by Portia Moore
“Well, George, we should let them get back to their dinner,” Marilyn says, and for a moment I have hope that maybe this will end, and I can salvage the evening.
“It looks like they’re finishing dessert. Let’s have a drink.”
I clench my jaw, furious with him. He knows he’s intruding, and he doesn’t give a fuck. As if we should be pleased that he’s gracing us with his presence.
“Come, Marilyn,” he says, pulling out a chair for her without waiting to see if I agree or not. All I can do is sit back down with Megan, my fingers tightly entwined with hers as George orders an expensive bottle of champagne to celebrate us. It seems like a nice gesture, but I would rather have had privacy and no champagne.
Marilyn has at least always been a kind person, even if she can be on the uptight side. She makes small talk with Megan, which is a sweet effort, and seems to relax Megan a little as she asks questions about college, which is always a good topic. She explains to Megan that she’s a broker, and I’m starting to think that maybe it will be okay, but George cuts in again.
“Megan, dear,” he says patronizingly. “The last time we met I could have sworn I knew you from somewhere, and with how you look tonight it hit me.”
I glare at him. There’s no way he’s met Megan before. He just knows this throws her off and makes her uncomfortable, and he enjoys making her squirm.
“Have you ever been to Code Black?” he asks, peering at Megan as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“What’s Code Black?” I ask snappishly, my voice tight.
“Just a club that I’m a member of. She bears a striking resemblance to one of the young ladies there.”
“I have no idea what that is,” Megan says firmly, and she grips my hand harder.
“I’m terribly sorry Uncle George,” I say, actually not even a little bit sorry, “but we have plans for a show after this. We have to get going, if you don’t mind.” I’m only barely able to be polite, shoving my frustration down as well as I’m able. I don’t know what kind of a game George is playing at, but I’m very tired of it.
“Oh, of course not. We’ll let you proceed with your night. It was so good seeing you,” Marilyn says, and I can tell that she’s as happy as I am to have this awkward conversation at an end. After all, what woman wants to sit there and listen to her husband talk to a beautiful woman about seeing her at a gentleman’s club?
“I’ll get the check,” George says, pulling out his wallet, and I counter with my own.
“I appreciate it, but you don’t have to do that.”
“Oh but I insist. Consider it an anniversary gift.” He puts a black credit card down, and I see him look pointedly at Megan.
As we walk to the car I don’t let go of Megan’s hand, but there’s a tension there between us that wasn’t there before. I don’t know exactly why, but there’s a strange tension in my gut, and I feel unsettled.
“Is George your mom or dad’s brother?” Megan asks once we’re in the car and headed to the theater.
“He’s my mom’s half-brother.”
“Makes sense, the half part,” she says, laughing shortly. I can tell she’s upset, and I don’t blame her. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something wrong. I glance over at her, giving her a sad smile.
“Babe, what’s wrong?” she asks, and I remember that honesty has always worked best between us. I always tell her what I’m thinking.
“You know you could tell me anything,” I say quietly, glancing at her and then back at the road. “And I’d never judge you. Not even for a second.”
I can feel her tense next to me. “What are you asking me, Kam?” she says softly, her voice going colder.
I sigh. There’s no good way to say what I’m going to. “I’m just saying that if you’ve ever worked there, I wouldn’t judge you, but I’d like to know.” There’s a slight edge to my voice. It’s not that I believe it…but the idea of her holding back something from me, when I’ve been so open with her, so vulnerable, upsets me. I want honesty between us.
I see her bite her lip, worrying at it. “No, never. I’ve told you every place I’ve worked. From my first fast food job to the bookstore. I’ve never even heard of the place your uncle mentioned.” Her voice is earnest, and I nod, letting the smile creep back onto my face. I have to trust her.
“Okay,” I say gently, reaching for her hand. But she pulls it away, folding her arms in front of her.
