“So nervous,” I answered with a wave.
“You can do this,” she said, and my uncle, sister, and cousins all cheered.
The room became a hustling bustle of reporters and cameramen as they began to set up the press conference. Someone from the Associated Press who seemed to be the head honcho came over to speak with me.
“Are you all ready to go, Ms. Cox?” the tall woman in a navy blazer and matching skirt asked. She wore a paisley scarf around her neck in shades of jade, navy and white.
“Yes, ma’am!” I nodded and gave her my biggest, most confident smile. Inside, my stomach was churning, and there was so much adrenaline coursing through my body I thought I could probably run a marathon. I took in a series of deep breaths, reminding myself how much easier that was to do when I wasn’t wearing a corset.
“We’re a go in three minutes,” she told me, then turned to the reporter who was standing nearby.
I scanned the room again, which had filled up almost to capacity. I was grateful Buster’s boyfriend allowed us to use this room at The Roost for our meetings. It was the perfect space to hold the press conference as well. As my eyes passed over all the faces of everyone in the audience, I realized I was subconsciously looking for Marcus. Cy. Whoever the hell he was.
Why did he have to turn out to be a Sweet?
I had been running the film reel of all of our time together through my head on repeat since our confrontation at the hospital last night. And I had kept looking at my phone all day to see if he would try to text or call. My phone was buzzing right and left with people affiliated with tonight’s press conference, but there was nothing from Marcus.
Ugh, I couldn’t quit thinking of him as Marcus, my sweet, nerdy Brit with the amazing kiss and magical oral skills. Part of me wanted to ask if we could just put all of our differences aside for a few moments so I could experience one parting orgasm delivered on the tip of his tongue, but I supposed that was out of the question.
Was anything we shared real? Was he just using me to get intel for his parents the entire time, or did he actually like me? Did he stalk me at the hospital to come clean about his identity? I didn’t exactly give him a chance to explain.
The reporter looked at me and nodded before turning back to the camera. Someone else counted down with the last few numbers silent, and a hush fell over the room. I tried to listen to what the reporter was saying, but my mind was hopelessly caught in a loop of questions about Marcus. Ugh. Cy.
I glanced down at the microphone in front of me, prepared to spill my guts into it while looking into the camera with all the charisma and persuasion I could muster. Next thing I knew, the reporter was turning to me, indicating it was go time. I took a deep breath before letting the speech I’d rehearsed fly:
“Hello, I’m Jolie Cox, and my fellow employees of Sweetopia and I are gathered here today to inform the public of how Sweet Enterprises treats us. I’m a single mom, and my son has cystic fibrosis. He’s not able to be here tonight because he’s in the hospital undergoing treatment for CF, but his older brother Reed is here.
“Since being employed at Sweetopia, which has been approximately six months now, I’ve had to miss eight days of work. They’ve threatened to fire me repeatedly, even though doing so would be in violation of the Family Medical Leave Act. In addition, I’m forced to sit in one spot for hours at a time in a very restrictive costume with only one one-hour break each day. Many times, I need to work overtime to accommodate the long lines of guests wanting to meet the character I portray in the park, which is The Red Velvet Queen. The Sweets do not pay an overtime rate for this extra time, so I’m paid at my regular rate, which is only twelve dollars an hour.”
As soon as I revealed my hourly wage, gasps rose from the audience. The Associated Press lady I’d spoken with earlier signaled for me to keep speaking, so I did.
“I have to work a second job to pay off my son’s medical expenses because the health care coverage I get through Sweet Enterprises is so abysmal. I had to meet a fifteen hundred dollar patient deductible, and our family has to meet a five thousand dollar deductible before insurance even kicks in. My son requires frequent doctor visits, hospital stays, and is on a number of prescriptions. I hit the threshold for the deductible in only a couple of weeks on the policy. I am also responsible for twenty percent of all the expenses we incur—”
My eyes darted to the back of the room when I detected a shuffle. I saw some of the men I know who work security in the park attempting to barricade the doors, and loud shouts echoed down the center aisle to where the cameramen were set up.
