Douse (Book One: At the Edge of a Hurricane)

by June Hydra

  “You know what I’m feeling,” he says. “You know where I’ve been. Our histories are similar. We’re similar. On the same page. I know we don’t know each other that well, but I feel like this is a good start for the both of us. A difference.”

  “I feel the same.”

  It’s true. The words aren’t lies. They are truths whispering and vibrating to the pit of my soul, planting seeds, seeds ready to sprout already and begin anew.

  “No more secrets,” I say. “From now on, let’s be totally honest.”

  “But tactful. That’s important too.”

  I sit myself in his lap and kiss him. “Exactly the same page.”

  CHAPTER 17

  The office calls me. They want to start tomorrow.

  “Like that,” Caddy says, “and she’s gone.”

  “If that’s what she wants, that’s what’s she’s getting. Violet’s a go-getter!” Piranha lifts her glass up. I toast to her. “To change,” she says.

  Caddy just groans. “So corny, you guys.”

  “Be happy for her. She’s going after what she wants. That’s pretty admirable.”

  “Girl, she’ll be back, you watch.” Caddy wraps lettuce around a slab of minced pork Piranha made. “You can’t really leave this.”

  “I can. It’s possible. For all of us.”

  “What we’re doing isn’t even that bad,” Caddy says. “I say, milk this cow to the ground.”

  “Well, that’s you,” Piranha says. “I support you, Violet. You won’t get caught anymore.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Both have valid interpretations of the situation. There really isn’t a right or wrong here, only what the law or common morality says.

  Still, Piranha has spoken. I want what I want—I want normalcy, not having to feel horrible about my past or my future. Not having to feel terrible about my “job”.

  I have to reconstruct my life. I’m on my way to discovering that spark I was born with—the burning that every human has at some moment in their lives.

  The impetus.

  Meaning.

  “And they say opposites attract,” Caddy says after dinner. He’s lounging on my bed, legs spread wide. He’s been the only stable man ever in my life—of course, he has to be somewhat annoying. “Did you ask how long he’s been doing it?”

  “No. I didn’t ask for specific details. I’ll ask later. It’s too intrusive. We have to move slow. That’s better, I think.”

  “What if he has more secrets in store?”

  “I told him we’ll be honest.”

  “Yet you both kept secrets for so long.”

  “If there’s more, I’ll deal later. I bet you have little devils inside you but haven’t told me. And we’ve known about each other’s existences now for years.”

  “Not that I own a gambling ring. Girl, the trouble of this is too much.”

  “He’s leaving it though. He won’t be there for much longer the same way that I won’t.”

  “Is he getting a new job?”

  “We’re working on it, counselor.” I shove Caddy’s leg aside and thrust myself under the sheets. After a while, I drift and become drowsy. The semidarkness of dreams begins to take away the real world.

  In the depth of my sleep, I hear a low uttering voice.

  “I just don’t want to lose you is all...”

  CHAPTER 18

  I got the job.

  I got. The job.

  Piranha helps me practice dressing accordingly. I strut around the house like a fashion model, trying on all her clothes.

  “You’re fabulous.”

  “No,” I say.

  “Yes. Caddy’s just jealous about your ass.” She slaps on a blue suit jacket and hoops a necklace around my neck. It sparkles from the fake diamonds and emeralds, but I pretend they’re real diamonds, real emeralds.

  “I feel good.”

  “You look fab,” she says. “Fabulous!”

  “I don’t deserve this.”

  “You do,” she says, peeking over my blue shoulder. “You deserve all of this and more. Why do you think so lowly of yourself?”

  “It’s hard to break the old.”

  “Then let’s invite the new. Let’s invite the new together, as a house.”

  “Caddy doesn’t.”

  “Never mind what he’s doing. Let’s do us. Let’s do what we’re doing, which is thinking about the future in a good light.”

