Neutral Grounds

by Jiffy Kate

  I’m really asking, because fuck if I know.

  Standing in the middle of the broad sidewalk, I look up at CeCe’s window, wishing I could rewind everything and go back to a few nights ago when I was wrapped around her.

  Eventually, I keep fucking walking, letting the sultry night air soak into my bones. I don’t take a direct path home…I basically wander, until I see a familiar building and cut down a back alley that I know ends up across from my townhouse. Thankfully, there’s an old street light that illuminates the path, but even with it, I almost fall on my face after I stumble over an old crate. Steadying myself on a filthy dumpster, I wipe my hands on my jeans and glance around out of habit. It’s not like anyone is watching me at this time of night, and who the fuck cares if they are.

  When I turn back around, something catches my eye. There’s a huge butterfly painted on the side of the old brick building. Its wings are vivid shades of greens and blues. Even in the dim light, I can see there’s so much detail.

  I walk closer to run my hand over the rough surface and notice words wrapping around one of the wings. If you love it, set it free.

  I’ve never been one to believe in fate, but something about this fucking butterfly in a dirty, abandoned back alley of New Orleans is speaking to my soul, the one I’ve often questioned whether it even existed.

  I’ve spent the better part of the last few days doing exactly this: staring out of the window in my office, the one that faces the direction of Neutral Grounds, trying to make sense out of the cacophony of conflicting thoughts running through my head.

  Whoever said being in love was easy was a lying bastard.

  It’s fucking hard. Don’t get me wrong, loving CeCe is easy. It’s easier than breathing. But figuring out a way to help her understand that what I’m feeling is real and I have no intention of walking away…that’s the hard part.

  How do I force someone to take a chance on me?

  I don’t.

  I can’t.

  And I know I have my answer, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  Setting CeCe free will be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I’ll do it for her.

  As I’m getting ready to head out the door to meet Maverick and a prospective buyer for one of our properties, my phone rings. “This is Shep.”

  “Shepard.” My father’s voice catches me off guard and I pull the phone back to check the number. Sure enough, it’s him, not that I could mistake his tone for anyone else’s, but I wasn’t expecting to hear from him.

  “Father,” I greet in a tone that matches his—cool, cold, and calculated.

  Clearing his throat, I can almost picture him unbuttoning his suit jacket and leaning back in his office chair, like he’s the fucking king of the world. “I expected to see you back in Dallas by now, but since it seems as though you’re making New Orleans a more permanent location, I’m resolved to a phone call.”

  If this is supposed to be a guilt trip for me selling my house without telling him, he’s barking up the wrong tree. Selling that house is the best thing I’ve done in a while, even if it did give me the cash flow to make the biggest mistake of my life, I find it hard to feel regret. Bottom line, even if CeCe and I are over, I no longer have to worry about her losing the building and everything she’s worked so hard for. Over the past few days, I’ve been making peace with my decisions, facing the consequences, and trying to move forward.

  “And to what do I owe this honor?” There’s more sarcasm dripping off that question than an ice cream cone on a hot summer day and I hope he hears every last drop. I’m still not over the bullshit he pulled with CeCe, and if I had to guess, this phone call is part of his plan. So, let’s see what the fuck he has up his sleeve.

  “It’s time to cut the shit,” he barks out.

  “Losing patience so soon?” I ask, goading him. He shouldn’t fall for it though. I learned it from him. “How very uncharacteristic of you.”

  He exhales loudly before stating more calmly, “This little charade you’ve been playing is over. It’s time for you to stop being an entitled asshole and come home. I’m tired of carrying the burden for this family just so you can reap the benefits when I’m dead and gone.”

  “And what charade am I playing?” I ask, knowing what he’s referring to, or who, but forcing him to spell it out for me. It’s time we clear the fucking air. I knew when my grandfather left his entire estate to me that it would force my father’s hand. If anyone is entitled in this family, it’s him.

  “Put an end to this sham of a marriage, for starters.”

  I chuckle lowly. “What does my marriage have to do with anything?”

  “It’s not part of the fucking plan,” he states, anger lacing his tone. I can hear his fist connect with his desk and then a whoosh of papers, among other things hitting the floor. “You’re fucking up everything!”

  “Enlighten me,” I challenge. “Please, tell me how me marrying CeCe is fucking with your plan. Last I checked, this is the fucking twenty-first century and I can marry who the fuck I want, when the fuck I want.”

  “You know you only married her to gain the inheritance,” he spits out.

  “So what if I did?” I volley.

  We’re both yelling now and I briefly consider the thickness of my walls, hoping like hell they’re soundproof.

  “It’s not even your fucking money!”

  I bark out a laugh, pacing the length of my office. “Now we’re fucking getting somewhere. Go ahead, tell me how that money is supposed to be yours. You’re pissed, right? Fucking furious! Well, guess what, there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it, old man. For once, this is something that’s completely out of your control.”

  “Like hell it is,” he seethes. “Everything is in my control.”

  His words sound lethal, but it doesn’t scare me.

  Not much does these days.

  There’s a long pause and I have a feeling it’s for dramatic effect, but his theatrics won’t work on me. I couldn’t give two shits what he has to say from here on out. He could tell me the sky is falling and it still wouldn’t make me agree to divorce CeCe.

