Twisted Proposal

by M. V. Miles

  “Fancy meeting you here,” a familiar voice said from behind me, causing, me to choke. I wiped off my mouth. Jackson smiled. He was dressed in a pair of white cargo shorts and a navy blue polo shirt with a small horse sewn on the chest. I rolled my eyes and walked away. What was he doing here?

  “Now, that’s no way to greet a friend,” he taunted.

  “We’re not friends,” I clarified as I joined Zach.

  “Just so you know. I’m not here for you. I’m here with my step-mother. We’re having lunch. Care to join us?” Jackson focused his attention on Zach, almost as if I wasn’t even there.

  “Sounds good to me,” Zach answered, dismissing my glare.

  “Perfect. Follow me.” Jackson led us up a flight of stairs to a set of glass doors that were opened by a man in a black and red uniform. Another man met us just inside the restaurant with menus.

  “The usual table, Mr. Van Buren?” the host asked.

  “Yes,” Jackson replied, and we followed the man to a secluded room where an older man and his wife were dining.

  These decorated tables made the one at home look amateurish. Each setting had three forks and two spoons and knives. I didn’t even know where to begin, so I made a mental note to follow Zach's lead.

  An extravagant red and black flower arrangement adorned the white tablecloth- covered table, which was removed by a waiter. It was replaced with a simple candle in a lantern. I selected a chair across from Jackson. I noticed the old man sitting right next to us stopped what he was doing and watched us. I felt like we were interrupting everything. Self- consciously, I fumed, wishing Zach hadn’t accepted Jackson’s offer. The old man smiled after his wife tapped him on the arm.

  A waiter poured us water. “Order what you want. I’m pretty sure they have everything,” Jackson informed me, as a black leather menu was placed in front of me. I wasn’t hungry.

  “You forget about our golf lesson? I waited for fifteen full minutes out back,” Mrs. Van Buren said as she joined the table. She was wearing a short dark blue skirt and tight top with a matching visor. She hesitated for a moment when she realized Jackson wasn’t alone.

  “I’m sorry, it must have slipped my mind,” Jackson said nonchalantly, never looking up from the menu.

  Mrs. Van Buren forced a tight smile. “Addison and Zach, how nice of you to join us. Are your parents around?”

  “Nope, just us,” Zach answered, keeping his head down as he played on his phone.

  I didn’t know how to react. She’d been so friendly the day before. It was obvious she was not happy we were there.

  “I invited them to lunch, Morgan, so I would appreciate if you did not make a scene,” Jackson said.

  Mrs. Van Buren ordered a martini right away and didn’t speak until after it arrived. “You’re getting around, aren’t you, Addison?” Her cold eyes shot darts at me.

  What did that mean? “I guess. I figured I might as well see what this town had to offer.”

  “Addison, do you like eggplant parmesan?” Jackson asked.

  “I’ve never had it before.”

  “She probably wouldn’t know the difference between eggplant and zucchini. It’s Italian. It all tastes the same.” Morgan pulled out a cigarette but didn’t light it. The end of it glowed red-orange like a cherry and smoke came rolling out of her mouth. Must be one of those e-cigarettes.

  “Sounds great,” I replied, doing my best to avoid her snide remark.

  “It’s electronic, steam for smoke. She gets the nicotine, with no harm to others,” Jackson said, as if reading my mind.

  I shrugged, pretending not to care, acutely aware that Morgan was staring at me.

  “Your pictures came back.” She thrust her phone under my nose.

  I blinked, as I stared at a picture of me and Jackson next to his car. I didn’t recognize myself at all. My eyes were large and shadowy in the dim light.

  “Have you ever thought about modeling?” she asked.

  “You’re joking, right?” I passed the phone back to her. The picture made me uncomfortable.

  “Not at all. You have a unique face.” She sipped her drink.

  I leaned toward her and motioned for her to do the same. When she was close enough, I whispered, “If that’s your way of calling me ugly, you should really just stick to the basics.” I plucked the olive from her drink and ate it. She scowled.

