The Bee Keeper

by Vincent, Tracy D

  I glance at the clock and I see that supper will be announced shortly. I head into my bathroom, not paying any attention to the décor or the opulence. I stand in front of the mirror, pull my hair up into a messy bun, and wrap a shower cap around my hair to keep it from getting wet, then I step into the shower and wash for the second time today.

  I step from the marble tiled enclosure and towel off. I look at myself in the mirror. My bright-blue eyes travel up and down my body. I take in the dips and curves. I’m well-built, even if I’m a little on the smaller side. My legs aren’t very long, but I have the upside-down, heart-shaped butt that men tend to prefer. I don’t have large breasts, but I’m content with that; it just means that it’ll take longer for them to start sagging. Ed seems to think I’m pretty enough, but you’d never know it by the way he makes love to me.

  I trail one hand down the side of me, brushing the curve of one breast, moving down to my hip. Ed wants sex with me to be a little more passionate, but how can I be passionate with him? I know my papa expects me to marry him because of his political connections, so I can’t turn him off too soon. I really don’t think he’d like the same things that I do.

  My hand moves across my hip and down between my legs and I touch myself lightly. Besides, I don’t know if I’d ever be able to let him know just how dirty I like it. How could I ever explain to him that I like the way that P.A. fucks me? His dirty hands, metaphorically covered in someone’s blood, all over my pale skin. Gripping my hips or pulling my hair while he pounds into me from behind. Or how I love it when he grips my head and pushes himself into my mouth.

  I sit back on the bench behind me and prop one foot up and watch myself touching me in the same rough way that P.A. would. I could never marry P.A., though he hoped for it. He wasn’t after me, only my position, even though I’m a bonus. He thinks I don’t know his true motivations, but I’m not stupid, I only play it.

  I move one hand to pull hard on my nipple and I recall a memory of the only time P.A. came to me with his hands literally covered in someone else’s blood. That was the first time he took me. It was rough, it was raw, and I loved every moment of it.

  I remember there being no foreplay. I came in and caught him as he finished with the guy, and he told me to go, but I was so turned on already. P.A. always turned me on. He was the rough sort, with a pockmarked face and graying hair. His voice was his best asset, though. It was raspy and gravely all at the same time. He said it was because he was almost garroted once. It was the sheer violence in him that aroused me.

  I told him no and knelt in front of him, my hands moving to his pants. He wasn’t my first, definitely not my last, but I really wanted him at that moment. I wanted him more than I ever wanted anyone.

  My fingers move faster, pushing me closer, remembering how he roughly pulled me to my feet and turned me so that my back was to his front. And when he pulled my skirt up and ripped my panties off, I thought I was going to explode right then and there. Instead, he pushed me over the table with all his tools, some clean and some still bloodied. And instead of touching me to make sure I was ready, he undid his pants, pulled my hair until his mouth was at my ear, and told me to keep my pretty mouth shut or he’d dirty the rest of his gear. Then he slammed into me so hard I thought I saw stars.

  The memory of his cock pistoning in and out of me, pushing me out of my comfort zone, tips me over the edge and I orgasm harder than I have in a long time. Harder than I ever have with Ed.

  I walk back over to the sink, wash my hands, and take off the shower cap. After running the comb back over my hair, smoothing it back and spraying it down and giving myself a respectable bun, I apply a thin line of eyeliner and mascara, and top it off with some neutral lip gloss. I'm just having dinner with Papa, so I don’t need to be overly made up. I know that none of his associates will visit us at this dinner. They never do during our first dinners after being apart. It’s a respect thing.

  I walk into my closet and pick out a simple sheath dress in a navy blue. And I strap on some nude colored sandals and I head downstairs. I’m fifteen minutes early, but that’s okay. Always better to be early rather than late. Being late is a sign of disrespect and my father doesn’t allow for disrespect, even from me.

  I grab a snifter of brandy in the sitting room and wait for my father. I know I won’t have to wait long, he’s almost as bad as I am about being early.

