“It’s time, Regina. I’m going to give you a bad bitch haircut today because you need it. You need to remember what a bad bitch you are already, and if a haircut is what you need to remember that, then I will give it to you. But you need color to pull this off, so don’t bitch until you see it. I’ve been waiting ten years for you to let me have a go at your hair, and if I need to blindfold you to keep you from harping every time I do something, I’ll do it.”
She might have been kidding or she might have been dead serious, but the color in the bowl she was mixing looked very dark and I couldn’t help but feel butterflies when I thought of what she was going to do. I looked down at my left wrist and sighed. Despite what had happened with Beck and me, I still loved my tattoo and everything it stood for. He had been right about everything he’d said to me during that session, and no matter what happened between us after that, I would always love my tattoo. It hurt though, right now, to look at it. Thinking about Beck twisted my insides, a real physical pain. It was amazing how emotions could make you feel like you were dying.
Charity had to cut a lot. I had been such a fumbling mess, I had cut high parts and low parts, and the only way to save it was a terrifyingly short cut. My hair angled down and swept just past my chin in the front, but stacked so high in the back that Charity had to shave the back of my neck. She’d changed the part from my normal finger combed center part, to a side part with sweeping bangs that were just long enough on the ends to tuck behind my ear.
And it was red. Not stoplight red, but a deep burgundy that almost looked black, but in the sunlight shone with the deeper rosy hues. Cherry Cola, is what Charity had called it.
It would have been awful if I didn’t look so amazing. I didn’t look like me at all. I looked like just what Charity had said I would. I looked like a boss bitch. Staring back at me in the salon mirror was a woman who didn’t let anyone walk all over her. Now, if I could just maintain it on my own, that would be the real test. I left Charity a well-deserved hefty tip and walked out of the salon with texture cream, a new straightener, and instructions on how to do my hair every morning. It didn’t seem that complicated but doing it on my own the next morning would be the real test.
Before I left, Charity did something that she had never done, even in the ten years of my sitting in her various chairs. She hugged me. She didn’t say anything else, didn’t ask any questions; she just hugged me goodbye and handed me my bag of supplies. It felt so nice I almost started crying again, but instead, chose to let the warmth of her silent support seep into my bones, thawing some of the frost that had built up over the course of the night. It was okay, she knew. Sometimes shit happens and you stumble a little. I stumbled a little last night. I would be okay though, I wasn’t alone. I certainly wasn’t the first woman to have a broken heart, and I wouldn’t be the last.
I must have done an amazing job reinventing my image, because Jack and Jeremiah walked right past me at the hotel during check in. We’d caught different flights, so they weren’t necessarily expecting to see me right at that moment, but still, they looked right at me and walked past, zero recognition in their faces. That was okay, I wasn’t going to call out to them. I would see them at the booth in the morning. In a way, it was better. I could just send a text message later that I had checked in, and I wouldn’t have to hang out with them or see their faces unless I had to for trade show business. I hated flying, traveling in general made me nervous and all I wanted to do was hole myself up in my hotel room for the evening, put on my pajamas and order room service.
I was still raw and hurting, and having to pretend to the general public that I was in A-plus condition was exhausting. I needed rest because the first day of the trade show was going to be tough. Jack expected me to be my best professional self, I knew why he wanted me at the booth. He wanted existing customers to meet me, but he also wanted me to bring in new, possibly interested clients. I had more product knowledge and was a better salesperson than most of the people on our staff. He needed me here.
That was another reason I was grateful I didn’t have to deal with Jack right now. He needed me at the booth, but he also wanted me to play the part of the sales vixen, and I was not in the mood to play booth babe just because he needed to skirt the new rules. He could slap whatever skimpy outfit he wanted on me, but at the end of the day, I was still a salesperson. For the millionth time, I wondered why I worked for someone that made me feel so gross.
Because it’s easy.
