~1~
A lot can happen in two years.
Tate drove back to Boston with Jameson and Sanders. She stayed with Jameson, lived with him in Weston. It was home, after all.
He was home.
Jameson was the devil. Sometimes he was cruel, sometimes he was sadistic, sometimes he made her want to tear her hair out. But always, always, he made her love him even more. Underneath everything, was his love. His trust. His adoration.
Sure, they weren't perfect, and she was pretty sure they had turned fighting into an art form. One time she threw a dinner plate at his head and called him retarded. Then he held her down in the shower, calling her a hot-head. But it worked for them, and afterwards she let him “punish” her by tying her wrists together and then fucking her in the hallway. She loved it.
Every single second.
When they got through the summer without anymore hiccups, she decided to take his and Sanders' advice, and she went back to school. Sanders had been right, Tate was a smart girl, and she excelled at her classes. She was going to work towards a business degree so she could open her own bar, and Jameson informed her that if she finished the year strong, he would help facilitate that dream.
But then a bomb was dropped. That next spring, Sanders decided it was time to leave the nest. Tate took it a lot harder than she would have thought; they had grown ridiculously close. He was her best friend, they went everywhere together. He taught her how to drive a stick shift, she taught him how to play beer pong. What would she do without him!?
She wasn't sure how to deal with it. Jameson was of no help at first, wouldn't even tell her the reason why – neither of them would. She pouted. She gave everyone the silent treatment. But finally, she gave in and told him if he had to go, then he had to go, and wished him well.
Though she did make sure to give him a going away party he would never forget.
By the time June rolled around, Tate had a lot of freedom. Ang had moved to Los Angeles – his porn career finally took off, no more B-rate for him. Sanders was in Moscow. Her old roommate Rusty had moved away, and even Tate's sister, Ellie, was settled down with a new boyfriend, way out in the country side. And Tate loved Jameson, she really did, but she couldn't spend all her time with him. They would kill each other if they didn't come up for air once and a while.
Jameson solved the problem by making good on his promise – he bought her a bar. Just came home one day and gave her the keys. At first she was angry. If it was going to be hers, she wanted to be the one to pick it out, to scout the location, to see if it worked for her. She wanted to yell at him, get mad. But somehow it evolved into crazy sex in the conservatory, and suddenly she was making a midnight phone call to Sanders, explaining to him that his geraniums wouldn't be there when he came home.
Jameson had actually picked the perfect location. It shouldn't have been a shock, really. Tate had learned to expect perfection to come out of most of his decisions. The man didn't do things by halves. And it also turned out that the bar Tate used to work in had closed down, and she was able to hire most of the old staff, people she trusted and knew worked well. She was very confident that her first foray into business would be a success.
Turned out “success” wasn't a strong enough word – business was booming. It took off like a rocket. She managed the place as well as worked the bar for the first six months. It completely killed her college career, and almost caused Jameson to kill her. He didn't like her being gone so much. She eventually dropped out of school altogether, figuring she was doing well enough on her own, anyway. And after one too many late nights, she decided to back off of working on the floor. Set some hours for herself. Took a vacation even, visited Sanders.
It was all going so well that by the following spring, she approached Jameson with the idea of opening a second bar. Something a little different. A little darker, sexier, and in a different part of town. His response was a hearty “no”, at first. But she had ways of convincing him, and it helped that she promised to keep the same hours. It took a couple months of begging, but she finally got her way.
“We should have a party.”
Jameson suggested it towards the end of the summer. It was shocking – Jameson never wanted to have a party. Never wanted to leave the house, and never wanted people to come over. Tate had been busy, scouting new bars, and figured it was his way of getting her attention.
“What kind of party?” she asked.
“A special kind.”
“Oh god. I'm not ready for an orgy.”
“Prude.”
He thought it would be fun for one last hoorah, of sorts. The new bar, along with the old bar, would take up all her free time. It would be a while before they would be able to get out and get away, or anything like that; so why not have Sanders come home for a visit, and they could spend an evening in New York together?
Well, who could say no to that? Didn't seem like such a big deal.
Though she seemed to have forgotten that virtually everything Jameson did turned into a big deal, some way or another ...