by M. S. Parker
I wasn’t looking at her, but the dismissive sneer in her voice came through loud and clear. “That asshole? Yeah, you told me about him. Racist piece of scum. What’s that got to do with…?” Her voice trailed away.
I heard the floorboards creak under her feet as she stood up.
Arms around my middle, I stood staring out the small single window of her apartment. The view wasn’t much. It faced out over the narrow alley and into the brick of the next building, but least I wasn’t looking at her. At least she couldn’t see the expression on my face, couldn’t see how much of a fool I’d been.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice gentle but firm.
I took a deep breath. And then I told her. I didn’t go into the more intimate details. I’d promised that I would respect his privacy and I intended to keep that promise. But this wasn’t about his privacy as much as it was about his actions, and what his mother had said.
“She walked in on us. She didn’t seem embarrassed, she didn’t even seem to care about the fact that she’d walked in on her son having sex. What bothered her the most was the fact that she’d found her son having sex with the help.” My voice cracked and I gave Molly a disgusted look. “The help! And then she told him that if he had to get something more exotic, he could have gotten it without ‘bringing it home’.”
For a moment, Molly said nothing. Then she exploded.
I’ve known plenty of redheads who don’t have a temper. That’s just one stereotype among many.
Molly, though, she had a temper. She ranted and raved and stomped across her apartment. She stalked by the sofa on one of her passes and grabbed a pillow, sending it hurling across the room. It hit a pretty little vase that had been on an end table by the armchair she’d somehow crammed into a corner. The vase shattered when it hit the floor. She didn’t even pause.
She continued to rage and cuss and, bit-by-bit, I felt a little better. It was nice to have somebody angry on my behalf, to know that my hurt was justified.
Hey, what are girlfriends for?
I was twenty-one and I’d just now found a really good friend, but it had been worth the wait.
When she finally calmed down, she turned and looked at me. “I don’t know whom I’m madder at,” she said. “Him for standing there doing nothing or her for having the sheer nerve to say something like that. Did you slap her? Did you slap him?”
My despondency returned with a vengeance.
“No,” I said. I shook my head and looked away. “I didn’t know what to do. I think I said something.” I scowled and then shrugged. “I told her I was from Iowa—that didn’t really count as exotic. Then I got dressed and left.”
It had turned into one of those surreal sort of blurs. I could remember what she said—all of it. But I could remember what he hadn’t said—or done.
And I could remember that miserable, gut wrenching pain and the humiliation and the slap of shock.
If you’d never faced that kind of thing, then you couldn't understand it.
You also couldn't really explain it to someone who hadn't been there.
Being marginalized simply for not being enough of one race or another, or being poor, or being a woman, or being anything other is something you just don’t get until you’ve faced it. I’d been facing it all my life and it wasn't any easier.
After a moment, Molly came over and wrapped an arm around my waist and just stood there, leaning against me.
She got it, I knew.
Being bisexual, even in New York, wasn't easy. I'd heard plenty of homophobic slurs thrown her way when she was out with a girl, but it was still different than it was with me. People couldn't see it when she walked down the street. Mine was painted on my skin, my eyes. Not white. Not black. Never enough to be either one.
“I don't even exist to her,” I said softly. I swallowed the ache in my throat. “She talked like I wasn't even there.”
“She doesn’t matter.” Molly hugged me tighter.
“But he does…and he just stood there.”
Needing to move, I squeezed Molly back and then started to pace.
“What are you going to do?” Molly asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Run back to Iowa.” I gave her a weak smile. “But is that really the answer?”
“I think you know it’s not,” she said softly. She came over and sat down on the coffee table, staring at me. Her bright hair fell into her face and she pushed it back. “You left Iowa because you weren’t happy. If you go back, is that likely to change?”
“No.” I dropped onto the couch and buried my face in my hands.
The one place I’d been happy had been here, for the past six weeks. Working for the Winter Corporation. And it hadn’t just been because of Dominic. Yes, I loved working with him, even when he drove me crazy, but I loved my job and what I did.
“I don’t know what to do, Molly.”
“I think you do.” She lifted a brow. “You have to face him. You have to deal with this. And you know it. Running away…Aleena, that’s not you.”
“And facing him is going to make me happy?” I muttered. I was grateful she didn't see me leaving Iowa to come here as running away.
Molly nibbled on her lower lip for a minute and I could tell she was thinking hard. Finally, she said, “I had a roommate for a little while not too long after I came out. I was still nervous about it. She didn’t know. I mean, I wasn’t telling everybody. She found out one night when she got home from work earlier than planned…I had a girlfriend with me. We were on the couch, messing around. She just kind of stared at us and then gave a little laugh like it was no big deal. After that, she started acting weird around me. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. I tried to let it go and try to act like it didn’t bother me, but it did. The longer I ignored it, the worse it got and the more it bothered me. And then I started noticing people treating me weird. I couldn’t figure out why. Then one day Mrs. Hagerty from upstairs said something to me. I didn’t know what she meant at first, but I wasn’t going to let it go, so I asked her.”
I just waited. She'd finish when she was ready.