“Just a moment,” the reporter said to me, holding up one finger. The main camera turned from me to him. “There appears to be a struggle at the back of the room. Let me remind you that we’re live at The Roost in East Naples covering the live press conference of the Sweetopia employees who are accusing their employer of unfair labor practices, low wages, and insufficient benefits.”
Pandemonium erupted as the doors burst open and a horde of people rushed in. I recognized Mr. and Mrs. Sweet along with their sons Clem and Carson. One of the sons—I could never keep them straight—attempted to rush the reporter and take his microphone, but he was immediately tackled by two of the security guards. People bolted from their seats, some joining in the melee and some scrambling for safety. My mother grabbed Reed by the hand and led him to the front corner of the room where there the American and Florida flags stood respectively.
My heart was thrashing against my ribcage when I glanced at the open double doors at the back of the room and watched Cyrus Sweet push his way through the crowd, making a beeline toward his father. Mr. Sweet was shouting at the reporter, something about how I was an unfit mother and made money spanking and whipping men. Then he claimed my son didn’t even have cystic fibrosis.
I stood up, the rage inside me unable to be contained. I began screaming at the top of my lungs into my microphone, which had apparently been left on. “The Sweets can all just go to hell as far as I’m concerned! We’re calling for a boycott. If anyone watching this has made plans to visit Sweetopia in the future, please stay home. Please don’t spend one cent supporting this horrible family who has no compassion or morals!”
As I was speaking, I witnessed a shouting match between Cy and his father, then the security guards escorted all the Sweets out of the room. All except for Cy. He pushed his way through the remaining guards and Sweetopia employees, giving them a line on repeat, but with all the hubbub, I couldn’t understand him. Next thing I knew, he crossed in front of the table where our microphones were set up and made his way around the end, tapping Buster, who sat next to me, on the shoulder until he surrendered his chair.
Cy still had the scruffy beard but wasn’t wearing the glasses. When he sat down in Buster’s spot wearing a light blue button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, the crowd’s murmurs died down and everyone took their seats presumably to hear what he had to say.
“Is this thing on?” He tapped the microphone in front of Buster’s chair. The sound carried through the PA system, so he smiled and glanced around at the crowd then directly at me before he took a deep breath and began to speak.
“Good evening, I’m Cyrus Sweet, youngest son of Corden and Ophelia Sweet.” Murmurs began to stir up again amongst the crowd, but when he continued, everyone silenced so they could hear him. “I spent the last few weeks on an undercover assignment in Sweetopia. Did you guys ever see that show Undercover Boss?” There were some nods and affirmative mumbles. “That’s basically what I was doing.
“My parents wanted me to investigate to see who was leading the employee revolt. They knew there had been some talk of a strike and boycott, and they wanted to know who was behind it so they could fire them immediately. They actually bribed me to bring them the information.”
More gasps and murmurs rose until Cy began speaking again: “During my time in The Bard’s Bakery, I worked for Colleen Neese, seated down the table here, and I also
worked with Jolie Cox. I learned a great deal about the park I didn’t know previously from the human resources side, and I have to say that my eyes were opened to the way employees are treated. I believe the individual area managers such as Colleen in the bakery and Buster Baxter in the arcade do a phenomenal job. The problem with the park lies in senior management, namely, my family.”
Another round of gasps and shocked whispers began to rumble amongst the crowd. Cy glanced out and offered a humble grin to everyone before continuing once more, “I first want to apologize to everyone at Sweetopia whom I deceived with my undercover mission. I truly never meant to hurt anyone. I didn’t understand what it was like to be a Sweetopia employee until I saw how our policies affected everyone. I’m here tonight because I want to take a stand against these policies. I want to call upon my parents to reevaluate their salary structure and leave policies. I want to challenge them to go back to the drawing board where their health insurance is concerned and to shop around for a different carrier with better, more comprehensive plans with lower premiums and deductibles.”