My inner voice was right, but I didn’t feel like listening. I was physically and mentally exhausted, and needed my rest before getting ready to play the role of a lifetime. If they wanted me to play a part to keep my job, I would play it. But I would do it my way.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
All of the bravado that I had been saving up seemed to dissipate as I walked into the convention center about twenty minutes before the doors opened to buyers. The place was massive, three floors of high ceilings, wide corridors, and a sea of vendor booths as far as the eye could see. Slow Grind Inc. was a huge distributor in the adult and party industry, but the competition was fierce, and there were many, many vendors occupying floor space. This was where the big boys came to place huge orders, not just the tiny little single owner establishments. Investors and buyers from overseas came to trade shows like this one. Trying to find the new moneymaking product and see who can produce it faster and cheaper. Big deals were going to be made today, I needed to be on my toes.
Speaking of my toes, Jack and Jeremiah both raised eyebrows of appreciation at my new haircut but had obvious disdain for my choice of footwear. “It’s like you tried,” Jeremiah said regarding my new hair, “but by the time you were getting dressed this morning you forgot what you would be doing today.”
“Are those loafers? Do people even wear those anymore?”
I ignored Jack’s rhetorical question. I didn’t want to hear that shit from either of them. Both men looked comfortable and professional in their dark slacks and black polo shirts with the Slow Grind log embroidered on the front in neon green. Why did I have to look like I was on the way to a bikini contest just to work the booth? I actually liked my black pantsuit that I had put on for the day. It nipped in at the waist and accentuated my curves in a way that a normal pair of slacks and jacket never could. I’d had it tailored to fit me perfectly, and with my new haircut, I thought I look pretty damned hot. The shoes, I would not budge on. I was going to be standing on a concrete floor for approximately ten hours. The hell I was going to be able to do it wearing a pair of skimpy high heels. Forget it. I would take a lot of shit from Slow Grind for my paycheck, but I wasn’t willing to maim myself and bleed out for it.
“Well, whatever, just put on your pin and let’s get ready.” The pin Jack handed me was a three-inch-tall glowing penis. There was a button on the front, that when pressed, caused an extra light to blink at the tip shaped like a stream of liquid. A squirting cock and balls. That lit up. He wanted me to wear a blinking, ejaculating dick to work the booth at a Las Vegas trade show, where people who spend big money were supposed to be asking me questions and taking me seriously.
Fuck no.
“I would rather quit.”
Jack rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Quit being a drama queen, you sell dicks for a living. This is part of a new bachelorette party line and it’s eye-catching as hell. That is what you need to be in this booth today, eye-catching. So shut up and put it on; here Jeremiah has to wear one too.”
Jeremiah, who up until this point had been quietly laughing at my expense, immediately shut his lips and eyed his pin with horror. “No way, man, I don’t want to wear that. Where’s yours? If I am wearing it you have to wear it, too.” Jeremiah sounded desperate, and for once I agreed with him. A pin like that was eye-catching all right, but it wasn’t going to win us any big sales leads for sure.
Once again, Jack had to remind everyone that he was the big boss and we were the peons. “I’m not wearing that shit, you must be nuts. Besides,
I’m not working the booth. I own the company. It’s my job to walk the floor, meet other distributors and buyers and schedule meetings.” What he really meant was it was his job to walk the floor and fuck off all day. Ten to one he would be balls deep in a hooker by lunch o’clock while Jeremiah and I handled every damn thing at the booth. This might have been my first Vegas show with Slow Grind, but I had heard the stories from guys who previously had been on this trip. Jack liked to party, while everyone else minded the shop. I knew how it worked, and it sucked.
“Put on your pins and smile like you love it. The doors are going to open, I’m off to mingle. Oh, and Regina—please tell me you have something a little more appropriate for the show party tonight.” Jeremiah waited until Jack’s head disappeared around the corner and he was out of sight.
