Degradation

by Stylo Fantome

  She suddenly felt very guilty about her weekend.

  “Would you? If the opportunity presented itself?” Tate asked, laying back against the floor.

  “Sounds like it would bother you if I did.”

  “I don’t really know. It might.”

  “Why?”

  Tate had to think about it for a minute or two.

  “I might be a slut, but …, okay, I’m most definitely a slut, and I like to sleep with guys, and have no qualms about who or when or where. But I am not a cheater. I never cheated on any of my boyfriends. I won’t sleep with a guy if I know he has a girlfriend or wife. I will not be that girl. If you start sleeping with your ex, you might get back together with her. Or really, she might just think you’re back together – women are stupid that way. And if that happens, I would immediately become the other woman. I won’t do that,” she explained, ignoring her glass and dragging the bottle of Jack to her lips, taking a sip.

  “You cheated on your boyfriend, with me, when I had a girlfriend, who also happened to be your sister,” Jameson reminded her. Tate chuckled, took another swig of whiskey.

  “So you understand why I’m so scarred about the whole thing. I don’t want to be that girl ever again. It was a stupid accident, and look what happened. No thank you,” she replied.

  “It was probably the best thing that could have happened to me at that time, so I have the opposite view of it,” he laughed.

  “Po-TATE-o, po-TOT-o.”

  “Maybe. Maybe you’re just too hard on yourself. I mean, yeah, every time I’ve ever slept with someone outside of a relationship, my girlfriends always knew. I made sure they knew – lying is ridiculous. If someone doesn’t like it, they can get the fuck out. But you and I, we were young, dating the wrong people. It’s not like either of us planned it. And we didn’t even get a chance to hide it. We weren’t trying to hurt anyone,” he pointed out. She nodded.

  “True. Still. You asked. That’s my answer. No, I probably wouldn’t like it if you started sleeping with this ex girlfriend. But I’m also not gonna stop you,” she wrapped up their conversation.

  “Well, thank you for that, Tate. I’ll be sure to tell you before I start plowing my way through my little black book.”

  Tate rubbed her lips together, staring at the ceiling. Now was definitely the time to say something. Part of her didn’t want to upset him or make him mad. She drew her knees up and rubbed her thighs together. Another part of her really wanted to make him mad, and see what would happen.

  “I slept with Ang.”

  God, I just blurted it out. Like a slutty-goat. Jesus.

  “Excuse me?”

  She cleared her throat.

  “I slept with Ang. Had sex with him,” she clarified.

  “What, like this weekend?” Jameson asked. She winced.

  “Yes. Saturday night,” she replied.

  “So I can’t sleep with my ex because I might get back together with her, but you can sleep with your best friend-slash-tripod?” he questioned, but there was laughter in his voice. He didn’t sound angry.

  “I’m horrible. I didn’t want to, at first. But I was lonely, and I was thinking about you all weekend, and then he was right in front of me, and it just …, happened.”

  Three times.

  “Okay. Thank you for telling me,” Jameson replied in a simple tone. She felt a little like throwing up.

  “I wasn’t sure what is and isn’t allowed. Ang and I have known each other forever – sex is more like a pickup game of basketball to us. We just do it, for like sport. But then I kept thinking that maybe it wasn’t okay. I didn’t know if we were allowed to sleep with other people, or what exactly is going on here, and I …, I felt kinda bad afterwards,” Tate told him. It was the truth. She’d spent most of Sunday working out rehearsed speeches to beg for his forgiveness. Jameson chuckled.

  “I don’t care if you sleep with other people when I’m not around. We’re the same animal, you and I, so I get it. But I gotta be honest, I have the same issue you have – you’re a little too close to this Ang guy for my tastes. What if the same problem happens? I don’t really care about being the other man, as long as I’m the man. Can’t be that, if you go off and fall in love with your best friend. I’m not quite ready to stop playing with you yet,” he tried to explain. She laughed.

  Oh, you are most definitely the man, Satan.

