Good Pet

by Jamie Knight

  I hold my hand up in recognition, a smile automatically spreading across my lips. As I watch him practically sneak across his front yard, I notice that he’s in some slightly different clothes today. He looks super casual, but also nice-looking in a strange way. His outfit consists of baggy black jeans, a T-shirt with an eighties sci-fi movie scrolled across it, matching black tennis shoes, though scuffed. He’s got his longer, darker hair, swept back. His golden-brown eyes touch on me, and in them, I can see excitement along with desperation. There is also a hint of sorrow as well as if he’s holding on to some secret wound or some secret regret.

  The sorrow disappears under a smile he tries on for me as he opens the passenger’s side door. He sits down with a huff and a sigh. The car rocks with his added weight, and he murmurs an apology about it.

  I quickly lean over, kiss him on the cheek, and help him find the seatbelt buckle. “You have nothing to be sorry for, my love, only things to look forward to today. This is the date, not a judgment day.”

  When Tommy doesn’t look completely convinced by my words, I give him an extra kiss. This one is closer to his mouth.

  “Give me your worries, sir,” I whisper when he stubbornly refuses to give me a smile I know my kisses are forming in him. “Please, sir? It’s what receptionists are for. Listening to problems and solving them.”

  Tommy turns to me. He smiles, but it’s weak and trembling. “Thanks, Melissa. Maybe later.” He looks out of the corner of his eyes toward the house to a part of the shaded windows. “For now, I just want to get out of here and forget everything and everyone around here for a while.”

  Though my stomach knots over some of this, I don’t ask about it. I just nod and begin to pull out of the driveway. As I do, I pray that Tommy’s mood improves with the music and with knowing he’s with me now — and knowing that I have a fabulous day planned for us both.

  After today, you’ll see yourself as I’ve always seen you: as a man with more promise and worth then the world has ever dared give him. When I’m done with you, you won’t ever doubt your capability and your strength. And you won’t keep surrounding yourself with things, people, and places below what you deserve. Starting with that house and ending with that horrible father, who I know you’re probably watching the window for.

  No. After today, all of that’s going to be a thing of the past. The distant past, if I have anything to say about it.

  Chapter Forty

  Tommy

  The day of our date has arrived. The date I’ve been waiting for, for over a week is finally here. I know I should be happy. And I am happy — to see Melissa, to be with her, to be in her car and heading away from my shitty dad and crappy house for a while — but I can’t be as happy as I want to be or as happy as I imagined I would be.

  Dad made good on spending my money on all of the shit I knew he would last night. He came back with a metric-fuck-ton of lottery tickets. I don’t need to tell you that the money he invested didn’t pay off. The most he got was a fifty-dollar payout, out of probably what was at least five hundred spent on tickets for various games.

  Worse than that, though, he came back with at least two cases of beer, a whole convenience store worth of snacks I hate, and enough porno mags to open up his own strip joint with all the pinups. And I had to hear him fucking masturbating to quite a few of them last night and this morning — right before meeting Melissa, in fact.

  For all that punishment and abuse, I have only a couple hundred dollars to spend on today. A day I had promised I was going to use to lavish Melissa with meals and little gifts along with my own wardrobe update. Something I promised to furnish with my own money, while she provided the guidance.

  Something I can’t do at all, now that my fucking dad decided that my money was his money, never mind the fact that he hasn’t done anything good for me since I was a little kid.

  Melissa’s just asked me to give her my worries, but I can’t. She doesn’t need these worries, ones that routinely walk around in nothing but their underwear with their beer belly hanging out for everyone to see and claiming that they’re God’s gift to women.

  So, I just tell her maybe I’ll tell her later, even though I have no intention of telling her anything. Doing that will just ruin this day more than it’s already been ruined, not to mention the rest of the weekend, whatever can be salvaged from it.

