by Aven Jayce
“Please tell me you’re taking the afternoon off.” She tosses the underwear back in the drawer, looking for the black ones.
“Of course I am.”
“Good, make sure you dress well.”
“Excuse me? I know what to wear to these things. Jules, slow down, you’re going nuts.”
“It’s late!”
“Just shower and dry your hair and slip into the dress. That should take thirty minutes, tops.”
“I’m not a man! I’ve got to prep. I need to shave and—”
“Shave what?”
“My legs!”
I look down and shake my head. “They look fine to me.”
“I have stubble! And I need to do my makeup! And my hair! I’m late with my hair!”
“Chill. Is this what I have to look forward to for our wedding?”
“Yes!” She runs into the bathroom, turning on the shower. “Find something to wear!” she calls out. “I want to approve it!”
“Approve it? No. You are not dressing me.”
“Wear black.”
“I always do!” God, sometimes she can be such a woman. Fuck, not sometimes, all the time. “I was going to wear one of my black Jameson Hotel robes—the one with the gold stitching. Elegant, swanky, and easy access after the ‘I do’s’ for the two of us to fuck. Just untie and go.”
I look to the bathroom doorway, hearing a tapping foot on the tile floor. Yep, arms crossed, mouth twisted, brows furrowed... “What?” I ask.
“You’re such a romantic. Get dressed. Wear the Armani.”
“Ah, how predictable. Why don’t I wear a sign around my neck that says ‘I’ve fallen into the groove of human boredom.’”
“What is with you this morning? Lack of sex? Is all that sperm building up, making it’s way to your head, drowning what few brain cells you have left?”
“Yep.”
“Mark!”
I chuckle and open the closet door, thumbing through my suits, coming across one that has a Christmas gift for her in the front packet. I place the small box in my pants and walk out. “Just trying to make you laugh. It’s going to be a great day, I can tell already. It’s forty-five degrees, the sun’s out, birds are singing...”
“Okay, enough. You sound like a girl.”
“... your tits are in need of a good fuck, your ass, pussy, and mouth too. Perhaps an ear.”
“Now that sounds more like you. Don’t forget my armpit, you wouldn’t want to pass up a good armpit fuck.”
“Never.”
The shower door closes as a text sounds on my cell. Cove. I wonder if he’s this frenzied too.
Hey. You there?
No. I reply.
Funny. What’s your song?
Huh?
Soph and I have a song. U wanna dance with Jules after ours? YOUR song?
I think for a moment, sending something clever back to him. I’m a troll. Fol-de-rol.
Fucktard. He responds.
OK... Centerfold, J. Geils Band.
Holy old school. U weren’t even born yet. So NOT classy. Think about Jules.
Easy... Super Freak, Rick James.
Cut the shit.
Hold on then.
“Jules! Cove’s getting some tunes together for the wedding. What song do you want to dance to?” I step into the shower room and place my hand on the misted glass, watching her blurred body as she shaves her legs. Only small glimpses of her flesh can be seen through the rising steam and clouded door... a hip, a moment later a breast, then the back of her neck, all beautifully arousing. I request a better view once the blade is back on the caddy. “Give me a window so I can see you.”
She uses her middle finger to wipe the fog, playfully sticking out her tongue when I peer inside.
“Thanks. Anyway, did you hear me? A song for the wedding. It sounds like we have the second dance.”
“Oh! My Humps. The Black Eyed Peas.”
“Fuck that. I’ll think of something on my own if you’re tossing out chick music. Sounds like he doesn’t want anything old school anyway.”
“If it’s our dance, it shouldn’t matter what Cove wants. I say screw him and tell him what you like.”
“Good point. How come you don’t have a song for us? That’s a woman thing.”
“I beg your pardon?” The water stops and she grabs a towel from outside the door, drying off before wrapping her hair, turban style. “Since you were acting sweet earlier, I bet you can come up with one.”
