Pretty Dirty Trick

by Tabatha Kiss

  I arrive at our table-for-three and Trix looks up at me. Her big, painted eyes roll back and she raises an apologetic, red-tinted fingernail as I settle into the chair to her right.

  As soon as I sit down, a server lays a menu down in front of me, along with a nice, tall mimosa. I offer him a wink. He winks back and quickly cowers away from the table as Trix’s Italian tirade ups the volume a little.

  “Ma. Ma. Ma!” Trix exhales. “I gotta go. Nora’s here.”

  Oh, thank god. Trix always whips out English when she wants to signal to her grandmother to wrap it up.

  “Yes, she still has that blonde hair you like,” she says into the phone, looking at me. “No, she’s not married. No, I won’t tell her—” She heaves and lowers the phone an inch. “She wants you to get married.”

  “Tell her I’ll try,” I say with a laugh.

  “She says she’ll try, Ma.” Trix pauses to listen. “I’m not telling her that. ... Because it’d set feminism back fifty years.”

  I chuckle and reach for my glass. The fresh orange juice tickles my nose as I take a long sip and the champagne bubbles twitch all the way down. I wait all week for this. Judging by the two empty glasses sitting in front of Trix already, she needed it, too.

  “Okay, Ma, bye. Bye. I said bye. Addio. Ti amo.”

  She ends the call and drops her phone onto the tablecloth with a dull clink. “Aughhh,” she groans, letting all her breath out.

  “So, how’s Ma?” I ask her.

  “Charming, as usual. Is it warm in here?”

  “Not really.”

  She flares her jacket to brush air into her face. “Feels like Satan himself just gave me a facial.”

  I laugh. “Everything okay?”

  “It will be. Ma’s just freaking out about my dad’s trial. This prosecutor is out for blood and has refused every plea our lawyers have thrown at him. Fuckin’ shark.”

  I pout. “Poor Papa ‘Gento.”

  Trix tosses her jacket over the back of her chair and continues fanning herself with a cloth napkin. “Like I said, it’ll work out. It just might get worse before it gets better, that’s all.”

  “Such is life.”

  We raise our flutes and clink them together before downing the rest of our drinks. As soon as I look up, the server is back again with a tray of fresh mimosas. Keep ‘em coming, buddy. As always.

  He gathers our empties, his eyes sneaking a peek at the sleeve tattoo up and down Trix’s right arm. Not the usual sight you’d find in an upscale place like Moira’s Cafe but we’ve been regulars here for years.

  Also, no one on staff would dare kick out Angelo Argento’s only daughter.

  She’s heiress to the fucking mob.

  “Oh, my god, I hope you bleed to death.”

  “Ain’t gonna happen, honey.”

  “Don’t call me that. Never call me that.”

  “Yes, honey.”

  I look at Trix and we both grin at the voices carrying through the restaurant toward our table.

  “Well, this should be good,” Trix says.

  We both sit back and watch for Melanie to come into sight around the corner. She beelines for the table and throws her purse over the back of the third chair before plopping down on it.

  “Hey, guys,” she says, slightly out of breath.

  I open my mouth to ask what’s wrong but I stop when I see Robbie following her path back here.

  “Oh, hey, Robbie!” I greet him.

  Trix beams at him. “Robbie! Hi!”

  Melanie flexes her jaw. “Don’t hey, Robbie him.”

  Robbie strolls up to the table in his usual leather jacket and jeans. He jerks his head to flop his hair to one side. It’s getting a little long but Robbie’s one of the only guys I’ve ever met that who can really pull off that look.

  “Hey, ladies,” he says at me and Trix, smiling back at us.

  “And don’t hey, ladies them either,” Melanie spits.

  I look down and gasp at the thick, white bandage wrapped around his right hand. “Robbie, what happened to you? Are you okay?”

  He opens his mouth to answer but Melanie talks over him.

  “Don’t answer that,” she says at him. “They don’t actually care.”

  He reaches out and nudges her chin. “Aw, you seem tense, honey. Did you fall off your broomstick this morning?”

  She recoils. “Why did you even follow me in here?”