  “Ah! Mia cara!” my father says, and he opens his arms to me. The way he interjects Italian into our private conversations, you’d think he was from Italy, or at least his parents were from Italy.

  But no.

  My father started off as a soldier for my nonno. My mother’s father was Italian—at least his parents were from Italy. My father is German and moved his way up the ranks until he became indispensable. Then my grandfather had my mama marry his capo and when he died, my papa became the head of la famiglia.

  Back then, you couldn’t leave the family business to a woman. It still isn’t something commonly done, but my papa isn’t a common man and I’m not a common daughter.

  No, he is grooming me to take over when he retires. He’s just not willing to do it fast enough. For some reason, he believes that I still don’t have the stomach for the worst parts of the job. When it comes time to do those parts, he always wants me absent. I know it’s his way of shielding me, but if he expects me to be the underboss, then he is going to have to let up.

  This is something I recognized about him years ago, so I took it upon myself to learn the seedier side of our business. After my first time with P.A., he took me under his wing and allowed me in with him while Papa was away on business.

  Thankfully, that was often. And even though we screwed like rabbits after taking care of business, we never did it again covered in their blood. P.A. seemed to like the angelic features and didn’t want to “dirty” me.

  Just knowing what we’ve done and how he liked to control things dirties me enough. He’s ruined me. I’ll need to find another lover like him now that he’s dead.

  “Hi, Papa. How was Uncle Si?” I give him a hug and kiss his cheek. It is the same every time we’re away from each other for any length of time.

  He waves his hand. “You know your uncle, he’s always fine. How was your trip to New Leonsburg? I hope you feel well rested after your vacation.”

  “It went well. I got some choice dresses for the Gala. I was sad to hear that the body they found in the trunk was Phillip. I know how fond of him you were.”

  My face doesn’t betray my emotions. Though I wasn’t in love with P.A., I still cared and his brutal end has broken my heart. After we heard about it, I locked myself in my room that night in the hotel and I cried. I didn’t cry long because it would have been obvious the next day. I made a promise to myself that night. I’ll make whoever did it pay—in kind.

  “It was tragic, the way that Phillip died. I have Giorgio and Remi looking into it. You know the police claim to be investigating, but my men can get the job done faster. But enough about that end of things. Let’s eat and drink wine and enjoy each other’s company, as only a papa and a figlia can.” He crooks his arm and I take it, placing my empty snifter on the bar as we passed.

  Papa never does anything in small measures. We never eat in the informal dining room or in the kitchen nook. We always eat at the formal dining table. He sits at the head and me to his left, every time, this time being no different from the others.

  He also likes to eat without conversation in the beginning. When he starts talking, then it is okay. We sit in expected silence for only ten minutes when he decides to speak, breaking norms.

  “We’ve had some recent developments since you’ve been away, other than Phillip’s death,” he says casually, cutting into his steak.

  My fork stops midway to my mouth. “Oh really?”

  “Yes. Your boyfriend is proving to be quite beneficial. He might actually make a good addition to la famiglia. We’ll have to see just how strong his stomach is
first.” He still has yet to look up at me while he’s saying this. All the food I just ate balls up in my stomach.

  “What happened, Papa?”

  “He told me about the briefcase he brought to you while I was gone. Said he found it on his desk at work addressed to the senator. Since it is his job to go through such things, he said he brought it here because it contained incriminating documents involving not just the senator but us as well. He said it looked like it came from us and he wanted to prevent a war.”

  “Oh, of course, I remember that. He brought it to me the afternoon he got it and asked me to keep it safe because there must be a mole somewhere. Since you weren’t going to be home before I left for New Leonsburg, I put it in the safest place I knew. I apologize I didn’t mention it before now, Papa.” I’m going to fucking slit Edward’s throat and bathe in his blood. He royally fucked me out of getting rid of my father. What was he thinking? My words mask the rage boiling inside of me.

