the rule of nights out with friends. When a female rushed to the bathroom, flushed, someone would blast forward to pick up the slack. And, in this case, it had to be Penelope.
“Oh, I’m fine,” Winnie said, offering a sad smile. “Just a little overwhelmed, you know? I’d barely left Texas before this trip. And suddenly, I think all the change caught up to me. I want to be strong all the time. To push myself. But sometimes…”
Penelope allowed the door to swing closed behind her. Her long legs walked toward the sink, the knees jutting forward through the silk of her dress. She swung her purse to the counter, removing a palette of eye makeup and blush. With a soft finger, she smudged at the colouring, dotting it across her eyes.
“Darling, I can see it on you. You’re absolutely in love, aren’t you?” Penelope sighed. She dipped her head to the right, making eye contact with Winnie in the mirror. Winnie could see her blush from five feet back, behind.
“Oh, love? What?” Winnie said, scrambling. Her hands darted across her thighs again. “No. I mean—“ What was Penelope saying? That she was in love with Dan, with her fiancé? Winnie could see no other alternative, as she’d barely allowed herself to glance toward Carter the entire night. Certainly, Carter’s anger had risen higher and higher, crashing across the table toward Dan. But that had had nothing to do with Winnie.
“Because, let me tell you, Winnie. It’s a trepidatious game. Dating the brothers. Either one of them,” Penelope continued, almost as if Winnie hadn’t spoken. She smudged her black makeup along her eyes, allowing another sigh to escape. “I mean, they both want what the other has. Which means they usually just trade secretaries. Day after day, year after year—I’ve seen many a secretary come through here and wind up hurt.”
Penelope whirled back toward Winnie, making heavy eye contact. “And to be honest, darling, I almost never speak so frankly with the secretaries. But I can tell you’re a sweet one. Aren’t you? You don’t have much… shall we call it… experience?”
Winnie curled tighter into a ball. The night before, she’d cracked a joke to Carter that had made him nearly scream with excitement, with laughter. “Jesus, Winnie. And imagine, you could still be hiding out on the farm. The world deserves to know you.” She’d all-but burst up in flames, loving the way he’d celebrated her. Loving the way he’d said her name.
“What do you mean?” Winnie whispered, her cheeks growing increasingly red.
“Oh, honey. You know why they’ve gone through, what, five secretaries just this year. And if you don’t, you’re kidding yourself,” Penelope said.
Winnie couldn’t hold herself back from it. The words escaped, like water through a hose. “Even Carter?” she whispered.
Penelope scoffed, making her mouth wide, a hole. “Oh, darling. Of course. The women always like him the most, because he’s the softer, more artistic one. By oh my, yes. Don’t you see the way he’s goading Dan, out there? Trying to make a mockery of him? I’ve listened in on those conversations over a zillion times, let me tell you.”
“Then… then why do you stay with Dan?” Winnie murmured. She swallowed sharply, hating how child-like she sounded. Perhaps in this world, monogamous relationship were regarded as silly, larger-than-life concepts. A waste of everyone’s time, when each and every human pulsed with sensuality, with the drive to—to—fuck. The word was so aggressive in her head, but she forced herself to think it again. Fuck. How would she ever learn it, understand it? How could she ever make it her own?
“Why do I stay with Dan?” Penelope mused. She shrugged a sharp shoulder, batting her eyelashes. God, her eyelids were so dark, so evil-looking—yet ultimately high fashion. Would Winnie ever understand it?
“Dan, well. Dan Russell is clearly an asshole. But Winnie, darling, whether or not he’s an asshole, that’s not why I’m latching myself to him. You see, he’s new money; I’ve got the old stuff. Together, we wage war on the future, unstoppable from both fronts. And no matter who he chooses to fuck next. You—or the next secretary—or even the next, it doesn’t matter. Because we know what we have,” Penelope said, giving another demonic smile. “How beautiful you are. You know that, don’t you?”
Winnie erupted from the edge of the fainting couch, bolting for the door. Behind her, Penelope was silent, but Winnie’s mind raced—each of her thoughts echoing from ear to ear. Suddenly, she felt certain: she had to escape this world. She was a foreigner, and could never possibly understand. So what if she thought she and Carter “meant something” to one another? It was clear she was delusional, just falling into another trap of thought.