Molly leaned forward, her eyes flashing. “She said that she’d heard I was doing sex shows and dirty movies on the side to make ends meet. Then she offered to help me out if I ever needed cash because I was such a sweet girl…I didn’t need to do that sort of thing for money. It wasn’t safe.”
I gaped at her. “How did…what?”
“You heard me.” She shrugged as if it didn't matter. “I’d freaked my old roommate out. She wasn’t comfortable with me being bisexual so she decided to tell weird stories about me. First, it went from me having orgies up to me being a stripper and then suddenly I was having gang-bangs and selling amateur sex videos.” She pushed her hair back. “The point is, I’d known all along she wasn’t comfortable with me after that night she walked in on me. I should have confronted her and dealt with it, then. I didn’t. But I did after that mess with Mrs. Hagerty. She tried to laugh it off like it was a joke, but then she spun me this crap about how if I slept with other women, she’s pretty sure I’d have to be involved in that other dirty stuff too. And oh…by the way, she’s not happy with me being her roommate and she has other people lined up, so how about me vacating…”
“But…this apartment, isn't it in your dad’s name?”
Molly grinned. “Yes. I booted her out on her ass.”
I tipped my face back to the ceiling. “What a bitch,” I muttered. “Okay, so… A- if you were stripping for money, so what? That’s your concern. And B- it’s none of her business if you’re asexual, bisexual, trisexual, metrosexual or anything else.”
“Damn straight.” Molly pursed her lips. “Trisexual, huh?”
I snickered. Then, drawing my legs up, I hugged them to my chest. “Dominic’s not going to tell crap stories about me, Moll.”
“No. But his mom might,” she said.
Fuck. S
queezing my eyes shut, I pressed my forehead to my raised knees. I hadn’t even thought of that.
“Don’t worry. I don’t think that’s likely. She sounds too image conscious. She wouldn’t want the New York elite to know her precious baby slept with a girl like you.” Molly’s voice held enough scorn that it was clear what she thought of the word choice. “But that’s not the issue, honey. You won’t feel better until you confront him and deal with this. You need to find out why he just stood there and he needs to know that it hurt you.”
She was right.
A hollow empty ache spread through me and I started to rock myself slowly back and forth.
After a moment, Molly came to sit beside me, curling her arm around me. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to.
She was right. I had to go back.
***
Morning dawned cold and brittle and the sunlight had a sharp edge.
That was rather how I felt. Cold, brittle and all sharp, jagged edges.
I’d borrowed some of Molly’s clothes. We weren’t exactly the same size, but the nice thing about leggings was that they stretched and Molly had a couple long tunics that worked. Granted, the one I was wearing reached her knees and barely hit me mid-thigh, but I wasn't going to a club or anything. For this, it was fine.
I called for a cab. Six weeks ago, I couldn’t have afforded it, but now I could. Of course, that could change in a blink. Most likely would change. I was trying to hope for a positive outcome, but I wasn't holding my breath.
Molly came down with me and we stood chatting for the few minutes it took the cab to get there.
As it pulled to the curb, I hugged her and she kissed my cheek.
“It’ll be okay,” she said.
“How can you be so sure about that?”
“Because you’re tough and you’re going to make it okay,” she told me. “No matter how. You’ll make it okay for yourself. Call me when you need me.”
I nodded and ducked inside the cab.
She was already in her apartment building by the time the cab pulled away from the curb.
I gave him the address and leaned back, my eyes closed as he moved into the light traffic.
Most people heard a lot about New York City traffic. What people didn't hear so much about was that the traffic on the weekend wasn't all that bad. It was like half the population disappeared or went away for the weekend.
It didn’t take much time to travel from Molly’s place to central Manhattan. I opened my eyes as we drew closer to the penthouse and stared up at the bright sparkling windows of the magnificent building as it jutted up into the sky.
Sunlight bounced off the glass and I closed my eyes against the harsh glare.
“Here we are,” the driver said. He recited the address to me, confirming we were at the right place.
Without responding, I used my credit card to pay for the drive.
It was odd how easily I’d adjusted to having money at my disposal. It could be gone in a blink. Soon, I'd find out whether or not I’d be going back to living on a shoestring budget.
The doorman, Stuart, saw me the moment I started walking up to the building and his eyes widened. He came rushing toward me. “Miss Aleena! Mr. Snow has been worried sick. Where have you been?”
At the sound of Dominic’s name, my heart lurched. “Out.” I kept my response short and sweet. Or maybe not so sweet, I decided after Stuart drew back at the abruptness of my voice.
“Are you alright?” he asked softly, almost hesitantly.
In a more moderate tone, I said, “I’m well enough. I had a rough couple of days.”
I glanced upward, as though it would give me the answer to my next question. “Is he up there?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “No. Mr. Snow went to the house in the Hamptons yesterday, thinking he might find you there. He has called several times asking if you’ve returned. I’ll call him and let him—”
“No!” I snapped, my insides freezing at the thought of seeing him. I wasn't ready.
Stuart went still. Then he looked away.
He looked terribly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Miss Davison, but I must let him know you’re here. It was a direct order.”
