Unmaking Marchant

by Ella James

  She snorts. “Good for you.”

  “You make it sound like I’m a fucking charity case.”

  She laughs again, her head thrown back. “Now I know that is not the case.” She gives me a quick roll of her eyes before jogging off. “After tomorrow,” she calls over her shoulder, “I’ll give them back to you. Sound good?”

  “Yeah.”

  I’m doing okay now. Feeling less head fucked. As I make my way to the kitchen, I’m surprised to find my mood is…pretty damn good. I crank up some Led Zeppelin on my Bose and crack two eggs, planning to whip up breakfast, before I get an even better idea. I’ll make something portable, and invite Suri Dalton to the maze with me. Maybe we can have a quick fuck in the bushes.

  I grin, and I’m grabbing some fruit out of the pantry when I hear the click of shoes on hardwood, and there she in the doorway between my den and kitchen, looking gorgeous.

  I can’t help how good I feel. I give her a big, stupid smile.

  She grins back at me. “You look nice today.”

  I look her over, deliberately lingering on her tits. “You look better.” I have to fight the urge to yank her dress up and fuck her on the kitchen table. I’m already hard, and I don’t try to hide it as I grab a paper bag from a nearby drawer.

  “You going out?” she asks me.

  “Yeah.”

  She walks into the kitchen, giving me a great view of her ass, and leans against my counter. With her hair hanging a little past her chin and her pink lips smiling, she looks like a girl someone should love. Which is a fucking weird thing to think.

  I rub my head, and she says, “Where ya going?”

  “Thought I’d go for a walk.” I thought I’d go with her, but now that I see her looking so beautiful and fresh, I’m not so sure. Wasn’t I supposed to be keeping this professional?

  But it’s just a walk, right? It should be pretty hard to ruin the beauty that is Suri Dalton in the course of a twenty-minute walk. And if we fuck? Well, it’s not the first time. I’ll end this fuck-fest soon. Get some willpower and take off to my house in Summerlin.

  Till then… It’s been a long time since I took a walk around the grounds for no reason at all.

  I look back over at her to ask if she’ll go with me, and find her smiling slightly.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Oh…nothing.” Her smile widens, and she laughs.

  “What is it?” I rub my hand over my face. “Do I have a booger?”

  “No.” Her eyes are twinkling, swear to fucking God.

  “Then what?”

  “You’re packing a lunch for yourself.” She’s still smiling.

  I hold out two apples and a banana, like I’m surrendering a weapon. “You mean this?”

  “Yes, that.”

  I feel a little hot under my collar. “So what? A person’s gotta eat.”

  “I know,” she says. “It’s cute.” And then she giggles. It’s a real giggle. Like…I don’t know. Something real and nice.

  I’m surprised to find it makes me laugh a little, too.

  “I was thinking one of them could be for you. You like apples? Or bananas?”

  She twirls a piece of her hair, still smiling. I swear to God, this girl is like sunshine. “I like them both. Where are we walking?”

  I shrug as I throw the fruit in the paper sack, prompting her to laugh again. “Just around. I like to stretch my legs sometimes.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and want to groan, because I sound like an idiot. I screw up my face and pull out my country voice. “Want to throw some stones in the pond? It’s real fuuun.”

  She giggles again. “Sure. I throw a mean stone.” I don’t even know what this means

  I walk past her, headed toward the ’frige to grab some bottled water. She catches me by the arm and tugs me close to her. I’m still as one of her hands twists around my nape and pulls my face down close to hers. I’m ready to kiss her. Ready to fuck her. Instead she pulls me even closer and I feel her lips press gently on my forehead.

  It’s fucking weird, the way it makes me feel. Just…warm in my chest, like someone poured hot water into me.

  She looks into my eyes. I must be frowning because she frowns a little, too, then smiles and ruffles my hair. “Don’t be so uptight. I just wanted to kiss you. No strings.” She pushes me gently away and holds up three fingers. “I swear.”

