Today was one of those days where I knew good and well I should have pulled the covers over my head and kept the shop closed. As much as I loved helping the wives of our military, they could be whiny bitches sometimes.

Take one Ophelia Mosley, current wife of the base Commander and self-appointed queen-bee. I met her during one of the USO events, just after she and her husband arrived, she was all toothy grins and firm handshakes, and I was baffled by her bullshit facade. We were introduced and she became quite animated with excitement when I invited her to come by and take a look around my shop. She came in on a Monday, took a detailed tour, and then returned on Tuesday with a back seat full of clothes. Our first transactions went fine, and her clothes sold in a matter of weeks. She returned a few months later with another back seat full, but this time the clothes looked to have been pulled from her grandmother’s basement. I reminded her of the possibility these clothes may not sell, but I would try my best. She signed the agreement I had all of my clients sign, clarifying my responsibility to show the clothes for one hundred and twenty days—thirty days past the state requirement. After the allotted time, the seller would have the option of picking up the clothes, paying my twenty percent commission, or forfeiting the clothing to a charity I ran for women attempting to return to the work-force.

"Harper, retro is in. I paid top dollar for those clothes and they're still perfect!"

I was at the end of my rope with Ophelia. I knew damn well she didn't spend a dime on them, stole them out of the donation bin at the local thrift store maybe. She huffed and slammed her purse down on my glass counter, her bright red curls bouncing from the force.

"Fine, Harper, I'll take my clothes and find someone else to sell them.”

"Ophelia, you're too late,” shaking my head as I turned the form she signed around to face her. Pointing at the date on the page.

“I’ve already sent all of those clothes to Horizons, as stated in the contract you signed.” Tapping my index finger on the white paper, lifting my eyes from the date to the angry face of Ophelia.

“You had no right.”

Flipping the page over, “If the owner fails to appear within five business days after notification—”

“Exactly!” she screamed. “You never notified me. Now give me my clothing or pay me what we agreed on.”

Slamming her hand on the glass of my desk, confusing her ability to tell the wives of her husband’s men what to do, with the independent and clearly in charge person who stood before her.

I turn my attention to my computer, opening the file with her name on it, “Ah, here we go. You were notified, by email, five days prior to the expiration of the contract, and again on the day your grace period began.”

“I never got any email, this isn’t my fault.” Clicking on the command to print, I waited in vain for my computer to make up its mind to send the read receipt to my printer. The tapping of her nails on the glass of my display case was scratching at my last nerve. I reach over and twist the monitor so she can see what I have on the screen.

“Sorry, Ophelia, Microsoft has no reason to lie to me. You opened the emails and read them both. For whatever reason, you chose not to come in.” I left the accusation hanging in the air, pursing my lips as I elevated my eyebrows in a quick motion, crossing my arms over my chest.

“My email was hacked, someone else read them.”

“Tell it to your bank or credit card company, as it is no concern of mine. You signed a contract and I held up my end.” I didn't give her time to think about it or even answer me.

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed as she turned and stormed out the door, causing Sarah, my assistant to jump out of her way.

“You know, you should have tossed her out last year when you saw her with Mayor Craven.” Sarah stood back against the edge of the display window, my silver laptop clutched tightly to her chest, eyes wide in aggravation with Ophelia’s behavior.

Ignoring her taunting, “Please, tell me that is my laptop in your hands?” I look down at the computer screen as the sound of the printer coming to life pulls at my attention. It’s the story of my life, everything a day late and a dollar short.

“It is, but I’m holding it ransom until you tell me everything that happened at your shower last weekend.” Holding the silver contraption I’ve dubbed the Silver Devil, as it has given me nothing but trouble since I purchased it less than a year ago, in her right hand, twisting back and forth at her wrist as her face turns from perturbed to inquisitive.

Sarah and her husband, Mitch, had planned a vacation for this past week almost a year and a half ago, way before my bridal shower was scheduled.

“Fine,” wadding up the paper I no longer required, I toss it into the recycle bin. “My mother showed up, wearing a dress you could see her crotch through, sans panties but at least a complete wax. My future mother-in-law failed to show, or call, and has avoided speaking to me since then. Oh, and I broke the heel of my shoe when I had to carry my own gifts out of the restaurant.” Sarah’s eyes flicked between mine, her level of amusement fueling my need to animate the story.

