I jammed the phone into my purse and grabbed a thin sweater from the smallest drawer in the bureau. It was Cash’s birthday gift to me. The drawer. Not the sweater. I was less than impressed with the gesture, especially considering he’d only given me half the space while he acted as if he’d presented me with the Holy Grail.
“Will I see you tonight?” Cash flashed me his abnormally white smile, the text message already lost in his mind.
I worked my waves of black hair up into a sloppy ponytail while pinning a thick rubber band between my teeth. “Maybe.”
“Cash Jensen doesn’t do maybe,” he replied.
“Well, Blue Brennan doesn’t do conversations where Cash Jensen talks in third person. You know it creeps me out.”
“Oh, come on, baby.” He smiled. “That new sushi restaurant opened downtown, and I’ve been dying to try it. Plus, that dirty art exhibit unveiled at The Miriah. Rumor has it there’s a sea of cock sockets dangling from the ceiling. Each one is suspended by fishing line. It’s like they’re floating. Think about it. Sushi. Vaginas. It’d be considered a theme night.”
Although I was impressed Cash finally used the word “theme” correctly in a sentence, my heart hesitated as the morning took a sudden nosedive. “P…public? Cash, we can’t—”
“Shhhh.” He held a finger up to my lips. “Maybe it’s time we take our relationship out from under the sheets and into the real world.”
My stomach sank to the floor as I headed toward the kitchen with Cash in tow. Whoa, cowboy. Relationship? My mind whirled while I questioned what pivotal point made him think we’d achieved that status. I banked on it being second-rate sex and meaningless dinner conversation. To me, he was a placeholder for a void I vowed to never permanently fill. It was my worst nightmare come true. Keeping what Cash and I had hidden was where I wanted it—swept under the rug. Maybe under a dozen rugs. Thick ones. Oh! And a cement floor. Six feet under. Having people see us together would make what we had real. Work had always been the perfect excuse for secrecy. Why was he changing the rules on me?
“You don’t have to tell me, I already know what you’re going to say. The restaurant is ritzy, out of the way, and you don’t like sushi. I get it. None of it’s your style or your comfort zone, but that’s all fine with me. I promise it’ll be worth your while when we get back to my place.” He ran his tongue over his teeth before gesturing at his crotch. “Mini Cash will make sure of it.”
Mini Cash? I was speechless, and perhaps that was for the best.
“Shhhh….” He held up his index finger to my lips again, squashing them flat this time. “I can see it on your face. You’re going to say, ‘We always go to your place. Why can’t we go to mine?’ I’ve been thinking about it. Yours is a little too crummy for me.”
“Crummy?” I felt nauseated as I filled my travel mug with coffee and stuffed a giant blueberry muffin in my purse. I wasn’t sure if it were because of the impending date, Cash’s words, or his sleazy mouth gesture. Maybe it was all three, and I’d been SHAT on yet again.
Cash nodded toward my purse. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
Considering the conversation that morning, I began questioning every choice I’d made since meeting him. “Is what a good idea?” I snapped.
“An entire muffin. Every day you’re here, you take one for breakfast. Do you have any idea how many carbs and grams of sugar are in those?” He reached for a bottle of low-sugar, low-fat, low-calorie, low-flavored protein shake from the fridge and extended his hand out to me. “Here. This won’t cling to your ass, requiring me to lipo it later.”
Anger didn’t begin to describe what I felt. I wrinkled my nose at the wildly-colored label with misspellings, recalling the flavor and consistency were both comparable to lawn clippings. The bottle showed a picture of a cartoon peach with ridiculously large biceps, but it lied like a sack of potatoes. Nothing about it tasted like fruit…or French fries for that matter. “Not interested in the shitty shakes your cousin sells out of his garage. He’s had five lawsuits slapped against him from customers who’ve gotten sick.”
“Suit yourself,” he let out a condescending sigh and put the bottle back in the refrigerator, “but don’t come crying to me when you can’t button your jeans. Remember, your metabolism is going to slow down in a few years.”
“I’m perfectly happy with my pant size. If I want a blueberry muffin, I’m going to eat a fucking blueberry muffin.”
