I headed downstairs to the basement of the extravagant condo complex, taking two steps at a time in heels when my cell buzzed again. “What now?” It was another mystery text from Daveigh that demanded an immediate call. With a sigh, I dropped the phone in my purse for a second time and hurried toward the underground parking level. “Sorry, ‘Veigh. Now’s not a good time,” I mumbled to myself.
The double doors of the massive garage shut, smacking my rear from behind while the familiar smell of old motor oil and exhaust greeted me. It was reminiscent of an established mechanic’s shop. My high heels clacked against the concrete floor as I descended the ramps, the sound echoing against the acoustics of the wide-open space. I’d become familiar with parking slot 34 over the past ten months. It was another self-serving gift from Cash to ensure my vagina visited him on a regular basis. In the beginning, I was terrified of doing the walk of shame alone through the empty garage. Shadows loomed in every nook and cranny of the dimly lit area. Over time, I realized it wasn’t such a lonely place.
“Hey, Otis,” I said as I turned the corner of a gray, concrete pillar.
An old man poked his head out from the top of a faded sleeping bag and looked at me with bloodshot eyes. Tufts of fuzzy, white hair stuck up from his tanned scalp. “Good mornin’, Miss Blue,” he said with a near-toothless smile.
“I’m late for work today, so I can’t chat. But I brought you breakfast.” I reached into my purse and grabbed the muffin. Truth be told, I’d never eaten a single one of the gummy pastries I’d taken from Cash’s kitchen. Every single one had gone to Otis. Go ‘head, make me ‘flawless eventually’, Cash-hole. “Blueberry today. I know. Not your favorite, but it’s all that was left.”
Otis looked at the muffin wide eyed and gave my hand a gentle squeeze before taking the plastic bag from my grip. “That’s okay. I’ll take blueberry over a hungry belly any day.” His lips trembled, and he looked like he already envisioned how it’d taste. “Thank you, Miss Blue!”
“You’re welcome. And here’s some coffee. Two sugars. No cream. Just how you like it. You know the drill.”
He nodded and reached out to take the travel mug from me with shaky hands, like I’d gifted him with a million dollars. “I’ll leave the cup in the corner of your space. Number 34. By the wall.”
“I’m not sure if I’m staying here tonight or not, but I’ll pick it up when I’m back next. Don’t let the side door latch, so you can get in tonight.”
He smiled and took a giant bite of muffin, a few stray crumbs falling from his lips as he groaned with delight. “Oh, I know, and I don’t expect these handouts.” He swallowed. “But it’s people like you who make the world a little bit better for someone who’s down on their luck like me. I’ll never forget the way you took pity on me when I nearly froze to death on that park bench down the street last winter. You’re a diamond in the rough for feedin’ me when you’re around and lettin’ me into this garage for a warm sleep.”
My heart sank a little, my smile wilting into a frown. I wished I could believe the kind words he spoke about me. Knowing what I did in the past left me wondering if Otis would feel the same way if he understood the truth. “Have a good one, buddy.” I gave the sleeping bag a pat before I hurried halfway across the garage to my car.
Looking at my watch, I cursed every swear word I knew into one drawn-out sentence. The big hand crept closer to the twelve, and that meant time was running out. I got into my aged hatchback and started the engine when I noticed a crumpled piece of paper tucked underneath the left windshield wiper.
“I don’t have time for this.” I got out and tugged it free from the rubber strip. A string of glittery, purple letters conveyed a one-lined message, complete with lower-case I’s made into frowny faces.
“Fuck.” I walked around the car and saw a smashed tail light and two round dents. It looked like the giant, who lived at the top of the beanstalk, sat their oversized ass cheeks down into my bumper. There wasn’t time to analyze who could’ve done it. All I could do was pray I wouldn’t get pulled over on the way to the office. Slamming the shifter into drive, I raced toward the exit of the garage.
The thick layer of smog mixed with sunlight stung my eyes as I flipped the blinker. It was late fall, my least favorite time of year—and for good reason. Across the way, the clock affixed to the spinning bank sign read quarter ‘til eight in giant orange numbers. “Fifteen. Awesome.” I fumbled for my day-old bottle of water in the cup holder before easing into traffic. I’d achieved the speed limit when the unexpected happened. The car in front of me slammed on their brakes and swerved halfway into my lane, forcing me to skid to a stop. I dropped the bottle and gripped the steering wheel with both hands, cold liquid spilling down the front of my sweater and soaking into my cream-colored dress pants. “Well, fuck you too, gravity! I only have fifteen minutes until Gloria’ll eat me alive with a side of chocolate cake.”
Great. I’m talking to myself now.
* * *
Seventeen minutes later, I strode through the circular revolving doors of Jensen & Jensen, one of the top plastic surgery offices in Northern California. Celebrities, criminals, and anyone seeking exclusivity went to the clinic. Some of the procedures and practices were legal, but most of them weren’t. Due to privacy laws, I couldn’t discuss any of the details outside of work. Marvin McGreen, a local and cutthroat lawyer, was known for having one client who kept him busy year-round—Jensen & Jensen.
