Lord in Heaven.
I sighed and barely suppressed an eye-roll. Why is it that all straights believed lesbians hated men? I've met some that did, but personally? I didn't have some secret mission to round up all the men and shoot them. I liked men just fine. It just so happened that I have never been attracted to any of them. In my opinion, if you decided to act gay just to spite a member of the opposite sex that pissed you off, you weren't really gay. You'd be nothing more than a boring hetero screaming for attention, asking and begging for a member of the opposite sex to approach you and try to lure you back to your original sexuality. Sadly, I've known scores of people who've done exactly that.
And then there were the pathetic, uneducated people who did seem to accept the gay lifestyle but used it as a tool for their own personal gain. I give you, again, Exhibit A. Anny Malone may not walk the streets in slutty clothes, but she was, for all intents and purposes, a prostitute. She was willing to give of her body in a manner unnatural to her because she believed it would result in her having more money.
Another thing that not only further proved Anny was a pathetic and common prostitute, but which amused me as well: It seemed that at the moment, I could say no wrong and that nothing, no matter how bold or irreverent, could get beneath her skin, whereas before she had acted as if I had been sludge underneath her feet. She was apparently that committed to getting her hands on some of my money that every single one of my insults went in one ear and out the other. She had her eye on the prize, and wasn't willing to falter. I suppose, then, in that sense I could have, would have respected her, but since she was basically willing to prostitute herself off to do it, well, that changed things. That didn't make her determined—it made her a whore.
I promptly stood up. She angled her head so I would get a view of her neck. I again resisted the urge to retch, hoping she wouldn't dare dream that I'd ever want to kiss her fat neck or do anything even half that disgusting.
"I need Morgue Constantina's final paycheck, as verbally agreed between you and her. I am also going to need a box so that I can clean out her locker, a clause which was also verbally agreed between you and her." I was very, very careful to use the word verbal instead of oral with this woman. Oh, god, I really was going to lose my breakfast. Not bothering with subtlety, I jammed my fist into my belly, hoping that'd calm it down some.
"Yes, yes, of course, honey."
"My name is Dess," I ordered, my tone of voice leaving no question of what she was allowed to call me.
She laughed again, Anny's whore-instincts magically transforming her into the happy drunk audience member at my stand-up act. "You're so funny, Dess! And oh, poor Morgan. How is she? I was so worried about her."
"You didn't seem that worried when you yelled in her ear and fired her over the phone. I was there."
Something in her eyes faltered a little. Interesting. Was she feeling vulnerable because I caught her in a lie? "Oh, no, honey—er, Dess. No, no, no. Please don't misunderstand. Morgan is like a daughter to me."
I raised both my voice and chin a little. "Don't lie. You never gave her the praise she deserved, and she worked hard and did well. We both know that. You enjoyed putting her down for your own fucked-up ego's gratification. And she wasn't the only one. In the two dreadful months that I've worked here, I have noticed at least a dozen such young women that you have treated in this manner, some of them employees, some of them customers. I could report you. Minimum wage isn't worth being treated like shit."
Silence. Big, shocked eyes. It was as if I had bitch-slapped her.
Now, I think I know people pretty well. When Rios and I were little, we used to people-watch like crazy—at the malls, in school, at restaurants. We'd watch our parents interact with the servants, and then watch the servants all day. We'd sneak off to the main office at our respective boarding schools and report to each other the latest gossip among the secretaries and teachers. You wanna know something interesting about humanity? Just sit for an hour or two and watch people. You can't pay for that kind of education.
All that said, I never would have predicted Anny's reaction to my biting words.
She burst into tears.
Two things I think I need to point out about this. First, I was initially doubtful these were genuine tears, that they weren't another means of pulling me to her side. She had tried seduction, and it didn't work. She had tried being my friend, and it didn't work. Her last-ditch effort, quite possibly, was to make me feel sorry for her.