Cash gripped my shoulders in a possessive gesture and spun me around in a circle slowly, taking inventory of my frame from head to toe. “I’m just saying, I’d honor the employee discount to do some work on you. Call it a perk of sleeping with a plastic surgeon. A little tightening here.” He lightly squeezed my upper arms and then palmed my ass. “A little lift back here. And maybe some breast implants to boost the twins up another cup size. Don’t get me wrong, it’ll take some definite work on my end, but I’d have you flawless eventually.”
I narrowed my eyes and moved out of his reach. “I’ve turned you down hundreds of times for nipping and tucking. That’s not gonna change. Even though I work for you, we both know I’m not interested in the services you provide.”
“What we both know is you are interested in some of my services you haven’t turned down.” He winked. “How many months have we been sleeping together?”
There wasn’t time to fight with him. I was already late for work. From any angle, I didn’t know what more to say, so I merely sagged my shoulders in defeat. Arguing or coming up with every excuse imaginable in the situation would be pointless. Headache? He’d take me to an acupuncturist before dinner. Emergency root canal? He’d call his dentist at three in the morning if it meant dragging me to an art museum where vagina artwork was on display. Brushing my goldfish’s hair? He’d call in a favor from a salon to appease me. One fact was certain. Cash Jensen was known for not taking “no” for an answer.
I headed downstairs to the basement of the extravagant condo complex, taking two steps at a time in heels when my cell buzzed again. “What now?” It was another mystery text from Daveigh that demanded an immediate call. With a sigh, I dropped the phone in my purse for a second time and hurried toward the underground parking level. “Sorry, ‘Veigh. Now’s not a good time,” I mumbled to myself.
The double doors of the massive garage shut, smacking my rear from behind while the familiar smell of old motor oil and exhaust greeted me. It was reminiscent of an established mechanic’s shop. My high heels clacked against the concrete floor as I descended the ramps, the sound echoing against the acoustics of the wide-open space. I’d become familiar with parking slot 34 over the past ten months. It was another self-serving gift from Cash to ensure my vagina visited him on a regular basis. In the beginning, I was terrified of doing the walk of shame alone through the empty garage. Shadows loomed in every nook and cranny of the dimly lit area. Over time, I realized it wasn’t such a lonely place.
“Hey, Otis,” I said as I turned the corner of a gray, concrete pillar.
An old man poked his head out from the top of a faded sleeping bag and looked at me with bloodshot eyes. Tufts of fuzzy, white hair stuck up from his tanned scalp. “Good mornin’, Miss Blue,” he said with a near-toothless smile.
“I’m late for work today, so I can’t chat. But I brought you breakfast.” I reached into my purse and grabbed the muffin. Truth be told, I’d never eaten a single one of the gummy pastries I’d taken from Cash’s kitchen. Every single one had gone to Otis. Go ‘head, make me ‘flawless eventually’, Cash-hole. “Blueberry today. I know. Not your favorite, but it’s all that was left.”
Otis looked at the muffin wide eyed and gave my hand a gentle squeeze before taking the plastic bag from my grip. “That’s okay. I’ll take blueberry over a hungry belly any day.” His lips trembled, and he looked like he already envisioned how it’d taste. “Thank you, Mi
ss Blue!”
“You’re welcome. And here’s some coffee. Two sugars. No cream. Just how you like it. You know the drill.”
He nodded and reached out to take the travel mug from me with shaky hands, like I’d gifted him with a million dollars. “I’ll leave the cup in the corner of your space. Number 34. By the wall.”
“I’m not sure if I’m staying here tonight or not, but I’ll pick it up when I’m back next. Don’t let the side door latch, so you can get in tonight.”
He smiled and took a giant bite of muffin, a few stray crumbs falling from his lips as he groaned with delight. “Oh, I know, and I don’t expect these handouts.” He swallowed. “But it’s people like you who make the world a little bit better for someone who’s down on their luck like me. I’ll never forget the way you took pity on me when I nearly froze to death on that park bench down the street last winter. You’re a diamond in the rough for feedin’ me when you’re around and lettin’ me into this garage for a warm sleep.”