“Wait,” Sarah placed the computer on the glass of the counter, folding her left arm over the cover, and then aiming her index finger in my direction.

“His momma didn’t show? After all the fuss she raised to have a vegetarian menu available.” Nodding my head as I allowed my shoulders to shrug, this had been one of the many hurdles I’ve had to overcome since the wedding date was chosen and rescheduled once already.

“Has he spoken to her? Made sure she isn’t lying in a ditch somewhere.”

Taking in a deep breath through my nose, not ready to share with Sarah the entire conversation.

“Yes, apparently there was some issue with her transportation or something.” Shaking my head and holding my hand out for my laptop. “He spoke with her right after I got back from the shower,” minus any gifts from his side of the family. I kept the last part to myself, no need stirring up trouble when it didn’t really matter to me to begin with. What I did care about was talking with my brother, Ross, hearing his voice and assuring myself he was doing okay. I hadn’t gotten an email from him in a while, as he was transferring to a new SEAL team.

“She better not decide to drop in on your bachelorette party as an apology. I have plans to get your liquored up and stick some hot naked men in your face.” Resisting my attempt to take the computer from her. “Not so fast, Harper.” She pulls the laptop off the counter, twisting her body to the side. “I have good news and bad news, which do you prefer first?”

Letting out an exasperated breath, my threshold of allowable negative things reaching a critical level.

“Bad first, so you have an opportunity to rebound my pitiful mood.”

“Okay, your motherboard is fried.”

“But—” waving my hand in a circle attempting to speed up the recoil.

“But you're still under warranty, and Mitch is putting the last of your files on the new computer. He will have it here before we leave for Thunder Nation.”

Sarah has wanted an excuse to visit one of Chesapeake’s more controversial clubs. Opened by one of the original Chippendales dancers, Thunder Nation was an all-male strip club. Certain organizations had tried and failed to shut down the club, but with all the military influence, the city council allowed it to open.

“Are you sure we can’t go to Aries?”

“No, we can’t go to Aries.” She tossed back at me, changing her voice to emphasize the condescending tone of her words. “We are going to surround you with hunky, muscled men who want to grind their dicks in your face and take your money.”

Aries was another new club in the area, opened by the same people; it boasted modern lines and a state of the art sound system. Mitch had won the bid to install all the equipment so Sarah had gotten to attend opening night along with some high-profile celebrities. According to her the hype was overrated as it lacked a decent clientele.

“You can have that man of yours take you dancing at Aries.”

“Right, you know he doesn’t go to clubs.” Scrunching up my nose, I try to hide the aggravation I felt with our lack of social interactions. A flaw I had to add to the enduring qualities list when it came to him.

“Maybe I’ll get dressed up and go by myself.” My back straight as I faced her, challenging her to call my bluff.

“Keep telling yourself that. We both know you’ll park your behind in front of the television just like the two of you do every other night.” The bell over the door signaled a new customer. Glancing over, a smile spreads over my face as Lance Ranoka, the delivery guy, walked in with a smile on his face and a white cup in his left hand.

“Hey, Harper.” He called as he allowed two ladies behind him to walk through the open door. “I thought you could use a cup of coffee this morning.”

Lance was a sweet man, who worked for one of the local delivery services. When I first opened this shop, he came by and introduced himself, offering the use of his truck transporting the donated clothing over to the small shop behind the local church. He came in one day and noticed the cup I had from the gas station several blocks over and offered to bring me a cup of coffee whenever he made a delivery over there.

“You’re a lifesaver.” Taking the cup from his hands, he tips his hat down, and then pushes his dolly into the shop. Lance blends into any room he is in, not drawing attention to himself or creating a scene. Most of the time he leaves and I never hear the bell sound.

Sarah was attending to the ladies who walked in. She has never been a fan of Lance’s, no real justification behind why, but she avoids him when he comes in. I turn away from Sarah and the new customers to ask Lance a question, but like most days, he pulls his impression of a ninja and silently leaves. I’m about to click out of my email when I notice Ross has sent me something. Swinging my eyes over to Sarah, confident she has the sale in the bag, I click on the letter and begin to read.

