by Ryan Ramsay
Chapter 3
Amy
“Where do I find you?”
“Opposite the train station, you will find a car. It will be black and the plates will be custom, G-T-M-0-0-7. A driver will be waiting on you, with your name on a wooden signboard. Her name is not important right now. I’ll let you know why. Get in and get comfy.”
“Sounds like the cold open to a bad 90s show.”
“You need to trust me. It’s what you want, right?”
“Yeah… it is.”
“Then strap on a pair of balls and come.”
“Jeez, Christy.”
“What?”
“Kinda vulgar, even for you, don’t you think?”
“Ha-ha. Just come. Make sure it’s within the hour, alright? The driver will wait but I don’t know for how long.”
“Got it.”
“Say hi to her.”
“Who? Grandma? Yeah… about her.”
“She’s still mad, I take it?”
“‘Mad’ is the more civil word to use.”
“She’ll get over it. I assume she’s okay with you leaving, too?”
“We’ll see.”
“You haven’t told her, have you?”
“I said we’ll see.”
“Okay, Amy. Remember all the instructions?”
“You told me that after the drop-off, I get to see you, right? Then we catch up. Then you take me to where you’ve been all this time. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Come with a gift. Anything will do. I’ll see you on the other side sis.”
“See you, Chris.”
The house no longer sits still. The music is playing, though milder and gentler than the last set of recordings Grandma used to play. I see her seated in her armchair, pricking her fingers dry while knitting furiously at what seems to be a scarf.
She doesn’t raise her eyes. She doesn’t slow her breathing.
I clutch the strap beside my waist a little tighter.
“I left some food in the fridge. In case you get hungry,” I say out loud.
She nods and keeps on knitting.
I swallow a lump. It feels painful.
“Grandma, I’m leaving.”
She moves an eyebrow. Nothing more.
“Say something, will you?”
“Like what?” she whispers coarsely. “You could just leave a letter. Seems to run in your blood.”
“You don’t have to be like that. I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“So, it’s about age? That you’re an adult now, is that it?”
“It never has been about that. Grandma,” I start, with a move towards her wrinkled body.
She stops moving her back and head to the beat of the music and watches me with agile curiosity. Lili Marlene plays on and on in the background, as if taunting me to stay.
I stop before Grandma just as the track stops. Tears On My Pillow hauntingly plays after ten seconds of fade out. Grandma watches me with her lips sealed. Her eyes, now almost hurting after all the smoking and lesser number of meals per day – and stress – seem to hold a hawk-like impression for her. Ruthless but caring.
“You are about to walk out of a door you will most probably never walk back through again, not while I’m around. No,” she quips at my disapproval.
I start to object, but she cuts me off.
“You listen, and you listen well, child. I know you’ve been talking with Christy and by some miracle she has convinced you to go to her. Our family has had its share of losses. Those you know of. We’ve had to struggle with moving till we found Newport, where home is here. I had to leave my business in New Orleans to take care of you two.”
I nodded, grateful for that much.
“And now, all grown up, you want to take your paths away from the house that fed you and kept you warm. To whatever places those paths lead, I wish you the best of luck. Good may find you. I pray for your soul that He does. If you forget me as soon as you leave, then that is alright,” she says.
Somehow I have trouble believing this.
“I’ve made my peace with it. I never meant much to a lot of people. All I ask is that you remember one thing: whatever killed your parents is somewhere inside your blood. That crave for a different appetite did not start with your father. It didn’t start with me, either. But the best of us learn to control it. Your sister couldn’t. And quite soon, you won’t have the strength to do so, either. Not even your faith can help you. Walk in peace, child. Walk away.”
She goes back to knitting, her lips sealed shut.
She is done. I know her well enough to presume so.
Slowly, I walk right up against her, bow, lean into her, and offer a solid kiss on her soft skin.
“Goodbye, Grandma,” I tell her. “For now.”
She doesn’t say anything else. I know she has already said her piece.
The sound of knitting scratches at my ears as I rise up. I walk to the front door, open it and walk through the threshold.
I don’t turn back to the sound of the sweet song slowly fading in the background, and instead I walk away onto a hot, sunny, and thankfully empty street.
**
The loud buzzing of nothingness corrupts my ears in the car. Everything was just as Christy said. The quiet driver was there with the sign board to pick me up in the black car with the custom plates.
Chris didn’t mention that the car is, in fact, a limo. I sit lazily and look around the opulent nature of the interior. It’s enough to think about what I’m actually doing.
It makes no sense for me to leave like this. Of course it doesn’t.
All I know right now is how much faith I have lost ever since Grandma told me the truth. Death in search of an orgasm: not the most honorable way, but quite the way, nonetheless, to go.
All this time, I thought it was a car accident. I thought they were driving from a donation center. A truck hit-n-run of some sorts.
Sex? With other people?
I don’t even know what to do with this information.
Grandma seemed more than bitter. I wish I could make her see things my way, but old leather is tough and unmoldable. I just hope she cares for herself and uses that number for emergencies.
