by Sage Rae
Dan reached his greasy hand upward, gripping Winnie’s shoulder. Winnie felt so fearful, so wild. Her heart leapt up into her throat, fluttering. But she didn’t have the physical strength to rip herself out of Dan’s latches. She stared at the ground, praying that the would let her go.
“Don’t be so afraid,” Dan sighed. “I mean, look at all this compassion I’m showing you. You missed a meeting, Winnie. A huge meeting. I have every right to fire you right now. You know that, don’t you?”
Winnie forced herself to nod her head. Her knees buckled slightly, and she felt sure she would topple forward.
“Come on, Winnie. Answer me,” Dan said. He licked at his lips, looking suddenly ravenous. Winnie inhaled the whiskey on his breath.
“You could fire me. I’m so grateful that you haven’t,” Winnie murmured, sounding demure. She no longer recognized herself. She was just a figment of another person’s imagination. She was playing the role.
“I know how you feel about my brother,” Dan said, bringing his nose tighter toward hers. “I can see it in your big, beautiful eyes.”
“No,” Winnie whispered. Had Carter told Dan about their night? Again, she realized she’d trusted him, without really thinking about it. She brought her hand to her throat. It was constricted. Could she possibly get enough air?
“But baby, all I’m asking you is for you to give me the same chance you gave him,” Dan said. He yanked her closer to him, so that his lips were hovering just above hers. Winnie’s stomach churned. What would happen if she vomited all over him?
So used. Like a toy. Tossed between brothers, until she was all torn up.
No.
Winnie yanked herself back, so that Dan nearly lost his balance. He faltered to the table, placing both palms along the wood. He huffed at her, his smile falling.
“What the hell?” he asked, his voice raspy.
“Get off me,” Winnie whispered, pointing a shaking finger. “I’m not—I’m not—“
“Go back to your farmland, Winnifred,” Dan said. “You never belonged here. Carter knows it, too.”
Winnie fled. She twirled from the boardroom, clacking down the hall toward the elevator. Tears dripped down her cheeks, sponging at the top of her collar. How could she have possibly believed she could hack it in this world? She felt like she existed on another plane, now: the world beyond virginity, where she was forced to face the harsh brunt of reality.
“Not for me. Not for me,” Winnie muttered to herself, walking the mile back to the hotel. Around her, New Yorkers glared forward, without noticing the pretty little girl, still crying. She hobbled toward the hotel, marvelling at how quickly the world changed. That morning, she felt she’d held it aloft in her hands. Now, it was heavy, a rock on her shoulders. She couldn’t possibly handle it.
She packed her things, counted her cash. The hotel’s television doubled as a computer, and she used it to chart a map toward the bus station. According to the website, she could buy a ticket to Pennsylvania for just 15 dollars. She supposed she could string together the rest of the funds as she went, yanking her way back to the farm.
The big city wasn’t for her: not New York, and not Austin. As she paused at the door, her suitcase swinging at her side, she glanced back toward the bed. This was where she’d lost her virginity; the place where Carter had given her a tender, light kiss on the neck—so soft, reminding her of a butterfly landing on her on a perfect springtime day.
Only an hour later, she would be gone. And she prayed that all memory of Carter would remain lodged in the city streets, with the grime and the dirt and the rats. She prayed it wouldn’t follow.
Brothers?
“Really, just remarkable doing business with you,” Carter said, smacking his hand into Tyler Short’s. His brother, Remy, stood, burly, thick of moustache, nodding. The men weren’t much for smiling, but Carter could read it in their eyes: their plans for the next six months together were beneficial for all involved. That meant both monetarily, which pleased Dan, and artistically, which pleased Carter.
Carter had left Dan behind, post-meeting, to take the Short’s over to the building site and give them a general sense for the early days of the project. They marched in cowboy boots, clacking along the sidewalk, unspeaking. Above them, the sky was this impossible, robin-egg blue—almost brighter than any Texan sky Carter had ever seen.