  “I know.” I give her a small smile and grab the water from the refrigerator, and by the time I’ve turned around the weirdness of the moment has passed. She grabs an apple out of the paper sack, and I grab the other one, and we leave the sack in the kitchen and head out the front door. I have a memory of walking out of the house with Riker when we were children, armed with bed linen and kitchen utensils. I guess my brain is dredging up strange shit because of Suri’s presence in my house. I usually don’t let women stay, or even fuck them in my cottage. That’s what my room in the main house is— was for.

  As we walk toward the pond, she asks, “What are you thinking?”

  I shrug. “About the new building.”

  It’s out there in front of us, and the construction crew is already moving this morning. Their big machines beep and buzz as they resurrect the building.

  “What about it?” she asks.

  “I used to have a room there. Like, my personal room.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “I mean for sex.”

  “Okay—still cool, for you, I guess.” She gives me an unreadable look.

  “I was just wondering if I’m going to rebuild it.”

  “Are you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We walk a little more, and it’s fucking weird, because I kind of want her to tell me not to. Instead she says, “Did you ever imagine this place would be so successful?”

  We sit on some stones by the pond and I tell her about my first few years as a brothel owner, how I started with the Strip location but wanted something more exclusive, something less stereotypical and more high-end. I tell her about how I met each of the girls—and guys. I tell her about the first escorts who worked for me, about the brothel manager who embezzled almost a million dollars from me when I was still green and didn’t know to keep a sharp eye on my managers. I even tell her about how my cheesy, framed “first dollar” burned. And she listens. I can tell she listens, and she doesn’t judge me even though she’s not a fan of sex-for-pay.

  About that time Juniper walks by, wearing a black sports bra and hot pink leopard printed tights. She’s holding hand weights with little snoopy pictures on the sides. We both laugh.

  “Hello,” she calls.

  “Hello.” I smile and Suri waves.

  “Whatever works,” I say as Juniper passes.

  “You know…” Suri sits her apple core on a stone beside her, “when Lizzy said people here were like family, and I scoffed at her. But it seems to be true.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Are we converting you?”

  “Maybe,” she says coyly—but she can’t keep the grin off her face. She trails her bare foot over the water’s edge and looks around. “Who designed your maze?”

  “I did actually.”

  “Really.” I nod. “I’m impressed.”

  I stand up and offer her a hand, which she takes after sliding her sandal back on. I pull her up. “Want to go?”

  “Maze walking?” She smiles a little. “I got lost there the other night.”

  I’m still holding onto her hand. I tuck it closer to me. “If we get lost this time, it’ll be because we want to.”

  We start off over the plush grass, toward the maze, and after a few steps I can tell something is wrong. Our earlier banter and easy conversation is gone. Suri is quiet; her face looks tight, and her hand in mine is still and almost stiff.

  I can’t think straight knowing something’s bothering her, so I give in. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  She glances up at me from underneath her long eyelashes. “I was just thinking of befo
re the fire. I was planning on going back to California the next morning.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  She nods. “One of the reasons was you.”

  My chest aches. I guess because she takes me off guard. “It was?”

  She nods.

  I’ve still got her hand. Impulsively, I squeeze it. She squeezes back, proving—as if I needed proof—she’s the kindest, most perfect woman alive. Regret spills through me, dark and messy. “I was an asshole, right? When was it? At the hospital in El Paso?” Everything from around that time is hazy—probably due more to the mania than the ECT that followed—but I definitely remember pressing her against the wall of a hallway. I don’t know what I said, but I remember discharging my anger.

  I feel ashamed, now.

  She doesn’t look at me as we step into the maze. Now that we’re surrounded by walls of ruthlessly manicured bushes all around us, I fantasize about lying her down face-first on the little pale pebbles, lifting up her skirt and having her here, under the afternoon sky, but the fantasy loses a considerable amount of appeal when I see the tension tugging at her mouth.

