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“The stage?” Paul asks, pointing at a section of the plans for the second floor.
“Optional,” Carl says, smiling, “but do we really want a twenty-four-hour sausage party in there?”
Reginald barks a laugh, and thumps me in the shoulder like I’m his buddy. “Good thinking. Everything’s better with tits in the background, right?”
They go over the details, and the talk goes over general plans and layouts. Of supreme interest seems to be some of the private sauna rooms and the prospect of hiring Swedish prostitutes to offer oral service in them. It’s Paul’s idea, after visiting a particular coffee shop with a similar model in Sweden. There’s also the
more technical talk of materials, who has what connections with this or that contractor or sub-contractor, where to import the materials in, and how to undermine the necessary foreign markets ahead of time to get the best deal.
None of them seem concerned about the possibility that Janie Hall won’t fail — that no matter what I do, or what anyone else does, she’ll manage to keep her head above water long enough to outlast Ferry Lights. Once she gets a solid foothold, dislodging Red Hall will become far more difficult, and Reginald knows that.
And he knows that I know it, which is almost worse. Throughout the night, he’s giving me that warning look, as though my fate is still undecided. Which it is. Not just by him — I haven’t got Janie in my pocket just yet, and honestly I’m not sure I can put her there.
Oh, I’m certain I can get her into bed. I’ve got my foot in the door. But she’s still cautious, and she has her priorities straight. She isn’t going to topple just because she’s got a hot rush for a guy like me. Not even if I want her to.
Eventually the meeting is over, and I can’t get out of the place fast enough. Most of them will spend the night — there are strippers and hookers inbound soon, now that all the business is over with — but I drove myself up here specifically so I could leave.
Reginald doesn’t push me to stay, though. He pulls me aside once the shareholders disperse. “Give me an update,” he says. “How far along is Janie Hall?”
“I don’t know yet,” I tell him. “She’s a tough nut. Confident. Self-sufficient. We’ve been talking, though.”
“Talking?” he asks. He laughs. “You’ve been talking? About what? Your fucking feelings? Jesus Christ, I didn’t raise a fucking therapist. What’s taking so long?”
“Not every woman bends over just because you snap your fingers,” I argue. “Janie has integrity — she has to be convinced. Seduced.”
“Just show her your big fucking Ferry dick,” Reginald grunts. “Get her wet and she’ll bend over. I don’t need her to want to have your fucking babies, Jake. I need her to be susceptible to sabotage. Fuck her and get it over with. Fast track it. You hear me?”
It occurs to me that my father doesn’t understand women. He’s never needed to. He understands hookers and gold diggers, and how to spot them — but that’s like understanding a carpenter or baker. He understands occupations, not people.
Trying to explain Janie to him is pointless, so I just rattle my keys and smile. “Yeah, Dad. I’ll get on it.”
“I want an update in two days,” he growls. “And I want to hear good news. Is that clear?”
Crystal clear. If I don’t have good news, there will be consequences. “Yes, sir.”
Reginald smiles that fake, predatory smile and puts his paw on the back of my neck, pulling me close. “You’re my son,” he says quietly. “Don’t fucking disappoint me.”
He lets me go to return to his “boys.” I watch him leave, wondering how he navigates the world. But, then, I suppose that’s the wrong way to look at it. Reginald has spent his life changing the world to navigate him.
I leave them to their philandering and circle-jerking, and spend the drive back to the city wondering why I would ever want to be a part of that world in the first place.
Janie
“So you and Jake Ferry, huh?” Gloria asks.
“Chester, would you run the bar inventory and send me the order?” I ask my bartender.
Gloria isn’t diverted by being ignored, though. “I saw you leave with him. Did you go home with him?” She sounds so eager you’d think there was some prize for guessing correctly.
Lacey comes to me with the updated menu for me to look over, casting a wary eye at Gloria and a sympathetic one at me.
“You know he’s got a reputation, right? With the ladies?” Gloria snorts. “If you can call them that, I guess.”
“This all looks fine, Lace,” I tell my head chef. “Send me the order you need. Ah… try to account for the recent dip. No point in buying product we won’t use.”
Lacey grimaces, but agrees. She hates the idea of running out of anything, I know, but it would be stupid of both of us to ignore the facts. “Sure thing. Say… two hundred for dinner? For the whole night?”
“Let’s be optimistic,” I tell her, “and go for… two twenty. I think there’s an auction going on at Hightower, but they’re only serving cocktails. We might get a boost.”