  “I don’t know why he would choose you. You’re so rude,” she said in a low voice, taking a drink.

  “Morgan will you kindly shut up.” Jackson said eyes still on the menu.

  “Choose me for what?” I asked.

  “Nothing, dear.” She dismissed me and flashed a steely smile at Jackson. “I’ve rescheduled our appointment for tomorrow.”

  “Zach, are you looking forward to playing Briarwood this weekend?” Jackson asked, ignoring her.

  They continued to talk sports until a plate of spaghetti with a fried piece of eggplant covered in cheese was set in front of me. Jackson watched me as I cut into the patty and took a small bite.

  “Well?” he asked.

  I chewed and blotted my mouth; I’d seen a few people doing that. “It’s delicious.” I dug in but was stopped short when Morgan starting complaining about how many calories were in spaghetti. "At the rate you eat, dear, you'll be a blimp in no time." She sucked on her fake cigarette, tilted her head back, and blew out a stream of smoke.

  Instead of asking her what her problem was, I left the table and stormed to the restroom. Who did she think she was? I punched the wall and cursed at the pain that ricocheted up my arm.

  Someone knocked once on the door and then pushed it open. “Are you okay?” Jackson asked, joining me.

  “No.” I bent over near the wall, holding my hand, hoping the stinging would stop.

  “What’d you do?” He tried to take my hand. I dodged him.

  “Something really stupid.”

  “Yeah, I can tell that, but what?”

  “Why don’t you just leave? Besides the door says women for a reason.” I swore as the pain shot up my arm. “Shit, man.”

  He disappeared and returned. “It’s locked. Better?”

  “No.” I turned away. My knuckles were bright red. At least there was no blood.

  “Well, you need to calm down so I can look at your hand.” He leaned against the wall, studying me with a calculating look.

  “What’s wrong with you? Why won’t you leave me alone?” Dreading to run cold water over it, I squinted, wincing in agony.

  Instead of answering, he latched onto my forearm and tugged it away from my body. “Come on, let me see.” He coaxed and I tried to relax stretching my arm out, but pulled away from him when he tried to open my fist. “I can’t help if I can’t see the damage.”

  “Fine,” I grumbled and let him take my hand which was already swollen. Gently, he touched the bruised knuckles.

  “Can you wiggle your fingers?”

  I could, but it hurt.

  “Yeah, you’re going to be sore, but I don’t think it’s broken. We need to stop the swelling.” He maneuvered behind me and ran cold water over my throbbing fingers until they were numb. I rested against him and closed my eyes. How could I have been so stupid?

  Five minutes later, he dried off my hand and wrapped it in a dark blue handkerchief. For the first time in two days, I paused to take a good look at him. If I wanted a guy from the rich side of town, he was standing right in front of me. Flawless skin and hair and eyes that seemed to peer into your soul. No imperfections.

  “I want to know what my father’s up to. Tell me why I’m here,” I pleaded.

  “You know I can’t tell you that.” He kissed me and a rush of adrenaline, mixed with desire, rocked my body. I returned the intense kiss. He lifted me up on the counter and I slid my non-sore hand down his flat abs and inside his pants. I pushed my tongue inside his mouth. He moaned. One of his hands went up my shirt and l wrapped my legs around his waist, grinding against him.

&
nbsp; Everything was moving so fast. There was no way I was having sex in a public bathroom, so I settled on a hand job. Right before he came, I bit down on his lip. He tried to pull away, but I squeezed my legs together, locking him in. He was trapped. I released him, and he fell against me, breathing hard.

  I pushed him away and began washing my hands.

  “You fuckin’ bit me.” He probed his lip to make sure I hadn't broken the skin. I hadn't.

  “And you liked it.” I grabbed a few paper towels and unlocked the door. Morgan nearly pitched forward on her face. Had she been listening? She had a strange expression on her face. Disgust? Fear? Jealousy? The last possibility gave me a chill, because it made the most sense.

  “He’s all yours,” I said as I breezed past her to the table.

  “Where did you go?” Zach asked as I sat down.

