Deep South (Naive Mistakes #4)

by Dunning, Rachel

  Oh, my God. Lemon and butter prawns. And they were each huge! They were cold now. I took one and ate the white meat. It was delicious. He must have gone to so much trouble!

  I’ll make it up to you, babe, I promised myself. I’m sorry for letting the day get to me.

  I cleaned my fingers off and went back to the living room. I sketched a few human figures—male, female.

  I drew Kayla’s body. And then Brad’s.

  I added a suit to his body, a flared collar. To hers I added a gown, erased away the legs. I added gloves.

  And then I added a veil...

  -3-

  Conall found me sleeping on my designs on the table the next morning. One of them had gotten drool on it. He pulled it out from under my sticky arm, looked at it from different angles, said, “Nice.”

  I snatched it back from him, still bleary-eyed. I also looked at it from different angles like he had. Hmmm. Nice indeed! I couldn’t wait to show Kayla!

  “I’m sorry about last night,” I said to him. He was looking down at me on the floor.

  “About the handjob, and that...thing...you did afterwards? I quite liked it...”

  “No, silly! About...dinner.”

  “Ah.” He stepped around the table, moved to the red couch behind it. “Come here.” He grabbed my arm and put me on his lap. It reminded me of when I’d been on his lap at the Marriott (Oh, the sweet Marriott!) and we’d gotten busy...

  “Care to talk about it now?” he asked.

  I told him about mom, what my dad said, about being expelled, about my dad’s feeling that someone had interfered. Conall’s eyes went dark. I could see the anger clearly in his expression. “Don’t do anything rash!” I said to him. The last time I’d told him something about his family that had involved me he’d disappeared, and the next time I’d seen him he had blood on his hand after breaking his brother’s nose!

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “Like, I don’t know, going and hitting your father or something!”

  “I wouldn’t hit my father.” He was all serious now. “He certainly deserves a good smack to the nose. And it’s not because he’s my father that I won’t do it. It’s that it wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

  “I, uhm, overheard all of what you guys said last week.”

  “Yes, I thought as much.”

  I ran a finger down his chest. “My mother’s the same, I think.”

  “Your mother had friends doing cocaine in front of her children while you were growing up? Your mother brought men over and had group sex with them while someone played piano and served drinks?” He shook his head, pressed two fingers into his eyes. “Sorry, I try and keep this under control. But it flares out. Carry on.”

  “I meant that...she makes me feel like I can’t think for myself, and that I’ll never be able to. She doesn’t let me be my own person. Know what I mean?”

  “Yes.” A pause. “You’re right. They are the same in that regard.”

  “What did your brother want the other day, Conall? Why was he suddenly there?”

  “Money. It’s the only time he ever seeks me out. Coke is an expensive habit.”

  “I was scared that night. I’d seen the gun.”

  “He wouldn’t shoot me. We were there for each other as children. Besides, he still had the bloody safety on! I don’t even think he knows how to operate one of those things! That was just a show, Leora. He’s still my brother.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s a drug-addict! Drug addicts are not the same people you think they are!”

  Conall stared at me.

  “I don’t want to tell you what you should do with your family...but he made me afraid for you.”

  “He’s my brother, Leo. I can’t see that he’d do anything to hurt me.”

  I shook my head, looked down. “I wish you’d kept all that security in place at the house here.”

  “It was like a fortress here, Leo! And people still got in! Those dangers we had are gone now. I don’t want to live in a jail! We have a camera. We have a security gate. What else do we need?”

  “I know. You’re right. But...”

  He ran a hand through my hair, kissed me. Feeling his lips on mine made me even more afraid for him.

  Losing those lips would...

  I couldn’t think of it.

  I pressed my forehead to his. “I’m definitely not pregnant. I took a test.” My voice was hoarse.

  “I see,” he whispered.

  I put my hands to his ears, my forehead still on his. “I think I grew up too quickly, Conall. I should have gone to a school that would have graduated me when I was fifteen, then gone to college, and everything would have been fine now. I could move on with my life.” I kissed his nose.

  “Life’s tough, Leora. This is one problem you have now. There will be others. You just have to—”

  “Take the decision that’s right for you at the time. I know. Alex told me.”

  “Alex said that?”

  I moved my forehead away, still sitting on his lap. “Yeah, she did. Something tells me the advice was yours.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t remember.” Conall looked at the door, away from me.

  I trickled my fingers down his cheek.

  After a second or two, he clutched them and seared a gaze so far deep into me that I knew I couldn’t bullshit him anymore! “What is it, Leo? And don’t lie to me now!” His English accent was a warm blanket against my shivering skin.

  “It’s nothing.” My tears splashed onto his chest.

  “Leo, please. Tell me!”

  More tears came out. I had no freakin clue where they were coming from or why they were here! “I was...sad...when I took that Morning-After Pill. It was a sadness I’ve never felt before. It was like...I want that more than anything else in the world. And yet, I have no job, no work, no future. If I were to fall pregnant it would ruin everything! It’s so insane and stupid and irresponsible!”

  “Stop it.”

