by Portia Gray
"Th-That, that was a mistake. I apologized."
Arielle was somewhat impressed the doctor was able to talk. Because although she couldn't see Quentin's face, she knew by his tone it could likely be described as arctic. And Doctor Foster was staring at Quentin like he was waiting to get hit.
"Quentin—" she began, grabbing his arm.
"You're a fucking doctor. I may not be that smart, but I'm pretty sure making moves on a cancer patient is an especially shitty thing to do."
"Quentin," she repeated, voice stern. Doctor Foster just gaped.
"After all, you had your hands on her tits in a very professional manner, right? Did you think about her after? Imagine her letting you touch them and liking it?" The fact he could say such terrible things and make it sound like a normal conversation was likely one of the scariest things about him.
She darted around Quentin, facing him and pushing back on his chest. "Quentin, what are you doing?" She was pissed, and it was in her voice. His eyes lost their coldness somewhat when he looked down at her. "It happened. He stopped. I walked away. He didn't hurt me, he didn't hit me. I told him no and he listened. That's what a good person does."
Quentin's eyes went back over her head to the Doctor. "She's forgiven it, but I won't. Because I know how guys think. You so much as see her you walk the other way. You get me?"
Arielle was incredulous. "Quentin, I am not someone that you need to police like that."
He still wasn't looking at her. She turned, saw Doctor Foster backing away and nodding, not turning until he'd cleared a safe distance. Then she spun on Quentin, anger shaking her.
"I don't like that, Quentin," she snapped. "That embarrasses me. Like I can't control myself or something. And I don't need you scaring other people into minding their manners."
His free hand cupped her jaw, and as mad as she was it felt nice. "That was me being polite, babe. I wanted to hit him. I thought that would be worse."
"Of course that would be worse. He never even scared me. It just happened and he knew it was wrong, too."
Quentin's eyebrows went high. "He only stopped and apologized when he realized you weren't into it. If you'd kissed him back he'd have fucked you right then and there."
She reared back. "Don't talk like that."
Now his arm looped around her back. "You may not think a guy has that in his mind, but he does. The difference between me and him is that I'm fucking honest. Christ, Arielle, doesn't it bother you he did that? Is this the guy you went to when you found the lumps?"
"Yes."
"Is this the guy that felt them, confirmed that you needed tests?"
"Yes."
"He saw you naked."
She bit her lip, still scowling. "Yes."
"And that's because you trusted him as your doctor?"
Her breath whooshed out all at once. "Yes."
"And then he dared to put his mouth on you?" She looked away, an uncomfortable stomach roll taking place right then. "He wanted to have sex with you," Quentin went on, censoring himself. "This isn't me going caveman on a guy that touched my woman. That's me reminding him that it's inappropriate, and losing his fucking job is the least that can happen to him. What if he's done it to some other girl? Think about how vulnerable someone in your situation is, Arielle. That's bullshit. I'm sorry, but it is."
The whole time she was getting more and more upset, so that when she looked at him again her eyes were wet and her lip trembled; she knew, she could feel it. "Shit," she whispered, and he pulled her tight against his chest.
"You've got so much sweet in you," he mumbled. "Every time I open your eyes I feel like I'm telling you there's no Tooth Fairy."
She laughed, wiping at her eyes and pulling away. "You're right. But that still embarrassed me."
He shook his head. "No reason to be embarrassed. It's him, not you. I'll never know why girls think they have to just put up with that kind of shit."
Arielle closed her eyes. Crude, rough, scary, and yet so insightful it nearly cut her too deep. The first time she'd ever seen Quentin Bayle she'd been terrified and dismissive. Now that all seemed ridiculous.
"Now let's see what else Doctor T-bone prescribed for my girl," he eventually said, rubbing her back.
"Raspberries," she said reflexively, wiping her eyes and adding the stuff she'd found to the wire basket still in his hand.
He took her hand. "Raspberries. Yeah, I know what those look like. C'mon."
"He actually thinks you throwing all this shit in a blender and drinking it is gonna make you want to live?" Quentin quipped. "Jesus Christ. He must be nuts."