Second, I reminded myself that Anny had it coming. She would actually make fun of some of Morgue's clothes, hinting that she bought it at a discount store, asking her why she didn't get a haircut so she wouldn't look like a shaggy dog, telling her she needed to rearrange, organize and straighten all the cloth because she supposedly let one customer put something back in the wrong place, pulling her in her office to question her about why she used the bathroom so much when it couldn't have been more than twice a day. After that point, I noticed she made her write down every time she went to the restroom, and for how long.
That kind of harassment simply wasn't legal. I haven't let on to Morgue how much I've noticed, but then again, I haven't really talked to her about work very much lately—our conversations are usually limited to God Generation stuff, which was equally important. But I've watched my mother at the plant and at the restaurant all my life, watched how she treated her employees—both on and off the camera during our reality show days—and how they all reacted to her. I understood very well that a person's treatment of their employees, their happiness and good spirit, showed in their productivity.
She actually began sobbing and heaving, leading me to think that these were genuine tears. "Oh, Dess, I'm sorry! You're right—I'm a terrible boss to these women! What do you want me to do? I'll do anything you want! Please!" And as if she hadn't been paying attention to my attitude for the last ten minutes, she actually began to reach for me and attempt to draw me in a hug.
I slapped her arms away and unlocked her office door. "I want you to stop being such a bitch, before I report you." With that, I went to Morgue's locker and opened it (Anny had never allowed us put locks on our lockers).
I began pulling Morgan's pictures down from the inside of the door. There were articles on the Mariners and on art museums, photos of her and Adim (I should have thrown these away, but that wasn't for me to decide). A few minutes later, just as I stooped down to grab the things piled on the floor of the locker, Anny came up behind me with an empty box.
She had the look of one who was utterly defeated. I wished I had the guts to take out my phone and snap a picture of her pained face to show to Morgue later, but even I wasn't that much of a bitch.
Just enough of a bitch to think about it.
"Here's a box for Morgan's things," she said barely above a whisper. Her eyeliner was slightly smeared. From her pocket she withdrew two sealed envelopes. "Here's her final check, and this envelope is for you. Please take the time to read it. I'll mail you your final check tomorrow." And before I could react, she turned on her heel and left.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently, Anny didn't feel comfortable throwing herself at me in a public area, possibly because she didn't want her employees to know about her attempt at prostitution, which suited me just fine. I continued to fill the box with her things in a somewhat orderly manner.
"Hey, girl!"
I turned around to see a beautiful, smiling, dark brown face. "Hi, Lakesha!" I got up and gave her a brief hug.
"Look at you!" she said enthusiastically, gesturing at my clothes. "You're all dressed up for a night on the town!"
I laughed a bit, continuing to put Morgue's things in the box. "Nah, just playing a little dress up." I didn't see a need to elaborate on my designer clothes. I was pretty sure Lakesha had known about who my family really was, even though we never actually discussed it.
Lakesha eyed the pictures that I was carefully rearranging in the box. "How's Morgan? I've been
worried about her."
I stopped and looked up at her, knowing in that instant that she'd also known about the abuse. I took in a breath and made a lame attempt at a smile. "Physically, she's recovering. Emotionally, she's moving on." After a moment I added, "She's dating my brother now, and even though he's annoying, he's a step up from what she had before… actually, probably one of the best guys out there. Just don't tell him I said so."
She laughed good-naturedly. "You mean that fine thing that used to come over every day and pick you up? Damn. Good for her. Do you have another one of those?"
I burst out laughing, not bothering to keep my voice down. What could Anny do about it, anyway? Finished with Morgue's locker, I moved a few lockers down to see if there was anything interesting in my own.
The only things from my locker that were worth taking home were a couple of colorful glass vases which were on clearance that no one seemed to want. Homeless colored vases always made me feel sad, so I rescued them constantly. Thinking quickly, I walked over to the small table against the wall.
