Submerge: Wheezers Series Book 0.5

Submerge: (Wheezers: Book 0.5)

Katelin LaMontagne

Copyright 2017 by Katelin LaMontagne

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

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Submerge: (Wheezers: Book 0.5)

By Katelin LaMontagne

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Katelin LaMontagne. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. Cover design by Katelin LaMontagne. First Edition September 4, 2017.

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following word marks mentioned in this work of fiction: Advil, AKC, Alice in Wonderland, Backstreet Boys, Beauty and the Beast, Bernat, Beyoncé, Blue Oyster Club, Bonnie and Clyde, Boyz II Men, Call of Duty, Charlie Brown, Chef Boyardee, Christina Milian, Christopher Marlowe, Craigslist, Cuisinart, Cyndi Lauper, DABDA, David Bowie, The Darkness, Def Leppard, Disney, Doctor Faustus, Donkey Kong, Doritos, The Drifters, Driving Miss Daisy, Drummer Boy, Dunkin Donuts, Edward Scissorhands, Elmer, Eve, Eye Spy, Facebook, Family Guy, Finding Nemo, Footloose, Foreigner, Fox, The Fratellis, Frogger, Game of Thrones, Gandhi, Gary Jules, Godfather, Godsmack, Gone With The Wind, Google, Grease, Grinch Who Stole Christmas, GT500, Guns N’ Roses, Halloween, Hannibal Lecter, Harlem Globe Trotters, Harvard, Hershey, Hollywood Undead, Hoobastank, Hostess, Hulk Hogan, Investigation Discovery, Incubus, IPod, Jazmine Sullivan, Jell-O, Jordans, Juilliard, Keurig, Kraft, Led Zeppelin, Looney Tunes, Ludacris, Marilyn Monroe, Marlon Brando, Mary Poppins, Mary Wollstonecraft, Maury, McDonalds, Men In Black, Me Myself & Irene, Mickey Mouse, Michael Myers, Modern Warfare, Mr. Clean, My Little Pony, Myspace, National Enquirer, National Lampoon’s Family Vacation, Nerf, Nelly Furtado, Nike, Nothing More, Nutter Butters, Nyquil, NYU, Peanuts, Pearl Jam, Pepsi, Pepto Bismol, Peter Pan, Pillsbury, Planet Fitness, Playboy, Plexiglas, Poland Springs, Polaroid, Powerpuff Girls, Power Rangers, Problem Child, Purell, Queen, Queen of Sheba, Raggedy Ann, Ramen, Rhianna, Robert Burns, Rocky, Rolex, Rugrats, Sam Cooke, Scarface, Scrabble, Sean Paul, Sega, Sesame Street, Shakespeare, Sharpie, Sherlock Holmes, Shrek, Skype, Silence of the Lambs, Sleeping Beauty, Smirnoff, Snickers, Spaghettios, Sports Illustrated, Sopranos, Sour Patch Kid, Staind, Starbursts, Star Crunch, Supermarket Sweep, Super Woman, SyFy, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, The Thing, Tic-Tac, Tommy James & The Shondells, Tangled, Troy, Tums, Twinkies, Twitter, Tylenol, Viagra, Vicks Vapor Rub, Vindication of the Rights of Women, Usher, Walgreens, Walker Texas Ranger, Whatchamacallits, Wizard of Oz.

Dedication:

This book is dedicated to my loving parents, because I wouldn’t be here without them. Literally. And my new bestest friend in the whole wide world, L.B.D. Without her support and excellent advice, I’d be lost in a sea of books. Thanks for being there from the start.

For Helen & Rosalie.

Life asked death, ‘Why do people love me, but hate you?’ Death responded, ‘Because you are a beautiful lie, and I am the painful truth.’

-Unknown

Table of Contents

Submerge: (Wheezers: Book 0.5)

Submerge: (Wheezers: Book 0.5)

Dedication:

Table of Contents

Prologue:

Disc One:

Chapter One:

Chapter Two:

Chapter Three:

Chapter Four:

Chapter Five:

Chapter Six:

Chapter Seven:

Chapter Eight:

Chapter Nine:

Chapter Ten:

Disc Two:

Chapter Eleven:

Chapter Twelve:

Chapter Thirteen:

Chapter Fourteen:

Chapter Fifteen:

Chapter Sixteen:

Chapter Seventeen:

Chapter Eighteen:

Chapter Nineteen:

Chapter Twenty:

Disc Three:

Chapter Twenty-One:

Chapter Twenty-Two:

Chapter Twenty-Three:

Chapter Twenty-Four:

Chapter Twenty-Five:

Chapter Twenty-Six:

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

Chapter Twenty-Nine:

Chapter Thirty:

Disc Four:

Chapter Thirty-One:

Chapter Thirty-Two:

Chapter Thirty-Three:

Chapter Thirty-Four:

Chapter Thirty-Five:

Chapter Thirty-Six:

Chapter Thirty-Seven:

Chapter Thirty-Eight:

Chapter Thirty-Nine:

Chapter Forty:

Chapter Forty-One:

Character List: if applicable, alphabetical by last name

Main Characters in Submerge:

Raiders:

Compound to be formally introduced in Emerge:

Various Minor Characters in Submerge:

Members from the Benson Condo Group as introduced in Surge:

Others Mentioned throughout Series:

Olivia’s Hit List:

Author’s Note:

Prologue:

June, 2012

Travis

It’s decided. Today’s the day, no more stalling. I know what I want, now I just have to reach out and take it.