Ornate marble pillars were perched on either side of the grandiose entryway. Their contrasting black and blue swirls on white reminded me of a sickly bruise. Ironic, considering the tasks performed behind closed doors. The floor-to-ceiling windows brought in an obscene amount of lighting, which enhanced the environment. Every imperfection was showcased.
For nearly two years, I’d worked at the surgery office, specializing in every procedure under the sun…knife. Muffin tops. Bat wings. Banana rolls. Nose jobs. Lipo. Cuntstruction. You name it. If someone could complain, Cash and Price Jensen would fix it, along with nipping and tucking wallets for every available penny.
As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t complain. The funds kept food on my table and a roof over my head. My salary wasn’t much considering I was “just office help” as Price Jensen had so-kindly put it on more than one occasion. Most of the Jensens’ dollars padded their own pockets. The most important part was the grueling hours at Augmentation Nation, as I’d deemed it. Not many would consider that a perk, but I did. It alone was worth the meager pay because it kept me far away from Steele Falls.
When it came to cosmetic reasons, I wasn’t a believer in plastic surgery. Enhancing my ass cheeks, suctioning fat off of my stomach, or tightening my vag wasn’t a priority in my life. That’s what gyms, diets, and Kegels were for. But when I moved into town, I needed money badly. Jobs were scarce in Sacramento. With my savings account running low, I risked living in my car during one of the coldest Novembers on record. Usually, the area had mild weather late in the year, but leave the winds to change when Blue Brennan entered the equation.
Jensen & Jensen was the first place to offer me a job with bennies. And I’m not talking about Cash’s version of benefits. So, I snatched it up and swallowed my high-calorie pride, unsure of when another opportunity would arise. Truth be told, my D-cup boobs got me the position and not my résumé. Cash’d ogled them forty-two times during my interview. I counted. Nearly a year later and after a million and twelve of his advances, I somehow ended up in bed with the dickfizzle. Thanks for nothin’, education.
My heels sounded against the glossy cement flooring of the reception area, the grandiose acoustics announcing my lateness. Why didn’t I wear flats today?
“Well, well, well…what do we have here? Is that Blue? It’s so nice of you to grace us with your smile.” A round, female face peered at me. She flashed a sneer from behind a computer screen at the reception desk.
“Morning, Gloria.” I refused to preface the phrase with a ‘good’ to her. Any morning involving Gloria wasn’t pleasant. My eyes flicked toward the clock. Two minutes late. Fuck my life.
Her eyes scanned me from head to feet, hesitating on my torso. “Did you piss yourself?”
“It’ll greatly disappoint you to know I spilled a cup of water in the car.”
“Mmmhmmm. Do you know what time it is?” Gloria clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth three times, her heavily-rouged and saggy cheeks jiggling over her robust bone structure. She slid a cheap pair of reading glasses off her face, allowing them to dangle on a beaded, metal chain around her neck. The smell of gardenia perfume burned my nose. It was enough to make me gag. Did she roll around in a flower shop this morning?
“The time? Sure do,” I said as I punched my employee code into the clock behind the desk. “You see, when the big hand is on the—”
“I know how to tell time,” Gloria snapped. “You’re two minutes late.”
“And?”
“Where were you?” Gloria growled, her demeanor turning immediately sweet as one of the medical assistants walked past the desk. “Hey, Justine?”
A woman clutching a clipboard approached. Red scribbles covered most of it. She wore scrubs covered in cartoon cats holding scalpels with crazed expressions on their faces. “Huh? Sorry, Gloria. Just studying up on the nine o’clock. Oh. Hey, Blue.” She offered me a smile.
“Good morning,” I replied. You see, Justine was worthy of a “good” before “morning”, much unlike Gloria.
“Right. Tony,” Gloria beamed matter-of-factly.
I almost asked if she wanted a cookie for memorizing the appointment book. Almost.
“Yeah.” Justine puffed her cheeks and the let air out slowly. “I don’t know how many of these procedures he’s gonna have before the guy’s happy. His dick’s gonna be long enough to wear as a scarf soon.”
“He called and wanted me to let you know he and his ‘100% all-beef thermometer’ are going to be ten minutes late for his next cock talk.”
“‘All beef’? Are you kidding me? Some of that meat came from grafts on his arm, chest, thigh… Ugh. I think a pig was even offered as sacrifice at one point.”
Gloria held up her pudgy hands in a gesture of defeat. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“I know. These experimental surgeries are getting ridiculous though.” Justine groaned. “Plus, the man has a million names for his penis. Steamin’ semen roadway. Pocket rocket. Yogurt slinger. Trouser snake. I’ve lost count. Only a matter of time until he sprains some poor girl’s vagina. If he can even get the damn thing up without hoisting it by crane.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “And he talks to his dick like it’s a person. It’s so weird.”
Suddenly, I had flashbacks of Cash’s references to Mini Cash and shuddered.
Gloria snorted. “Well, I’ll let you know when Tony and his bologna pony arrive.”
Justine looked up at the ceiling and sighed before walking away. “As always, can’t wait.”
