Package Deal

by Jess Bentley

  I probably could have gotten a two-for-one deal on him and Gloria both.

  So instead I drum my fingers on my knee and stare out the passenger-side window. We slow down at one point, well before we get to my building, and I realize that Jake is pulling up to a drive-through juice bar.

  “I know just the thing,” he says. “This place makes a great herbal bubble tea for stress and anxiety. They’ve been here for a few years. Nothing gross, either — you’ll like it.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say, like an idiot. “Um… thanks.”

  A few minutes later he hands me a drink, and I give it a taste test. Herbal hoodoo isn’t really my bag. Western medicine for me, thanks — I’ve seen Mama go through everything from Reiki to acupuncture to six-hour chakra realignment workshops, and that’s not even including the laundry list of “miraculous” herbal supplements she’s tried.

  I don’t know if this herbal thing is going to do anything for my nerves or not, but it’s delicious and that right there is medication enough for me. “Thank you,” I tell Jake. “It’s really good.”

  “Glad you like it.”

  All the way home I expect that any moment he’s going to make a move. And, honestly, if he did this would be his lucky night. Who knows why, other than the fact that it’s been ages since I got any, but I’m primed for it at this very moment.

  He doesn’t, though. Jake Ferry is, mysteriously, a perfect gentleman all the way home, even up to the point where he walks me to my door. I work the key into the lock while he keeps a lookout for any danger, I guess, and when I’ve got it, push it open a bit and then turn to lean on it and watch him. I will him to make some kind of a move because I am not going to be the one that goes crawling after him like some puppy.

  “I hope you feel better,” he says, instead of taking me upstairs. In fact, he takes a step down, and looks up at me with those smoldering eyes. They stay on mine, which, in this dress, has to be an act of will worthy of Viking ballads. “Have a good night, Janie.”

  “Yeah,” I say, numb with need, taking in his cheekbones, his square jaw, his ruffled hair. His broad shoulders. “You too.”

  A last smile, and then he’s gone, and I’m rushing inside to get ahold of myself.

  I’m in the elevator, totally alone — except for whoever eventually watches the security tapes — before I sag against the wall and let my breath catch up to my racing heart. Heat surges between my legs, and I’m swirling away in thoughts of Jake Ferry, of his large, warm hands, his soft-looking mouth and… whatever else he’s got to work with.

  By the time I get to my floor, I’m ready to ooze out of the elevator and leave a trail all the way to my apartment door. I rush to get into my place, shaking slightly until I can finally unzip my dress and recline on my couch, my fingers quickly working to get Jake out of my mind — or deeper into it, depending on your point of view, I suppose.

  Flicking and stroking myself, I imagine those eyes looking up at me from my wet pussy as he laps at me, his tongue teasing me, and I can already feel the growing heat and tension beginning to build and —

  As if he can hear me thinking dirty thoughts about him, my phone chimes loudly from inside my bra and I jerk my hand away from my sex like I’ve been caught by my grandma. It’s Jake. How did he even get my number? Never mind. There’s probably some billionaire boys’ club you just dial up like 411.

  “You getting some rest?” he asks.

  I roll my eyes. “Something like that. Trying to relax. Unwind.”

  “Good. Sorry. Just thinking about you.”

  Just thinking about me? I half wonder if he’s jerking off in his car the same way I was about to rub one out. “Don’t think too hard,” I text him. “Dangerous to drive one-handed.”

  Once I hit send, only then do I realize what I’ve just done. It’s a long time before he texts me back.

  “Fine now, both hands on the wheel.”

  I get the image of Jake in my mind, stroking himself while he imagines me in the passenger seat, rubbing my clit for him. The image comes unbidden, out of nowhere, and with it comes a pile of misgivings. Do I really want to get sucked in by Jake Ferry? Everything he does comes with strings attached — Reginald Ferry’s strings, whether Jake means it or not.

  No… it’s better if I don’t. So, I won’t. I turn my ringer off, and put my phone on the table facedown.

  I won’t.

  Jake

  Reginald’s invitation to what he calls the “Big Boys Club” — his shareholder meeting — is the first I’ve received, but it’s not precisely an honor. “You need to meet these men,” he tells me, “if you plan on taking over my company when I retire.”

  The implied consequence, of course, is that failure to attend is tantamount to turning down that offer. And I almost do. But then again, being there means I know what they discuss, and for all I know my absence means they’ll be discussing how to establish someone else as Reginald’s heir — or worse, how to blacklist me entirely in every venue they can.

  Instead, they discuss plans for Janie Hall’s location. The meeting is at a massive cabin upstate, about an hour’s drive into the foothills at the edge of a sparkling lake. One of Reginald’s vacation properties. Seated around the large meeting room at the back of the luxury cabin, his fifteen principle shareholders pass around Cuban cigars, hundred-year-old whiskey, and discuss the men’s lodge they plan to put where Red Hall currently stands — as if it’s a foregone conclusion that Janie will be out of business any day now.

  “It is, Jack,” Reginald tells the one man who bothers to ask that very question. He claps me on the shoulder. “My boy is on it. Janie Hall’s pussy is so wet for him, he’ll have her right where we want her in no time.”

  “Not right where we want her,” Paul, a man old enough to be my grandfather, says lasciviously. He laughs as he makes the universal sign for blowjob, and the rest of the shareholders join in.

  Reginald laughs along with them, and winks at me. “I’m sure Jake wouldn’t mind passing her around — would you, son?”

  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.

  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,” h
e 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.