  “It’s Sunday morning so I figured you’d be running over here to compare notes with the other Powerpuff Shrews. Thought I’d stop in and say hi.”

  “Hi,” she says. “Bye, now.”

  “Actually, wait,” Trix says. “Robbie, I could use your opinion on something.”

  Melanie glares at her. “Seriously?”

  Robbie throws on a wide grin and steals a chair from the nearest empty table. He sets it down backward and lowers himself onto the seat with wide-open legs. “How can I be of service, milady?” he asks her.

  Trix gestures at him. “Well, you’re a guy.”

  Melanie scoffs. “Debatable.”

  “Yes,” Robbie says, ignoring her. “Last I checked. Wait...” He reaches below and cups himself. “Okay, go ahead.”

  I bite my cheek to keep from laughing as Melanie’s eyes roll.

  Trix leans forward. “What would be the nicest way a woman can deny sex to you?”

  I twitch. “The hell?”

  She shrugs. “Marcus.”

  “Your dad’s bodyguard?” Melanie asks. “You’re still fucking him?”

  “Since I was fourteen,” Trix muses.

  “Uh.” Robbie laughs. “Wow.”

  “He was fifteen,” she says, waving a hand. “It’s not as squicky as it sounds. Long story short: We grew up together, he joined the Army, came back ripped, my dad hired him as a bodyguard, and we kept fucking on the side. Totally casual.”

  He nods. “Ah, I see. Continue.”

  “Anyway,” she continues, “before my dad went to jail, it was all taboo and fun but now that it’s so easy to get away with... kinda lost the shine.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “He’s not a bad guy or anything, but lately, he’s just kind of gotten a little clingy like he actually wants to start a relationship and that’s just not my thing.”

  “So, you want to stop sleeping with him but you don’t want to disturb the peace in the process?”

  “Exactly!”

  Robbie shrugs. “You could tell him you met another guy,” he suggests.

  “See, if I did that, then I’d have to provide info so he can be properly vetted because—”

  “Bodyguard,” he finishes with a nod.

  “Right.”

  “That’s quite the pickle, Trix.” He scratches his nose. “Have you tried saying no?” Melanie slaps his shoulder. “What? It’s a serious question.”

  “You had a tone,” she says.

  He smirks in her direction. “Don’t you have a litter of newborns to feast on?”

  Melanie frowns at him.

  Trix tilts her head. “Won’t that piss him off?”

  “Oh, it might,” Robbie says, “but any man who gets pissy over a simple no, thank you isn’t worth your time, Trix.”

  She smiles. “You’re right. It was so simple. Thank you, Robbie.”

  “Hey. I believe in you,” he adds, pointing his non-bandaged finger. “You got this.”

  Melanie stares at him. “Hmm,” she hums.

  Robbie’s eyes flick in her direction. “What?”

  “Nothing,” she says. “I mean, I’ve heard of men speaking out of their asses before, but I’d never seen it so up close before.”

  “Well, you always were a little prude when it came to butt stuff, Mel.”

  I share a glance with Trix, both of us holding back our chuckles.

  “That certainly was some top-tier counseling, Rob, but it’s time for you to go,” Melanie says, her teeth clenched together.

  “Aw, honey,” he says, m
aking her nostrils flare out. “Don’t you want me to stick around for a drink or two?”

  “No, thank you,” she says, stabbing every word.

  He grins. “That’s my cue, then.”

  “Yes, dear god, please piss off.”

  Robbie shakes his head, amused. “You sure are testy when you’re ovulating.”

  Her jaw drops. “I am not ovulating!”

  “What’s the date today?” he asks the table.

  “The fifteenth,” I say.

  “Ah, yep.” He nods. “She is.”

  She scoffs. “How could you possibly know that? I don’t even know that.”

  “I just know.”

  “Well, you can just know somewhere else. Go away, Robbie.”

  He stands up from his chair and slides it back under the next table with his good hand. “Ladies, it was a pleasure, as always,” he says to us.

  “And update your forms, please,” Melanie adds.

  “Oh, calm down, Mel,” he says. “You were barely inconvenienced.”