  “The bathroom.”

  “Did you see Jackson or his step-mom? They disappeared after you.”

  “Nope,” I lied. Zach gave me a sharp look; he knew I was lying. I grabbed one more bite of spaghetti and then tossed my napkin on the chair. “Are you finished? I want to go home.”

  “Wait, Miss?” The old man who was sitting next to us rose slightly and motioned for me to come closer.

  “Uh, yah?” I hoped he wasn’t going to give me his phone number.

  The old man glanced toward the bathrooms. “You should stay away from that boy. He’s nothing but trouble,” he whispered, then returned to his seat just as Jackson walked in.

  “Where are you going?” Jackson asked. He spoke to me but kept his gaze focused on the old man.

  “It’s time for us to leave.” I grabbed Zach and marched down the stairs to the waiting Bentley. Should I be ashamed of what I just did? At least I knew one thing: I was pretty sure Morgan was fucking Jackson.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Back at the house, Zach and I went our separate ways. I showered and was going to take a nap, but Stuart was waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom.

  “What happened to your hand?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I had wrapped the handkerchief around my knuckles so no one could see how swollen it had become. I should probably get some ice.

  “We have a meeting at Briarwood Academy in an hour, so you need to change into this.” He handed me a gray skirt and a white blouse. It was hideous. “Wear black shoes.”

  He left without another word.

  I stared at the ugly outfit. I hoped this wasn’t the uniform. But I did as I was told and changed.

  “Dean Marshall is doing me a great favor by meeting with us so late in the day and on a Sunday,” Stuart explained when I walked into the living room where Petra and he were sitting on the couch.

  “Are you trying to embarrass me?” Lexus shrieked, as she dashed into the room.

  Petra stood. "What now?”

  Lexus turned toward me, her eyes blazing. “Why didn’t you tell me you had lunch with Jackson? I’ve lived here my whole life, and you’re here for like two minutes and already had lunch with him and his mother. This is so unfair!” She glared at me once more and stomped off.

  “You had lunch with the Van Burens?” Stuart questioned.

  I shifted my feet; the shoes pinched my toes. “It wasn’t like it was planned. I think Jackson’s following me or something. You wouldn’t know anything about that, Stuart, would you?”

  He didn't answer.

  “Nonsense, why would he follow you?” Petra snarled before she disappeared into the other room, probably going to comfort Lexus, who seemed to fall apart over every little slight.

  “Come on. Let's go.” Stuart said leading the way.

  We had just reached the foyer near the front door when Zach came running toward us. “Hey, Addison, you remember that old man at the restaurant?”

  “You mean the one that kept watching at us at lunch?”

  “Yeah, him." He glanced curiously at my outfit. "You going to Briarwood?"

  "Zach--" Stuart began, but I cut him off.

  "The old man? What about him?" I asked.

  "He was talking to you, right? What'd he say to you?" Zach asked.

  “Why?” I asked Zach.

  “Because he’s dead now. You might have been the last person he spoke to.”

  For a second I couldn’t believe it. “How...how did he die?”

  “Oh he fell down the steps; Blake said there was blood all over the place.” Zach said going back to his chair.

  I caught my breath and leaned against the tall table with the lilies. I couldn’t shake the memory of the way Jackson had stared at the man. He had been so jealous, like he was threatened by the old guy or something.

  “Are you ready?” Stuart asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “What? Yeah, I guess.” I turned to Zach. "I've gotta go, but let's talk later, okay?"

  "Sure." Zach grinned. "Spooky, huh?" He headed toward the game room.

  “Petra, honey, we’re leaving,” Stuart shouted, but she didn’t reply. He sighed, and I followed him outside. Even though the sun was shining, I shivered. What if Jackson pushed that man down the stairs?

  ”It will mean a lot to me if you were accepted," Stuart said as we got into his dark blue Town Car. "I've been trying to get my kids into this school for some time now. But their grades weren’t high enough.”

  “What’s so special about Briarwood?”

  “It’s one of the top schools in the state. Get good grades here, and you’ll be accepted by any college you want.”