“Fuck this thing. Can’t wear it if it’s broken.” And Jeremiah snapped that pin in half and threw it into the trash can. For once I was completely with him, and I tossed mine into the trash with his. Jack wouldn’t fire us both, and from what I’d heard, we wouldn’t even see him again until the show party that evening. It was a largely Slow Grind sponsored trade show, so our company hosted the show party that brought the buyers and vendors together in a social gathering to celebrate new and old business relationships. It was a huge deal and I was expected to go. It was another part I was supposed to play and I was prepared. It made me grind my teeth to do it, but I had brought an outfit with the appropriate level of Vegas hooker that even Jack couldn’t argue about. I just had to survive working the floor first. Cindy would probably be there, and since she was dating my ex-boyfriend and he worked for her, Richard would probably be at the show with her. It was a huge show, so with any luck I would make it through without running into either of them. It was only a couple of days of agony. I would get through it. Jack would go straight home to Cali from the show, and I could go another few months without having him in my face. With any luck I would be too busy to even think about the shattered pieces of my heart that I’d left amidst the broken glass on the concrete in front of Gallery B.
Busy was not even the correct word to describe the day. Jeremiah didn’t even have time to snark at me, we were overwhelmed with clientele from the minute the doors opened to closing time. We never saw Jack once. I doubted he was even in the convention center anymore, but I knew I couldn’t get lucky enough to skip the after party. He would definitely be there, it was his party, after all.
Since the ban on booth babes took effect, and the rule stated that any female working the booth had to actually be an employee for the company they represented, the scale of women to men tipped drastically in favor of the men. It was a giant sausage party, and customers were flocking to anything with boobs. I recognized them right away, the guys who thought it would be funny to see how many industry words they could embarrass me with. We sold a lot of party games and novelties, but our real money was sex toys. I lost count of how many guys tried to get me to blush while explaining how some of the items they asked about worked. What they didn’t know, but learned relatively quickly, was that I was dead to product embarrassment.
A customer wants to get me to say pocket pussy? I have zero problems saying pocket pussy. I’ll sell a man a case of 144 of them and even randomize the colors for him. Pocket pussies had a seventy percent profit margin. Sales were sales, and even though I hated what I did for a living, I was damn good at it.
Once that handful of derelicts realized I wasn’t going to be any fun, they dispersed, and the real work began. For an underground industry with a ton of competition, there seemed to be a never-ending supply of people wanting to throw money at us. Jeremiah and I answered questions all day long without stopping for a pee break or to eat lunch, and by the time the doors shut and we were able to head back to our own rooms, we were both dead on our feet.
“See you later Reg-eye-na,” Jeremiah said as he headed out of the convention center, most likely back up to his hotel room to get ready for the party. “I still think you are a raging bitch, but it was nice working the booth with someone who knows what the fuck they are doing for once.”
Was . . . was that a compliment? He really did think he was being friendly just now and thank God he wasn’t waiting for me to answer before he disappeared out the huge doorway, because I was literally speechless. Nothing had changed. Jeremiah was still a dick, we’d just managed to work together well all day because we didn’t have time to converse with each other. I’d also made it the entire first day without running into Cindy or Richard, so thank goodness for small favors. The party tonight and two more days of the show. That’s all I had to get through, and then I could leave the mess of my professional life and focus on the mess that was my personal life.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I was late to the party, and Jack was going to be pissed. It was a complete accident, I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but I sat down on the corner of the bed in my hotel after the trade show ended and the next thing I knew my phone was beeping a reminder from my online calendar about the party. I always set reminders, it was a habit. A habit I was glad for because I almost slept through the most important part of the trade show, at least according to Jack. There was no time to even eat, which was probably not going to work well for me because I hadn’t eaten since continental breakfast that morning before the show started.
I barely had time to change into a “shorter than I would have even had the heart to hang in the back of my closet dress,” slip my shoes on, and get out the door. The dress was short but flowy, and the same color burgundy as my hair. I had a moment of heart-wrenching pain when I slid my shoes on, the stiletto’s I didn’t get to wear on my date with Beck, but I didn’t even have time for the memory to hurt because I was in such a hurry.