“Sorry to hear about that secretary of yours being ill,” Tyler Short offered, as an off-hand comment. “I really could tell, with someone like that, that your company embodies some of the higher morals that my brother and I appreciate.”
“Winnie? Yes,” Carter said. Just speaking her name made his heart leap into his throat. He could still hear her moans in his ears, echoing, from the night before. She’d opened herself to him, like a flower to the sun. “Really remarkable that we found her.”
“You must know that your brother is sometimes an issue for us,” Remy said, bucking forward. His eyes burned into Carter’s. “What with his reputation.”
This wasn’t the first time Carter had heard this. Oftentimes, his and his brother’s reputation as “playboys” was revered. With more old-fashioned men, like the Short brothers, morality was upheld. The kind of morality that Winnie had been born and bred on. And, come to think of it, it was the kind of morality Carter and Dan had worn on their sleeves, before the first billion. How had they abandoned it so quickly?
“My brother and I are very similar in many ways. But also very different,” Carter offered. “I’ve needed his business brain, so that I can put myself toward the artistic side.”
“Of course.” The Short bothers considered this, making eye contact. Carter shifted, turning his watch face up. It was nearly noon, and he wanted to head back to the office, go over his final plans, begin hiring the right contractors, and, of course, go over everything with Winnie. He’d allowed her to sleep in that morning, loving how she’d curled around the pillow, holding onto it like it was some sort of stuffed animal. Her fingers were so thin, making the fabric bulge around them. She’d moaned lightly when he’d arose, as if to tell him to stay. It had taken every ounce of strength within him to leave.
But there would be more mornings like that. More evenings. More sweaty nights of lovemaking, of talking. Carter felt sure of it.
Carter shook hands with the Shorts and took a taxi back to the offices. He swam with inarticulate thoughts, jumping from sensual ones about Winnie’s tight body, the way her thighs had felt in his hands, to ones about the new buildings in New York—how this would ignite a fresh, new era for the Russell and Russell architecture firm. Soon, he would be revered, on the cover of all his favourite architecture magazines.
And, dammit, he would help Winnie reach for her dreams, as well. If they were going to be together, she didn’t have to be his goddamn secretary. She could find studio space in New York. She could begin recording, putting her work on the internet. Perhaps he could introduce her to some of his celebrity friends, the musicians who could help her fight through the industry.
Carter marched into the new offices, hunting for Winnie. The light shimmered in through the windows. From the corner office, blues music howled from the speaker system Dan had just had installed. Carter followed it, listening as his brother half-howled along with it, his words drunken. When Carter appeared in the doorway, he watched his brother stagger back, a whiskey bobbing in his hand as he danced. His eyes were closed, his jaw slack. He was every portrait of an asshole alcoholic.
Carter saw Dan through the eyes of the Shorts, now. He swallowed, pressing his lips together. He waited for Dan to turn toward him. But instead, he sped back toward the speaker, turning it up and up and up.
“ENOUGH!” Carter cried. He bucked toward the speaker, pressing the OFF button. Dan gaped at him, his eyebrows lowering. Sweat bolted down his cheeks, his forehead. Each ball of sweat reeked of whiskey.
The brothers huffed at each other, both frustrated for different reasons. “What the hell, man?” Dan as
ked, his words slurred.
“Dan, you really need to get a fucking grip,” Carter told him. “You can’t just drink the day away.”
Dan chuckled, tossing his head back. “Well, I tried to do something else with today, if you know what I mean.”
Carter rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for Dan’s stupid games. Clucking his tongue, he traced his eyes around the room, toward the hall. “Whatever, Dan. Have you seen Winnie yet today? I wanted to go over some of the notes for…”
“Oh, Carter. Carter, Carter. Love looks so sour on you,” Dan sighed, allowing his head to fall to the side.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Carter asked.
“Love. Love-y, love. I can see it coming out of your ears, you asshole,” Dan scoffed. “But don’t worry. I’ve taken care of it.”