When we head home, she’s silent. This isn’t how I wanted the night to end, and when I pull up in front of my apartment, I half expect her to tell me to take her back to hers, or to tell me that she doesn’t want to move in after all. I can tell that she’s upset with me, and has a right to be, but my uncle’s questions thrown me off. We both walk into the apartment silently, and I wonder if this is our first fight. It’s the first time I’ve felt this kind of distance between us, since we became a real thing.
Blue is lying across the couch in sweats, and Katie is nowhere to be seen. “What’s up, guys?” he asks, not tearing his gaze from the television.
“Hey, Blue,” I say shortly, striding past him on my way towards the bedroom. I don’t look to see if Megan is following. I know I upset her, but does she have to hang onto it tonight of all nights? I walk out onto the balcony to make a phone call, trying to shrug off the feeling that something is really wrong. I don’t want to fight with her. I want the romance of our evening back, the perfect harmony that was between us. Is it a bad sign, that we have our first fight right after I ask her to move in with me?
Maybe it’s just nerves. I hear the sound of the shower turning on, and when I finally come back into the bedroom, Megan is tucked into my king-size bed with the lamp turned off, looking adorable in one of my t-shirts. I pull back the covers and slide into bed with her, and stretch my body over hers as I look down into her eyes as she opens them, pushing her hair out of her face.
“I don’t want to fight,” I whisper, brushing my lips against her ear, and I feel her shift under me. She looks up at me as I pull back, and I try to put all the apology I can into my eyes as I run my hands over her body, up underneath the t-shirt, and then I push the covers back as I make my way downwards, to do the thing I had been fantasizing about at the restaurant, before everything went south.
The next week my parents call and ask me to have lunch with them, and I happily agree. I want to tell them about Megan moving in with me, and I hope that by sharing it with them, I can shake the residual feelings left by the run-in with my uncle. Things have smoothed over between Megan and I, but there’s still a small, irritating feeling in the back of my mind that pops up now and then. I try to ignore it, but it won’t go away completely.
I meet them at a restaurant downtown that I love, and once we say hello and hug, and put in our order, my mother smiles at me. “How are things?” she asks, and I grin at her.
“Well, I’ve asked Megan to move in, and she said yes!” I tell them enthusiastically. They both smile at me, my mother even more so than my dad, and I feel a weight lifted off of my shoulders. I know it’s fast, but it’s not like I’ve asked her to marry me. By living together, I can really know if this is what I think it is, if we’re as compatible as I believe we are.
“I’m so happy for you,” my mother says, squeezing my hand. “We really love Megan. She’s so sweet and bright and wonderful. And you’ll have beautiful children together in the future,” she adds teasingly. “After you’re married and finish your degree, of course.” I laugh at her but the thought of me, Megan, and kids makes me smile like an idiot.
We talk through lunch about Megan and Katie and how Katie feels about Megan moving in—thrilled, of course—and then my mother excuses herself to go to the restroom. When she’s out of earshot, my father leans towards me. I see a concerned look on his face that surprises me.
“Kameron, your George told me about Megan working at Code Black,” he begins, and my jaw immediately hardens, my whole body going tense.
“It’s not true,” I say defensively, my tone sharpening. “Megan told me that it isn’t true. He’s making it up, or he’s mistaken her for someone else.”
“Your uncle is a lot of things, most of which I’m not particularly fond of,” my father says, looking at me carefully, “but I’ve never known him to be a liar. It’s really his only virtue.”
My parents’ approval of Megan means a lot to me, and George is chipping away at that, just like he’s tried to chip away at my own relationship with Megan.
“We like Megan,” my father consoles me. “We really do. I do. But I just want to be sure you know who she is if you’re starting a future with her.”
“Look,” I say, folding up my napkin and sighing. “Megan has been through a lot, Dad. She’s had a really hard life. But I just don’t see her ever being someone who would work in a gentlemen’s club like that, even if it’s an exclusive one. She’s shy and reserved, she couldn’t. It just doesn’t add up.”