  “You did well, mia cara. I looked in that briefcase and what was in there could put us away for a long time. It would destroy our arm of the family. If our enemies didn’t kill us, your Uncle Si would gladly do it. He has a second son who’s itching to be an underboss. It’s much easier to replace an arm than to build a leg.”

  “I’m glad Edward brought it to us then.”

  I force myself to eat enough of my supper to not look suspicious. When my father changes topics, I’m grateful for the momentary reprieve. I am going to kill Edward and that’s all there is to that. Now P.A.’s body in Geoffrey’s trunk seems odd to me. If I find out Ed had anything at all to do with Phillip’s death, he’s going to wish I killed him instead of the torture I will inflict on him.

  I make my excuses and head to my room. I sit on the bed and I don’t know how long I sit there. By the time I stand, the moon has risen high in the sky and the house is quiet, my father having gone to bed a long while ago. I hear him fucking one of the maids or the housekeeper or cook or someone. Whoever it is, is noisy. I might just send him a ball gag with a note attached. The mood I’m in, I just want to march right in there and rip her tongue out.

  I sneak downstairs to my father’s office and sit at his desk a moment, letting the feeling of power wash over me. I used to play here as a little girl, pretending to order a capo to lop off people’s heads.

  I push open my father’s right side drawer, removing a few items and lifting the false bottom. Pulling out the wallet sitting there, I remove a credit card and pocket it before replacing everything back to its original position. It belongs to his emergency account. His accountant doesn’t check it nearly as often as the primary account, and I feel a rather large spending spree happening tomorrow.

  My father is an early riser; no matter what time he goes to sleep, you can set your clock by him getting up and getting out of the house by six in the morning. So, it doesn’t surprise me to find him gone by the time I get downstairs at ten.

  While I drink my coffee, I text five of my friends and invite them on my spending day. I know Papa will be angry when he discovers what happened. I’ll explain it away somehow and he’ll get over it. He always does.

  I receive confirmation texts from Lisa, Thierny, Jillian, and Renia. Jillian also asks to invite a friend and in my current mood, the more the merrier. At this point, I don’t care. I send back texts telling them to be here in two hours’ time. We’ll take my limo this time around.

  After settling that, I head upstairs for a shower and to get ready. It doesn’t take me long today because I’m planning on a full spa treatment that includes my hair. I refuse to go out looking like a bum, but I’m not worried about being perfectly coifed, either.

  Looking at myself in the mirror, I admire my smooth ponytail, light makeup, and sweater and jeans look. I look very casual, almost enough to blend in with everyone else in the Hartford streets.

  I glance at the clock and realize I only have a few minutes before everyone arrives. I’m running later than I thought. I hurry and do the last-minute touch-ups and walk quickly to the stairs. At the top, I take a deep breath and compose myself. I can’t be caught running. A lady always walks like she has all the time in the world.

  I reach the bottom of the stairs as Thierny is being let in, followed by everyone else. “Hey! What did you do, all jump in the same car and come together?” I ask as Lisa and I air kiss next to each other’s ears.

  “Well, actually, you caught us all having brunch together, so we just finished up and came straight here,” Jillian says, pulling her friend forward. She stands taller than everyone except Thierny. She is blonde, but her hair is more of a gold and it falls around her shoulders. But that’s not all that’s golden about her. She has that perfect womanly curvy body. I think I may hate her. “Maya, I’d like to introduce you to my college roommate and good friend, Dr. Meghan Staples. Meghan, this is my friend since diapers, Maya Hauer.”

  “I’m glad I finally got to meet you. Jillian has talked about you for so long.” Dr. Staples reaches out and takes my hand firmly in her own. The grin dimpling her face looks sincere enough. “Hauer? Is that as in the philanthropist Timo Hauer’s daughter, Maya?”

  “One and the same, I’m afraid.” I find myself smiling back at her. Her light-heartedness appears to be infectious. “Jillian has also told me of you as well. I’ve even met your parents a few times at galas and shows at the gallery.”