“If you’d stop acting all mannish, you’d already have one. Get in the mood. Put on something pink and paint your nails all sparkly and shit, I bet the song will come to you.”
“Fuck off... why haven’t you changed?” she asks.
“Fuck off yourself. Because I still have an hour and forty-five minutes. In man years, that’s like two days.”
“Man years? Like dog years? See, there’s something really weird about you today. If it’s not from lack of sex, maybe it has something to do with walking away from murdering my dad... wow, that sounds so crazy, doesn’t it? Gee, thanks for not killing my dad,” she says satirically. “You are a changed man, now think of something that reminds you of our year together and that can be our song.”
“Perfect. Stupid Hoe by Nicki Minaj it is.”
“If you text him that, then tell him I want Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance.”
“How about She Bangs?”
“Blah Blah Blah by Ke$ha is my response to that!”
“Okay.” I think for a moment. “I suppose we can agree on Jimmy Buffett’s Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw since that’s how we spend all of our days.”
“That can’t be the title of a song.” She applies deodorant and puts on her bra.
“It’s before your time... and mine, shit, I just thought of one that will work.” I text him my request, refusing to tell her what it is, she’ll catch on when she hears it. “By the way, Jimmy gets bonus points for that drunk, screwing song. The lyrics mention that he buys a waterbed. The ultimate lovemaking machine, just a few rocks and the waves do all the work.”
“Yuck. Sounds like it’s right out of a bad porno... bow chicka wow wow! I’d be gone, out the door if you owned one of those.”
“Mental note made—another way to end our relationship if you get outta line. Bring home a waterbed and watch you flee. That’s a hell of a lot easier than burying you under my garage.”
She pinches my cheek, letting me know she’s enjoying my lively mood. “Let’s check your wound before you change into your outfit for the wedding.”
My shirt’s lifted and the bandage removed. She wets a washcloth and proceeds to clean the small hole.
“I got screwed.”
“That you did,” she says in a focused tone, her head lowered, poking around the area. “I think it needs a few stitches.”
“Still bleeding?”
“A little. The flesh looks mangled, like it was twisted through a meat grinder.”
“In a way, that’s what happened.”
“Give me the medical kit and I’ll make you brand spanking new again.”
She takes the needle to the dresser, sterilizing the tip with my lighter, ready to thread.
“I like this... you and me, together. It’s good,” I say when she walks back to the bathroom.
“It’s always good when no one else is around.”
“That’s what turns our lives to shit, interacting with other people.”
“We can’t live in a cave.”
“Hmm. Maybe a house in the woods?”
“That’s what the Jameson is, a castle in the pines.” After three needle piercings, she pulls the suture, snips, and ties it, placing a small bandage over the area and patting me on the side when she’s finished. “You want a sucker?”
“What I want is for you to open this.” I take out the small red box, the gift I picked up from the closet when I was thumbing throu
gh my suits. “An early Christmas present.”
Her hands shake and lips are tight in excitement. “Last time you gave me a gift this size it was my engagement blade... is it another weapon? Or a necklace? Can’t be a ring. That’s unlike you. Must be a sex toy. Another thimble vibrator?”
“Not saying. Just open it.”
The black bow is tugged and comes undone. She lifts the red velvet lid and takes out a slip of paper. “What is this?” She unfolds it curiously. “An address?”
“Ours.”
“What? Land?”
My head shakes, no.
“You bought us a house!”
“No.” I raise my hand. “Wait. Before you get too excited, I bought a getaway cabin. One day a week, you can have the distance you need away from my luxury hotel. Go off on an escape. That’s what it is, an escape. Thirty minutes from here, higher up in the mountains, still a nice view of the lake... four acres. Small but charming, and you can be away from the hundreds of people who stay here each night.”
“No fucking way!” she screams, jumping into my arms. “This is amazing! I can’t believe you broke down and did this for me! Holy shitballs. Oh, my god!”
I knew she’d love it.
“You’re coming with me though. It’s ours, not mine. Our retreat?”