  “That won’t happen, trust me. But there we go – you can’t sleep with ex girlfriends. I can’t sleep with Ang. Deal?” she asked.

  “If that makes you happy.”

  There was a long pause after that, Tate drinking more from the bottle and Jameson just being quiet. She rubbed her legs together, lifted them back in to the air and did slow high kicks. She was pretty flexible, she could almost bring her knee to her chest. She let go of the bottle and laced her fingers behind her knee, gently pulling down. Just another inch, and -,

  “Did you think about me?” Jameson’s voice cut through the room.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, letting go of her leg and propping herself up with her hands. He wasn’t facing her, his eyes on the flames.

  “While you were fucking Ang, did you think of me. You said you were lonely, that you had been thinking about me all weekend. When he was fucking you, were you thinking of me?” Jameson asked, finally turning to look at her.

  Tate stared back, taking a deep breath. She didn’t want to tell him, because the answer made her feel bad. Made her feel like a traitor. The other reason she had felt so bad all weekend. But he just kept staring at her, his eyes boring in to her soul.

  “Yes,” she whispered. He smiled and leaned foward, over his arm rest.

  “So while this guy, Angier, was inside of you, you were imagining it was me, weren’t you?” he asked her. Tortured her.

  “Yes.”

  Usually, Ang was so amazing, he was able to obliterate any other person from her mind. She could barely think straight, let alone think of another man. But Jameson had her all messed up. He’d gotten under her skin and was running rampant through her system. It wasn’t a matter of one being better in bed than the other – they were both spectacular. But only one of them captured her mind.

  And it wasn’t her best friend.

  “Good. New rule. Anytime you fuck someone else, you picture me. Understood?” Jameson demanded.

  “I don’t think that even needs to be a rule; it’ll just happen on its own,” Tate laughed. He gave one more tight lipped smile and leaned back in his chair.

  “Jesus christ, that we even need these kinds of rules, really says something about us,” he mumbled.

  “I think they’re a good idea,” she told him. He laughed, and it was an evil sound. It sent shivers down her spine.

  “You would think that, Tate, because you’re a whore,” he stated.

  Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.

  “Maybe. But at least I’m a responsible one,” she teased.

  “That’s an oxymoron,” he told her.

  “You’re an oxymoron,” she taunted him, laughing.

  “That makes no sense.”

  “You make no sense.”

  “Stop it, Tatum.

  “You stop -,”

  “Don’t make me come over there. I’m not in a good mood,” Jameson warned her.

  “Maybe if you come over here, I could cheer you up,” she offered.

  “Maybe I don’t want to cheer up. Maybe I want to be in a bad mood,” he countered. She rolled her eyes.

  “You sound like a little kid who wants to bitch just to bitch,” she told him. His head snapped towards her.

  “What the fuck did you just say?”

  “I think you heard me,” she said with a smile. He stood up.

  “I think you want to get hurt,” he replied, moving to stand over her. She leaned back on her elbows, smiling up at him.

  “I live to make you happy,” she told him, sighing melodramatically. He squatted down next to her.

  “
Are you ever scared of me?” he asked, his voice soft. Tate shook her head.

  “No, not even a little,” she assured him.

  “Sometimes I wonder if maybe you should be,” he added.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because, I have the strangest feelings about you. Like I want to take you everywhere and have you by my side, but I also want to hold you down. Make you beg and cry,” he told her. She kept her eyes focused on his, didn’t move a muscle.

  “Sounds like a pretty good plan to me,” she whispered. He reached out and traced a finger down her leg, from the hem of her underwear to her knee, and then back up again. His eyes watched his finger.

  “How did I find you?” It was obvious that he was thinking out loud.

  “That’s pretty easy – you made me,” she responded. Jameson’s eyes cut to hers, flashing blue in the shadowy room.

  “I didn’t know that’s what I was doing, at the time,” he told her, and then started digging his nails in to her thigh, dragging them up her skin. She hissed.

  “Me, neither. Maybe we found each other,” she breathed, letting out a sigh when he lifted his hand. He moved back down to the same spot and repeated the motion. She hummed and let her head drop back, closing her eyes.