Carter’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. He drew his arms over his chest, waiting. Something in his stomach stirred, telling him something was very, very off. Dan continued to leer at him. The whites of his eyes were all red, and his skin was blotchy, strange. Carter brought his nose tighter toward his brother, waiting.
“I think it’s safe to say we have to find ourselves another piece of ass,” Dan said, his voice a raspy whisper. “I know that’s going to upset you, baby brother. But it’s just the breaks of this business.”
“What the hell, Dan?” Carter asked. He lifted his hand to Dan’s suit, tugging at the collar. Dan shook back and forth, nearly toppling. “What the hell?”
“I think the little farm girl found her way home,” Dan said, his bottom lip fake-quivering. His words were laced with sarcasm. “And I’m just so sorry, Carter. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Fuck you,” Carter said. He released his brother’s collar, making him fall back into a rolling chair. With quick steps, he rushed back down the hallway, stabbing his finger against the elevator button. Was Winnie ten minutes ahead? An hour? In the taxi, he reached for his phone, dialling her cell. But the thing was a flimsy brick, something he’d been meaning to replace for her. It rang only twice, before delivering him to voicemail.
“Shit,” Carter said. “SHIT!”
The taxi rushed to the hotel, planting him on the steps. Carter checked the sidewalk on either side, half-expecting to see Winnie blasting away from him with her guitar swinging at her side. But no. The sidewalk only swarmed with black-wearing New Yorkers, their eyes like daggers.
Upstairs, Winnie’s room had been cleared out. Carter collapsed at the edge of the bed, dialling Winnie’s number over and over again. Now, it was clear that she was avoiding him. That she’d made a decision to leave, and his words wouldn’t taint it.
“Fuck you, Dan,” Carter murmured to himself.
A million images flashed through his head: him and Dan signing their first contract; Dan cracking open that bottle of champagne that had flashed bubbles across the table, the windows, the chairs; their father taking a photograph of them in front of the first building they’d crafted; the first time they’d ever been to that exclusive strip club…
It all seemed like a film reel of someone else’s life.
Carter lifted the phone a final time, dialling his brother. The phone blared in his ear, all the way to five rings, before Dan bothered to answer.
Even the sound of his voice—yes, so similar to Carter’s—seemed to grate on Carter’s nerves. He felt so much like he was in a battle with himself, about to slice himself in two.
“There’s my boy. Why don’t we meet at that little lunch place up the road? Have you seen that waitress working there? Fucking dream of a girl,” Dan said, coughing.
“Dan, I think you need to get help,” Carter said, almost stammering.
“Ha. Help in the form of what? More booze?”
In the background, Carter could hear Dan’s throat glug with more alcohol. Carter’s stomach clenched. Jesus, even he could do with a beer in that moment.
“Dan, I’m ending ties with you,” Carter heard himself say. He blurted it. “I want to divide up our finances, and the company. I’m going out on my own. Dan, I don’t need you anymore.”
“Carter, stop speaking so much bullshit,” Dan said, grumbling. “You know you’ll get over this one, this Winnifred. And you’ll move on to the next one. This is what we do, Carter. You’re just delusional. And fuck if I know why. She’s nothing special.”
“It’s not just about Winnie,” Carter said. “It’s about you. And it’s about me. And it’s about me wanting nothing to do with you, Dan. Goodbye.”
Carter stamped his finger against the power button, blinking into space. His head rushed with anger, with adrenaline. Had he actually broken up with his brother? He reached around his throat, feeling unable to breathe. He’d done it.
Now, he was in for a world of disorganization. A million new tasks stretched out before him. He had to call his lawyer, call the Short brothers. He had to call his dad, explain. And not to mention, there would be a stream of journalists, demanding to know what had happened. Everyone would be out for blood.
And he knew he couldn’t go after Winnie immediately. He had to prove himself the kind of man who deserved her. If she came back to him, all right. If she didn’t, then he would have to live with it for the rest of his life. He hadn’t rid himself of his tumor-like brother fast enough.
It wasn’t the first time he had to pay for his brother’s faults. But it would certainly be the last.