My heart sank a little, my smile wilting into a frown. I wished I could believe the kind words he spoke about me. Knowing what I did in the past left me wondering if Otis would feel the same way if he understood the truth. “Have a good one, buddy.” I gave the sleeping bag a pat before I hurried halfway across the garage to my car.
Looking at my watch, I cursed every swear word I knew into one drawn-out sentence. The big hand crept closer to the twelve, and that meant time was running out. I got into my aged hatchback and started the engine when I noticed a crumpled piece of paper tucked underneath the left windshield wiper.
“I don’t have time for this.” I got out and tugged it free from the rubber strip. A string of glittery, purple letters conveyed a one-lined message, complete with lower-case I’s made into frowny faces.
“Fuck.” I walked around the car and saw a smashed tail light and two round dents. It looked like the giant, who lived at the top of the beanstalk, sat their oversized ass cheeks down into my bumper. There wasn’t time to analyze who could’ve done it. All I could do was pray I wouldn’t get pulled over on the way to the office. Slamming the shifter into drive, I raced toward the exit of the garage.
The thick layer of smog mixed with sunlight stung my eyes as I flipped the blinker. It was late fall, my least favorite time of year—and for good reason. Across the way, the clock affixed to the spinning bank sign read quarter ‘til eight in giant orange numbers. “Fifteen. Awesome.” I fumbled for my day-old bottle of water in the cup holder before easing into traffic. I’d achieved the speed limit when the unexpected happened. The car in front of me slammed on their brakes and swerved halfway into my lane, forcing me to skid to a stop. I dropped the bottle and gripped the steering wheel with both hands, cold liquid spilling down the front of my sweater and soaking into my cream-colored dress pants. “Well, fuck you too, gravity! I only have fifteen minutes until Gloria’ll eat me alive with a side of chocolate cake.”
Great. I’m talking to myself now.
* * *
Seventeen minutes later, I strode through the circular revolving doors of Jensen & Jensen, one of the top plastic surgery offices in Northern California. Celebrities, criminals, and anyone seeking exclusivity went to the clinic. Some of the procedures and practices were legal, but most of them weren’t. Due to privacy laws, I couldn’t discuss any of the details outside of work. Marvin McGreen, a local and cutthroat lawyer, was known for having one client who kept him busy year-round—Jensen & Jensen.
Ornate marble pillars were perched on either side of the grandiose entryway. Their contrasting black and blue swirls on white reminded me of a sickly bruise. Ironic, considering the tasks performed behind closed doors. The floor-to-ceiling windows brought in an obscene amount of lighting, which enhanced the environment. Every imperfection was showcased.
For nearly two years, I’d worked at the surgery office, specializing in every procedure under the sun…knife. Muffin tops. Bat wings. Banana rolls. Nose jobs. Lipo. Cuntstruction. You name it. If someone could complain, Cash and Price Jensen would fix it, along with nipping and tucking wallets for every available penny.
As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t complain. The funds kept food on my table and a roof over my head. My salary wasn’t much considering I was “just office help” as Price Jensen had so-kindly put it on more than one occasion. Most of the Jensens’ dollars padded their own pockets. The most important part was the grueling hours at Augmentation Nation, as I’d deemed it. Not many would consider that a perk, but I did. It alone was worth the meager pay because it kept me far away from Steele Falls.
When it came to cosmetic reasons, I wasn’t a believer in plastic surgery. Enhancing my ass cheeks, suctioning fat off of my stomach, or tightening my vag wasn’t a priority in my life. That’s what gyms, diets, and Kegels were for. But when I moved into town, I needed money badly. Jobs were scarce in Sacramento. With my savings account running low, I risked living in my car during one of the coldest Novembers on record. Usually, the area had mild weather late in the year, but leave the winds to change when Blue Brennan entered the equation.
Jensen & Jensen was the first place to offer me a job with bennies. And I’m not talking about Cash’s version of benefits. So, I snatched it up and swallowed my high-calorie pride, unsure of when another opportunity would arise. Truth be told, my D-cup boobs got me the position and not my résumé. Cash’d ogled them forty-two times during my interview. I counted. Nearly a year later and after a million and twelve of his advances, I somehow ended up in bed with the dickfizzle. Thanks for nothin’, education.