  “Sometimes I still can’t believe you’re here, Tate. That it’s really you. Tatum O’Shea. Mathias O’Shea’s daugher; Ellie’s little sister,” he said, moving his hand to her other leg.

  “I haven’t been any of those things in a long time, maybe that’s why it still feels so weird to you,” she suggested.

  “If you aren’t those things, then what are you?” he asked. She thought for a second.

  “Just Tate. Bartender. Party girl. Ang’s friend,” she prattled off things that came to mind when she thought of herself.

  “Slut?” Jameson whispered. She opened her eyes.

  “Oh yes. Most definitely that,” she sighed. His nails moved to her throat, so she kept her head back.

  “Pain,” he added through clenched teeth. She gave a small nod as he dragged a sharp nail from underneath her ear down to her collar bone.

  “Maybe just sex, period. Kinda encompasses it all,” she suggested.

  “Very thoughtful of you.”

  “I like it. Tatum ‘Sex’ O’Shea. Why not,” she laughed. Suddenly his hand was tight around her throat, squeezing. She rolled her eyes to look at him. He was staring at her neck.

  “Sounds good to me. We could -,” he started, but he was interrupted. The library door swung open. Tate didn’t have to look to know it was Sanders. It was strange - he walked in and out of rooms without knocking, all the time, but he never seemed intrusive. She hardly even noticed him. She kept staring at Jameson, who gripped her neck even tighter. She took shallow breaths through her nose.

  “Tokyo, sir. The eight o’clock meetings,” Sanders’ even voice carried over the room. Jameson sighed and finally looked her in the eye. She smiled at him.

  “Gotta go, baby girl. No rest for the wicked,” he told her, before letting her go. He leaned in quick and kissed her throat before getting to his feet.

  “Gonna be a while?” she asked. He nodded.

  “Probably. You know where the kitchen is, or you can go up to my room. If you need anything, just ask Sanders,” Jameson instructed, looking back and forth between the two of them. Tate gave him the biggest smile she could manage. Sanders stared at the wall.

  “Got it. Go make my money,” she told Jameson. He snorted.

  “That’s not even funny.”

  He strode out of the room and Tate stayed as she was for a moment, looking after him. Then she sighed and sat all the way up. Sanders was still standing in the room, still staring at a wall. She looked him over.

  “Got a hot date tonight, Sandy?” she asked. She loved to tease him. She would crack him some day.

  “No, Ms. O’Shea,” was all he said.

  “You look awfully nice tonight. New suit?” she pressed. He cleared his throat.

  “No, Ms. O’Shea.”

  “Are you ever going to call me Tate, like I asked you to?”

  “Probably not, Ms. O’Shea.”

  She had an idea. She got the impression that Sanders and Jameson virtually never left the house, unless it was to go to Jameson’s office. Not right. Jameson hadn’t ever asked to go back to her place, or taken her anywhere fancy. Tate loved every second she spent alone with him, but she didn’t want to be someone’s dirty laundry, either.

  “Do you have any newspapers, Sandy?” she asked, climbing to her feet.

  “Several. Which would you prefer, New York Times? LA Times?” he listed them off.

  “Just Boston papers, any you got. And any weekly periodicals you have,” she added, running her hands over her legs to shake off any carpet dust. She was standing in front of Sanders only wearing knee high socks, boy-briefs style underwear, and a tight white tank top. She should probably feel bad, she didn’t like to make people feel uncomfortable – but if Sanders was uncomfortable, he didn’t show it. If anything, he looked bored.

  “Is that it?” he asked.

  “Just that. Hurry back, it gets lonely in here,” she teased him. He rolled his eyes and headed out of the library. She laughed and then went over to the fireplace, determined to figure out how to turn it down.

  *

  Jameson strode back in to his library just over two hours later, and was in for a little shock. The fire was much smaller, and the over head lights were turned on – he almost never used them, himself. Tate was sitting cross legged in the middle of his floor, surrounded by newspapers and clippings. She was cutting something out of one of the papers, the tip of her tongue visible at the corner of her mouth.