 

TO: AlexGrl17

FROM: Ross. Kincaid ENS @OPS

CC:

SUBJECT: Hey Sis!!

Harper,

Hey, Sis! Finally made it to Afghanistan and am now waiting for the team I’m joining to get back from Korengal Valley. You remember when I was there before, right after I joined the military? Anyway, they are finishing up a mission and I expect to meet up with my new LT in the next day or so. I’m excited for this one, as I’ve worked with the team before. Anyway, I heard from dad. He mentioned you had your bridal shower recently and something about mom showing up. I understand why you're inviting her to your wedding, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up she will be anything like Amanda’s mom when we got married. She isn’t exactly mother of the year material. In any event, I have my ticket purchased and I will be there to help you celebrate this new chapter in your life, the two of you deserve all the happiness in the world. My Skype and Face time are working if you want to talk.

Love you, Sis,

Ross

 

My brother may not understand why I wanted both of my parents there, as the divorce was messy and dragged out for many years. My father came home sick from work one morning, and found my mother in bed with his best friend. They tried counseling, but during one of the sessions my mother made a pass at the counselor and my father filed for divorce. During the court proceedings, she admitted she wasn’t sure if Ross or I were my father’s children, and the judge ordered paternity testing. My father held me tight as the judge read the report and whispered he didn’t care what a piece of paper said, I would always be his baby girl. Luckily for everyone, the report confirmed both Ross and I were indeed his children.

She took off with the best friend, but it didn’t last long. She came back in the middle of the night crying when he tossed her out of the house, but my father handed her money and pointed in the direction of the nearest hotel.

Their divorce affected Ross more than it did me. He was, and I suspect still is, angry with her for what she did to my father. Ross is an old soul with beliefs, which run deep; giving his heart away to one girl and keeping her until the day he died.

“Harper, these ladies wanted to meet you.” Sarah approached from across the room, two dresses draped over her arm and a smile depicted across her face. “Miss Mona here, heard you are the lady in charge of Horizons.” Shifting my attention from the screen of the computer, I take in the face of Mona Jackson. Mona was one of those ladies who boasted about all the charity work she did, using her generosity as nothing more than an excuse to look down her nose at others. Her checkbook could afford her the price of admission to most of the charity events in the city. One good smile from her and my little shop could afford to come out of the church basement.

Extending her hand out, blood-red lips framed a set of commercial grade teeth, so sharp she could bite through a steel cage. Pitch black hair, pulled back in a severe bun, she was grace and pearls on the outside, with venom and knives on the inside. Still, I would gladly dance with this devil if it meant helping out the women who came to the center.

“Pleasure to meet you, I’m Mona Jackson.” Handshake like a wet noodle, and anyone with computer access and twenty minutes to kill would know her southern accent is as fake as the reason she is standing before me. Mona, or Monique as her birth certificate reads, is from a piss-ant town in West Texas. Her first husband hit it big on an oil rig, and she managed to suck as much money as she could from him before she landed herself a much wealthier man. Peter Jackson, owner of several sports teams here in the state.

“Your name has come across the circle of friends I keep close to me. Everyone tells me all the wonderful things you are doing at your little center.”

I smiled and nodded my head in the right places, while wiggling my toes so as not to get bored listening to the tale of all the starving children she fed on a trip to Thailand. Twenty minutes of my life I will never get back later, and I had an appointment with her to tour the facilities at Horizons.

“This is a good thing. Right, Harper?” Sarah kept her focus forward as we both watched Mona and her friend get in the back of a town car.

“Absolutely, but so is a root canal when a tooth is damaged beyond repair.”

Silence filled the space between us for a moment, then as the town car disappeared from view, we both collapsed in laughter.

“On the bright side, you did get a response from your Lieutenant.”

Tapping her chipped nail against my computer screen, as she reaches for the mouse. Sarah has no boundaries when it comes to the letters I get from the people who have benefited from one of my care packages. She reminded me this was the first year these boxes would not bring a couple together, and how she felt kind of sad that the magic was gone.