Arielle was laughing, but he didn't worry that it was at him. She was making some kind of fruit and vegetable cocktail that he just knew was going to turn out to be the exact same color as shit. And it likely wouldn't taste any different.
"The fruit makes it taste better," she replied, putting the top on the blender.
He just shook his head. "Dunno, babe. I'll clear a path to the bathroom in case it all comes up on you." She hit the button and the blender started doing its noisy thing. Sure enough, it quickly turned into shit-colored liquid, and he shook his head. "You're not gonna drink that, are you?" he shouted over the noise.
She beamed at him, and he felt like a schmuck for it but he smiled back. She killed the appliance, popped the top and started pouring. "Speaking of my bathroom, I still haven't gotten a bill from those workers," she shared casually.
"Really?"
"Yeah." She set the blender top thing in the sink. "It's been a while. I'm still surprised they didn't ask for money up front."
Then she lifted the glass, and he started shaking his head again, probably wincing, too. "Arielle, you don't have to do this."
"It's good for me," she insisted, glass at her mouth. Then she took a mouthful.
Quentin waited, somewhat horrified and yet terribly curious, too. She brought the glass down and immediately made a face, head jerking to the side. "Oh my God that's awful," she sputtered.
He couldn't help it; he cut up, bent over double. "I knew it would taste like shit," he cackled.
She fought to swallow, almost choking because she was laughing, too. "Oh God, it's like eating dirt out of the garden."
"Can't you taste the fruit in it?" he teased with a smirk, reaching for the glass. She let him take it and he gave it a sniff, then pulled a face of his own. "Fuck, Arielle, that even smells disgusting. I'm impressed you swallowed that." He couldn't help it, that last statement made him grin wider and waggle his eyebrows. "Good to know for future reference."
"Shut up," she muttered, still smiling, reaching for the shit milkshake.
"Just dump it," he recommended seriously.
"It's medicine," she insisted as he held the glass across to the other side of his body, hand on her stomach to keep her away from it. "I'll plug my nose and drink it fast."
"Don't torture yourself. Smoke a joint and I'll order you pizza instead."
"Later," she laughed, still trying to take back the drink playfully. Little woman had him too figured out. She reached into his kutte, tickling his side. He shouted, and rather than drop the evil concoction in his hand he gave it back to her. "You just bought me two-hundred dollars in organic groceries. I'm not dumping it down the drain."
He folded his arms, leaned on the counter and crossed one ankle over the other. "Go for it. This I gotta see." She did exactly what she said she'd do; she plugged her nose, threw her head back and chugged that crap all at one go, eyes up to the ceiling, wincing the entire time. Then she slammed the glass down and made so many faces of disgust he wished he had a fucking camera. "Feel better?" he asked.
"No," she coughed, covering her mouth and closing her eyes.
"Gonna puke?"
She didn't answer right away, and he had a hand on her shoulder just in case it came back up on her. After a pause she opened her eyes again, shaking her head. "I'm fine. It's staying down."
She reached over to turn the taps on,
and he stopped her hands. "You said you were tired."
"I am."
"Then go sleep. I'll clean this up."
"No, Quentin, it's my mess—"
He cut her off by putting his hand to the front of her throat, making her look at him. "Arielle, babe. Go get your sleep."
Her eyes studied him, then she smiled and he felt that same pussied-out tremor again. "Okay. Thanks, Quentin."
He gave her a quick kiss on the lips, then turned her to the hall and swatted her butt to send her on her way. That tremor came again as she giggled then rounded the corner out of sight.
Complete and total sap over that girl. Admitted, no shame about it.
He washed her dishes, left them drying in the rack then flipped his phone open, stepping out on the deck to place the call to Henderson. Maybe that bill for the reno got lost in the mail. He'd hate to think collections might be coming after them because the post office fucked-up.
The assistant put him through to Henderson's office. No small talk needed. "Hey, it's Quentin. My neighbor never got her bill for that reno work your guys did. Are they usually four weeks behind on paperwork?"