  Almost cute.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, striding through the mess of papers.

  She looked up at him and broke in to a big smile. He had to steel himself against it. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to get too comfortable with her, and Jameson tried to make it a habit to never get too comfortable.

  “Coupon clipping!” Tate responded in an excited voice.

  “Excuse me?”

  “When I first met Ang,” she started. He had never met the man, but Jameson already kind of hated her best friend. “I was really desperate for money. My jobs sucked, I was a shitty waitress. Scraping the bottom of the barrel. Ang showed me how far coupons can get you. He goes on Groupon all the time, too. We get in to places free, get all kinds of free food, and free swag. It’s pretty awesome.”

  “‘Awesome.’ Why are you doing that here, now?” Jameson pressed. She smiled up at him again, only this time it was a devilish smile. That was the smile he liked, the one he wanted to slap off her face.

  “Because I’m taking you out on the city, mister. You and Sanders. We’re gonna go out, and you’re gonna live like a real urban-ite for a day,” she informed him. He laughed.

  “There is no fucking way I am ever fucking doing that, so get that out of your fucking mind, right fucking now,” he suggested. She shook her head.

  “Oh, you’re going to do it, and afterwards we’re going to a dinner party. I had already agreed to go to dinner at a friend’s house. You can come with me,” she told him. He scowled.

  “And if I don’t go?” he asked. Tate shrugged.

  “Not that big of a deal. We can just officially declare you the king of all pussies. And not in the good way. You don’t have to go, I can go as Ang’s date,” she assured him.

  “I guess I’m going to a fucking dinner on the bad side of Boston. You get two hours, no more,” he told her. She laughed.

  “You hear that Sandy, you’re getting out of here!” she called out. Jameson hadn’t even realized the other man was in the room – he was in for another shock. Sanders was behind the desk, snipping and cutting away at a newspaper, as well.

  “Sounds exhilarating. If no one requires my services anymore, I’m going to get back to work,” Sanders said, getting up from his seat. Jameson nodded.r />
  “We’re not doing early tomorrow, so sleep in as late as you want,” he told him. Sanders nodded, and walked forwards. Tate held up her hand, palm facing backwards.

  “Up top, Sandy,” she said, her eyes never leaving the paper she was scanning. Sanders high fived her and then continued out of the room. Jameson stared after him.

  What just happened?

  “I think he likes you,” he mumbled. Tate shrugged.

  “Most people do. I’m pretty fuckin’ awesome,” she told him. He burst out laughing and walked over to her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to her feet.

  “Yes, but usually, Sanders doesn’t like anybody,” Jameson laughed, pulling the scissors out of her hand and tugging her away from the sea of newspapers.

  “But I wasn’t done. What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Oh, you’re done. Time for good girls to go upstairs and show me how bad they can be,” Jameson told her.

  “I don’t think there’s very much that’s good about me anymore,” she laughed, following him out of the room.

  “I think you have no idea what bad really is – you almost have too much good,” he replied.

  “I don’t think -,”

  “Stop arguing, or I’ll make you crawl up the stairs.”

  Tate was silent for about two seconds, and then turned in to a prosecuting attorney, arguing all the points on how she couldn’t possibly be good. Jameson stopped moving, smiling at her back as she started up the stairs. Then he reached forward and grabbed her ankle, pulling her leg out from underneath her. She went to her knees, hands flying out to catch herself.

  “Shit!” she cursed. He moved a few steps ahead of her, then squatted down and fisted his hand in her hair.

  “Why are you always set on defying me, baby girl?” he asked, his voice low as he pulled her hair, forcing her head up towards his own. She looked up at him, a smile playing on the edge of her lips.

  “Because it’s always so much fun.”

  “You are such a mindfuck, Tate. Something is wrong with you, that you want to be treated like this, that you like being a whore,” he hissed at her. She chuckled low in her throat.