Almost running as fast as my shoes would let me, I slipped into a party already well on the way. There were half dressed women everywhere, some carrying trays of food and drinks, and some sitting on the laps of the man scattered in dark corners of the venue. Disgusting. The women carrying trays were smiling as they passed out drinks and the women sitting on laps were smiling and laughing as well, but it was fake. It was all fake. Everyone here was putting on a show for the money, even me. The only ones having any fun were the men in charge. People like Jack Fox who thought they owned people as well as things. Who were used to getting what they wanted. I was just like the other women here, half dressed and smiling for cash.
It wasn’t a place I was comfortable being, and I was tempted to turn around and leave the same way I came, silently and quickly, when I felt a hand snake up the bottom of my dress and pinch my bare ass cheek. I had to wear a thong because of dress lines, but that was no excuse for a stranger’s hand to be touching me in such an intimate area.
Fuck a bunch of this shit.
“Hey, asshole, what do you think you are doing?” The words should have come out of my mouth, but they didn’t. Instead, it was Richard behind me with his hand on a strange man’s arm, looking angry and indignant on my behalf.
“I need a whiskey sour,” the obviously drunk man slurred, half bent over and completely oblivious to the fact that Richard had hold of his arm.
“Then ask an actual server here, and don’t just grab any of them by the ass either, ya prick.” The drunk wasn’t paying attention to Richard though, he had already seen a server in another direction and shook off Richards’s grip, mind already wandering to the place where he would get his next drink.
I should have been grateful to Richard, and part of me was, but damn it I wish it had been anyone else. Even Jeremiah would have been preferable, and that was saying a lot because I hated his stupid face. He put his hand on my arm, I assumed to make sure I was okay, but Richard looked startled for a moment, and I’d forgotten about my new hair. It was clear from the expression on his face that he hadn’t recognized me when he’d come to my defense, and part of me wondered if he would have stopped to help so quickly if he had known it was me and not some stranger.
“Wha
t are you doing?” His question sounded ridiculous to me, why would he even ask me something so obvious?
“I’m working.”
“What is your job? Call girl? What the hell are you wearing? This isn’t like you.” His words were a hiss, angry and low. He didn’t have the right to be angry with me, especially for the way I dressed. He didn’t have the right to feel any way about me at all, as a matter of fact. The thin mud walls I had hastily rebuilt over my rapidly slipping self-control were cracking a bit. I couldn’t afford to let go here, the angry feelings needed to stay bubbling below the surface. This was work, I had to keep it together through this party, then another two days. Then everything could go back to normal. Well, normal enough.
“Richard, who are you talking to?” Cindy approached through the crowd, her head turning right and left like she had been searching for him for a while. There were lines of distress on her face, and it made me wonder if she had more on her plate than she could handle, trying to keep Richard in line.
“Nobody important, Cindy,” I said as I extricated my arm from Richard’s grasp.
“Regina?” she gasped the question when she recognized me despite my new hair. “What did you do to yourself? Are you having a breakdown?” Unlike Richard, Cindy did not keep her voice down. Her shrill accusation cut through the smoke and the noise in the room and several heads turned at the interruption. Several heads including Jack Fox. The oh shit what now look on his face turned to one of consternation as he bore down on our little display, Jeremiah in tow.
Jesus Christ, was this my fault too? I wasn’t putting myself in these situations, I was being thrust into the center of a giant cosmic circle jerk completely against my will. Yanking my arm from Richard’s hand, I straightened and stared Cindy down. Enough was enough, this was too much. I had no problem accepting when I was wrong, but this entire situation was none of my doing. I had been struggling all along, just trying to get through this trip without someone digging away at me, but that was all that was happening.
The Permanence of Pain Page 10