Sleeping with their secretaries. Wasn’t that the old cliche? Winnie clenched her fists as she approached the table, feeling her tongue grow heavy in her mouth. How had she possibly allowed herself to share any intimate details of her life with Carter? She imagined him alone with Dan, recounting the little, “cutesy” things she’d said to him. How foolish she was, to think he cared. Her mother had tried to explain, to tell her that the big city was no place for a good-girl like Winnie. “There are different rules you don’t understand, and never will. Plus, why would you even want to? Those types of people, Winnie. They sleep around. They don’t observe Jesus Christ as our Saviour. They don’t—“
“Winnie?” Carter stood from the table, his face draining blood. Behind his black beard, he looked stricken, his eyebrows lowering. “Winnie, what’s happened to you? Are you all right?”
Dan smirked at her, bringing his hand toward her shoulder. He tried to grip it, but Winnie snaked away from him. “Ah, she’s just starving, aren’t you, Winnie? You let the wine go to your head. Don’t worry. We got you a bread basket.”
Winnie’s eyes drew up, toward Carter’s. His eyes reflected compassion, understanding. They weren’t the eyes of a man trying to play her, at least—Winnie didn’t think so. Yet, all she had was Penelope’s truth. And she had no reason not to believe in it.
“I’m feeling so sick,” Winnie whispered, marvelling at her ability to speak. She hardly recognized her own voice. “I don’t know. It must be a cold or something. I need to run back to the hotel…”
“Let me get you a cab—“ Carter sputtered, reaching toward her.
But again, Winnie snaked away. Without another word, she shot toward the door, her hands across her abdomen. Behind her, she could feel textured, vitriolic words coming from the brothers’ mouths. But she didn’t pause long enough to make out what they were actually saying. It was poisonous.
It couldn’t matter. Not anymore.
Suddenly, she was faced with reality: that Carter was playing her, to get into her pants. And despite her body’s seemingly insane desire to thrust itself at Carter—bringing her breasts against his chest, her lips along his, even to strip naked for him…
She had to fight it. She couldn’t be like “every other city girl.” And besides, the concept of sex was a terrifying thing. Faced with an evening alone with Carter, she would reveal herself the foolish, little girl she’d always been. And then, as Penelope said, he would be rid of her. Her virginity would be gone, along with her spirit.
Singing. Music. Family. Safety. These were the things Winnie had always had, and al
ways would. She would throw herself back into her safe, shell of a world, never daring to peek her head out again.
Magic
“Are you happy now?” Carter yelled at his brother, clanking his knife against the side of his plate. “What the fuck have you been playing at all day? Trying to intimidate her? Jesus Christ, Dan. She’s not like the rest…”
Dan’s eyes burned toward Carter. He smirked, drawing his arms across his chest. His muscles were tight in his shirt, bulky, the veins shifting beneath the cuff. Again, Carter felt an overwhelming desire to tear this man to pieces: his twin, his almost exact likeness. But he’d never felt so unlike him in his life.
“Not like all the rest. What are you, writing a poem about her?” Dan said. “She’s just a fucking girl, Carter. Have you seriously lost sight of that? Look around us. Look outside on the streets of Manhattan. We’re literally drowning in women. And they’re all waiting to spread their legs wide for us…”
As he spoke, Penelope sauntered up. She turned her long fingers to her purse, drawing a slim cigarette from within. Her eyes were flat, bored. But something about her smirk made Carter understand.
“What the hell did you tell her in there?” he asked, his voice low. He felt like some kind of predator, ready to hunt for Winnie—to sacrifice everything he’d built for her. He tapped his fingers along the edge of the table, marvelling at the way Penelope’s face ticked, flickering with joy.
She was toying with him. Toying with Winnie. She had the strings of the puppets, and she yanked them back and forth. It was the kind of things people who’d grown up with money did. They looked at the world from behind glass, pointing at the ones they wanted to keep, and the ones they wanted to kill. It was like ancient Rome, all over again.
“Calm yourself,” Dan said, his voice becoming darker, less playful. “You know Penelope can’t control herself. So what? We’ll have another secretary before the week’s over. Contact the Austin office, if you want a good-ol’ Texas girl. I’m sure you can find a make and model very, very similar to our little Winnifred.”