A Perfect SEAL

by Jess Bentley

  I don’t answer, but I don’t need to. My father claps me on the shoulder. “Jake is finally ready to run with the big dogs.”

  “Congratulations,” pour in from the group, along with “about time,” and “welcome to the big leagues.”

  I try to smile, and probably do a convincing job of it. To sell it, I have to shut down inside. Reginald may be smiling, but I can tell it’s just as fake as mine. Except he isn’t shut down, and in his eyes is the warning that’s been there for days now, nonstop. Don’t even think about failing or fucking me, they say.

  After a little more banter, Reginald calls the meeting more or less to order. “Carl, you said you got blueprints in. Lay them out, let’s see what your guys came up with.”

  Carl grins, and goes to retrieve a long white tube, from which he produces a roll of stacked papers. In the middle of the room, on the wide table we’re all seated around, he rolls them out and uses paperweights to pin them down.

  I can tell just by looking that the plans aren’t meant for renovations. This is for a new building. They want to tear down the existing structure and build something new on it.

  “Casino’s on the ground floor,” Carl explains, “with a lounge on the second floor. General admission in the front, VIP in the back, of course.”

  “The stage?” Paul asks, pointing at a section of the plans for the second floor.

  “Optional,” Carl says, smiling, “but do we really want a twenty-four-hour sausage party in there?”

  Reginald barks a laugh, and thumps me in the shoulder like I’m his buddy. “Good thinking. Everything’s better with tits in the background, right?”

  They go over the details, and the talk goes over general plans and layouts. Of supreme interest seems to be some of the private sauna rooms and the prospect of hiring Swedish prostitutes to offer oral service in them. It’s Paul’s idea, after visiting a particular coffee shop with a similar model in Sweden. There’s also the more technical talk of materials, who has what connections with this or that contractor or sub-contractor, where to import the materials in, and how to undermine the necessary foreign markets ahead of time to get the best deal.

  None of them seem concerned about the possibility that Janie Hall won’t fail — that no matter what I do, or what anyone else does, she’ll manage to keep her head above water long enough to outlast Ferry Lights. Once she gets a solid foothold, dislodging Red Hall will become far more difficult, and Reginald knows that.

  And he knows that I know it, which is almost worse. Throughout the night, he’s giving me that warning look, as though my fate is still undecided. Which it is. Not just by him — I haven’t got Janie in my pocket just yet, and honestly I’m not sure I can put her there.

  Oh, I’m certain I can get her into bed. I’ve got my foot in the door. But she’s still cautious, and she has her priorities straight. She isn’t going to topple just because she’s got a hot rush for a guy like me. Not even if I want her to.

  Eventually the meeting is over, and I can’t get out of the place fast enough. Most of them will spend the night — there are strippers and hookers inbound soon, now that all the business is over with — but I drove myself up here specifically so I could leave.

  Reginald doesn’t push me to stay, though. He pulls me aside once the shareholders disperse. “Give me an update,” he says. “How far along is Janie Hall?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I tell him. “She’s a tough nut. Confident. Self-sufficient. We’ve been talking, though.”

  “Talking?” he asks. He laughs. “You’ve been talking? About what? Your fucking feelings? Jesus Christ, I didn’t raise a fucking therapist. What’s taking so long?”

  “Not every woman bends over just because you snap your fingers,” I argue. “Janie has integrity — she has to be convinced. Seduced.”

  “Just show her your big fucking Ferry dick,” Reginald grunts. “Get her wet and she’ll bend over. I don’t need her to want to have your fucking babies, Jake. I need her to be susceptible to sabotage. Fuck her and get it over with. Fast track it. You hear me?”

  It occurs to me that my father doesn’t understand women. He’s never needed to. He understands hookers and gold diggers, and how to spot them — but that’s like understanding a carpenter or baker. He understands occupations, not people.

  Trying to explain Janie to him is pointless, so I just rattle my keys and smile. “Yeah, Dad. I’ll get on it.”