  I decide in a heartbeat that I want to give her something. Not the truth—that would cost me too much—but something close to it. I want to get as close as I can to honesty with her. I’m not sure why, but I want to.

  I squeeze her hand once more and take the plunge: “You know…you’re the only one who knows about my…problem. Besides Rachelle,” I say. “And she only knows because they called her. From the…facility.”

  She looks up at me, wide-eyed, and I push my chicken-shit self forward. “I’ve been this way since college,” I say slowly. And I’m not sure how to follow-up that particular confession without lying big time or telling her what really happened. But I open my mouth and find that words roll out. They’re quiet words—hard words. Maybe it’s her soft, cool fingers, stroking the back of my hand that makes them easier to say.

  “We had a memorial ceremony for my parents on a Sunday. It was spring break Sunday. They died the first Sunday of Spring Break, and this was the last—the day before school started back. My little sister Riker was only twelve. My dad’s parents had her. They’re the ones who ended up rearing her.” I feel a lumpy knot in my throat, because Riker had wanted to live with me—but I couldn’t. “I couldn’t take her because…” I shake my head and look ahead, at the bush-framed path that turns left in a few more steps.

  “I couldn’t take her because I was…unfit,” I confess. From this point on, I fix my eyes on the path ahead.

  “It happened for the first time when I was flying back to school. From Santa Monica to New Orleans. I just…fucking snapped. My parents weren’t perfect, but they had always been there.” Mom had bouts of mania and also depression, but it was mostly managed, and she and dad had always seemed like they loved each other, and us. “And then one day, I get a call at the frat house—fucking kitchen phone; we had been playing whiffle ball—and some fucking stranger tells me they’re gone. Their plane went down in the Ecuadorian Andes. My mom was flying. She crashed into a mountain.”

  I tug in a deep breath and shock myself by hoarsely adding, “She was bipolar.”

  21

  MARCHANT

  Shit.

  I look down at Beauty, and she’s nodding gently. She doesn’t look shocked or disgusted, so that’s good. If anything, her face is softer.

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly; my head is still spinning with the shock of saying this aloud. “My mom was bipolar. She had been going through…a rough patch. And she was flying that day. The flight logs say the weather was clear.” I pause because I’m having trouble swallowing. “The plane looked okay, too,” I rasp. “What was left of it… I think that’s the worst thing,” I whisper. “I don’t know for sure if it was…her.”

  “Are you saying you don’t know if your mom…crashed on purpose?”

  “She had tried it before,” I choke out. I can’t even look at her. It’s been so long since I talked about this; I forgot how hard it is.

  I drop Suri’s hand and fix my eyes on the top of the hedges, where they’re trimmed into a perfectly level plane.

  Why did I tell her this?

  I have only a second to wonder before she wraps her arms around my waist and lays her cheek against my chest.

  “Marchant, I’m so sorry.”

  She looks up at me, and there’s so much sympathy in her eyes, the shit is fucking brutal. And suddenly I don’t want to see it there. I don’t know if I can bear her understanding.

  I don’t return her hug, but she doesn’t let go.

  I close my eyes and see Marissa’s face, smiling. She’s sitting beside me on a white porch swing in front of the sorority house on a humid Sunday afternoon. She grabs my hand and looks into my eyes, still wearing her church dress.

  “Marchant, I have something to tell you. But you’ve gotta promise not to freak, okay?”

  I imagine my dad trusted my mom in much the same way Marissa trusted me. And like my mom, I can’t be trusted. Because I’m not a normal person. I don’t have a right to a relationship.

  I step back, prompting Suri to let go of me. My chest feels tight, my head on fire.

  “I guess that’s why I turned to drugs,” I lie. I’ve been avoiding outright lying until this point, but now I need it so she doesn’t start drawing conclusions.

  “I can understand that that would be really hard to deal with,” Suri says. Then she shakes her head. “Actually I can’t. I’m sorry. I want to be honest. I’m not sure how I would ever deal with that.”