  “It’s—”

  “Leo, stop putting yourself down like that!” Conall’s voice boomed in the room.

  “I’m just so confused, baby. I— I’m officially a college dropout, for crying out loud! Do you know the stigmas associated with that!?”

  “You need to stop calling yourself that, Leora. Personally, I’ll tell you that I think you’re wasting your life at the University of England. I think you’re the smart one to leave college and that this...Bettina...or whoever...that she’s the idiot for doing what she’s told, like a sheep, because her daddy dearest insists on her being a bright little girl and showing her off at my father’s gala parties and raising her to be nothing but a person who takes orders from so-called ‘friends’ who want nothing but a hand down her skirt and another hand in her family’s coffers!”

  “You sure have a way with words, my sexy financial software negotiator.” A wan smile broke on my face. I wiped my cheeks with the backs of my hands.

  “And, as far as a child goes, you know where I stand on that.”

  “Six.”

  “Yes.”

  I laughed.

  “Leo, just know this: Whatever you choose to do... Whatever you choose—I will support you. Money is not a problem for us. It never will be. And we will owe no one anything in return for that money! It will be ours because we earned it. So, whatever you want to do—do it! If you want to be a mother, be one; I will support you. If you want to be a successful businesswoman, be one! This—parents, bitchy school kids: These things are so irrelevant in the grand scheme of things!”

  “You’re right.”

  “I know I’m right.”

  “I want both. I want to be a mother. And I want to be a successful businesswoman.”

  “That sounds hot.”

  “I must have done something really good in a past life to deserve someone like you, Conall Williams.”

  “Nope, you just give very good head.”

  I slapped his chest!

  -4-

&nbs
p; I might “give good head.” But Conall gives even better you-know-what. Which is what he treated me to now. On this early Sunday morning, silver light shining in from the large living room windows that stared out into the back lawn, Conall took me off his lap and put me on the couch. He got on his knees on the floor—

  “Baby, what are you doing!”

  “I owe you for last night.” He was looking ravenously between my legs. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”

  He yanked me to the edge of the seat. Before I knew it, my panties were at my ankles and his tongue was—

  “Oh, my God!”

  My hands clutched his hair! He was so deep inside me, stimulating me so much! Sweat formed under my ass as I ground and he pushed and grazed his teeth—

  “Oh, God, it’s happening already, baby! It’s happening—”

  It hit me like a freight train.

  My eyes rolled back into my head. The ceiling fell away. Conall’s tongue went wild. My ass lifted and my legs freakin thrummed and sizzled as I— “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! GODDAMN!”

  The walls crashed. The windows smashed.

  I settled.

  And I freakin smiled.

  Conall lifted his wet lips up to my face, kissed me. “Good morning, my love.”

  And it was going to be, I knew it. I could feel it all the way down to my...you know.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  -1-

  Kayla was completely blown away with the dress designs I’d done. “But I want an open section by my waist to show my she-devil tat!” she said. The open-back design would already show off the butterfly she had on her shoulder-blade.

  So we changed it and worked on it together most of the Sunday. As well as dresses for the bridesmaids. By the end of the day we had final versions for everyone—even the marriage officer!

  Brad and Conall were doing man stuff in the office. We’d come together for take-out pizza and Brad looked fresh and upbeat. “Going well?” I’d asked him. He’d looked at Conall and Conall had said, “We’ll buy a shelf company tomorrow and start operating.”

  “In other words,” Kayla said, “you’re quitting your job tomorrow?”

  “The same day both you damsels are officially quitting your school!” Conall replied.

  “Hey!” I cried, and almost flung my pizza at him.

  So much was changing. I was feeling nervous to the pit of my stomach.

  -2-

  We showed our designs to Carlo the next day. He hadn’t expected us on Monday because we were supposed to be “handing in our resignation” at the school. It’s true that Dean Whithers had requested our presence to tell us to our faces that we’d been expelled, maybe just so he could get some sordid pleasure at watching us grovel or something. I’d told Kayla that he could kiss someone’s hairy ass before I’d show up there after being treated with such disrespect.

  “You go girl!” Kayla had cried ecstatically!

  She was all for setting up the hairy ass kissing, and we’d veered off into whose ass was hairiest (“Bettina’s, of course. She probably has to wax it twice a month, Leo!”) and then simply felt relieved at being out of such a, well, immature institution!

  I started to appreciate Conall’s dislike for “Old School Tie” and “Brotherly Tradition” and “Friends with Favors” and all the things he was against about his father and the crowd he hung with.

  At Fabiano’s, Carlo was staring at our designs quietly. He looked like he was in a trance. Were they horrible? What was he thinking? He wore a silk shirt today, light pink. A red handkerchief hung from the top pocket. It suited him. Very stylish. He probably even designed the damn handkerchief! What a pro.

  And that just made me even more nervous.

  What were we thinking showing him this stuff! We were amateurs!

  At least thirty seconds went by and my hands were dripping with sweat. My beeper had already gone off twice and I was sure Jasmine from the fifth floor was about to have a flip-out because she didn’t have her coffee!