Christy hinted that she has a surprise waiting for me. I don’t know what to expect, and so I have a freshly plucked pineapple in my bag as a gift. Pineapples are always fit for the occasion. I think.
And then there’s everything else that burns me from the inside out. My losing faith. My sadistic tendency to over-think this particular situation. My sudden ability to remember the night of my parents’ deaths.
Deep breathing doesn’t help. Neither does that familiar itch in my skin, wherever my clothes touch. I’m better off napping and letting life take itself head-on. So, I do.
The car drives to a slowing halt. I feel it through the stuck leather on my face.
There is a light knock at the window.
I rise sheepishly and wipe the drowsiness away.
I move to the edge, find the lock and unhinge the door. It swings wide open.
“Amy!”
Wow. That’s some kind of energy.
“Hey, sis!” I say.
She reads my low enthusiasm and smiles.
“Long drive, right?”
“Clearly,” I say.
The sky is already orange at the horizon.
“You look great, by the way.”
“Thank you,” she says.
And she really does. She was rosy red cheeks; she’s practically glowing. Her hair is locked in a bun behind her. Her curves are greatly accentuated by a sleek flowery dress that ends by her ankles, and her hands almost glitter in the sunset. Almost glitter…
“Jesus Christ, is that a ring!”
“You noticed?” she screams. “I’m getting married!”
“Uh… wow! To whom?”
No wonder she looks so happy.
But how could this all have happened so quickly? I’ve never known Christy to eve
n have a boyfriend.
“Let’s get inside. I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Inside? Where’s inside?” I ask.
She snidely smirks and taps on the roof of the limo. The door slides shut, and the tires roll on. The car drives off onto a never-ending road. We are left standing in the middle of nowhere, with just a bike between the two of us.
“Get on,” says Christy, as she snugly fits herself onto the seat and grabs the handlebars.
She motions to the front of the bars: a picnic seat. How convenient. She rolls her eyes and nods convincingly.
I sigh and swing my bag around my side. I heave my weight onto it.
Hmm. It’s comfortable.
She dings the bell once and yells:
“All aboard!”
“When did you learn?”
“To ride this?” she asks. “My fiancé showed me.”
“What’s his name?” I speak louder.
It’s a touch windy out here.
“Logan.”
“Sounds nice. So, you’re getting married, huh? I’m really happy for you.”
“No you’re not. You’re more surprised that I’m getting married to Damien at my age. Back in the day, I would have been quite ripe for this.”
“Back in the day was a long time ago. And I thought you said you’re getting married to Logan.”
“Did I?” she asks. “I thought I said Ron.”
“Now you’ve got it all confused,” I say, a little louder.
Was she messing with me.
We round a boulder and cross a patch of leafy greens.
“You said your fiancé is named Logan,” I press.
“Yes.”
“And then you said Damien.”
“I did.”
“Now Ron?”
“Indeed.”
“Does the same guy have all three names?”
She laughs: “They’re not the same guy.”
“What!”
“Hold on, sis! This is the best part.”
What lies behind me was dry and mostly arid land. What is before me is the grandest piece of architecture I have ever seen.
A mansion. More than a mansion. It’s like I just stepped into Disneyland: with all the magic in one place. She stops the bike slowly by the biggest door I have ever seen.
“You can get off now.”
I do. She latches the stand and whips her hair in the violet sky’s hues.
“You have questions. I’ll answer them with one story. Perhaps we can sit down here?” she asks, pointing at a marble fixture meant to be a bench.
I nod and follow.
We sit facing each other.
My mouth is dry.
“I left home weeks ago to start a life of my own. Truth is, I found love, sis. I found love in the most amazing way. These men, these beautiful souls, were introduced to me through a game from church. You remember Mia, the event planner at church?”
“Yeah,” I croak.
Do I ever.
How could I forget the bubbly, outgoing event planner who always seemed a bit too good to be true? For some reason, it doesn’t surprise me at all that she’s connected to whatever this is. I always figured she was hiding something from everyone. But I guess most of us, aren’t we?
“She invented a game for rich individuals, where they bet a whole load of money on winning a rare and coveted item. The winner gets the virgin. And the virgin gets all the money. I played the game and got three men to have sex with me at the same time,” she says, rather nonchalantly, as if she just told me she won a jump rope as a prize.
“Amy, there is nothing, absolutely nothing in this world that can compare to that. I know it sounds crazy, but for me, at least, it’s proven to be true.”
Wow.
I can’t help but think about what Grandma said, about our parents. I guess it really is in our blood.
“I fell in love,” she goes on. “I fell in love with the three of them. I know someone like you, someone who has never actually opened her heart to more than religion and school teachings, can look at me and pour judgment. That’s okay, actually. I don’t care. I’m happy. I also happen to be rich. And soon, I’ll be married to men who can actually buy whole countries. They have all the power in the world and yet they choose me. Are you seeing what I’m trying to say?”
“No,” I answer shakily.