"Wow. Your ears must have been burning."
"What?"
"Her landlord. I sent him the bill directly, since it should be him paying for the work. It came back as undeliverable mail. The PO Box had been canceled. So I did another search on the guy's name. He's in Shanksville. I checked with land titles there and they've got him listed as the owner of five properties. One of them's an apartment building."
"Yeah? So what?"
"Well, Shanksville is trying to find the guy. Turns out he lets his places fall into such disrepair that people report him to the housing authority. Does it on purpose."
"Why?"
Henderson exhaled. "If you're reported as a slumlord the bank can freeze your mortgage, forcing you to renovate and not requiring mortgage payments for that time period."
Quentin frowned. "Again, why do that on purpose?"
"The rumor mill in Shanksville is that this guy shuts down the building, evicts everyone and the place has the appearance of being under construction. But he's actually letting meth cooks use the space."
Quentin's hand clenched on the phone. "What?"
"This is hearsay from the lady at Shanksville Land Titles. So I don't know for sure. But this guy's name is Tarquin Hamilton. I think the club might want to look into him."
Quentin was already nodding along. "Hell yeah, we will. Thanks, Henderson." He flipped the phone shut, headed back inside while dialing Bishop. There was a knock on the front door before he finished dialing, and he opened the inside door to admit Mandy.
Carrying a round white box with a bright pink cord as a handle, she looked absolutely pleased with herself. "Quentin," she greeted him, and he kissed her on the offered cheek while letting her into the entry.
"What you got there, Mandy?"
"It's Arielle's wig. It's done. Is she here?"
Quentin checked the hallway as he answered. "She just went in for a nap."
"Shit. I was dying to see it on her."
Quentin held up a finger. "I'll go check. I'm sure she'll be excited to know it's done."
As soon as he eased the bedroom door open Arielle turned his way on the bed, rubbing her eyes. "Is that Mandy?" she mumbled.
He grinned. "Yeah, she's a bit loud."
Arielle sat up. "Is everything okay?"
"She's got a present for you, babe."
Arielle grinned. "A present?" she asked, all cute and adorable, fidgeting with the scarf on her head.
He knew he was going to get face cramps from smiling but he didn't care. "Yeah. Come see it. She's excited to show you." Quentin moved to help her up out of bed, and she held his hand behind her as they made their way down the hall.
"Hi, Mandy," Arielle greeted her, still futzing with the scarf with her free hand.
"Sorry to wake you up, hun," Mandy apologized, as sincerely as he'd ever heard her do.
Arielle shook her head. "No worries. I hadn't fallen asleep yet."
Mandy held the box up. "It's done."
Arielle took the box with both hands, biting her lip. Quentin gave her shoulder a squeeze as she asked, "Will you wait here while I try it on?"
Mandy's smile was pleased as shit. "Of course."
As she passed Quentin to head to the washroom she was grinning, and Quentin had to give Mandy a hug once the door shut behind her. "You're making my girl smile, Mandy."
Mandy stepped back and grabbed her chin in her hand. "Pretty sure it's not just me, hun."
This time staring at herself in the mirror Arielle wasn't wincing or forcing herself to accept anything. She was staring at herself looking the same and yet totally different. She liked the wig. She really did. It was cut to just brush her shoulders, with chunky layers that made it curl under nicely while still looking thick and…real. The only difference was that the wigmaker had given her long bangs that wisped to one side. They followed the part of the wig, which sat exactly where Arielle used to part her hair. The lady remembered how she did it. Arielle covered her mouth, not wanting to cry but unable to stop.
The kindness of this was overwhelming. She didn't know how to open up and let it in. And it wasn't just the wig. She didn't know why she had been accepted so quickly and easily, but she felt herself softening to the idea that she was completely capable of having friends in this world.
In Quentin's world.
Opening her eyes, she made herself focus on the hair, head turning side-to-side, running her hand over the top and smiling in spite of her tears. Arielle dried her eyes, pulled herself together within about ten minutes and left the bathroom, watching her feet as she walked slowly down the hall and into the living room. She came around the corner, immediately hearing Mandy gasp.