  Seven buckets of sweat later, Carlo looked up. His face was pale. “You did this?” The question was aimed at both of us.

  Kayla and I answered at the same time—two different answers.

  I’d said: “Yes.”

  She’d said: “No, Leo did most of it.”

  “Well, yes or no?” Carlo asked, impatient.

  “Uhm, yes,” I said.

  “Uhm, no,” Kayla said.

  Carlo rolled his eyes, dropped the sketches onto a table next to him, and lifted both his hands up in that classic Italian communication gesture: Thumbs pressed against the fingers and raising the hands up and down. He cried out, “Ai, porco dio! Yes-a or-a no! Pah-lease. Time-a is-a wasting!”

  “Yes!” we both cried in unison.

  He muttered to himself in Italian and picked the drawings up. Another twenty seconds went by.

  “Dis is for you?” he asked Kayla, showing her the wedding dress.

  She nodded.

  He hollered behind us in Italian. A girl, very young, came running by. I’d never seen her before. Before I knew it, my beeper had been removed. Kayla’s as well. The young-looking girl was holding both beepers and Carlo was shooing her away! She tried to say something and he just told her to get working!

  The poor wench looked terrified.

  Carlo curled a finger at Kayla and me. “Come wit me.” He turned and waggled his ass rapidly to the elevator.

  I heard the beepers going off in the distance!

  Jasmine was probably freaking!

  The elevator dinged. We all got in. We got out at the fifth floor—sewing and pattern making. Oh, great, Jasmine’s floor!

  Jasmine scowled at me with her frizzy red hair. “Where is—”

  “Nah!” Carlo bellowed at her! He had a finger up to stop her.

  She went pale and just stood there, shocked.

  “Come-a here, all of you!”

  They did.

  And this is what happened:

  Fifty percent of the floor was going to get these dresses and suits done as a priority! And Kayla and I were going to learn all the aspects of fashion design, from designing the dress, to creating a toile, to fitting it to the model’s body, selecting the final fabrics, and then producing the finished garment! We would then learn styling, picking the correct jewelry and make-up, the correct accessories for the photo-shoot.

  The people in the room were not even stunned. It didn’t look like this was too unusual. We went to the other floors and Carlo briefed them on the same.

  “Want a coffee?” he asked me in the elevator.

  “Sure.”

  He pulled out his iPad, tapped for a coffee. I half expected to feel my waist buzzing, then I recalled the young girl had taken the buzzers. All was further revealed when that same young girl appeared five minutes later with a coffee. For me!

  “Let’s see how long she lasts,” Carlo said to me and Kayla!

  At the end of our “tour,” Carlo pulled us into his office (sixth floor—executive area.) “Shut da door,” he said.

  We did.

  “I don’t-a tell you you have-a talent, because den it would-a go to your ’ead and you would-a stop working-eh hard. But I also don’t-a tell you you don’t ’ave talent. Because-a den I would be lying. Are-a you-a ready to be promoted?”

  I swallowed.

  Kayla swallowed.

  “Uhm, yes?” I ventured.

  “Good. You are promoted. No more fetching coffees. But you are still on minimum wage.”

  My legs almost gave way I was so excited.

  Kayla was so stunned she actually stayed standing in the office for a while after I’d left!

  I ran back inside and yanked her out of there!

  -3-

  It made sense that we’d be on minimum wage—because we didn’t know shit! We didn’t know which fabrics looked better, which styles were “in” or “out.” We didn’t know how to sew, how to snip. Heck, we’d only been there a week—with no experience! />
  But Carlo had seen something in our dresses, and he told us that he wanted to crash-course us through the entire gamut of fashion design, and then later go into each step in more detail. “A manager needs to know everything below him, even better than the people doing the work themselves.”

  And there it was again, the same thing Conall had said to Brad. And the same thing Carlo had told us on Saturday.

  Conall did “quit” on Monday. But Conall never does anything unprepared. I should have known this when he’d told us his plans so casually!

  Ethically, he wasn’t allowed to bring in any of his old contacts from FinSol into his new business. He wasn’t even allowed to mention he was going at it on his own. The software he’d developed (it could be more accurately called “forecasting” software) could also be used to cover some of the functions that FinSol was providing to some of its customers—just using different algorithms.

  Well, Conall had handed in his resignation, and then he’d waited a few days.

  And then the calls from his old clients began. “Conall, you’ve left!? This is a disaster.” So he’d tell them what he was doing. “Really? What’s it about?” And he’d get into more detail. “That’s impressive, mate. What does it cost?” And then he’d tell them.

  Conall never does anything that isn’t calculated, planned, and absolutely nailed down. Within a few days he had sixty-percent of his old contacts doing business with him in his new venture. Every single one of them had contacted him directly! And not all of them dropped FinSol either. They just wanted to continue to work with the man who’d provided them such good service in the past and who really cared for them as customers. Their words.

  My Conall is a genius.

  -4-

  Conall was working his ass off.

  I was working my ass off.

  We barely saw each other.

  Each day, he’d still pick me up from the train station. “It’s the only time I get to see you these days, Leo,” he said.

  Christmas and New Year’s came and went.