As soon as he said those words, the crowd was on its feet, clapping and cheering and hollering. I looked over at Cy, who was eating up the crowd’s response. He did a fist-pumping action and beamed as his eyes trailed over the faces of all the Sweetopia employees who had come out to support ME and MY attempt to stand up to The Man, otherwise known as Corden Sweet.
And now he was stealing all my attention. Besides that fact—it wasn’t as though Cyrus Sweet really had any power at all. His parents were going to do what they wanted. I doubted they cared about their son’s little publicity stunt.
I stood up, taking my microphone off its stand so I could drop a little truth bomb on my fellow employees. “Does anyone really think the Sweets are going to do a damn thing if we don’t hit them where it really hurts: in their bank accounts? Does anyone really think anything is going to change without a strike and boycott of the park? What was it Thomas Jefferson said? ‘The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.’ My fellow Sweetopia employees, we must fight back against these tyrants. Yes, the Sweets are tyrants. And yes, we’ll have to make sacrifices and prepare ourselves to go without a paycheck, but we have to stand our ground, or we won’t see real change.”
Cy stood beside me, also untethering his microphone from its holder. But instead of addressing the reporters and the crowd, he turned to me. “Jolie, I’m doing the best I can here. I support your efforts. How else can I show you I’m on your side?”
I didn’t expect him to make this about me and him, but two could play at that game. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe by admitting that you came on to me as part of your undercover mission, making me think you really cared about me, but instead, you just wanted to get information on the employee uprising?”
“That’s not true!” he fired back, his eyes glittering with emotion, possibly the beginnings of tears. “I hated lying to you! I know it looks like I used you to glean information, but trust me, every second I spent with you was because I wanted to. Because I couldn’t stay away from you…” His voice grew softer as he lowered the microphone from his mouth and let his own truth bomb fly: “Because I was falling in love with you…”
16
Cy
I sure as hell didn’t mean for those words to come out, especially not in front of a room full of people, but hey, at least I didn’t shout them into the microphone. It became apparent that everyone heard me when silence blanketed the room.
“‘Was?’” she whispered back, her voice choking up. “Past tense?”
“No…” I shook my head, then I set my microphone on the table and took hers from her hand, placing it next to mine. I didn’t know what the crowd was doing. I didn’t know if the cameras were still rolling and focused on us. I didn’t care in the slightest bit.
“No, Jolie, I came to the hospital last night to tell you, to come clean about who I am. I planned to tell you about the feelings I have for you. I didn’t have a choice about going undercover. My parents and brothers didn’t think I’d been pulling my weight with the family business, so they told me to accept the mission, or I was basically fired from the company—and the family. So I did it. I had no idea you were involved in the rebel alliance—or whatever you want to call it—”
“Was that a Star Wars reference?” she asked, one side of her lip tilting into a half-smile. “I mean, that was what we called it behind the scenes—and it was totally a Star Wars reference.”
“Why, yes, yes, it was,” I fully admitted with a smile stretching my lips into a wide grin.
“You really are a nerd then?” she questioned with hope shining through her voice.
“Oh yes!” I nodded adamantly. “I didn’t make any of that up. I don’t need glasses, but I sure do love me some Renaissance art, sci-fi movies, archaeology and astronomy and Monty Python. And Harry Potter.”
She laughed, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Is it bad that makes the lying about your identity a hell of a lot easier to swallow?”
I squeezed her hands in mine. “I don’t really have a British accent either…though I do actually speak French. The British thing was part of my disguise, but I can certainly reprise it on occasion if you want. Maybe as a special treat?”
She looked down at our entwined hands for a moment, and when she looked back up at me, she had a tear glimmering in the corner of her gray-violet eyes. She pushed her shoulder-length hair behind her ear. “You really do like me like this? Like Jolie Cox? Single mom, actress-wannabe and dominatrix on the side?”
