Chapter 32
Jake
Reginald’s plan, after I failed to snag Janie Hall, was worse than the one before. Leaning on the corner of Ferry Lights just an hour after getting the text that it all went off without a hitch, I watch as Janie comes tearing up to Red Hall’s curb and doesn’t even bother to hand the keys to the valet. Instead, she dashes inside.
There, I know, she’ll find the damage. A busted water main. It’ll put her place out of commission for up to a week depending on who she can find to fix it, and unfortunately my father already ensured that it wouldn’t be anyone local.
Reginald’s text was triumphant and banal. It took no effort to get one of his thugs in there, of course. It is a restaurant. His man simply made reservations.
My father has no real reason to harass Janie this way. Ferry Lights is doing fine, and so is Red Hall. It’s ridiculous to prey on a woman like Janie just on her own merits, though. She worked hard to get where she is and she did it with no significant investors, a single Facebook page, and a dream.
And me? I don’t have much of a choice but to sit front and center to watch this train wreck happen. The fact is, Reginald gets what Reginald wants. So do I, normally, except where it conflicts with his interests. Right now, my father wants to crush an innocent woman’s dream — more so now than before she turned me down.
It’s easy to tell when Reginald is getting impatient. He stops being subtle.
Though, in truth, I can’t really blame her for turning me down. Most people have a price tag on them somewhere, and the fact of the matter is it’s usually not that high. That Janie doesn’t seem to have one is… intriguing? Refreshing?
The door to Red Hall swings open, and I reach for a cigarette. Guilt gives me cravings. I light it, and puff it slowly as I watch her dialing one- handed while she presses a hand to her forehead, then shakes out her hair, and then plants the fist on her hip. Here it comes.
She talks to someone, frantic and animated, and then hangs up. She flicks the screen one, twice, looking for another plumber nearby. Another call, another cry for help. I can’t hear her from where I am, but I know what the conversation is that’s taking place each time she calls another plumber. She needs someone asapASAP. There’s no slot available until next week. That’s not soon enough. Nothing the plumber can do about that, mMa’am. Maybe call this other place…
And on and on, until she runs out of options and realizes she’s going to have to shell out big bucks to get someone in from out of town — maybe out of state.
Every time she hangs up, she looks more and more distraught. She’s heaving breaths, and pacing in front of the place. It would be better for her to do this inside, but she probably needs the air.
Funny;, it reminds me of my mother, when she gave her grand speech the day she finally divorced Reginald. She looked like that — crushed, frantic,; furious as she screamed at him, and at the small entourage of enablers he kept at his beck and call — his “‘cronies”’ she called them all. I was in that room when it happened.
Maybe that was the way it was supposed to be, too. I certainly feel like that right now. Just an extension of the old man — a tool he created, and owns, and has the right to wield however he sees fit. It’s the game I have to play, right? To get the prize. How much of me will be left at this rate, though, when he finally dies and leaves his fortune to me? Will I still be me when that happens?
Disgusted, I drop my cigarette on the sidewalk and stomp it out. The bitter, burnt taste lingers in my mouth like a punishment. Just what I deserve — for everything to taste like ash.
It finally happens. Janie stares at her phone. That’s the look of someone who is out of options and knows it. She turns, stares at Red Hall the way a person is supposed to stare at the corpse of a loved one, with the numb realization that this is the end.
Come on, lady. Fight it. Don’t let Reginald stomp you into the ground. You’re bigger than that, right?
She puts one hand on her stomach, probably to keep from vomiting, and closes her eyes. She’s thinking, working it all out, doing what she did when she got all this started. At that moment she’s even more beautiful than she already was and I wonder... what’s she going to do?
Janie opens her eyes, new light flashing from them as she scrolls through her phone again. She dials someone, presses the phone to her ear and waits.
At that moment, she looks across the street. She sees me.
If she could have spit acid, I wouldn’t have a face. Whoever’s on the other end of the line answers, and she turns away from me, charging back into her lounge, into her fort. Before she closes the door behind her again she glances my way and I can tell: that’s a lady who’s ready for war.
I smile, and tuck my cigarette case into my jacket pocket.
Thatta girl.