Farm life
Winnie snuck her fork through a platter of mashed potatoes. Her mother’s eyes were upon her, watching her movements. Since returning to the Texas farm three months before, Winnie hadn’t been great at eating—had lost probably five pounds on her already-slim frame. Now, her mother coaxed her with stern eyes. “Put some gravy on it,” she offered. “Seriously, it’s just how you liked it when you were little.”
But things were different, now. Winnie brought the mashed potatoes into her mouth, swallowed slowly, allowing the potatoes to burn the back of her throat. She stirred her tongue over her teeth, forcing her eyes to meet her mother’s.
“There. Don’t you feel better?” her mother asked.
But nothing really seemed to “fix” Winnie, post-her return from New York and Austin. She’d scrambled down the continent on that rickety bus, borrowing a bit of cash from people along the way, before arriving on the doorstep of her and Megan’s apartment. Megan had been inside, doing an endless array of crunches and pushups, when Winnie had fell onto the couch before her. Tears had cranked out, along with a whole host of blubbering words. “I thought we were really in love,” were ones that stood out in Winnie’s mind, making her painfully embarrassed. Megan had given her a cold, sharp-elbowed hug, telling her that the Russell brothers did this to “literally everyone, dude.” And this, more than any other thing, had forced Winnie to question whether or not she really wanted to remain in the city.
She’d called her father to pick her up the next day, and he’d agreed. Since then, her parents had asked her only a few times what had happened. She’d kept her lips tight, giving them a shrug and one of her more insincere smiles. Would she ever be happy again? She wasn’t terribly sure. Also, she wondered if her parents could sense that she’d given her virginity away, almost on a whim. Was that something you could sense on people?
“Dad’s driving into the city today,” her mother said, rising up from the kitchen table. She placed her hands in her apron, giving Winnie a sad smile. Her cheeks were blotchy from the still-horrid October sun. “Maybe you want to give him some company? And you know Austin better than he does, anyway.”
“I don’t know, Mom,” Winnie murmured. “I told Rita that I would give her another guitar lesson.”
“Rita’s eight years old. She wants to run around outside, not be cooped up with you playing guitar. You know her mother’s just making her do it,” Winnie’s mom offered. She drew water from the tap and began to course it over a plate, scrubbing at the scum with a sponge. It was a motion Winnie had seen her do countless times.
It almost looked like she was born to do it.
Perhaps that’s what Winnie was born to do, too. It had never been music, or secretary work, or living wildly in the city. No: it was performing dutiful tasks as a housewife, in the middle of the country.
Winnie’s father appeared in the doorway, dressed in a too-hot button-down shirt, a pair of black jeans. He was a burly man of nearly 60, with crisp white hair that contrasted his deep, tan skin. “Is she coming?” he asked his wife, apparently not willing to address the very person he was speaking about.
“I think she should,” Winnie’s mother cooed.
Winnie’s forehead dropped to her hands. But she recognized defeat. In the previous three months, she’d done little more than help around the farm: tending horses and cows, delivering their garden vegetables, helping with the younger children, and waiting. But waiting for what?
Winnie snuck into the passenger seat of her father’s pickup, watching as he loaded up the truck with the supplies he wanted to trade and sell up in Austin. Always, she recognized a fear in her father when they prepared to leave for the city. It was a place with a different rulebook—ones that didn’t necessarily rise with the sun and set with the moon, like the ones on the farm.
“I’ll never understand why you tried it out, Winnie,” her father said. The pickup snaked down the country road, toward the paved highway. “That kind of curiosity isn’t something I have in my bones. Maybe it’s in your mother’s side of the family. Goodness knows.”
The Austin skyline dripped into the horizon, about two hours later. Winnie bucked up, counting the high-rises. Suddenly, her mind flashed with memories of New York—of the world that had awaited her, simmering with all the future conversations with Carter—in a whole myriad of restaurants and cafes and hotel rooms. She wondered if Austin could have been like that, for her. If only she hadn’t grown so frightened, and wanted to retreat.
Perhaps there could have been another man for her?