“Well, we may need to talk more about that side gig, but abso-fucking-lutely,” I whispered back. “Can you handle that I’m not a poor college grad from London with severe myopia?”
“Well, you’re going to be poor now if your parents disown you, aren’t you?” she joked, a little laugh spilling out of her mouth.
“Maybe,” I admitted with a shrug. “Tell me…are you falling in love with me?”
She straightened her shoulders and fixed her gaze on me. “I wanted to deny it. I kept telling myself my feelings weren’t real and didn’t matter; all that mattered was taking care of my kids. I even tried to tell myself I was selfish for wanting something for myself…”
“But?”
“But I want to see where it goes with you,” she admitted, “because I can’t seem to stop thinking about you. And even after I found out who you really were…I still wanted you. And not for the money, either! Obviously…if you’re going to stand up to your parents like this…”
I smiled at her, still oblivious to what was going on in the rest of the room. “I have a surprise for you outside. Will you come with me?”
“Are we done here?” Her eyes finally broke their focus on me to glance around the room. The Sweetopia employees were cleaning up, folding tables and chairs. The press was putting away its equipment. “Did we miss it?”
A middle-aged lady who looked uncannily like Jolie bounded up toward the stage with a little boy who was carrying a tablet. “What happened?” Jolie asked her.
“It’s over. They interviewed Colleen and Buster, and then the press conference finished up. I think they had to go back to the local news,” the woman explained.
“Oh, Mom, this is Cy Sweet. Cy, this is my mother, Felicia Cox.”
I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Cox.”
“Please, call me Felicia. So what did they do with your parents and brothers?” she questioned.
“No idea. Let’s go find out!” I gestured toward the open aisle and noticed others were starting to filter into the restaurant. We were set up in the back room reserved for parties and receptions. The dinner crowd was still thick, especially for a weeknight. I wondered how many dinners were ruined when my family busted their way through the restaurant and into the private room. It was another thing in a long list of items I felt embarrassed about regarding my family. But at least I had done something to stand
up for Jolie and the other Sweetopia employees. It wasn’t enough, not yet, but it was a start. I had more tricks up my sleeve.
Jolie tugged on my arm to stop me before we exited the room. “Cy, this is my son, Reed,” she said, her hands on the young boy’s shoulders. “Say hi to Mr. Sweet.”
“Hi, Mr. Sweet,” Reed parroted before holding up the tablet so I could see it. “This is my brother, River.”
“Hi, River!” I said, waving at the little boy I saw in the hospital bed, recognizing him from the night before. The boy and the crowd surrounding the bed all waved back.
“Hey, I just saw you on TV!” the little boy exclaimed, his blue eyes gleaming. He had pale skin and dark hair, darker than his mother’s, but I could definitely see he had her nose and lips.
“We’re going to go outside for a few minutes,” Jolie told River. “But after we finish up here, we’ll come over to the hospital, alright?”
“Okay, Mommy!”
My heart ached for that little boy in the hospital bed. I was glad he was surrounded by so many loved ones, but I felt terrible about the horrible disease he lived with, the disease that would someday claim his life unless a cure was found. Jolie reached down and grabbed my hand, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. It eased the pain I felt for the little boy on the screen, but it could never take it away.
I led the group out and around the side of the restaurant to where the deck began. It was a long, elevated structure that overlooked the inlet below that flowed into Naples Bay. Its wooden posts were surrounded by reeds and cattails, and we could hear the locusts and frogs starting up their evening concert.
“I’m just going to run to my car and get something, and I’ll be right back, okay?” I asked. “Can you and your family wait for me on the deck?”
Jolie nodded. I watched her whisper something to her mom before the older woman and the young boy followed her down the path toward the steps to the deck. I headed over to my ’69 Camaro—boy, it was great to be driving it again—immediately noticing that a small crowd had gathered around it.
Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology Page 58