  I do the only thing I can do; stay silent, try to relax myself with the music Melissa’s got playing through the speakers of her nice car — something New Age or South American at the moment by the sound of the pan flutes — and keep my eyes focused out the window on the freeway, on where we might be heading for our date. Our shopping extravaganza.

  After a little bit of time on the freeway and taking a particularly infamous exit, I know where we’re headed almost immediately: to a very ritzy, a very well-traveled outdoor shopping mall. It’s a combination between a strip-mall and a regular big, department-store type mall. I see it looming on the horizon shortly after taking the exit.

  A beautiful red brick and silver-metal lined building, with exquisitely designed walkways, marble statues, and water features, along with a classy clock tower. There are street signs to point out each area of shopping, as well as food courts, bathrooms, and so-called “scenic” areas. In addition to a shopping mall, this is practically a national Monument with the views of the city, and parts of the developing neighborhoods, a lot of people come here for the views as well as the clothes and other goods.

  The moment we pull into the parking lot to this massive mecca of shopping, I despair of ever finding a parking place. Most look full up already, and it’s not even past ten a.m. Initially, I’m a little disappointed by how many people are here and how crowded it’s going to be. How many people are probably going to be going to the same shops as I will be.

  And then I remember: I don’t have nearly the shopping money I’d planned to have, thanks to Dad. Thanks to his selfish assholery.

  I sigh and flop my elbow and cheek against the window. As I do, my hair comes out of its styling job, where I tried to slick back my growing bangs. Just as I see part of my mopey, moody expression on my side of the window, Melissa chuckles and says, “Brighten up there, Mr. Gloomy.” Though I don’t feel much like smiling, I do. “That’s better, my dear,” she says to me. “You’re on a date with me, after all. You could be a little happier about it.”

  While I hear that she’s trying to be happy and playful, I also hear a bit of sadness and irritation, as well. She really does want me to be happy and is frustrated that I’m not.

  Fuck. She doesn’t deserve my bad attitude on this date because of something my dad did. My dad has no right to ruin my love life like this. Not today. Not now. Get it together, Tommy. You’re not his little boy anymore. Your Melissa’s boyfriend. Start acting like it. It doesn’t matter if you have two hundred dollars with you, or two.

  I sit up off the window, happy to see that there are some parking spots beginning to show. While they stand out like bald spots in the surrounding packed parking lot, they are a pleasant sight. Especially after we’ve been bobbing and weaving through aisle after aisle of cars.

  I’m not happy about the lack of money, but I can’t take that out on her. I can’t hold onto it too much.

  I look over at her and find a warm smile for her. “I am happy to be on a date with you, Melissa,” I murmur, putting my hand on hers — the one not having to manhandle the wheel. “I’ve just had some things going on since last night, but they don’t matter. Not right now,” I add, not wanting to disrupt any of her good mood.

  But unfortunately for me, she already looks concerned. She turns to me and asks, “What kinds of things, Tommy?” as we finally find a parking space, and settle in. As she turns off the car to study me, I wish I hadn’t opened my mouth. I wish I hadn’t even let that much slip, seeing the concern and anxiety on her face. It’s almost completely replaced the joy that was there a second ago.

  “It’s nothing, Meliss
a,” I whisper. “It’s nothing. Nothing I want to discuss right now,” I add, giving her my most pleading look. “Maybe later, okay?”

  Melissa crosses her arms, frowns at me a bit. “Tommy…”

  “I’m sorry, okay?” I know I look even more helpless than before and probably more pathetic, too, but I don’t care. “It has to do with my dad, with stuff she did to what I had planned for today, but…” I sigh in frustration and anger. I really, really don’t want to do this right now. I really wish I would’ve kept my mouth shut. I just want to try to go on with the date, as less-than-perfect as it is now before I regret calling it off.

  Melissa seems to get the hint and says, “Okay. It’s all right, honey. Let’s just go have some fun. Let’s just go get this date of ours started, huh?” She brightens all of her features just for me. Smiling, she picks my hand up to kiss it.