My heels sounded against the glossy cement flooring of the reception area, the grandiose acoustics announcing my lateness. Why didn’t I wear flats today?
“Well, well, well…what do we have here? Is that Blue? It’s so nice of you to grace us with your smile.” A round, female face peered at me. She flashed a sneer from behind a computer screen at the reception desk.
“Morning, Gloria.” I refused to preface the phrase with a ‘good’ to her. Any morning involving Gloria wasn’t pleasant. My eyes flicked toward the clock. Two minutes late. Fuck my life.
Her eyes scanned me from head to feet, hesitating on my torso. “Did you piss yourself?”
“It’ll greatly disappoint you to know I spilled a cup of water in the car.”
“Mmmhmmm. Do you know what time it is?” Gloria clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth three times, her heavily-rouged and saggy cheeks jiggling over her robust bone structure. She slid a cheap pair of reading glasses off her face, allowing them to dangle on a beaded, metal chain around her neck. The smell of gardenia perfume burned my nose. It was enough to make me gag. Did she roll around in a flower shop this morning?
“The time? Sure do,” I said as I punched my employee code into the clock behind the desk. “You see, when the big hand is on the—”
“I know how to tell time,” Gloria snapped. “You’re two minutes late.”
“And?”
“Where were you?” Gloria growled, her demeanor turning immediately sweet as one of the medical assistants walked past the desk. “Hey, Justine?”
A woman clutching a clipboard approached. Red scribbles covered most of it. She wore scrubs covered in cartoon cats holding scalpels with crazed expressions on their faces. “Huh? Sorry, Gloria. Just studying up on the nine o’clock. Oh. Hey, Blue.” She offered me a smile.
“Good morning,” I replied. You see, Justine was worthy of a “good” before “morning”, much unlike Gloria.
“Right. Tony,” Gloria beamed matter-of-factly.
I almost asked if she wanted a cookie for memorizing the appointment book. Almost.
“Yeah.” Justine puffed her cheeks and the let air out slowly. “I don’t know how many of these procedures he’s gonna have before the guy’s happy. His dick’s gonna be long enough to wear as a scarf soon.”
“He called and wanted me to let you know he and his ‘100% all-beef thermometer’ are going to be ten minutes late for his next cock talk.”
“‘All beef’? Are you kidding me? Some of that meat came from grafts on his arm, chest, thigh… Ugh. I think a pig was even offered as sacrifice at one point.”
Gloria held up her pudgy hands in a gesture of defeat. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“I know. These experimental surgeries are getting ridiculous though.” Justine groaned. “Plus, the man has a million names for his penis. Steamin’ semen roadway. Pocket rocket. Yogurt slinger. Trouser snake. I’ve lost count. Only a matter of time until he sprains some poor girl’s vagina. If he can even get the damn thing up without hoisting it by crane.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “And he talks to his dick like it’s a person. It’s so weird.”
Suddenly, I had flashbacks of Cash’s references to Mini Cash and shuddered.
Gloria snorted. “Well, I’ll let you know when Tony and his bologna pony arrive.”
Justine looked up at the ceiling and sighed before walking away. “As always, can’t wait.”
Gloria’s resting bitch face sprang to life again when the door leading to the exam rooms clicked shut. “So, you never answered me. Where were you this morning?”
“I don’t remember you signing my paychecks, so I don’t think I owe you an explanation.” I headed toward the doorway leading to a cluster of business offices. It was my poor attempt at a swift getaway. Unfortunately, proximity wasn’t on my side.
She stood up and blocked my path while she tried to cross her arms but couldn’t. More and more, Gloria reminded me of a female bouncer at a shady nightclub. “Well, if you’d stop chasing Cash’s beaver cleaver, maybe you’d be on time for a change, Brennan.”
“Chasing? Cash?” I blurted the words more loudly than I’d intended as I scanned the room to make sure we were alone. If anything, Cash was the one pursuing me. End of story. I wasn’t about to let Gloria get under my skin though.
Blue Page 2