“Oh, look. You were right, he is a SEAL.”

I tried my best to ignore her, concentrating on getting to know the new friend I hoped to make. A smile tickled at my lips as I read how he knew Ross and wondered if there was a chance they would be on the same team. My eyes flew over his email several times before his request finally registered. No one had ever asked what I would want in a care package, and honestly, I’m not sure what I would ask for.

“He seems nice, apologizing for not responding quicker.” I’d noticed this first off, reminding me of how much I missed Ross and his gentleness. “Reminds me of someone.” She nudges my hip as the sound of the bell over the door announced the arrival of another customer.

* * *

One of the first lessons I learned as a business owner is the value of good marketing. Didn’t matter what kind of product you had, if there were no buyers, you were destined to fail. The man who owned Thunder Nation was the poster child for how to market to the masses, as the line to get in wrapped around the side and down the back of the building. Giant spotlights swayed back and forth and a photographer stood on a red carpet as anxious ladies melted themselves against shirtless hard-bodies. Tan, sculpted muscles, the result of hours in the gym, and bright white smiles designed as a distraction, capturing the attention of the unsuspecting victim, much like the carnies at the fair. Using the desires naturally found within us, cashing in on the impulses of the heart.

Sarah jumped from the limo, hands over her head and a hot pink boa around her neck, whooping and hollering before her feet ever touched the ground. She showed up at my house nearly two hours ago, a bottle of champagne in each hand ready to, as she said, pre-game. From her zealousness and exuberance one would assume she was the bride instead of me.

“Come on, Harper, we’ve got VIP seating tonight.”

Sarah had surpassed her alcohol threshold, as this was the fourth time she announced our seating assignments since we left my house. Her cheeks are stained red and eyes glassy as she stumbled her way to the front doors. One of the attendants, dressed in classic Chippendale attire, caught her as she missed the last step and nearly fell to her knees; which considering where we are would have been appropriate. She pointed to me, letting everyone in line know I was getting married in a few weeks and this was her last attempt at introducing me to the rest of the male population before I sealed my doom.

The shirtless man, who introduced himself as Garrett, wrapped a protective arm around her and helped us find our seats. Handing each of us a wristband, he shamelessly flirted as he placed a flashing engagement ring on my finger. Between its flashing light and the glow-in-the dark penis necklace I had around my neck, I could land a 747. Which was good considering the size and length of the stage.

Four tables sat on either side, three across the end, which is where Sarah had managed to put us. Against the back wall was a line of silk fabric, the pink and blue lights on the floor creating a haze effect from the silk. Rope lighting outlined the edge of the stage and several steps down to the main floor.

Next to our table was an older group of ladies, they were having as much fun as Sarah was, laughing and tossing back shots as if they were water. The lady in the middle of the table had a necklace to match mine, she also sported a tiara with the word bride flashing across the top.

When the house lights dimmed and a silhouette stood at the center of the stage, a sultry voice boomed overhead and the ladies around me went wild with excitement.

“Ladies, are you ready to have every fantasy you can imagine come across this stage?”

The screams are so loud there are no devices able to register the volume. I had to cover my ears as the noise caused them to begin ringing. Rolled up dollar bills came soaring through the air, landing on the polished floor of the runway.

“Well, all right then.”

The lights went dark and the music began, a deep base with a sound I recognized right away. The back of the stage lit up, creating another silhouette. This time, I could make out the broad shoulders of the man, and a hat setting atop his head. Green lights bathed him in the deep color, creating shadows across his chest and arms.

When the light switched with the beat of the music, a bright spotlight, much like the ones outside, danced over his body to reveal the camouflaged face of a solider. Amanda grabbed my hand as the man tossed his hat into the crowd, then reaching up to rip the muscle shirt in half down his chest. I could feel his eyes on me, gyrating his hips as he dipped lower on the stage to create the illusion of having sex. Just as he was about to reach down into his pants, the room went dark and the music stopped.