There were a bunch of flyers piled on top of this table that advertised an upcoming scrapbooking class the store was going to sponsor. Anny had always wanted us to 'get creative' with the passing out of these flyers every time there was an event at the store, but I've never actually passed them out. I would have used them for toilet paper, but since Anny made the flyers, it would have been like Anny was wiping my ass, which wasn't exactly an enticing thought. Eventually, I'd usually end up chucking them in the trash can right there in the ladies' room at work.
I grabbed a couple handfuls of the flyers, jamming them in and around the glass vases that I placed in the box carefully. Lakesha laughed a little at how I chose to 'pass out' these flyers, and before another moment passed, she was by my side, helping me pack the crumpled flyers around my vases. "I do have a handful of older brothers," I answered finally, "but they're all kinda far from here, mostly in L.A."
I was used to hearing women talk the way Lakesha did about my brothers—especially about Rios. I've listened to it for years. He was handsome, I supposed, in a jackass kind of way.
"Girlfriend, does it look like I care about a few miles? I would relocate for anything half as fine as him."
I smiled and looked at her seriously. "Are you really looking for someone?"
"I really am," she assured me, giving me a serious but cute look.
"Okay, I'll tell you what." I took my phone out and started typing her name in my contact list. "I'm thinking about visiting L.A. soon. I don't know why. Maybe I miss being shot at while I drive or the foul, hundred-degree weather. Two of my brothers are still single—the last I heard, anyway. I'll give one of them your number. Or, better yet, do you have a Facebook?"
She excitedly gave me her number and Facebook info, and I told her I'd make her a Rios yet.
In the parking lot, I put Morgue's box in the trunk and got in Rios' car, looking around. Nobody else was in the parking lot. Sighing, I opened one of the envelopes that I still clutched in my hand.
That was Morgue's final paycheck. Without looking at the amount, I returned it to its envelope quickly, and then slipped it into my purse.
Grudgingly, I opened the envelope that was intended for me, fearing the worst—perhaps a list of sexual suggestions or a nude photo that would, indeed, make me lose my breakfast all over Rios' car. He acted like he didn't care about finer things, but he was just trying to keep it cool in front of Morgue. In reality, if I barfed all over his precious Lamb, he'd squawk and scream like a gazelle in labor.
Instead, thankfully, I found Anny's business card and a piece of paper with her handwriting on it. I rolled my eyes and mentally prepared myself for the unknown, not expecting to learn that Anny was even more uneducated and crude than I'd originally thought.
Dearest Des,
Please understand my pointe of view. I know your good friends with Morgan and must be loyal to her. But you arr also a very bright and educated woman. Don't you think you should get to know me, and see my pointe of view? Why and how I act the way I do?
Call me or come over anytym. I wrote here my home and cell number and my home address. You will not regrete calling me or coming over. I'll make yoo feel like a new woman.
Sinsirly,
Anny
That was it. I opened the car door and threw up on the ground, waiting until my stomach was completely empty before attempting to close the car door again. When will people understand that lesbian doesn't translate to easy?
I threw everything in my purse, vowing to never return to this store for as long as I should live.
Then, in the corner of my eye, I saw something move. My head snapped up just in time to see a woman about my age duck behind one of the store's commercial vans. She moved quickly, but not before I could get a glimpse of her face.
It was that nurse—that annoying, too-chipper nurse that had taken care of Morgue when she was in the hospital. I didn't know her name, but I'd recognize her anywhere: short, blonde, blue eyes, curvy. Too bad she didn't seem to have much of a brain.
But the question remained: Why the hell was she here? Somehow I doubted she was buying material to make a dress, or that she was looking for scrapbook supplies. I doubted that she would ever have a use for anything that had the word book in it.
She obviously didn't want me to see her, so I pretended I saw nothing unusual as I started the ignition and slowly drove off. Whatever she was up to, it couldn't have been good, no matter how you look at it. From that I deduced that if she didn't know I was on to her, it would be easier to figure what she was doing, so I continued to drive in a nonchalant manner. Once I was outside of the parking lot, I pulled over and parked on the street, waiting for her to come out, confident she'd never notice me there and that it would be the same as hiding.
