“Hot damn, my man. I knew you’d be good to have around.”
Maggie slinks out of the room and slams the door to the bedroom. Zebulund and I yelp in unison and then laugh at our manly displays. He’s at my side, one hand rubbing my shoulder.
“That’s it. Next weekend your ass is coming to the house to figure this out.”
“You want to try a séance?” I ask in disbelief, even though it was basically my idea. “You think the others will go for that?”
“They’ll do whatever I tell them.” His tone is light enough but there’s no modesty in his declaration. He’ll get them there. They’ll do whatever he asks.
“Okay. I can do that.” I run a hand over my face.
I’m sure he thinks I’m relieved to be believed but really I can’t believe this worked. We’ll get into his house. Maggie and I need a new plan now. Would she be willing to continue this weird arrangement? Would I?
“I’ll do my best,” I say. “Maybe she’s attached to the house or something. I’ll do some research but I have to be honest when I say I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You show up next weekend and we’ll see what happens.” He makes his way to the door.
My hands are stacked on my head, elbows splayed. My heart is only now calming down. His head tilts to peek in the bedroom. Maggie lies on the bed in almost the same exact position. Damn, she’s good.
“You sure wore her out.” His gaze lingers on her legs. I can almost see the trail of slime left behind. “You want to send her around when you’re done?”
“I don’t share.” My voice comes out sharp as a knife and I can’t believe how close I am to punching this guy in the face.
“Fair enough.” He holds up his hands. “Fair enough.” He pulls a cigar out of his pocket and lights it. “Fireworks at ten.”
The door handle digs hard into my palm. I give a straight line smile and close the door. Every minute I spend in that man’s company, a little bit of my soul dies. Like watching reality TV.
After dead bolting the door, I fall into bed. Maggie sits up with the sheets wrapped around her waist. Her coloring is better but not great.
“I’m sorry,” I say and I’m not even sure what I’m apologizing for anymore. Zebulund’s comments? Men that abuse power and treat women like objects? The state of the world?
“I’m used to it.” She shrugs a creamy smooth shoulder.
That doesn’t make me feel better. She’s lovely. But she’s much more. It makes me sick to think of her being objectified. But am I any better? The sheet shifts slightly and drops down her shoulder, exposing some skin. Here I am examining the area where her neck meets her collar and wondering how it tastes. There’s something seriously wrong with me to feel so much attraction toward her while I’m mourning my entire sex. When I look up she’s watching me closely.
“Sounds like we have plans next weekend.”
“I hope you’re free.”
“I’ll clear my schedule.” Her grin is blinding.
* * *
Maggie
When my shiftends I finally track Roe down on the topmost deck. I’m exhausted from work and the old dogs are barking, as Mrs. Jenkins would say. Guess I didn’t think about the downside of this whole plan, that I would have to actually work. All the while being called kitten and toots, having my ass grabbed and being propositioned. “Want to be famous, sweetie?” I’m still pumped with adrenaline from my outrage as I walk to Roe.
Just my body, not my being. Just my body, not my being.
He’s alone and leaning on the rail, staring out at the ocean. His hair is slicked back and gelled and tonight he’s in a fancy tuxedo instead of a nice suit. The picture of retro sophistication. He’s the visual culmination of all my childhood yearning of black-and-white films. He attracts me in ways I haven’t experienced in many years. It’s a heady and confusing sensation. Watching him handle the men in the poker game with such ease, knowing exactly how to play each one and make them love him, was fascinating. I could never be aware of all those social nuances.
This is a dangerous road to go down. Instead, I focus on the prize. I envision Zebulund behind bars, the papers slandering him, social media outrage, and all his money gone. That’s where my focus needs to be.
“Hey.” I lean on the pole next to him and step out of the kitten heel Mary Jane shoes that are part of the costume.
The cool deck soothes my aching feet. I left my tray behind, but I’m still dressed in this ridiculous getup. This side of the yacht isn’t as crowded. A few people meander out of earshot, and soft jazz plays over the speakers. The stars twinkle like the backdrop of a set made of diamonds. There’s no distinguishing the water surface from the sky.
“Hey.” He doesn’t look over at me. It’s hard to tell his mood yet. I didn’t see him much today and when I did he stayed on the outskirts of the festivities. How does he feel about the deceit? What if he’s made friends with this man whom I’m willing to do whatever to destroy?