  “I want an update in two days,” he growls. “And I want to hear good news. Is that clear?”

  Crystal clear. If I don’t have good news, there will be consequences. “Yes, sir.”

  Reginald smiles that fake, predatory smile and puts his paw on the back of my neck, pulling me close. “You’re my son,” he says quietly. “Don’t fucking disappoint me.”

  He lets me go to return to his “boys.” I watch him leave, wondering how he navigates the world. But, then, I suppose that’s the wrong way to look at it. Reginald has spent his life changing the world to navigate him.

  I leave them to their philandering and circle-jerking, and spend the drive back to the city wondering why I would ever want to be a part of that world in the first place.

  Chapter 43

  Janie

  “So you and Jake Ferry, huh?” Gloria asks.

  “Chester, would you run the bar inventory and send me the order?” I ask my bartender.

  Gloria isn’t diverted by being ignored, though. “I saw you leave with him. Did you go home with him?” She sounds so eager you’d think there was some prize for guessing correctly.

  Lacey comes to me with the updated menu for me to look over, casting a wary eye at Gloria and a sympathetic one at me.

  “You know he’s got a reputation, right? With the ladies?” Gloria snorts. “If you can call them that, I guess.”

  “This all looks fine, Lace,” I tell my head chef. “Send me the order you need. Ah… try to account for the recent dip. No point in buying product we won’t use.”

  Lacey grimaces, but agrees. She hates the idea of running out of anything, I know, but it would be stupid of both of us to ignore the facts. “Sure thing. Say… two hundred for dinner? For the whole night?”

  “Let’s be optimistic,” I tell her, “and go for… two twenty. I think there’s an auction going on at Hightower, but they’re only serving cocktails. We might get a boost.”

  Lacey nods quickly, and is gone in a flash, counting out loud.

  “You had a look, you know,” Gloria says. “Like you were into him. I bet he can smell that sort of thing a mile away. And he’s probably really touchy about money, too — you have to make it seem like you don’t care — ”

  “I don’t care, Gloria,” I snap. “About Jake or his money or any of it just... leave me alone about it, all right? It’s none of your business.”

  “So what do you want me to do?” she asks.

  “Nothing, Gloria! It’s my goddamned — ”

  “I mean for tonight,” Gloria says, grinning like she won whatever argument she thought we were having.

  “Just… clean front of house. Carpets, tables, all that. Get Mitch and Rory to help when they get here.”

  Gloria stares at me like I’ve struck her in the face.

  “You’re the head hostess,” I tell her. “It’s in your job description. Go.”

  She does, and I think again about when I can get rid of her. Once Mama is out of the hospital. She’ll have some sympathy from her friends, and Gloria’s mother won’t give her a hard time about it. She’s about as intelligent as Gloria, but she’s not a bitch. Where Gloria got that from is anyone’s guess.

  I get to work on the financials while everyone is going about their own jobs to get ready for dinner service. The calming influence of numbers is soothing — no feelings to hurt, no machinations or bullshit to sort through. Math is clean, and never tries to deceive or double-talk you. Numbers are exactly what they appear to be, and lately they’re my favorite part of this job.

>   Even when there aren’t as many of them as there used to be.

  I’m interrupted from my reverie by a Gloria’s signature throat clearing for attention. She never just knocks or announces herself — like I should be constantly awaiting a chance to see her and pay attention.

  “What, Gloria?”

  “You have a visitor. He was at the door, but I let him in since I figured you’d want to see him.”

  She doesn’t cringe away from my glare like I want her to, so I wave her away. It’s not like I don’t know who it is. “Fine. I’ll be up in a second.” She leaves like a cat who’s been told there’s a mouse out front. Is that a stab of jealousy? Christ on a stick, what the hell’s wrong with me right now?

  Just to make a point to myself, I make the last few notes in the ledger and then occupy myself on Facebook for five minutes. Let him wait; it’ll do him good.I can’t just leave him to Gloria’s wiles forever, though. Even he doesn’t deserve that. So I smooth my dress, check my hair, touch up my lipstick, and then make my way casually to the bar.