  “Stay married to that gold-digging whore—” he starts and I immediately cut him off.

  “She’s my wife!” My body is literally vibrating with anger. “I know the term means nothing to you, you sorry-ass excuse for a man.” I want nothing more than to reach through this phone and shed blood. I pause, needing to breathe before I literally come apart and explode into a million pieces. “Never speak about CeCe like that again. As a matter-of-fact, keep her name out of your fucking mouth.”

  “Divorce her or you’ll be cut-off. You have a week to decide. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

  “What’s your angle?” I ask, needing all of the details before he hangs up, because after today, I never want to speak to him again.

  “Marry Felicity Crawford,” he says matter-of-factly. “Assume your role in this family and get back to being a contributing factor instead of a liability. Then we’ll talk about leaving your trust fund intact. Until then, consider yourself disinherited.”

  I bet it would please him immensely to know my predicament.

  Divorce CeCe, which is what she asked me to do, and marry Felicity to gain my inheritance and keep my trust fund or refuse CeCe the divorce and lose both…and possibly her when it’s all said and done.

  Either way, I’m fucked.

  Chapter 28

  CeCe

  I just finished cleaning for the night and am about to turn off the lights and set the alarm when a commotion outside the window catches my attention. A very brightly colored commotion, to be exact, which can only mean one thing.

  Jules.

  Sure enough, as I approach the door, he’s standing there, dressed in a bright purple suit and wrapped in a neon pink feather boa, holding up a large bag of… I don’t know what.

  “Jules…” I’m speaking through the pane of glass but I have no doubt he can stil
l hear the whine in my voice.

  “No, ma’am,” he says while wagging his perfectly manicured finger in my face. “No. Ma’am. You are going to let me in right this second. We have business to conduct and it’s an emergency.”

  The seriousness in his voice plus his use of the words “business” and “emergency” have me unlocking and opening the door against my better judgment. I know Shep said he paid off Theo but I’m still scared he’s going to come back, so Jules’s surprise visit has me worried.

  He steps inside—no, he shantays—with what can only be described as flourish. If I had to guess, he worked the early shift at Club Revelry, or took off early to come here. As I’m locking the door behind him, out of the corner of my eye, I see him make a full spin before stopping back in front of me. Jules is always a bit extra, but Jules after a shift at the drag club is next level and probably exactly what I need tonight.

  “Whoa,” he declares. When I turn to face him fully, his expression grows serious and concerned. “This is worse than I thought.”

  “What? What’s worse?” I ask, bracing myself on the door behind me. “Did you hear something… about Theo?”

  “Theo?” He frowns and waves me off with his boa, littering my floor with pink feathers.

  Great, I just swept.

  “No, I haven’t heard anything about that piece of trash,” he scoffs. “I’m talking about you, sis.”

  My chest deflates with a relieved gush of air. I’ve been on pins and needles the last couple of weeks, waiting for the shoe to drop—waiting for Shep to back out of the deal and follow through with my demands—expecting the worst. So, it takes a few seconds for the second part of his statement to register. “Wait, what about me?”

  “No tea, no shade, darlin, but you look like utter shit. I mean, if ragamuffin was the look you were going for today, then you nailed it.”

  I glance down at myself—jeans, worn t-shirt, and a dirty apron. There’s not much to see here, I’ll admit. “Gee, thanks. You sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself,” I deadpan.

  Since I ended things with Shep, I just can’t be bothered to put forth much of an effort. I bathe and brush my teeth and I never forget deodorant, so that’s a win in my book.

  “Oh, don’t even start with me. You know I love you but it’s time to face facts. You, my dear, have let yourself go and I’m here to help you find yourself again. We are gonna scrub, exfoliate, smooth, detox and depuff your skin for the gods. And then, we’ll kiki the house down!”

  “Good lord, Jules,” I groan, kicking off the door and walking toward the stairs. “I swear I need a drag glossary every time you speak. I have no idea what you said or what I’m agreeing to.”

  “But you’re agreeing,” he says with a waggle of his eyebrows and a wide, knowing smile. “And you won’t regret it.”

  He grabs my hand, pulling me halfway up the stairs. “Do not fret. Mama Jules is gonna take care of you and all you have to do is sit still and drink wine. Think you can handle that?”

  I know it’s no use to refuse Jules. Besides, as much as I may not want to admit it, I’m sure he’s right in his assessment. Self-care has been the least of my worries over the last couple of weeks, to be sure.

  “Come on. It’ll be mostly painless, I swear. I’m speaking to myself, of course. You, on the other hand, better start praying for deliverance.”

  Laughing, for the first time in what feels like forever, I follow him into my apartment, still unsure of what’s in store, but going along with it if for nothing else than a distraction. Anything to keep me from another night alone with too much time to think.

  Jules pops a bottle of wine in the freezer to chill and his iPhone on my dock, turning on a playlist, immediately setting the mood. Taking my hand, he drags me into the bathroom and forces me to sit on the counter. I don’t ask questions—and he offers no explanations—I just let him do his thing.