  “Let’s,” I say and kiss her hand too. “I’ve been waiting all week for this. For you. Everything else can disappear for a little while.”

  Our shopping extravaganza begins the moment we make it across the parking lot — a wide and expansive sea of black asphalt glittering in the early morning sun — and to the “oasis” of fashionable stores, immaculately-laid cobblestone, all surrounded by the intermittent statue or water feature. Stepping onto the sidewalks here is like stepping into the halls of an outdoor palace, an open-air bazaar almost. Doors to shops are open freely to the people streaming by.

  For the first half-hour, Melissa and I do nothing more than scope out what shops are here and what kinds of clothes they have to offer. There are a few fancy formalwear shops. Alongside these, there are name brand clothing stores, each with shirts, jeans, socks, and underwear worth more than my entire wardrobe.

  Mixed in with these types of clothing stores, there is also a trendy, teenage-geared store; one with a lot of black leather, Japanese comic book icons on T-shirts and other gift items, as well as the obscure reference to 80s and 90s cartoons. Part of me is definitely interested in visiting that shop — mostly for the nostalgia and maybe for a few pieces of clothing to balance out my for-work wear.

  Just as I start to get excited about walking in there and using this store to break the ice of spending my money, I remember I don’t have as much money as I wanted to spend. It’s even more painful and humiliating when I take out the envelope, look into it, and see how empty the envelope looks, now that it’s not stuffed to the brim with bills.

  “Should not have gotten out of the car,” I mumble, stuffing the envelope back in its place of shame on my person. “Had I just driven away the moment I saw Dad at home, I’d have my full five thousand dollars with me still.”

  Melissa perks up at these words. “Interested in any of these shops, Tommy? Or not?” she asks, seeing my dark glower. Something that doesn’t match the sparkle of the early-morning sun.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know my way around places like this,” I say. It’s a dodge to the way I’m really feeling — that I really shouldn’t be on this date being as poor and pathetic as I am at the moment — but it’s also a little true. While I’ve gone shopping before, I’ve never gone to someplace this nice, ritzy, and high-class.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I check out Melissa’s outfit. Even while being casual in a t-shirt and a thin pair of slacks, she looks pristine and flawless, like she had someone else dress her for a photoshoot today.

  “I don’t really go to places like these for my clothes,” I admit, feeling even more miserable about myself and my complete lack of class.

  But Melissa only draws me closer to her. She laces her fingers in mine, and to all of my self-hating energy replies, “Don’t worry about anything, honey. That’s why I’m here. To help you get used to shopping at places like this.” She smiles, almost clicking her heels as she does. “Just let me take care of everything. I know you’re going to love what I pick out for you.”

  As grumpy and worthless as I’m feeling at the moment, the way Melissa’s loving on me — the way she’s not letting me get my spirits down — it’s infectious to me, even in my moodiness. I can’t help but smile and blush a little.

  “If I look even half as good as you do even when you’re trying to be casual,” I say, “I have no doubt I’ll love the clothes you pick out for me. I probably won’t even recognize myself.”

  Melissa just grins. “Maybe not,” she says, “but something tells me you’re going to love the new you, even if he is like nothing you’ve ever dreamed or imagined for yourself.”

  With that, Melissa walks me into our first shop of the morning, a high-end clothing store geared mostly for men. They have semi-professional wear, but they are mostly business casual and vacation chic. It’s an odd mix, but I’ve got no objections. I haven’t got enough money to object, nor enough willpower. If I’m going to make any use of this date we were supposed to have, I have to start shopping and buying something, even if my measly couple hundred dollars dries up here, and I’m shooting blanks everywhere else.

  Maybe with some kind of shopping bag in my hand, Melissa won’t be so upset when she finds out that I’ve only got enough in me for one round before I’m done.

  ****

  At our first shop, I buy a hat for myself. Not much of a hat person usually, I find a classy looking Fedora. After trying it on in front of the mirror, Melissa insists that I buy it. I do, along with a nice casual button-up shirt. It has designs that go with the Fedora. I’m about to buy what I think is a no-nonsense pair of matching slacks, when I look at the price tag and realize these pants alone are more money than I have on hand, and then some.