I was right. She pulled out of the parking lot in a station wagon that was at least ten years old. I waited until she was almost out of sight before I began slowly following her.
We drove like that for a while, and eventually she pulled into a grocery parking lot. I parked two rows over from where she was, near a tree that I could hide behind. My precautions paid off—I heard the nurse's voice say, "It was a box. I'm guessing a box of Morgan's stuff from her locker."
I took my phone out and began recording what I heard.
A familiar male voice said, "What else did you find out? Where did the lezz go after that?"
"Uh, I don't know."
"You don't know?! What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I tried following her out. When I got outside the parking lot, she was gone. She has one of those expensive Italian cars. They're really fast, Adim."
Adim.
I heard him sigh loudly. "That's okay. Why don't you spend the night with me? I got some real good stuff from Trent. We'll have so much fucking fun, you'll never want to go home. At least, not without me. You can invite some friends of yours, too. We'll all have fun together. There's enough Adim to go around."
The shuffling of feet ensued, followed by the nurse saying, "I told you, Adim, I'm not interested, not in drugs and definitely not in you."
I had to bite down hard on my smiling lip in order to prevent myself from yelling out, "Aw, BURN, bitch!"
This was too good. I was glad I was recording it for posterity.
"You don't have to fight your feelings, babe. I know you want me."
"Yeah, I want you like I want hep B. I'm only doing this for you because we're both Melted, and we have missions."
What the fuck? Shit, shit, shit.
"You'll come back, bitch. Keep watching Morgan and her fucking bodyguards." The sound of a car door opening and closing, followed by sounds of another car opening and closing.
They both drove off, leaving me reeling in what I just learned. The fact that Adim was Melted, no surprise there. Rios and Morgue had figured that out already. But the nurse? Shit. That was not good. That meant there were more demons around us than we thought. Plu
s, Adim and the nurse teaming up? That didn't feel right either.
I jumped in Rios' car and called Morgue. I didn't know what she said when she answered—I wasn't paying attention, and it didn't really matter. It couldn't. Not compared to this. "Morgue, I'll be home in twenty. We have to talk. Can you get some pizza on the table by then?"
Chapter 16
The sound of heavy breathing filled the air. His face dripped with sweat.
And blood.
"This isn't legal," I told Ree, turning my head to see him where he stood, watching our guest carefully.
"Morgan, why don't you go lie down?" he suggested, never tearing his eyes from the figure that stood cowering in the corner in the living room.
"Don't do that to me. Do not treat me like a maiden in distress. I'm with you on this, because we're partners in this life! Partners, you understand?"
My strong, loud words were successful in drawing Ree's attention for a moment. He looked at me and smiled, an apology (or embarrassment) in his eyes. Then he focused his attention back on his prisoner, sort of circling him like a jungle cat.
I focused on him too, still not believing who I saw in front of me. It was going to be another long night.
Ethan, my old apartment manager, had tried to break in the house through Dess' bedroom window. Ree had discovered him, and they fought but briefly, which was not a surprise since Ree was slim but in shape (not to mention sexy, which is irrelevant but always worth pointing out) and Ethan was the size of a twig. He overpowered him in seconds, slamming him lightly against the wall with his hands behind his back. Unfortunately, Ethan's face sported a small, fresh cut because he fell onto an assortment of multi-colored glass vases, which Dess purchased for cheap at work and displayed on her dresser drawer. He'd surrendered but did not answer any of Ree's questions.
I wondered where Ree learned to subdue an opponent so quickly and efficiently, without really hurting Ethan or even breaking a sweat. It was incredibly hot, actually, but I tried not to think about that too much. If I started getting lusty again, Ree would probably sense it somehow, and he didn't need to be distracted.
Surreal Ecstasy Page 17