  The wine helps pass the time and helps me not care about…well, anything. But my butt is starting to get numb and I’ve decided the wallpaper in here is hideous. Plus, I’m pretty sure my legs have fallen asleep.

  “There’s a good chance I won’t be able to walk out of here,” I mumble, closing my eyes and giving over to mind-numbing pampering. “You might have to carry me to bed.”

  Jules ignored my complaints, only humming to himself as he works with the intensity of a starving artist.

  After a few more minutes, he spritzes my face with some kind of concoction that smells delicious, then wipes his brow before giving what I hope is his final assessment. I watch as he moves his eyes over every inch of my face. It’s a bit unnerving to be studied in this way, but it’s Jules, and I trust him.

  Finally, he brings his palms together in front of his face, as if he’s praying, and closes his eyes. “You did it, Jules. You just performed the biggest miracle of your life!” After congratulating himself, he opens his eyes and smiles. “You’ve officially achieved goddess status once again. Praise be!”

  “Can I look in the mirror now?” I ask, curious what he’s managed to accomplish while I’ve been losing feeling in my extremities.

  “You certainly may.” He helps me stand and thankfully, my legs come back to life, holding my weight. But, when I see my reflection, they weaken a bit, because the difference between CeCe from this morning and CeCe now is nothing short of incredible. I look rested, refreshed, and could almost pass for happy, if I needed to.

  Fake it until you make it, right?

  “Wow, Jules,” I gush, turning my face one way and then the other, truly impressed at his abilities. “I knew you gave good face masks, but I didn’t know you could do this. I look…human again.” I turn toward him and throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, hush. You know I love a challenge,” he says, pulling me back and giving me a wink. “Now, let’s go pig out on ice cream and dish.”

  Jules and I collect two tubs of ice cream and two spoons from the kitchen, then grab my thick, woven blanket off the back of the couch and cuddle up.

  This is exactly what I needed. Not just the facial and pampering, but this—human contact. It might sound crazy because I’m surrounded by people all day, but they’re strangers, and even though there is conversation and interaction, it never goes below the surface.

  I miss closeness, having another person in my space. I thought I’d never say that, but it’s true. And while Jules is a good substitute, he can’t give me everything I’m missing, but I don’t want to dwell on that right now.

  “So, not to beat a dead horse or anything, do you really think Theo is gone for good?” I ask, after a few therapeutic bites of Rocky Road. “I mean, I know Shep paid him off, but what if he decides he wants Shep’s money and the building?”

  “According to Mr. Terrel, he’s most definitely gone. The will contest has been dropped. That greedy bastard was only after the money, and the quicker the better, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Besides, that agreement your man made him sign is airtight—very legit and very legal—so if he ever did try to sniff around again, you can sue his ass.”

  “That’s great news,” I say, keeping my attention on the television. The Golden Girls is on, just like every night. It’s the only thing that brings me comfort while I’m trying to wind down and go to sleep. Just the opening song alone makes me feel like I just got a much-needed hug. “But you know Shep’s not my man, Jules. He never really was.”

  “Have y’all divorced?”

  “No.” I’m actually surprised and confused as to why I haven’t been served divorce papers by now. I assumed Shep would act fast, wanting to end things between us so he could move on. The longer he waits, the longer it will be until he gets his inheritance.

  Even though it’s been two weeks since our fight, my heart still aches every time I think about it—about him. I miss him.

  “Well, then, he’s still your man,” Jules declares. “Whether you like it or not, as long as you’re married, yo
u’re stuck with him. That’s kind of how it works. And, I have a feeling you do like it…or you would if you allowed yourself to be honest with him…and yourself.”

  “I was completely honest with him,” I say, ignoring the other part of that statement. “I told him I was falling for him and you know what he did? Nothing. Absofuckinglutely nothing. He wouldn’t even look at me.” My voice quivers but I don’t try to hide it. Jules has officially seen me at my worst, what’s a few tears going to matter at this point?

  “Do you need me to knock some sense into him?” Jules asks, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me against him. “You want me to kick his ass? You tell me and I’ll do it.”

  I snicker and wipe at my eyes. “I know you would, and I love you for it.”

  We sit like that for a few minutes before we trade tubs of ice cream. “Have you seen him?”

  Jules sighs. “He’s been by the hotel a few times, but he and Maverick are usually in the office.”

  “How does he…I don’t know…look? Seem?” I ask, not wanting to snoop or seem desperate for information about Shep, but dammit, I am. I can’t help it.

  “You want me to tell you he looks like death?” Jules asks and my stomach drops as an ache forms in my chest. “Like someone ran over his puppy and stole his ice cream…or like his wife just told him she wants a divorce?”

  I don’t respond to that. I can’t. There is part of me that was hoping he’d tell me Shep looks like I feel—confused, torn, and full of regret. But the other part of me, the part that knows it’s in love with Shep—the good, the bad, and the overbearing—hopes he’s doing okay, because that part can’t wish ill will on him even if it wanted to.

  “I will tell you this,” Jules says, throwing me a bone. “He’s been pouring himself into work and taking Maverick with him. Carys was complaining the other day that she saw her husband more before he was her husband.”