“You and me, endless nights of hot sex in our new place. I can’t wait.”
“Sounds perfect. Oh, I can’t wait to see it! Does it have electricity?”
“What?” I laugh. “Maybe I shouldn’t have called it a cabin. It’s a home, a log cabin home. It has everything you’d find in a house downtown, minus the noise. Like I said, we’ll take off one night a week and return here in the morning, spend the holidays there too.”
“Two nights a week?”
“Maybe.”
“And what about Jack?”
“Short term, I’m gonna let him spend Christmas Eve at the ski resort. I saw on his Facebook feed that Emma’s having a party at her cabin. He’s bitching that he can’t go. I thought it would be a fun gift for him, and it will give us some time alone. If he doesn’t do anything foolish that night, like get so piss ass drunk he can’t stand, then maybe he can stay with his friends on the nights we spend at the cabin.”
“Incredible. Thank you.” She gives me a kiss and grins wildly. “This is beyond anything I’d ever imagined.” Her hands run down my chest. “Especially you.”
“Alright, that’s enough. We’re both starting to sound like a couple of starry-eyed twats.” I smack her ass, heading back to the closet when someone knocks. “Bet that’s Sophia.”
“Can you get it and tell her to come upstairs? Then explain to me what a starry-eyed twat is?”
I whistle on my way down, stopping for a quick shot of bourbon. Hell, two shots of bourbon. It’s a wedding. I’m getting drunk.
“Mark, let her in!”
Too late, Sophia uses the keypad and lets herself in, hurrying past me with Angie and a blonde in tow. Must be Jules’ friend, Michelle. They’re wearing identical mid-length black dresses, likely what they picked up in Reno, and they already have their hair done. I didn’t realize this was gonna be such a production.
The door to the bathroom’s closed when I get back upstairs. High-pitched voices, giggles, and loud bursts of laughter explode over a whirring hairdryer. This is what it must be like to have teenage girls, only these are grown women. I wonder if they’ve already hit the bottle, like me.
I dress in my finest black suit, finger comb my hair; put on cufflinks and a dab of cologne. I’m set. Check, check, and check.
I hear the words cake, rings, sex, and cabin on my way to the entryway door. Chatty, gossipy women.
Girl talk. Time to get the fuck out of here.
“Well, look at you,” I say to Jack, watching him slip out the suite door right behind me. “Nice suit.”
He straightens his tie, swipes his sleeves, and tugs on the bottom of the jacket. “Stylish?”
“And mature.”
“Where to?”
“A stroll. Making the rounds.”
He follows a few feet behind as I walk the second floor corridor. I stop at the tables, fixing the pine branches, noticing he’s watching my every move. When I straighten, he straightens another table. If I pick up a piece of fuzz from the carpet, he looks for one too. I adjust a wall sconce and walk by another that has a burned out bulb, pointing with a whisper to get it replaced. He points and whispers to have it replaced.
“You bored?” I ask.
“Curious.”
“This isn’t what I do. It’s just a spot check. My job’s down in the office eight hours a day, sometimes ten.”
I continue walking, inspecting everything in all the spaces, checking the pool, dressing areas, weight room, and ending in the lobby. I sit in one of the club chairs and cross my legs while Jack joins me in a chair to my left. Cove strolls in with his sons, the three well-dressed in suits like us. He sits in a chair to my right while the boys keep busy, trying to guess the number of ornaments on the tree.
“Three men, next to a blazing fire in the middle of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, got our guns ready, waitin’ to kill us a bear,” I say in my best western cowboy drawl.
“I feel like a mobster,” Jack says, leaning back with one arm over the back of the chair. “Cowboys are lame, Dad. We’re all in black suits, and you’re the boss of the family, sitting between us. Uncle Cove and I will protect you from any gangsters that come through the door.”
I pull him closer and tousle his hair out of love. “Whattaya think, Cove?”