“An order,” I said slowly. Why wasn’t I surprised? I ran my tongue across my teeth and then nodded. “Fine.”
Without another word, I walked inside.
***
The penthouse was quiet.
It had been cleaned and put to rights and I stood there, inside the door, staring at the couch for a moment, in the same place Jacqueline had stood on Friday. I twisted a strand of hair around my finger, imagining I could hear the murmur of his voice in my ear, the way his fingers had tangled in my hair and tugged, my skin burning under the harsh impact of his hand after he’d spanked me.
Then I went cold as I recalled his mother’s words.
She might as well have backhanded me—it probably would have done less damage. Physical force was something I could have dealt with much easier. Hit her back, threaten to press charges. Ruin her precious reputation.
But the cool disdain in her eyes?
It hadn't even been hate.
I could handle hate. That had been different. Like I wasn't even worth the effort to feel anything but disapproval. I'd been dismissed, brushed aside like I didn't matter.
The sound of the phone ringing made me jump. I ignored it. I already knew who was calling. Just enough time had passed for Stuart to have spoken with Dominic and then for Dominic to have called the house phone.
When I didn’t answer, I heard a faint beep.
His voice came rolling out.
It made me shiver.
It also made me furious.
“Aleena,” he said, his voice soft. “I know you’re there. Stuart called me…please answer.”
“Not likely.”
I shut the door behind me and calmly walked to my small apartment. Dominic continued to speak, but I deliberately blocked him out.
When I got to my apartment, I groaned. My cell phone was in there.
It was ringing now.
I walked over, picked it up and turned it off.
The phone beside the fat, comfortable armchair started to ring.
I headed into the bathroom.
I’d take a bath. There were no phones in the damn bathroom.
But halfway there, I stopped.
Dominic was probably on his way back here. I had a lock to my apartment, but I didn’t trust him not to let himself in and I wanted to be left alone. He and I could fight it out later…if he cared enough.
For now, I needed time to clear my head.
I scrawled a note on a piece of paper, taped it to my door and then went back inside. Then I took a long, slow look around my apartment. Finally, my gaze landed on the fat armchair.
It would have to work.
It fit, but just barely. The apartment’s entry way was small, forming an L shape that led into the living room. Sweating and out of breath, I stepped back and eyed the chair.
If the penthouse caught on fire while I was in the bathroom, I was screwed.
But I was willing to take that risk.
Turning on my heel, I strode into the bathroom.
Chapter 4
Dominic
The phone rang. And rang. And rang.
It took me a moment to realize that she really wasn’t going to answer.
Blowing out a controlled breath, I called Stuart.
“Yes, sir?”
“She didn’t leave again, did she?”
Stuart hesitated for a moment before he finally answered, “Not by this door, sir. And I have been watching almost non-stop.”
I wanted to tell him that wasn’t good enough, but I stopped myself. I wasn’t the only one who lived in the building.
Forcing myself to count to ten, I checked the time. It would take another hour and a half to get there. There wasn’t much traffic, but I couldn’t make the distance any shorter. “How is
she?”
“Sir?”
“Stuart, for fuck’s sake.” The past thirty plus hours had shattered my control. I was tired, my head hurt, I wanted some coffee and I hadn’t gotten around to taking a shower before Stuart had called and told me that Aleena was there. My mood was so far down below miserable, it wasn’t even funny. “How is she? Is she okay?”
“No.” His voice was sharp.
I’d known Stuart since I’d moved into the penthouse. He was a friendly kind of guy. When he’d shown me pictures of a round, chubby-cheeked newborn baby of indeterminate sex, I’d had Fawna send a gift to him and his wife. His wife had thanked me with chocolate chip cookies and he’d thanked me with a handshake and tears in his eyes that had left me feeling uncomfortable.
And this was the first time I’d ever heard the first edge of disapproval in his voice.
I knew he adored Aleena. Just about everybody who met her did and in that short, simple answer, I’d heard a hundred things.
“She’s upset, isn’t she?”
“It would seem so, sir.”
Flexing my hands on the steering wheel, I focused on the road. I could fix this. My mother could be a bitch and I knew it, but I had to believe it wasn't too late. “Can somebody cover for you while you go check on her?”
“It might be best, sir, if we give her some time alone.”
“Dammit, Stu! She’s had the whole damn weekend!”
There was another one of those faint pauses and then Stuart, his voice stiff and formal, replied. “Of course, sir. I’ll see to it.”
He disconnected and I almost threw the phone out the window.
There were times when I knew I was getting close to the line into serious asshole territory. The past couple days, I suspected I’d fallen clear over. And maybe crawled a couple feet further.
***
Ninety minutes could speed by if distracted, having fun or otherwise engaged.
On the flip-side, ninety minutes could also last an eternity.
I couldn't say the ninety minutes it took to get back to Manhattan that day were the longest ninety minutes of my life. After all, I’d spent a year in hell.
But those minutes—actually, that entire weekend—had dragged by inexorably and by the time I arrived at the penthouse, I was so ramped up and ready to be done, I thought I’d go mad.
