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“How did you piece all this together?”
“It’s fucking Shakespeare for fuck’s sake!” When she stares blankly, I start yelling. “Othello, Ophelia… the fucking Tempest! That’s not a coincidence. Othello, all ego. They’re the rich egos you hand your business cards to. Ophelia? Virginal! Shawn recruits the young women. Then you both bring them back here to…” I pull on my rope hoping loosen it. “Back to this shitstorm… the Tempest. You get it? And Prospero? Prospero is the watchword to get in this fucked-up place. In The Tempest, Prospero is the master of the monster! How does this not connect with either of you?” When nobody answers, I grunt in frustration. “Now I know how dickhead Joseph feels.” Shawn really has no excuse. We’ve attended countless Shakespeare productions, which in hindsight must have been under sufferance.
There’s a moment of silence, and for Sam it’s a rather profound moment. “Holy shit,” she finally whispers. “I’m so stupid, I’ve never made the connection. Not even once, and I studied Shakespeare for two years in Mrs. Lindsay’s class.”
I shrug trying to make it better. “To be fair, she was an awful teacher. I’m not surprised you didn’t retain anything.”
“How did you know?” Shawn asks, voice laden with guilt.
“I followed Sam and stalked her house until she left for work. Then I followed her,” I reply bitterly, leaving out the visuals from my last post. “How I got in here is nobody’s business. But once I was in, I started seeing familiar faces.” I turn to Shawn with scornful eyes. “Including Mr. Burton, our asshole, thieving banker, who won one of your girls from Ophelia. Thanks so much, by the way, I really love how you and he worked together so well to screw me over. Fucking me with a pineapple would have been a much sweeter experience.”
Shawn chuckles but it’s solemn. “I fucked up, Blythe. My explanations may not be good enough, but if we make it out of this, I promise to make it all better.”
“You’re too late. Besides…” I look to my sister and him, “I’m not into sloppy seconds. Or, in this case, would I be sloppy thirds? Or being that I was first to start with, does that really qualify me as sloppy anything—”
“What are you talking about?” Sam interrupts my rant.
“You and Shawn. Shawn and you. How long has that little charade been going on?”
“There’s nothing going on,” my husband states as a matter-of-fact.
I scoff. “And it’s expected you’d say that.”
“He’s telling the truth.”
“I saw you both the other day at Sam’s house. You had your shirt undone and you zipped Sam’s dress.”
“I had a shower at your sister’s because I was running late and her house is closer.”
Plausible.
“And the conversation that followed? Tell Blythe. No, don’t tell Blythe. She’s unstable. She’s—”
“She’s got things totally wrong,” Shawn interjects.
“So, what were you debating telling me? That you, husband, fought so much for me to remain in the dark?”
“I…” Sam begins. “I wanted to tell you about my work, the money, the situation I’m in.”
“Are you pregnant?” I turn to Shawn. “Did you get my sister pregnant?”
“No!” they reply in unison.
“You’re my fucking sister, Blythe, give me some credit. Shawn and I have been at loggerheads because I wanted to tell you how I was helped out. How this job literally stopped me from winding up on the street. How I now have the security of a home, a car, regular income—”
“I’m sensing a but…”
“It’s a big but. It’s all given as an advance. Estimated, it will take two years to pay off. I wanted to tell you all about it, but when Shawn found out I was working here, he begged me to keep it quiet. Well, I guess, now I know why. I didn’t know about the auctions. I didn’t know Shawn recruited young women. I didn’t know any of that. My time is mostly spent at Othello. I simply come here to make sure my clients are comfortable and happy.”
I exhale, relieved my sister is still of the same moral standing. Guilt wracks my soul. “So, you two aren’t having an affair?”
“Absolutely fucking not!”
So, Sam’s riches haven’t come from our joint bank accounts after all.
I meet Sam’s eyes, which not-so-subtly indicate for me to discuss matters with Shawn. I don’t want to because I won’t be able to wipe the snot from my nose when I cry. He, however, has other plans.
“I’m sorry, Blythe.”
“I feel like the apologies need to be saved for the women you bring here.”
“I never bring anyone against their will. They’re in full knowledge of the process and are happy to oblige.”
If my hands were free, I’d slap him.
“Are you kidding me? Did you not see the two girls brought out tonight? The first looked barely legal and drugged off her nut, and so did the third one. If you see that as consensual, then I don’t know what sort of monster you’ve become.”