Some of the crowd assumed this was part of the show, but when I noticed the wait staff running around in confusion, my eyes began scanning the room. Grabbing my cellphone, I flipped on the flashlight, as did a few other sober women around me. Sarah was still whooping at the table next to ours with the older ladies.

A chill runs up my spine as the seconds ticked by and we remained blind in the darkness. The sound of boots against the floor came from my left and I reached over and grabbed Sarah pulling her into my lap.

A booming voice, the same who had started the show, called our attention from the center of the stage. A hard face, bathed in LED lighting from the massive flashlight in his hand stood at the end of the stage, tossing on a friendly smile. Due to the angle, he flashlight made him look like the Joker without makeup.

“Ladies, there is no need to panic! I’ve just been informed a transformer has blown on the corner of our property. The power company has been called, and are enroute, but cannot give me a time as to when the lights will be back on.”

Several audible jeers rang out around me, followed by the bride at the next table reminding the man on stage how lights got in the way when handsome men were naked.

He ducked his head and, if the lighting had been better, I’d bet his face would be tinged pink.

“While this beautiful lady makes a valid point, as the owner of this establishment, it is my duty to give you what you’ve paid for.”

Cheers roared once again, not quite as deafening as before, but enough to coax out a cringe and pucker my eyebrow.

“Each of you will receive a voucher good for one year from today, where you may return and enjoy the show. For tonight, and as an apology from me and my staff, the first round and cover charge is on me at Aries.”

A wave of relief floods me as the prospect of going back home and into my pajamas is within reach. Sarah will never go for a night at Aries and opt to grab more bottles of wine or champagne before heading for my house. But she let out a holler, topped off with a swirl of her hips against my lap and glanced over her shoulder as she shouted, “Looks like you get your wish, babe!”

* * *

Where Thunder had been dark inside, giving me the illusion of being in a man’s bedroom, Aries was much brighter, filled with hard lines and sharp contrasts. Sarah told me the downstairs had been decorated in white, and she questioned why until Mitch helped put the lighting system up. Now, with the base bumping so hard I can feel it in my chest, the room is teal-blue with silver lights bouncing off the bodies on the glass dance floor.

Sarah grabs my hand, dragging me, and my four-inch heels, down the steps and along the edge of the thick dance floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the guy whose time on the stage was interrupted, his hat on backwards and his hands on the bride from the other table. I imagined he assumed the older woman was a safer alternative than the wild woman dragging me to places unknown. I suspected she may have a few miles on her tires, but she could give him a ride for his money.

Focusing my attention back to Sarah, she lets go of my hand long enough to hug a tall blonde standing by a sectional couch.

“Harper, this is Mercedes, she’s married to the owner.”

Sarah leans over in my direction shouting into my ear, as the bright smile of the gorgeous woman grows bigger.

“I met her when Mitch was installing—” she waves her hands, motioning to the lights and speakers over our head. We exchange pleasantries and a waitress shows up to take our order. The drinks are weak, and I’m both grateful and a little perturbed, as I know the drinks in here are going to be expensive.

Thirty minutes later, when Sarah slides back into her seat after saying hello to another woman she recognized, the waitress hands us each a refill and a bill for nearly one-hundred dollars. Sarah reaches into her wallet to get her credit card when I stop her with my hand. I’m about to tell her I’ve got this, when Amanda coughs in her drink and whisper- shouts, “Oh my, God!”

Everyone stops what they are doing and focuses on her shocked face; I use the distraction to slip my credit card into the hand of our waitress.

“They aren’t even trying to be discrete.”

Sarah smacks my hand, no longer interested in what is going on behind me. “Harper, this is your party and we had planned to pay for our drinks.” Circling her finger around the small space indicating the group of women surrounding me.

“Sarah,” Stacy placed her hand on her thigh, her eyes wide with panic. “I think we should go.”

I caught the shift of her eyes as they darted behind me. Curiosity taking over, I slowly look over my shoulder.

At a seating area, which mirrored ours, two women sat on either side of a man who had his head tossed back, their faces hidden from my view, but not what they were doing to the man’s cock.

With his knees spread wide and his arms stretched along the back of the sofa, the girls take turns between pleasuring him and sampling the lips of one another. Dipping my focus down, I followed the girl on the left take him all the way to the back of her throat, pausing at the reason for Stacy’s sudden suggestion to leave.