“That could be who she is now, Son,” my father cautions. “That doesn’t mean it’s always been her. Everyone has a past. I don’t want to shame anyone for theirs. But with our familes aspirations and wealth our family has to be careful. It’s better to know than be blindsided. We’re not asking you to be with someone clean-cut and perfect. Hell, look at Blue,” he laughs. “But we do need to know who the people close to us are, and everything we can about their pasts.”
I just nod, but I can’t stop thinking about what he’s said. All through the rest of lunch, I turn the words over and over in my head, and the unsettled feeling returns. I know I should trust Megan, If I start snooping she’d never forgive me. But I have to know.
I stop my father at the door as we walk out of the restaurant. “I believe her,” I say quietly. “But I need to know. Can you arrange a meeting with the manager of the club George is talking about, just so I can check it out and see?”
“Of course, Son.” My father pats me on the shoulder, smiling reassuringly at me. “You’re doing the right thing. It’s better to know, just in case.”
“Thanks,” I say quietly, but I feel the weight settle itself back onto my shoulders. Megan will be hurt by this if she finds out, I know it. I’m going behind her back, sneaking to find information about her that she’s sworn to me doesn’t exist, and the guilt feels immensely heavy.
But still, the next day, I make the drive to Chicago. My father talked to George and set up a meeting with the manager for me, and the minute I arrive I’m escorted back to the office without a question. The club is empty and silent, not a girl in sight, and it seems innocuous and plain with the lights up and the cleaning ladies bustling around. I sit down opposite the manager, a slightly greasy looking man in an expensive suit, and frown. I pull out my phone. “I’m looking for information on this girl,” I say, showing him a picture of Megan. “Her name is Megan. I want to know if she’s ever worked here.”
The man frowns. “Yeah, she used to work here. Made me a ton of money. I was real sad when she left, just up and disappeared. But uh…her name wasn’t Megan, at least not when she worked here. It was Alana. Maybe that was just her stage name, but if so, she put it on all her official documents, too. I have an i9 with the information, has the name Alana on it.”
He shows me the document and I sit back in my chair, completely confused. I’ve seen Megan’s driver’s license a dozen times at least when she’s pulled it out at restaurants to drink. I know her name, it’s printed there in black and white. It’s definitely not Alana.
So what’s going on? This can’t be her. But this man recognizes her picture, and my uncle…
Maybe it’s not.
She must have a twin sister, I think. Or a relative with an uncanny resemblance. I latch onto that thought for dear life, clinging to it. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.
I thank the manager and leave, stepping out into the fresh air and taking a deep breath. I resolve to forget about it, to take my explanation and leave this in the past. Megan never has to know that I went digging. I believe her, and whatever questions I might have about this strange relative or sister, I won’t ask. For all I know, she has no idea if she has this sibling or relation. She grew up in foster care, she doesn’t know her family. Asking her these things will just dig up painful memories, and I want to make her happy. I want her to forget about her past.
So I need to forget about this.
I tell myself that my explanation is good enough. But as I drive home, I can’t quell that nagging feeling in my gut, the one that I haven’t been able to get rid of since the night of our anniversary.
The one that tells me that something is very, very wrong.
11
Alana
It’s an unusually slow night at Code Black. The few eyes that are on me actually seem to be paying attention to my song, but as always I can’t help but feel that if I had my clothes on, they’d be a lot less interested. Afterwards I make my usual circles around the room, flirting with customers in my spotless white lingerie. I’m almost to the bar to collect a well-earned drink when a voice stops me in my tracks.
“Well hello there, beautiful.”
I don’t need to see the man to know what kind of arrogant prick he is. It’s dripping from his voice. I turn to face him, plastering my tolerant smile on as I pout prettily at him. “Can I help you?”
He moves closer to me, practically drooling. It’s disgusting. I sidle away from him, closer to the bar. “I want a dance, gorgeous. I’ll pay anything for some time alone with you.”
“I don’t do dances,” I tell him politely. “I just sing.”