  I face Piranha. She wouldn’t be described as a pretty girl but she’s not ugly either. Unremarkable, maybe. But her personality, my God. She’s crazy. She’s zany. She’s ambitious, working all the time, either at work or on personal relationships. She’s so cool. Her personality shines with no comparison—mine definitely holds no contest.

  “You deserve to be happy,” I say.

  Piranha just pats me on the head. “We all do. I’ll have my day soon.”

  Caddy is less enthused. At five o’ clock he arrives home, throws off his backpack. He wanders around the living room, greets us like normal, and then wanders to through the apartment hallway, where our rooms are open for all to see. We’ve made mine into a makeshift changing room, a glamour studio. Caddy gasps. He melodramatically thrusts his hand over his mouth, and realizes the transformation, inner and outer.

  “You’re really going through with the entire thing?”

  “You’ve never been flamboyant before, I know that’s not you.” I swat his hand away from his mouth. “Why can’t you be supportive?”

  “Because we started this thing from the ground up. Piranha too. Doesn’t this matter at all? We’re partners.”

  “It’s not like I’m dead. I’m still here in the flesh. I’ll be around. It’s just part-time.”

  “But it’ll be fulltime and then you won’t be around.”

  “There’s stability to had. A regular job can fund us in the long run. Remember the aggregate? Don’t they go over that in intro economics?”

  “I feel like you’re spitting all over the work we’ve done is all.” Caddy bustles on out, head hanging. I chase him down though, stalking him through the dimly lit hall, into the tiny kitchen. Piranha’s stirring at the stove, making soup. Steam wafts to the living room, draping Uncle Sam in a hot fog. It cuts between Caddy and I. He shoots me an angry look while washing his hands at the sink.

  “You’re acting like a kid,” I say.

  “You’ll have to excuse me then.”

  With that, he bustle on out again, slipping into his bedroom.

  I haven’t seen him sleep in his own bedroom in ages.

  Dinner is served.

  Caddy stays quiet.

  “We have to get along guys,” Piranha says. “Come now, the house can’t be burned down over small things. We have to get along.”

  “I agree,” I say. “I’m still going to work for us. It’s going to be a while before the transition’s fully complete.”

  “See? Violet’s staying, Caddy. Doesn’t that make you happy?”

  Caddy spoons his soup midair, letting the heat escape into the air. He stares at his food, the side dish of spicy lettuce, his dark coffee. He sips quietly.

  “Caddy, I love you as a friend. And I love Piranha too. We’re family, and I’m not going anywhere. Okay? Just please, relax and be happy. This change needs to happen for me though. It’s called personal development.”

  He finishes sipping and dips his spoon for more. After three spoonfuls of nothing said, he finally acknowledges the finality of my decision: he sighs.

  “We’re family,” he says. “I want us to stay like that is all.”

  “We are. We will,” I say. “Nobody’s going far away. Nobody’s dying. We’re family. You guys have always been ten times better than my own, so let’s not stomp all over five years worth of knowing one another over my small job. I’m a receptionist anyway.”

  There’s consensus. Caddy nods and Piranha claps.

  “I hope you all enjoyed tonight’s dish. I got the produce for half o
ff too…”

  In my bed, at night, I think of Caddy’s reaction. Not even I reacted like that to Bishop’s gambling reveal. Have I outgrown the small city I chose to hide away in? Has the pond water become stagnant? You can transform over time. People can transform. There’s an entire animal kingdom to imitate from great apes to praying mantis. What is Caddy? What is Piranha?

  What am I?

  Not a butterfly, I think. Too fragile and beautiful. Too sexy. Piranha’s a butterfly, maybe not in the face, at least conventionally, but on the inside. Caddy’s a bear. Menacing, threatening, but easily scared off if you clap loud enough, rattle your own sabers. He’ll back off eventually. Though I’m afraid one day he won’t, that inside of him lurks a real bear, equipped to kill. He’s thrown tantrums before. Over guys who rejected him. Over bad grades. But not over friends bettering themselves.

  And me. What am I?