  “No, you’re totally right. You only wasted five hours of my life. I suppose my consolation prize is the fact that you’re not going to be able to jerk off properly for weeks.”

  “You’re more than welcome to come over and help me out,” he quips. “As long as you wear a mask to conceal those bags under your eyes, of course. You’re looking a little worn out, Mel. Books not selling?”

  “Eat me, you limp-dick loser.”

  “Blow me, you frigid hag.” He looks away from her and smiles at us instead. “See you around, ladies. Nora, Trix...” he glares at Melanie, “Maleficent.”

  I give a wave. “Bye, Robbie!”

  “Good to see you,” Trix says.

  “We should do this again soon.”

  Trix blows a kiss. “We love you.”

  “Bye,” he says, tossing another wink in our direction.

  He wanders through the restaurant toward the exit, leaving Melanie fuming in her chair.

  “Would you guys please stop being so nice to him?” she asks. “You’re gonna give him self-esteem.”

  Trix cackles. “What the hell was that about? Did you two wake up together again?”

  The server slides in, sets down another round of mimosas, and takes off just as quickly. He’s working for that tip today. Good boy.

  “Four months,” Melanie says, yanking her jacket off. “It’s been four months since our divorce was finalized and that bastard still lists me as his emergency contact.”

  I take a fresh drink. “What’s up with his hand?”

  “Well, I was up all night writing, as usual,” she begins. “Got to a really great stopping point and passed out around five to get a good bit of sleep before brunch. Two hours later, I get a call from some nurse telling me that my husband was injured at work. Right away, there are red flags. One, husband. And two, work. Robbie’s never held down a job before in his life. I never even heard him say the word unless it immediately followed blow. Obviously, there was some kind of mistake but she insisted on me coming in anyway. So, I dragged my ass down to the hospital and there’s Robbie with a nail sticking through his hand.”

  We gasp. “Oh, my god!”

  Melanie downs a gulp of her mimosa. “At that point, I realized injured at work was Robbie Code for got wasted and did something stupid so I just stood there while the nurse made flirty eyes at him until the doc patched him up and let him go.”

  Trix raises a brow. “Why do you care if the nurse was making flirty eyes at him?”

  “I don’t...” Melanie says, sitting up. “I just think it’s inappropriate in that setting for a medical professional to come on to her patients, especially in front of his ex-wife who wants to watch him suffer a life of pain and anguish and die alone. It’s a very complicated emotion. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  Trix shrugs. “Good. Because I don’t.”

  “And who works on a Sunday, anyway?” she asks. “His lie — much like his hand — was full of holes.”

  “I do,” I say with a sigh. “Right after this, I have to go into the office. The new temp screwed up some paperwork again so I have to rush and fix it before tomorrow’s budget meeting.”

  “Can’t you just get a new temp?” Trix asks.

  “And be forced to re-train another idiot all over again? No, thanks.” I stretch my neck to the side, taking a deep, relaxing breath that doesn’t do its job. “Honestly, I’m blowing it out of proportion. It’s an easy fix. I just need to hold his hand for a little while longer until Ira gets back from paternity leave. He’ll get it eventually.”

  Melanie flashes a knowing smile. “That sounds perfectly reasonable of you, Nora.”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  “Patient. Wise.”

  I point my thumb at my face. “That’s me.”

  She smirks. “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

  “Fucking gorgeous.” I fall forward, feeling a wave of heat in my cheeks. “It’s like Gaston had a love child with Captain America. I can barely concentrate.”

  Trix chuckles. “Well, in that case, maybe you screwed up the paperwork.”

  “You bite your tongue. And...” I pause. “Yeah, maybe. Hot temp aside, I’ve been so damn stressed out lately. I don’t know what to do. Yoga doesn’t work anymore. My massage therapist fired me.”

  Trix gasps. “Lenny fired you?!”

  “Apparently, four AM house calls are outside of his job description,” I explain.

  Melanie creases her cheek. “Have you looked into meditation?” she asks.

  “Oh, you mean the sit quietly and reflect on everything I’ve ever done wrong happy hour?” I joke. “Nope.”