It’s getting harder and harder to tolerate, though, even with just singing. Working at the club has lost some of its appeal since I’ve been with Ian. I liked the freedom of it, and needed the flexibility to make my own schedule, work Jadon’s jobs, live my life how I wanted. It worked especially well with me and Megan’s situation. But being with Ian has given me a glimpse into a different kind of life, one that’s more…normal. I’ve lived my whole existence on the edge, toeing the line of society, and I can almost see what it might be like to just settle down, to have something more domestic. The club seemed exotic and shiny to me once, but now it’s starting to take on the same grime as everything else I’ve done.
“Sweetheart.” The man says haughtily. “I don’t think you know who I am. I am George Splicer, of Splicer industries. Money is no object.” I narrow my eyes at him as if I give a fuck who the hell he is or what he has. Everyone in this place has money.
“I told you Mr. Splicer, I don’t dance.”
His hand shoots out to grab my arm and pull me closer to him, but I yank it away, rounding on him with a fierce glare that makes him step back.
“If you try to touch me again,” I say slowly, enunciating each word, “I will cut your pathetic little dick off.” His eyes widen as if no one has ever spoken to him like I have before.
“Fine.” He puts his hands up, backing away. “Cheap slut.”
The way he says it makes my blood boil but I’m trying to be better, to not fly off the handle. But I can’t help it. I grab a drink from one of the cocktail waitresses and walk over and throw it into Mr. Potty Mouth’s face.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he spouts off haughtily, still maintaining his pompous indignation.
“I was showing you that I’m not cheap. I bought that drink just for you,” I tell him smugly.
“Alana!” I hear one of the house managers on the floor shout but they can take that as my two weeks’ notice.
There’s sounds of muffled laugher, shock and gasps, but I don’t give a shit. I’m tired of this place anyway.
It’s almost eleven the next morning when my phone buzzes and I pick it up. When I answer, it’s Blue on the other line.
“Want to go to a barbecue with me at my folks’ place this afternoon? I can pick you up in an hour.”
I snort. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Come o
n, do you have something better to do? I know you don’t.”
He’s not wrong. The whole day in front of me is empty. Ian won’t be off work until late, and I have absolutely nothing to do other than go get groceries, which is the absolute last thing I want to do. This barbecue doesn’t sound a whole lot better, but at least there’s free food. Maybe even alcohol.
“Sure, fine,” I say shortly to Blue. “Pick me up in an hour.”
I throw on a pair of skinny jeans and a black fitted top, brush my hair out and put a little mascara on. Part of me just wants to sit in my room and not have to deal with anyone, but I know it’ll be good for me to get out for a little while, do something that isn’t just work or spending time with Ian. And besides, I think my friendship with Blue is a good thing for me.
“My dad is having a barbecue to celebrate a year of being sober,” he explains as we pull up to his parents’ house. “It’s kind of a big deal for him.”
I blink at him, surprised. I’ve never had a friend who would bring me to something like that, not that I’ve ever had someone that I’ve considered a real friend, and the thought that Blue is my first, it sort makes me feel a little warm and fuzzy, not that that’s happened to me much. “Why didn’t you bring waterface?” I ask as I get in his car. He rolls his eyes at me.
“Kate,” he corrects me and I yawn, conveying my boredom.
He shrugs. “I didn’t know which of my dads I’d be seeing today. And besides, my family can be…a lot. They’re a little overwhelming, to say the least. I didn’t want to throw her into all of that just yet.”
I see what he means the minute we walk into the sunroom where a long table has been set up, a vinyl tablecloth thrown over it with bowls and dishes of sides for the barbecue stretched across it, along with drinks. Blue introduces me to two of his cousins—one is tall and blond, at least six foot three and built like an MMA fighter. The other is leaner, covered in tattoos, with a beard and dark hair under a beanie. Both of them are as handsome as Blue is, and when he introduces me—“Alana, these are two of my cousins, Jake and Riley,”—they both look me up and down, going from my face to my cleavage to the thin strip of bare skin that shows between my t-shirt and my jeans and back up again.