  “Oh.”

  “And now that we're alone, we need to talk about your little drinking problem.”

  I squirmed in my seat. ”I don’t have a problem.”

  “Well, if you get into Briarwood, you can’t be going to school drunk. They won’t have it. I won’t have it. Get it together, Addison. Otherwise, things are going to be a lot harder for you than they have to be.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  He frowned at me and turned on the radio. I guess the discussion was over. So much for me thinking my occasional drinking was invisible. I wondered if he had noticed the drinking or if Jackson had mentioned something to him. We drove the rest of the way in silence except for the annoying pop music coming through the car speakers.

  As we passed through the dark green painted gate that protected the school, I felt the uncertainty of the day replaced with anxiety. Briarwood Academy reminded me more of a college than a high school. I glanced around, taking in the well-kept campus. There were at least four large two-story red brick buildings, with the largest resembling a church with its tall steeple.

  Green grass and shade trees lined the wide walkway, and I imagined my mother and aunt in their school uniforms going to class. This was it! I recognized the bench from the photo I had back at home. Now I knew I had to get in to Briarwood.

  Stuart parked in one of the visitor lots, and I watched as a few students passed us. None of them were wearing uniforms, it was Sunday after all.

  “Come along. We don’t want to be late,” Stuart said.

  We entered the Lucas James Administration Building and walked down a hall with a freshly polished wood floor that smelled faintly of lemon and wax. I stared at framed pictures of the current and past students and tried to find my mother’s signature blonde hair but didn’t see anything that stood out. It seemed everyone was a blonde here.

  “Do you know where we're going?” I asked after we had stopped for the third time at an office that wasn’t the Dean’s.

  “Yes, I’m just being sure.”

  “Right.” He was uncertain about something, but I continued to follow him. A few minutes later, arrived in front of a solid oak door with a brass nameplate on it engraved with the name, "Dean Marshall." Stuart took a deep breath and knocked.

  “Come in,” a woman’s voice called and we entered an office and were greeted by a receptionist.

  “We’re here to see Dean Marshall?” Stuart stated.

  “Of course, just one mom
ent,” the woman stood up and disappeared through a door, shutting it softly behind her.

  “Are you sure we have an appointment?” I asked, my stomach doing flip flops.

  The lady returned smiling, “Dean Marshall will see you now,” she said holding the door open. Stuart took the lead. I trailed behind him.

  A plum-colored Persian rug covered the majority of the floor, and a few tired houseplants tried to make the place warm, but they didn’t help. An air of coldness smothered the room; even the books that lined the walls seemed frozen in time. It was as if the sun never shined in this space.

  The screech of a high-pitched whistle made me jump. A sterling silver teapot on hotplate in the corner spouted steam.

  The old woman behind the desk rose, retrieved the pot, and carefully filled her China tea glass before walking past me to retrieve a tea bag from an ornate tin canister sitting on a window sill. I hated the way she blatantly disregarded me; it was as if I wasn’t even there.

  She returned to her desk and continued writing and stirring her tea. How rude! I managed to keep my composure, unlike Stuart, who fidgeted and squirmed. I shot him a nasty glare, but he cleared his throat.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment,” the woman said with a hint of annoyance.

  “Of course. Take your time,” Stuart said and slid into one of the dark brown leather chairs facing the desk. I remained standing.

  The woman glanced at me and then sideways at Stuart. She rose and rested her skeleton-like hands on the edge of her desk. No smile graced her aged face, and her dark eyes seemed to soak up all the life in the room, leaving a foul taste in my mouth.

  “Mr. McDaniel, I presume?” she asked, extending her stick-like hand. Stuart took it.

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” gushed Stuart.

  “And you’re Addison?” She didn't offer me her hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” I forced. She surveyed me like a piece of property as she returned to her chair.

  “I must say you resemble your mother.” She jotted something down on a yellow legal pad. “Mr. McDaniel, did I say you could sit?”

  “Uh…” Stuart started.

  Dean Marshall lifted and eyebrow at him.