He snaps at Dax to come out from under the tree before saying, “I think cowboys are crude, mob bosses are brutal, and business men in well-tailored suits who care about their futures, their wives, and what their vibrant sons are going to become as they grow older, are refined.”
I pat his knee and mutter, “I can always depend on my little brother-in-law to shine a light on what’s important. Are you doing okay? You ready?”
“Everything’s happening so fast. I don’t remember feeling this way when we got married in the courthouse. The boys are all sugared up from Christmas cookies, Sophia’s in a rush, and there’re women here I’ve never even met.”
“That’s what weddings are like. Everyone’s racing around and the whole day becomes a blur. You’ll remember half of it.”
We sit back and admire the afternoon lunch rush, watching the guests come and go, either on their way downtown or to my restaurant. I realized years ago that I’ll never know the majority of these people. They pay to use one of my beds for a night then disappear in the morning. I guess in some ways that makes me a pimp. I make a buck selling beds. Kind of ironic considering my dad paid people to fuck in them.
“Wow, did you—”
“I see ‘em,” I reply to Cove, noticing the women heading to the restaurant. “They cleaned up well, at least mine did.”
“I wouldn’t repeat that in front of them unless you want a heel up your ass.”
“More than one heel, I’m sure.”
The twins run ahead as Jack lags behind on our way to the private room in the restaurant. I’m reminded of what a difference a few years makes with these kids. “The never-ending balls of energy will soon become girl-crazed, social media obsessed, drooling, zombies. Then they’ll move out of the house and you’ll wish you had your zombies back, because having a zombie around is better than nothing.” I nod toward our crew of kids. Jack’s nose is planted in his cell and his middle finger flies high. “Lower it for now. You can flip me off once we’re in the private room.”
“You worried about Sam?” Cove asks.
“Not one bit. What’s he gonna do next time? Slap me silly with a butter knife? The guy’s stuck in the past. Not like we can’t relate, you and me. But I think we’re finally stepping out of the boots that have been stuck in that mud hole for years.”
He nods in agreement.
“Sam’s freakin’ lucky I had just returned from the station and didn’t have any weapons on me. Otherwise, I would’ve turned and stuck my blade in his head, no questions asked.”
“Yeah?” he asks with an inquisitive look. “So you still want to kill him, even if he steps away? Even after what Jack said? You angry? Because after I ate breakfast with him yesterday, when he apologized and explained the bind he was in back then, he started reminding me of my dad, but then the fucker stabbed you and now I despise him again. I don’t know what I’d do if I were in your position.”
“I’m angry, of course.” I see Jules ahead in a slim black dress that matches the rest of the women’s. Her hair’s up with a few strands framing the sides of her face. She’s talking to her mom, and as far as I can tell, Sam’s not around. I wink when she turns our way and she winks back. “Let’s just say the marching orders he was given last night hurt him more than anything I could’ve done, and we’ll leave it at that.”
“So you’re through?”
“With what?”
“You know, the whole punishment, vigilante thing.”
An enduring laugh yields my answer. I shake my head and pat his back, still the same man I’ve always been when it comes to defending my loved ones. Men are beasts and I’ll put the guys who fuck with us in their place until the day I die.
The twins enter the room and Sophia motions for them to stand on the far end by the window, on the opposite side of the line of women.
“What’s the deal? Aren’t we supposed to be the ones up there waiting? This is backwards, Cove. Are you walking the aisle? Or is Soph? And I thought for sure she’d ask me to give her away.”
My cell rings as he responds, “It’s a second wedding so I’d say anything goes. We didn’t practice, so it’s whatever she wants, I guess. Besides, there’s no aisle to walk down.”
The call’s from my lawyer—a guy that’s worked for me for over a decade. I let it go to voicemail while Cove and I stand in the doorway, trying to figure out what the hell we’re supposed to do.
Jack walks past, looks around, and leans against the back wall, still texting. I shoot a short whistle to put the cell away, only to hear mine ring a second time. Lawyer again.
“You should turn that off,” Cove says.