  She holds my gaze with hers, her face twisted into—what? Sympathy or pity? I can’t tell. “I don’t think I could ever understand, Marchant, but I can see how you would still struggle with it. How it would lead you to…need some kind of escape.”

  I lock my jaw. Unlock it. What’s wrong with her, making excuses for me? Fuck, I’m not even an addict, and she’s acting like it’s just fine if I am.

  “My mom was selfish.” That’s the only conclusion I can reach. I look down at Suri, wanting her to understand. Because it’s not just my mom.

  “Someone like that shouldn’t have a fucking pilot’s license. They shouldn’t have children. Or a husband. They shouldn’t be allowed to…put other people at risk that way. It’s wrong, and trust me, it leads to nothing but badness.”

  Silence meets my words, so standing there, in front of her, I can hear the beating of my heart. I look down at Suri—perfect Suri. She’ll make some guy lucky someday.

  “That’s really shitty, Marchant. Really, really shitty that you have to go through this.”

  I grit my teeth because I don’t deserve her niceness. I shouldn’t even be walking here with her.

  It’s time to put an end to this. My dumb confession. “That’s how I became…what I am, okay? My family. I had a rough time a while back and started…started using again. I’m really fucking sorry for getting you tied up in all my shit. I think my point is I’m selfish, just like my mom.”

  And then I disappear around the bend, where I’m alone. The way it should be.

  *

  SURI

  I give him enough time to collect himself. Then I look for him. Which does not go like I thought it would.

  After an hour in the maze, I’m lost and tired. Another half hour and I’ve made it out into the grassy field between the two rows of cottages. It’s a sunny day, with warm, white light splashing through the branches of the huge oak trees. The grass looks so green it almost hurts my eyes.

  I think about Marchant’s story as I walk back to his cottage. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose my parents in that kind of circumstance. It sounds horrible. It definitely gives me more perspective on the Marchant mystery, too.

  When I get to the cottage, I find the front door locked, so I walk around to the back. There’s a note taped to the door.

  “I am going to punish you.”

  I squint down at the handwriting; it’s mess
y and slanted sideways. I glance around once again for Marchant, wondering if he left the note. It had to be him, right? When he doesn’t jump out of the bushes dressed in all leather, I try the door and find it unlocked.

  “Hello?”

  It only takes a minute to confirm I’m alone. I tuck the note into my pocket, intending to ask Marchant about it later, and settle on the couch with a copy of The New Yorker.

  He walks in the front door. He looks surprised to see me and he doesn’t seem to want to meet my eyes.

  He shoves his hands in his pockets and comes to stand a few feet in front of me. “I’m sorry I left you out there. That was a dick move.”

  “I walked through the maze a few times. It was really pretty. No big deal.”

  “Thanks.” He makes a face that’s kind of an eye roll and rubs a hand over his hair. “Hey, I’ve gotta do some stuff today. You want to talk to Tom before they start with the interior sheetrock?

  “Sure.”

  He nods once, then leaves the room. I don’t think about the note again until I’m undressing later that afternoon for a shower.

  And since I’m thinking of him, I’m not entirely surprised when Marchant slips in after me.

  There’s no talking. Just his hands, his mouth, and, when I’m spread out on the warm tile floor with water raining down on me, his cock.

  I’m on my third orgasm by the time I’ve acknowledged that I’m wanting something more from him. After our talk inside the maze, I want to be even closer to him.

  He’s moving inside me, physically as close as he can get, when he leans down and whispers in my ear: “Why do you do this to me?”

  “Why do I do what?” I murmur.

  “Why do you make me feel like everything’s okay?”

  My heart sends warm fuzz through my whole body. “Because it can be okay.” I kiss his mouth and lift my hips to take him deeper.

  22

  MARCHANT

  “You held out on me! You cheater!”

  I smile smugly at the beautiful woman curled up on the couch beside me. “I’m an English major, Suri. ‘Wheel of Fortune’ is my thing.”