I firmly believe I’m asleep. Or in a cult waiting to be sacrificed. Either way, this needs to get cleared up fast, before I lose it.
“I want you to be happy,” she continues. “And clearly you want the same thing. Otherwise you wouldn’t have called, or texted. Am I right?”
I nod knowingly, the shaky goose bumps slowly fading in. Christy holds onto my knee tightly and smiles.
“You will be happy here. I know you will. Maybe it’s time you had your own game and your own adventure to figure out who you really are underneath this church-girl exterior you’ve been holding up all this time. Now come with me,” she announces, as she rises and stretches her back.
We walk one step, two steps, then three, towards the huge door.
“Um, sis?” I ask.
“Yeah?” she answers, while looking back at me.
“How did we get here? I mean, we were on the bike and all, but we were riding through a flat piece of land. There was nothing. Where did the house come from?”
“Oh, that!” she guffaws as she places a hand on the door handle. It flashes green and whirrs. “Magic.”
“What!” I shriek.
“Ha! You should see the look on your face. I was just kidding. All I know is that it pays to have a boatload of money. Shielding technology, that’s all.”
I have no idea what my sister has gotten herself into, other than three men who are rich enough to make it look like their house doesn’t exist, but she seems to be happy about it, so I try to tell myself that I, too, can find happiness.
I’m doubtful, though. Especially since happiness is not something I’m used to having.
Chapter 4
Chad
My hands feel cold and clammy as we walk through the cabin door and onto the private plane. The air feels musty, almost lab-made, as it whisks through my nostrils and blows all over my sleeveless arms. The flight attendant, Jenny, smiles and offers to relieve me of the leather jacket hanging - from two of my left fingers - over my shoulder: I indulge her and walk forward.
Matt gives her a smooch on the cheek, leaving an almost indelible mark on her skin. She cheekily blushes and moves to usher in Dick, who’s falling behind on the ramp.
I turn and grab the gold-plated ceiling above me, moving through the finely lined seats that horseshoe until close to the end of the lengthy hall. The parted windows let in a stream of sunlight that decorates the inner padding of the interior.
My eyes fall on the place where a ray of sun lands last: the mini bar lit up in neon blue streaks and the dark emblazoned logo of my company, ‘Manning Trust,’ at the back of the wall.
I stride to the edge and lean in, grabbing an Absolut and three shot glasses.
“Let’s get this party on, boys!” exclaims Matt.
He’s quite enthused about the little adventure we’re about to embark on. And to be honest, I would be worried if he wasn’t.
Richard slides into a seat right beside me and leans back, heaving.
“Three hours is all it takes for you to be quiet and destroy your liver. You’ll get your dues.”
He signals to my hands and the alcohol that is in them, waiting for us to drink it.
Matt throws a dirty look to Dick, who ignores it and shuts his eyes in feigned meditation. Jenny tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and straightens her skirt, muttering a swift greeting or curse under her breath before resuming her quick usual smile.
She walks to the front and stands straight, then proceeds to tell us to strap in, and that we will be wheels up in five. I nod in assurance and wink her presence away. She goes off to her seat right behind th
e captain’s door and straps in.
Matt argues lightly with Richard. I don’t pay any mind to them as I pour each of them a shot and then hand it to them. Matt takes his and sits at the far end. Dick adjusts his back and grabs his open-handedly.
I join them, after putting the bottle back in its secure hold. They go silent. We nod and take the bittersweet drink down. It’s smooth.
“Fasten your seatbelts, boys,” I briefly command.
They go on individually and strap in. The engines of the small, cozy private plane whirr and come to life. I vibrate in my chair solemnly, quietly whispering a prayer to whoever will listen.
My insides cling hard to the vodka sliding through me, and the look on the others’ faces is similar.
Regret.
We drank way too much.
But here we are, with enough liquid courage to take us to this crazy event Damien told us about. I’ve never had as good luck with women as Richard or Matt have. Despite being richer, I don’t often wine and dine women; I prefer to make things more difficult and work towards challenges. And I enjoy out of the ordinary relationships, or, shall we say, dalliances.
This could be my chance to beat these men in a game and engage myself in any kind of kink I’d like with the lucky virgin I win. I look to Richard, whose eyes are shut in suspenseful silence. The lady on the card Damien had given us, Mia, seemed to like him the most during the video call we made to her to set up the date for this event that she hosts.
I think I’m glad we got the invite here, even though my gratefulness is mixed with some trepidation. And a healthy eagerness for competition. I want to beat Richard at something for once, and Matt too.
I clench my fists.
My hands are as clammy as they can be.
****
“The rules of the game are simple…”
Mia stands before us with an air of authority fit for a queen. Or a drug lord. Either way, she moves around the room with grace and power as she explains who she is and why we’re here.
Here. My God: here.
It feels like I walked into an animated version of my dreams. Even I would never go as far as this level of opulence. Whoever decorated this place had three kinds of tastes from three different continents. It’s either that, or they used different decorators.