  I’m just a guppy. A nameless fish. Don’t give me a tribe or a clan to belong to. I can swim fine in my space, my pond.

  The water’s are either shrinking or I’m growing or both. But my life is changing. And I’m happy.

  CHAPTER 19

  I won’t lie. Mr. Preston is hot. His ties coordinate well with his socks—today he’s got on a sheer zigzag pattern on both—and his hair hugs his scalp so tightly you can see the craftsmanship of his hairdresser. Not a single stroke of their blade was misused, and not a single blade of hair remains out of place. Together, his hair is almost a public art installation. His body gives his suit form. No missed workouts.

  And when he’s in the office, sometimes I’ll peek over my shoulder. I’ll glance during breaks, watching him uncross and cross his legs with the news playing on his lap via cell phone. Or sometimes he’ll hold his phone to his face, typing a text to somebody else in the building.

  Because I man the front desk though, we rarely interact. He passes by frequently to make sure I’m okay, but these stops will stop when I’m accustomed to the way of life here.

  “For the weekends, we don’t book. So you can leave those rows empty.”

  He hovers over my shoulder, guiding me on what to check and not check. They have an entire book, a keeping system that allows him to run his business. I’m not dumb, but he likes to instruct and spill all the rules for me. Every square inch of Jim’s Tax Services is explained. Where the bathrooms are. Who my coworkers are—who I’ll never see anyway.

  “Are you comfortable?”

  “Yes,” I say, managing a quick smile. “I’ve got everything in order, and I’m ready.”

  “Fantastic. If you need anything, I’ll be in the back. You can also dial two.”

  Manning the front desk bores me though. You sit and wait for calls and look pretty but that’s it. No sense of accomplishment, unlike, strangely, my other “job”.

  Empire was the word Bishop used. He built an empire, a world that he alone soldered together, heat and raw passion. A wanting to thrive and escape oppression.

  Is what I’m doing crazy? Leaving a perfectly financially stable option?

  My ego, my pride. Is that what’s stopping me?

  “Violet.”

  I turn around in my swivel chair. Mr. Preston.

  “Just passing through again. But I wanted to tell you we’re having our weekly company lunch at twelve, and you’re more than welcome to join in.”

  “That would be great.”

  And off he goes again. I can’t help but watch the swagger in his walk, his hip motion wavering from side to side.

  Bishop and I haven’t discussed anything exclusive yet, so I don’t feel too terribly awful about watching eye candy pass me by. Besides, if men can do that to women, women certainly can do that to men.

  I couldn’t have anything with him anyway though. He’s my boss. Not an option to date. You’re not supposed to date your superiors.

  I’m a bad girl trying to go good.

  It’s a struggle that I hope ends soon.

  CHAPTER 20

  “You’ve been busy lately. I feel like we’re strangers.” Bishop holds a bouquet of red roses. The plastic wrapper covering them crinkles in his hands, and he passes them while I smell the sweet sting of nature.

  “I know.” Though really it’s been two days since we last got together. Not too extreme or anything. “You didn’t have to get roses.”

  “You deserve every one. After listening to me, I wanted to do something nice. Extra nice.”

  I hold the roses and peek at the individual petals. They’re incredibly flushed with color, as if someone had painted them aquarelle style, a dreamy bouquet.

  I put the roses on my bedroom nightstand. Piranha’s out and so is Caddy, thus Bishop and I have free reign of the apartment. Today, I figure, would be a good day to introduce him to another aspect of my life: where I live.

  “I’ll say it’s all very cozy.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “It’s nothing like yours though.”

  “As I said. Cozy.” He plops himself on my bed and crosses his legs, hands behind his head.

  “It’s a little messy.”

  Bishop draws his eyes to the clear floor below. It’s all carpet, brown, and dust free. I spent hours combing through, trying to make the place spotless, more a palace for a queen than a hoodlum’s abode. His eyes go to the walls, which are blank, plaster, and somewhat yellowed. There’s a table opposite the bed but it’s nonfunctional. I haven’t sat at that desk in ages. Since school, perhaps.