  Jake is there, waiting for me, conversing with Gloria with a tense look on his face. He looks like a statue, almost, except for the thick, wavy hair. I have to stop staring at him — I really should be dealing with Gloria. She’s likely giving him the third degree, digging for whatever she can find... juicy tidbits, nuggets of gossip gold, or dirt on someone. Probably me.

  “Jake Ferry,” I say, catching his attention — and Gloria’s — when I emerge from the back of house. “We don’t open for another two hours, you know.”

  “Is that so?” Jake asks, smiling that devilish grin at me. Gloria may as well not exist at that moment, and I have to curb the strong desire to laugh at the sour face she makes. “I didn’t realize.”

  “The hours are on the door,” I tell him as I lean on the bar from the inside. “They didn’t teach reading in whatever gold-plated private school you went to?”

  “My school was plated in platinum,” he says rakishly, “and no. They just teach math and colors. Green, primarily.”

  It’s so self-indulgent that I can’t help but laugh even as I roll my eyes at him. “Right. What are you doing here?” I divert my eyes from his; I don’t know what mine will say to him if he catches a glimpse of the real me.

  “I wanted to see if I could take you out for lunch.” I glance at him in surprise and he winks at me, and I begin to wonder if food is what he means, or… “I know this great little Vietnamese place on the other end of town. Unbelievable food. Devastating price tag. What do you say?”

  “It’s almost three o’clock,” I point out. “Lunch is over.”

  Jake shrugs. “Did you eat already?”

  “I… planned to,” I tell him.

  “But…?” He leans toward me a bit, one eyebrow raised in question.

  “Jake I…” I can’t finish it. I want to send him away. I’m busy. I’m hungry, too, though. And I’ve heard about the place he’s talking about. It’s getting rave reviews all over the place, but I can barely carve out enough time to order delivery, much less visit the other restaurants in town right now. They have this hot sauce I’m really curious about, too… “What the hell,” I say, finally. “I guess I can spare an hour.”

  “Make it an hour and a half,” he says.

  “An hour and fifteen minutes.”

  He mulls this over, and then smiles. “All right. Deal. We better get going. Clock is ticking.”

  Gloria is staring at me from well behind him, listening in. Now, she steps forward. “I can run — ”

  “Chester,” I call to my bartender, “you’re in charge until I get back.”

  Gloria looks like she might start whistling like a tea kettle any second, but instead of letting loose right here and now she turns on a heel and stalks to the other side of the lounge, where she’s supposed to be cleaning.

  Jake glances over his shoulder at her, following my gaze, and then sighs. “She’s ah… real friendly, isn’t she?”

  “It’s your cologne,” I tell him.

  Jake frowns. “I’m not wearing cologne.”

  “Then you’re a cheapskate,” I laugh. “But no. The only cologne Gloria smells is money.”

  He laughs again, and we leave to go on our first…

  Lunch. Just lunch, that’s all.

  It isn’t a date.

  Poetry of Pho is every bit as remarkable as the reviews say, and Jake is, again, a perfect gentleman throughout lunch. We chat about easy stuff — what we did in college, our hobbies. Jake, it turns out, has been training in mixed martial arts for years and after some prodding admits that he’d like to start a gym of his own someday.

  “What’s stopping you?” I ask.

  He’s quiet, distracting himself with the last piece of goi cuon that I’ve told him he’s welcome to. He looks around afterward, and waves the waiter down for the check.

  “Did I hit a nerve?” I ask, confused about the sudden silence.

  Jake shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. Want to get out of here?”

  I check the time. Nearly four fifteen. “We’re just about out of time,” I inform him. “Per our agreement.”

  He chuckles. “Well, we can always catch up on that story next time unless…”

  “Unless?” I wonder, intrigued.

  “You trust your guy, Chester, to run the place while you’re gone, right?” Jake asks, a smile tugging the corners of his lips a bit.