Gloria’s resting bitch face sprang to life again when the door leading to the exam rooms clicked shut. “So, you never answered me. Where were you this morning?”
“I don’t remember you signing my paychecks, so I don’t think I owe you an explanation.” I headed toward the doorway leading to a cluster of business offices. It was my poor attempt at a swift getaway. Unfortunately, proximity wasn’t on my side.
She stood up and blocked my path while she tried to cross her arms but couldn’t. More and more, Gloria reminded me of a female bouncer at a shady nightclub. “Well, if you’d stop chasing Cash’s beaver cleaver, maybe you’d be on time for a change, Brennan.”
“Chasing? Cash?” I blurted the words more loudly than I’d intended as I scanned the room to make sure we were alone. If anything, Cash was the one pursuing me. End of story. I wasn’t about to let Gloria get under my skin though.
For months, she’d been sniffing out Cash’s crotch for a scrap of hope at getting laid, but he avoided her like a bad case of syphilis. In turn, she’d decided to make my life miserable. Total fairness.
I wanted to take a twenty out of my purse, slap it on the counter, and tell Gloria to put it toward a vibrator so she could clear the cobwebs out of her stench trench. Instead, I proudly took the high road. I bit back my retort and balled my fists, elbowing her out of the way as I walked down the hall to my office. Home away from home…or more like hideout from Gloria Peterson.
I tossed my purse on the cheap, metal desk and flopped into the uneven chair. One wheel was permanently an inch off the floor, a stock feature which drove me bat shit crazy. Twin spreadsheets loomed on the flickering screen from the night prior. It was part of a tedious project set forth by Price Jensen himself. Three days later with a condescending tone, he’d likely tell me he wanted the information rearranged, written in hieroglyphics, or presented on a platter with a gold-plated garnish. He had the ability to shat on me too. It was standard Price and a Jensen specialty. Any way I looked at it, I could never win with the roadblocks he built.
My purse buzzed. I need to think about changing my number again. I had a weak moment and gave Daveigh my new digits after I’d moved to Sacramento. At that moment, I regretted it.
Looking between the monitor and my purse, I wasn’t sure which was the lesser of the two evils. “Ugh. She’s not going to give up.” I threw my arms in the air. “Fine. You win!”
Reading the most recent text message, it was Daveigh’s style—vague and dramatic.
‘Veigh
BLUE ANN BRENNAN! CALL ME ASAP. 911. PRONTO. NOW. URGENT. I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE FUCKING YOUR CELEBRITY CRUSH, WHETHER YOU’RE ON THE POT, OR IF YOU’RE HAVING A BEER WITH THE PRESIDENT.
Pursing my lips, I held the phone in my hand, the weight of the impending conversation heavy. All caps with Daveigh wasn’t a good situation. It was too late though. My mistake was opening the text message, so a time stamp proved I’d read more than the preview. Pandora’s Box was about to open if I gave in. Tapping my index finger on the keyboard, I contemplated my options one last time before dialing my sister’s number. If I didn’t get it over with, she wouldn’t stop, and I’d end up in a straitjacket by dinnertime.
One ring.
Daveigh’s definition of “urgent” was likely a shoe crisis, details on her latest male conquest, or whether or not a dress made her ass look fat. Most of the time, I was a pro at evading her, but I’m not sure what made me buckle so quickly. Maybe I was getting soft. Nah.
After two more rings, much to my dismay, the line opened.
“Blue! It’s about fucking time. Where the hell have you been?” a female voice reprimanded. “I’ve texted you a hundred times now. For hours.”
I glanced at the three text messages on my phone and rolled my eyes. It was an exaggeration, but I remained calm. “Nice to hear from you too, Daveigh. It’s been what? Six months? Maybe seven since we last spoke?”
She ignored my question and sighed. “You never answer. Ever. Let’s not do this. Not today.”
“Let’s not do what?” I asked. “Our usual avoid-each-other dance? But we’re so good at it, even though I’m not sure who leads and who follows anymore.”
“Please don’t pick a fight. This is important.”
“Obviously. I can tell by your parental tone and use of capital letters in text, little sister.” I paused. “Well? What is it? I stopped fucking my favorite movie star while on the porcelain throne. You should’ve been there. It was pretty impressive since the president and I were about to toast with our beers, and—”
“Stop,” Daveigh demanded.
“What is so damn important?” I snapped. “Do you need me to tell you which pair of shoes matches your outfit better? Did the bikini barista stand fire you again for hooking up with that rent-a-cop? Did Steele Falls go up in flames? What? What is it?”
“His name is Gene, and he’s a private security guard. We broke up a long time ago.”
“Whatever.” I huffed. “There’s no doubt in my mind a new man in uniform took his place.”
“This really isn’t the time for your specialty brand of snark.” There was a hitch in her voice, and I knew from experience tears were on the horizon. “You and I have had our share of issues, but…”
I leaned back into the chair and closed my eyes. It wasn’t like Daveigh to get worked up on the phone. Evening my tone, I brought my voice down an octave. “What’s going on?”
Her words were a mix of garbled sobs, but I could still understand her without a doubt. “It’s Daddy. He’s dead.”