Several lines of what any fool would recognize as cocaine, is setting on the glass of the table at his feet. The man, whose face had been toward the ceiling before, is now in clear view as he reaches down to pull the girl off his junk.

Brown eyes lock with mine, a set I would know anywhere, even in a crowded room. The same set which greeted me with coffee and small trinkets. The same set, which waited patiently as I turned him down for over a year to have dinner with him. And the same set who put the diamond on my finger when he asked to marry me almost two years ago.

My body moves of its own volition, crossing the distance between us, the beat of the music changing as I took the first step, his gaze remaining fixed and his expression emotionless.  His hands go to the backs of the two women who in turn face one another and begin kissing. His eyes never leave mine as an evil smile crawls onto his face, shattering any kindness I once found there.

“I thought you were going to the strip joint.”

“Funny, I thought you never left your house after dark.”

His head tilted as he raised the eyebrow over his left eye, the corner of his mouth lifting in a condescending smirk. The man sitting here looked and sounded like the Lance I knew, but his actions, surrounding himself in women and drugs, was a man I had never, and would never, consider meeting.

Lance proclaimed to have an aversion for going out after dark, spouting off statistics on the amount of crimes, which increased once the sun disappears behind the horizon. At the time, I added the peculiarity to the pile he had for me, which included my disinterest in affection.

“As long as you’re here, why not take your place where you belong?”

Removing his hands from the backs of the two women, their attention remaining on each other, he motions to the floor between his parted knees. Lance had come into my life when I was drowning in my own tears, lost in the darkness my grief had created. He was funny and polite, helping me forget about the sadness, which surrounded me.

“What about this?” Pointing to the cocaine, a razor blade resting on its side the bottom edge muted from the powder. “Is this part of where I belong?”

Leaning forward, ignoring the girls hovering over his lap, and picking up the razor blade, he slides the edge under the line closest to him, gathering a significant amount along the sharp edge. With his eyes locked with mine, he brings the metal to his nose, but changes his mind and hands it to the waiting girl on his right.

“In service of me, yes. The chemical benefit will make you more tolerable.”

Lance had given me the impression he was a kind man, willing to be my friend when I couldn’t offer anything more. Chastising people who were cruel to others, claiming to believe in a spiritual equalizer to right all wrongs.

Listening to him now, the man who held me as I cried the last time my brother went back to the Middle East, brought me chicken soup when I complained of an upset stomach, and every night, sent me a text wishing me sweet dreams, was a product of my imagination, conjured up to deal with the challenges in life. Lance Ranoka, the man who sat before me, was cruel and sinister, and a stranger to me.

“It was all a lie, wasn’t it? The compassion, the understanding? Hell, even your lack luster proposal.”

“You saw what I wanted you to see, felt what I needed you to feel. But don’t think you are blameless in all of this. You accepted the relationship I offered, you welcomed the lack of emotions I took from you. All so you could keep the memory of a dead man in your dreams.”

“I can’t believe I was so blind, trusted you were a good man.”

“Which is one of the reasons I chose you; your blind faith in humanity. Ignoring every warning sign you ever passed, you never questioned anything about me. Not my job, or the way I lived, hell you never asked to meet my parents, which turned out to be good for me.” He shrugged, a knowing smirk on his face. “Had you questioned one thing about me, you would have known the woman I said was my mother, was nothing more than an actor I hired.”

Leaning over, I place my open hands parallel to one another, my face even with his. “Don’t you darken my front doorstep ever again. I never want to hear my name cross your lips in the future. Don’t think about me, don’t ask about me, as a matter of fact, you need to forget we ever knew each other.” Lifting my hand as if to slap him, I lean toward the table containing his snowy entertainment.

“As for your ability to tolerate me, here’s a little help.”

Turning my hand to the side, using the plane edge, sweeping the top of the glass, sending the powder into his face and eyes. Not waiting to see if he has a rebuttal, I turn and grab my purse from the chair behind me, walking with a new purpose to the front entrance, and away from a life I never wanted.