"Oh, honey," the woman whispered, making Arielle look up. "That looks killer on you."
Arielle felt her nose prickle again as Mandy wrapped her up in a hug, patting her back. "Thank you," she managed to sputter.
"No problem. Glad to do it." Mandy held her at arms' length and smiled. "You're beaming, Arielle. You're giving a lot away."
Arielle ducked her head, knowing she was likely blushing now.
"Mandy? I gotta head to the clubhouse, can you—" Quentin only stopped speaking because Arielle turned around to look at him as he entered the living room, flipping his phone shut. He stopped mid-motion of shoving it in his pocket and seemed transfixed, moving to her with his eyes quite intent on her face. She didn't know what to make of that look until he grabbed her with both hands and laid a kiss on her that wasn't a good idea when she was standing up. Didn't matter though, he held her by the waist so tightly she wasn't slumping over.
"Jesus, Quentin. Let her breathe," came the sarcastic wit of Mandy, clearly not embarrassed by public displays of affection.
He let the kiss end but he kept her close, rested his forehead on hers and cupped the back of her head with one hand. "Babe," he whispered, and she felt her heart clench.
"Do you like it?" She hated how much she really needed him to answer that.
"It's hot, babe. No doubt about it. I'm just realizing you don't need hair to be gorgeous."
"Quentin…" she gasped back, not wanting to cry at that, especially with Mandy in the room.
He gave that uneven half-smile, pushing some hair behind her ear. "Gorgeous, babe. I'm going to go get you one in every color I can find." Then he let the smile go plenty naughty and kissed her again before stepping back. "I gotta get to the clubhouse. I don't wanna leave you alone, though."
"I'll stay," Mandy offered. "Until someone else gets here."
"You carrying, Mandy?"
She gave an oh please look. "Always."
Arielle was startled by that. "They're sending the prospect over. Make him stay outside. He's likely not housetrained," Quentin advised with an affectionate kiss on her forehead.
"Okay," Arielle replied, watching him walk to the door. "I
s everything okay?"
He turned back and grinned. "Don't worry, baby girl, everything's good. I'll be back."
She nodded and he left her with Mandy, who was standing in the doorway, arms crossed and a wide grin on her face.
"What?" Arielle asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing. I'm just happy he finally fucked you. Now, go back to your nap and I'll wait for the cavalry out here."
Arielle was going to sputter a denial, remembered she wasn't in high school anymore, then just turned on her heel to put the wig back in its box before going back to bed with a smile that only faded when sleep took over.
"Aunt Arielle?" She rolled to her back at the sound of Calvin's voice, hushed and cautious from the doorway. Smiling, rubbing her eyes with one hand, Arielle held out the other one.
"Hey, Peanut," she mumbled sleepily, and he crossed the room to take her hand. "Is everything okay?"
She yanked him into bed with her, curling him up and cuddling him like she used to about three years ago. He let her do it while whining, "Aunt Arielle."
"What? Your aunt doesn't get hugs and cuddles anymore?"
He sighed. "Fine."
"How was school?" He just shrugged. She gave him a shake. "I asked how school was."
"It was fine."
Something was off in his voice, and she sat up so he did the same. "Calvin, is everything okay?" He shrugged again, not looking her in the eye. "Calvin, what happened, honey?"
He took a deep breath. "Missus Whitman is going to call you. But it wasn't my fault. Grady Proudlock called me a nerd and other names. He was asking for it."
Arielle's blood stilled and she knew her eyes got wider. "He was asking for what?" A loud crash sounded from the kitchen along with a muffled exclamation. Arielle frowned. "Who's in the kitchen?"
Calvin was glad for the distraction. "T-bone is here making you supper. He says you need to eat more fish in your diet."
Arielle shook her head. "Okay, sorry. Never mind that right now. What did you do to Grady Proudlock?" Calvin bit his lip. "Calvin?" Still no answer. "Calvin Grayson Taylor, you tell me immediately what you did or you're grounded until you do."