  “Jake, I can’t stay gone too long — ”

  “Just a little while longer?” He looks so hopeful that I can’t quite bring myself to tell him no.

  “I have something going on at the lounge later in the evening. I can’t miss it, so… a little while but that’s all.” I’m trying to be serious, but can’t keep my lips from turning up at the corners. I don’t even remember the last time a guy made me want to ditch school or work.

  Jake is overjoyed, it looks like, and after he pays the bill we leave, and skip the car to walk toward the waterfront. It’s a beautiful afternoon, not too chilly for late summer, and while we start the short walk out at arm’s length I find myself drifting a little closer to him. Jake is easy to talk to, and there’s something about the fact that I know his father wants to put me out of business that makes me feel… secure? I don’t need to have any expectations, which is fine by me. Most people never meet them.

  The beach here is beautiful, the sand a clean white, and the midday tide is in, making it a thin strip of white that cleanly divides the great blue from the beige and gray of the city. Jake looks out over the water. “I’d love to start my own gym,” he says, quietly, smiling a little even though his tone seems sad. “But I have some pretty big shoes to fill and it’s my job to fill them.”

  “Your dad, you mean?” I lean against the railing with my back to the ocean as he leans to face it.

  “The one and only, the great and powerful Reginald Ferry,” Jake announces, as if his father personally brought in the tide. “He thinks the idea of a gym is childish and poorly thought out. Most small gyms never come close to making a profit. I wouldn’t even need it to, frankly, but… Reginald doesn’t appreciate most things that don’t turn a profit.”

  I frown; he sounds like he’s talking more about a boss than a father. “You call your dad by his first name?”

  Jake shrugs. “Names like ‘Dad’ and even ‘Father’ never really seemed to stick, and now they’re just… awkward, you know what I mean? Like it doesn’t fit.”

  “I completely get that, actually.” I sigh, thinking about George and even about my actual father. It takes me a real effort to call him “Dad” and even then… it doesn’t quite roll off the tongue. “My stepfather is sort of the same. I’m not close with him, but my brothers are. They practically worship the ground he shits on.”

  Jake laughs suddenly, surprised enough to snort, and there’s his handsome smile again. “They should have been born Ferrys. Reginald would love that. If he misses anything, and I’m not sure he does, he pr
obably misses the person I was before I grew my own conscience.” He stares off across the ocean, remembering. “He seemed like a titan to me when I was younger. Like he had the answer to every question and he was this unstoppable force in the world. He never panicked, never even had to raise his voice very often. He just pointed, and things got done. I wanted to be just like him.”

  “And now?” I ask. It’s an important question. There’s no way he’ll answer it honestly, and there’s no way I could believe him if he did — but I do want to know what he’ll say.

  “Sometimes, now, I’m not sure I even have much of a choice.”

  “That’s part of the whole reason I started Red Hall,” I say. “Not that I feel like I have to become my stepfather or anything but…” Jake looks at me, and for a moment I’m worried about opening up. It’s something I haven’t told anyone before. But he looks so benign at the moment, and so sympathetic that I go on. “I came from nothing. Broken family, narcissistic stepfather that I could never please and probably never will, and a real father that up and left when I was a kid. Red Hall, for me, is my way out of all of that. I can finally stand on my own two feet, and take care of my mother the way she needs me to because no one else is going to do it and… if I don’t succeed here, there’s just nothing for me. I do it because I have to. I love it, don’t get me wrong — it’s my pride and joy at this point in my life. It was desperation that got me where I am, though, and it still pushes me every day.”

  “Desperation,” Jake says. “Yeah. That’s a word I understand.”

  He’s still looking at me, like we’ve just been introduced. Like he did that first night, except with more honesty. When he leans in this time, I let him.

  His lips are generous, and soft, and when they touch mine the heat of it tingles through my cheeks and down my spine. It’s a simple thing, just that little bit of contact, but it’s enough that my whole body relaxes into it and all I want is for him to wrap his arms around me and take me away and —

  I pull back. “Um… I’d better…”