  “You’re supposed to suppress those thoughts, Nora,” she says with a laugh.

  “I don’t want to suppress. My natural state is the exact opposite. I need to project and act out and I can’t do that sitting behind a desk all damn day.”

  Trix nods. “Didn’t you join a kick-boxing class?”

  “Yeah, but they booted me out for being too scary.”

  “Yikes.” She reaches for her glass. “Well, you’re on your own.”

  “Not necessarily,” Melanie says. “There’s one very obvious omission from your list, Nor.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?” I ask.

  She clears her throat and nudges Trix’s arm. “Back me up, cheerleader. Give me a B!”

  Trix grins. “B!”

  “Give me a D!”

  “D!”

  “Give me an S! M!”

  “BDSM!” they cry in unison.

  I glance into the wide, staring eyes of silent patrons around us. “Please don’t ever do that again,” I say. “I really like this place.”

  Melanie exhales. “I’m telling ya, girlfriend, it’ll change your life.”

  “No,” I say, recoiling. “I don’t want to be that cliché boss who demands control or whatever. It’s so stupid.”

  “That’s a myth!” she says. “Statistically, CEOs and other authoritative figures act as subs. Not Doms.”

  I blink. “Really?”

  “Yeah. They spend all day bossing other people around, barking orders, telling them what to do and where to go. That’s exhausting. They need a few hours a week to let go and submit to someone else’s demands. It’s cathartic as fuck and it’s exactly what you need.”

  I pause to think. “That does make a strange bit of sense...”

  Melanie nods. “What are you doing for lunch tomorrow?” she asks.

  “Shoving a cold turkey sub down my throat at my desk, probably.”

  “I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Judy’s.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t think I can do that.”

  “You’re the boss,” she says with confusion. “You can take an hour lunch.”

  “No, I mean…” I lower my voice. “Judy’s.”

  “Why not?” She turns up a hand. “You don’t have to pay a membership or commit to anything. Just go there wit
h me, take a look around, dip your toes into the seas of sinful things, and you’ll go from there. They’re not even open until dusk, so you’ll get a chance to see the good stuff up close.”

  I furrow my brow. “You can just walk into a sex club and look around while it’s closed?”

  “It’s not a sex club. It’s a kink club,” she argues. “There’s a difference. And yes, you can, with me. Judy and I go way back. One call and we’ll have the whole place to ourselves.”

  “What’s the difference between a sex club and a kink club?” I ask.

  “Go with me and I’ll show you,” she says, teasing. “I go all the time — for research, of course.” She flashes a wink.

  “And why are you divorced again?” I joke.

  She sticks out her tongue.

  “Beatrix Argento?”

  We glance up at a suited man suddenly standing above our table.

  “Yes, sir?” Trix answers with a smile and looks him up and down.

  He reaches into his jacket and withdraws an envelope. “You’ve been served,” he says, holding it out.

  Trix snatches the papers from him. “And a fuck you to you, too, asshole,” she spits as he turns around and takes wide strides back to the exit.

  I rub Trix’s shoulder. “Well, that sucks.”

  She shoves the envelope into her purse without opening it. “It’s all right. It was expected for my dad’s trial. Ma told me earlier.”

  Melanie frowns. “Want to come to Judy’s with us tomorrow?” she asks. “Perk you right up.”

  “Nah, I need to meet with our lawyers to walk me through my deposition,” she says. “Rain-check me, please.”

  “How’s Papa ‘Gento doing?”

  “An aging, old mobster in the slammer?” she quips. “He practically owns the place. Doesn’t mean he’s eager to hang up curtains or anything, though. Of course, all of this is secondhand knowledge since they won’t let me see him myself.”

  “That’s for the best, Trix,” I say.

  “I know, I know. The more distance I keep, the less they’ll shine lights on me. But... still. I miss my dad, you know?”

  “But hey…” I tap her inked shoulder. “By the time he gets out, this should be done, right?”

  She glances at her arm and nods. “Yep. Just a few more trips to the tat shop and my marque is complete. Then, I can secure my rightful place in Papa’s inner circle.”