Page 100 of Turning Back

“Mmm-hmmm. I did hear that as well. It doesn’t surprise me.”

“What doesn’t surprise you?” I ask.

“That you enjoy two men at the same time.” She laughs. Heartily. “You’re a lot like your father.”

Uh. I feel sick.

“But you have your mother in you too. I can see that as well.”

Does she think this makes it any better? Or did she say that on purpose? You’re just like your parents, Rochelle. I want to slap her. I want to scream at her. I want to ask her, right here in front of Denver’s most powerful people, if she ever thought about me when she was fucking my father. “Do you?” I say, instead. I hate the fact that this woman knows me. Both the old me, and the new me.

“Justin was just invited into the Club,” she says, changing the subject. “I’m really looking forward to spending time there. Maybe we’ll see each other?” She smiles. A kind of… sick smile.

Yuk. That is disgusting. I cannot imagine any scenario where I would end up in that basement with this woman. Gross.

“I doubt that,” I say, still using my fake high-society manners. “I don’t belong in the Club. Elias and Quin keep me far away from that life. But I’m sure you’ll have fun with all the other…” I want to say tramps, but it’s not fair, because they’re not tramps. They’re just people. People like me and Chella. So I don’t. I say, “Partners,” instead.

“Why, thank you,” she says. But I’ve offended her because she presses her lips together. “Do you still play music? I know you had that guitar hobby back when you were a child. In fact, I’m the one who talked your father into giving you your first guitar back when you were eleven. I can still picture you that one night he brought me home to your house for a party. You were—”

“Excuse me,” Bric says, pressing into me. “Helen, is it? I’m going to steal Rochelle from you. I’m dying to dance with my lover.”

I almost laugh. Almost. But the sting of that last statement is enough to quell it.

“Would you like to dance, Rochelle?” he asks politely. As if I would say no.

“Love to,” I say. “Can you hold my drink?” I ask the woman. She takes it out of habit, mumbling something about it being her pleasure, but I don’t wait and thank her—can’t wait and thank her, because Bric is pulling me away.

“What the fuck was that?” he asks.

“Apparently,” I say, as Bric puts his hand on my waist and we begin to dance, “that was my father’s old mistress. How wonderful it was to see her again.”

“I bet,” Bric says, smiling down at me.

“What a cunt. God.”

“You’ve never mentioned your father before.”

“No,” I say. “For good reason. He’s an asshole.”

“And your mother?”

“Stepmother, you mean. Another cunty bitch. My father loves the cunty ones.”

“Got it.” Bric laughs. “So where’s all this animosity come from?”

Really? Tonight, of all nights, in public, he wants to ask me about my old life?

“You don’t want to talk about it,” he says.

“Got it in one,” I say, trying to keep the mood light. But he’s serious now, so I try again. “No. Not here, anyway.”

“Do you think we’ll ever meet them?” he asks.

“Will I ever meet your families?” I counter.

He shrugs. “Not mine. They live far away. But Quin’s family is in town.”

I picture this meeting in my head. I know his father passed away a few years back. So no worries there. But his mother is still alive.