  “I like those on you,” she says, pointing out the slacks to me and the way they look already, even with me just laying them in front of the ones I’m wearing. “You should get those too.” She bites her lip. “Maybe not for the office, but for some after-hours fun. That never hurt anyone or their wardrobe.” She’s gone from biting her lip to biting one of her nails — an unusually stressed, but sexy motion for her.

  I put the pants back on the rack, my hands sweating from the price tag as much as anything else. “Nah.”

  Melissa’s beautiful eyes widen. “You’re not getting those?”

  I shake my head vigorously, hoping she doesn’t get a good look at the envelope I’m digging out of my pocket of shame.

  “Why not? They looked fabulous on you!”

  “I…” I don’t have enough money for those. And the hat. And the shirt. I don’t have enough money to continue beyond this store, I think miserably, but I know I can’t say that. Not without letting it out of the bag that Dad robbed me in my own driveway. Quickly, I fill in a different answer. One I’m hoping she buys. “I’m…saving my money for some other pieces of clothing.” I grin nervously here as if she could pull back my mask any moment and see how pathetic and poor I am. And when she does, she’ll decide I’m not worth falling in love head over heels for. “I’ll just get these. It’s fine,” I assert, though I’m not feeling fine at all.

  I got out a big portion of my money, so I didn’t have to cherry-pick like this on my date. But here I am, cherry-picking, cutting the “fat” off of a shopping trip that already is mostly skin and bone.

  Melissa studies me. She looks confused and annoyed. “You really don’t want them?”

  I shake my head, holding the hat and the shirt closer to me. “Just these. It’s fine.”

  Melissa studies me a moment longer before grabbing those pants right off the rack where I left them. “I’m buying these for you then,” she says.

  “No,” I say a little too loudly. “No, pet,” I say, quieting myself so that I don’t bring more attention to myself than I already have. “It’s okay. You don’t need to buy that for me. I said I was going to finance my own wardrobe, and I mean it.”

  “And that’s fine. But I like the way you look in them, so I’m going to buy them for you, sir.” Here, she lowers her voice. From behind part of the clothes rack we’re standing nearby, and out of view of other patro
ns, she runs her hand down my ass. “You look unbelievably sexy, sir. And I’m not walking out of here without these pants.” I blush as she gives my ass a little swat. “It’s repayment for that lunch you bought me the other day.”

  The color on my cheeks deepens, as does the heat coursing through my body. Oh, my God! She is so deliciously bossy! And she’s not even my boss! My heart begins to beat a little uncomfortably fast here. And of course, she had to bring up that lunch! She’s going to use that as her reason to pay me back, even though today’s date was supposed to be my payback to her for everything she has done for me!

  At this moment, I’m feeling a strange mix of anger, excitement, frustration, and desire. I really don’t know why, other than to say it’s because of how demanding she is with me, even while she knows I outrank her.

  “Fine,” I say, pushing the slacks into her hands. “I’ll let you buy those pants for me, but only because you want to.” These words come off as snappish — not as sexy as I hoped, but I make up for that by slipping my hand across the back of her pants as I walk by. The blush that flares on her cheek a second later lets me know she got the message loud and clear: two can play at that game, and I’m not done with you. Not yet. Not ever.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Melissa

  From the first store we visit, where I’ve just bought Tommy the sexiest, most casual slacks I think I’ve ever seen in my life and am now having fantasies about when he “models” them for me later, we head into some more shops. These ones are more along the professional, business wear spectrum. Shops I’m familiar with myself, as I’ve used them to build my own wardrobe over the years.

  But I’ve never gone there to try to shop for someone with Tommy’s measurements. Something that proves to be difficult, if not impossible, the minute we walk in, and the clerk gets to look at us. Especially when I explain to him that we’re here for Tommy, not for me.