  I plop myself next to Bishop. His body radiates this energy, not a sexual one, but a comforting one. It would be best described as falling into warm ocean water, where the waves crash onshore. You wade at the waist-high depths, and see the oncoming waves. They don’t seem strong—the ocean is picturesque rather than strong, beautiful and fragile rather than a tempest force. But when the waves do hit, they slam right into you, smacking you backwards and down under. The ocean’s might. Bishop’s gravity. Him.

  “You are seriously just magnetizing,” I say. “It’s not even infatuation anymore. At first, I thought, ‘Wow, hot guy.’” Bishop chuckles. I inhale his scent like you might the ocean spray. It’s pleasant and calms me. “Then,” I say, “you and I spoke to one another. And everything just clicked. We’re on the same wavelength. I spent years lingering in this city, languishing, not waiting, but getting by.”

  “The same,” Bishop says.

  “And when I told you about my real job, my real line of work, how I’ve been able to afford my lifestyle. You didn’t judge me. You were quick on hearing the details first, on listening.”

  “I like to listen to you.”

  “And I love that. Honestly.”

  There’s a pause in our conversation. The L-bomb was dropped.

  Though I didn’t say I loved him. I’m in the gray zone, the nebulous area where you’re just unsure of how things might work out in the future, of where things might go. How things might be.

  “I love you’re sense of duty,” Bishop says. “That’s the best trait a girl could have. You did it before even I did, admitting what you do.”

  “I’m sure you would’ve eventually.”

  “I was scared to. It’s not easy saying you’re a gambling head. Admitting your sins is hard to do.”

  “It is kind of silly though,” I say, stroking his leg. He’s wearing tight-fitting jeans, the boot cut style. “In a perfect world, we wouldn’t have to feel bad about what we do.”

  “No.”

  “We would just live our lives without others’ judgments.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m still conflicted. I went in for work the other day. Boss is nice. Work is nice. Pay is horrible. Not nearly what I would be making doing the cheating thing.”

  “It’s hard because I want to do good too. I want to do a normal job, have a normal routine, but like you…the freedom. The independence it’s given me. I remember playing countless nights back home, I’d gamble with the neighborhood “bad kids” just to spite my parents secretly.

/>   “It’s kind of weird. I’ve always wanted control in my life, and I chose gambling as way to do so. You feel a sort of ownership when you gamble. For me, it’s the same sort of peace that I get when I think about God. Control over uncertainty.”

  “Control over uncertainty. I totally can see where you’re coming from.”

  Bishop turns to me and cradles my hands in his. He stares intently, studying my face, my scars. It’s as if my face was once an unintelligible story, and now he’s parsed the foundational elements of who I am.

  “You’re a good person,” Bishop says. “I don’t think we’re bad people. Just caught in awkward circumstances.”

  “I know what you mean. I’d like so much more…it just gets lonely doing it all by yourself. Even though you can be alone but not lonely, the realities of situations just sort of…creeps on you.”

  “You feel stuck.”

  “Exactly. We’re on the same page again. Always.”

  “You feel stuck and can’t go anywhere. Like if you choose option A, you’re shooting yourself in the boot. Option B, and you’re shooting yourself in the other boot.”

  “Boot.” I giggle. “That’s cute. It’s foot though.”

  “Same story, different words.”

  I put my ear to his heart. “I can hear everything inside you.”

  “And you too.” He laces his pinky finger around my ear lobe. “We’re connected now. And it’ll only get stronger.”

  We don’t have sex. Instead, I just look at the roses and admire them.

  Piranha comes home before Caddy. She enters her room and starts up the National Anthem in case Bishop hasn’t already heard it.

  “So good to finally meet you,” she says to him, “wow, you are handsome. I can see why she likes you so.”

  Bishop tilts his head and shrugs.

  “Nice to meet you too.”

  “Tonight I’ll be making baked chicken with some parmesan seasoning. Do you like that sound?”