  “Yes, my father is trying to negotiate a price on the virgin statue your father has in there.”

  “Oh, yes, he’s told me about that. It’s from our private collection, so I don’t see him parting with it anytime soon.” I smile with her. “Well, are you all ready for our ladies’ day? I figured we’ll first go to the spa, then we’ll do some food, drinks, and shopping, but not necessarily in that order.”

  “Oh, you know it! I’m beyond ready for Bartholomew to give me a good rubdown,” Lisa says with a wink. Bartholomew is known at the spa for his special rubdowns when you ask with a large tip. The man’s hands are pure magic. Lisa makes her appointments with him months in advance to guarantee her time with him.

  “Is he really good at working sore muscles?” Meghan asks innocently. “Because I have some stiffness in my upper back from lifting a prone patient…” She stops when we all start giggling.

  Jillian grabs her arm and walks her toward the door. “Oh, Meghan, the things that man can do with his hands will definitely leave you relaxed, and he’ll never have to touch your back. I will buy your first session with him. If he’s booked today, I’ll be certain you get in to see him tomorrow…” Her voice fades as they walk past the threshold.

  We all pile into the limo and head to the spa for a midday of pampering, champagne, and maybe a little something special for one or two members of our party.

  Around four in the afternoon, the need for real food to soak up the champagne forces us out of the spa and into Pierre’s. We giggle and can barely stand on our own two feet while we wait for a table.

  I really do like Meghan. If I weren’t confident in how much I like men, I might entertain the idea of being with her. Drunkenly, I am willing to admit that I’d entertain the thought regardless, but I’d never act on it. I couldn’t let such things get back to papa. He’d disapprove.

  Even though Papa knows about Eddie and me dating, he is still blissfully unaware of the sexual side of our relationship. He said that Mama was a virgin on their wedding night and all good women are virgins for their husbands.

  As we’re shown to the table, I watch Renia flirt openly with Meghan, which surprises me. We all know of Renia’s penchant for finding men and women attractive, but she’s never been so blatant in her flirting with women before.

  Then I notice Meghan lean over and whisper something in her ear. Renia’s face blossoms with color. Renia is redhaired with green eyes, like the color of leaves during the change into fall. Because of this, her skin is pale and her blush isn’t a gentle tinge on her cheeks, but rather a full scarlet that goes from hairlin
e to bust.

  Jillian appears to have noticed this exchange as well because she asks, “What did she say, Renia, to make you blush? You’re the least likely to blush out of all of us.”

  Everyone’s attention zeroes in on Renia and Meghan. Renia’s blush just turns into an almost magenta shade and Meghan flashes us her dimples. “Oh, I just told her what Bartholomew did and that if she wanted a demonstration later, I’d show her.”

  Jillian’s laughter rings out loudly in the fairly quiet restaurant, whereas the rest of us have to pick our jaws up off the table.

  After eating a month’s ration of sauce-laden French food, and consuming several bottles of wine, we stagger into the limo. The sky has already started turning purple with the progression from day to night. I tell the driver to take us to Club Isis in New Leonsburg and he closes the door before pulling out into traffic.

  Lisa has already opened the champagne from the limo bar and has Meghan pour us all glasses because she’s the least drunk. I’m not as drunk as the others, but I don’t think Meghan’s had an entire glass of anything.

  “Meghan, why aren’t you drinking?” I ask her, curiosity overriding my usual reserved self.

  “Oh, I’m on this medicine for anxiety and too much alcohol really messes with me. So, I’ll sip here and there, but I can’t drink too much,” she says, pouring a tall glass for Renia. She turns to pour another glass, using the bar top for stability.

  Jillian reaches out and touches my leg, leans forward and whispers, “Do you think Edward would mind you hooking up with a chick? Because you’ve been giving her serious eyes all afternoon.”

  “Of course he’d mind, Jillian! Besides, you know I’m not like that. She’s just so beautiful. If I were going to bat on the girl squad, she’d be the one I’d do it for, though,” I whisper back.