I glance down at the ring in my hand, a physical representation of the first monumental decision I’ve made so far in my life. The ring may have cost me a pretty penny, but it was worth every dime. It’s a solid white gold band with a two-carat diamond in the center, and is surrounded by accents on the sides. I purchased it back in March, the same day Olivia got her GED and decided to go to college. Not Juilliard, since she decided that she didn’t want to be that far away from home. Even though we all told her how it was a once in a lifetime opportunity that she was passing up, Olivia said that her dreams weren’t of dancing, and that she didn’t have to be in New York with those ‘damn Yankee-loving bastards’ to achieve them.

Back to the ring, and yes, contrary to popular belief I purchased it with my own money; not the S.S. Parent Fund. I restored a beat-up car that my grandpa gave me when I was sixteen, and sold the classic ‘67 Cobra GT 500 to some guy on Craigslist for 175k. That’s an insane amount of cash for anyone under the age of twenty to have, but I didn’t blow it on stupid shit. With some of the money I bought Olivia’s ring, another portion was put into a replacement for the wheels I was giving up, a chunk was used as a down payment for a house, and I saved the rest. I’m still in college, but I can cover the mortgage until I graduate with the extra cash in the bank.

I should’ve asked her months ago, but I listened to other people’s opinions. ‘You’re too young, what’s the rush?’ No rush, just want to start living now. ‘Is she pregnant?’ No, she isn’t pregnant. Though even if she were, it wouldn’t have made any difference for me since I’ve known I wanted to marry her for years. ‘You have the rest of your lives.’ Yeah, and the rest of my life was decided the minute I saw those gorgeous grey eyes peer up at me curiously from her crib. Okay, maybe not that long ago, since I was just a toddler myself, but you get the picture.

I fell in love with Olivia St. John without even trying. Hey, I’m not complaining, I’m actually pretty damn happy I did it so effortlessly or else I could have wound up like my poor schmuck of an older brother and been chasing after a cheating bitch. Well, she wasn’t a cheating bitch when he started dating her, but she is now. Right, sorry about that irrelevant tangent, I’ll get back to Olivia now.

Anyway, I think I realized that the love I had for her wasn’t brotherly or because of our friendship back when I was in eighth grade. You see, that was the year when Olivia started getting bullied about her awkward body changes. She’d come home from school every day upset because some jealous twit or another made a comment about her disproportionate shape. Since I’d already been through the first stages of puberty, I figured ‘what better way to show them that you don’t care what they think than by flaunting it in their faces?’ That’s when I suggested the talent show. What I didn’t expect was to see my adorable next-door neighbor go from my tomboy best friend with her ever-present pigtails, to this gorgeous nymph sent to steal my heart.

Olivia was always a cute kid, that’s what we called her − a kid because she was the youngest of us all; Cory having six years on her, and me two. Everyone knows that when you’re younger you believe that if you lived even five minutes longer than someone else, then you’re as wise as Gandhi when compared to them. It’s part of the immaturity, but it’s there just the same. All that changed the moment Olivia strut out of her house in a gold leotard and black pumps. Where she got the pumps, I’ll never know, but I wasn’t looking at her feet. It was that shy smile, the same one I was gifted with seeing for the twelve years prior, that drew me in like a bee to honey.

Do I look alright? Olivia asked, her tone uncertain. If that didn’t already show her anxiety, her posture sure did when she looked at the floor, tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, and started biting her lip. That was when I fell head over heels for her. This wasn’t some chick trying to play coy, this was my Livi; nervous about something, but facing it head on regardless.

You look beautiful, I told her.

And she did, but I wasn’t talking about the outfit. I’d seen her wear tutus, ball gowns, and other outrageous outfits for her recitals, so this was nothing new. Even the light application of makeup wasn’t shocking since she’d worn it along with the outfits. What made her beautiful was that she didn’t even realize it. Or maybe it’s not that she didn’t notice, but more like she didn’t care. I asked her about it once, but she just shrugged and said, What’s the point in admiring the fading package, when it’s the inside that retains its constancy? Mind you, this was years later because she wasn’t some philosophical genius spouting lines like that before she hit her teens.

To give you a picture of the Olivia that I looked at, I could tell you that she had the most amazing black hair I’d ever seen; and when the light caught it just right, you could sometimes see a flash a midnight blue. Then there was her cute little nose that I loved kissing since back when we were still in single digits. And just below that adorable nose were a set of lips that people paid money for, or so my mom claimed. Everyone always commented that Olivia would be a knockout when she grew up, but my fourteen-year-old brain didn’t connect my little neighbor with that word. She was just Livi, my best friend, and the only girl who could kick my ass in any video game. Until she wasn’t.

To skip ahead a bit, we arrived at the talent show, did our thing, and received the loudest round of applause of the night. It was the wolf whistles that caught my attention. Yeah, I heard people do those before when the performance was good, or they wanted their kid to hear them, but these weren’t congratulatory whistles. Oh no, these are ‘that chick is bangin’ whistles.

I glanced over at Olivia who was smiling at the crowd in thanks of the applause; completely unaware that the horny boys who were howling in the front row weren’t clapping for her dancing. It was then and there I decided that she needed protection, a bodyguard of sorts. At least until she was old enough to be my girl, which our parents said would be thirty-five when four-year-old Olivia asked if we could get married.

Now that I’m older, I don’t care about other people’s opinions. Yeah, we’re young: Olivia being eighteen, and me just turning twenty, but so what? We’ve been dating for over three years, and I’ve known her my entire life, so it’s not some spur of the moment decision. It’s not like I plan to say, ‘Hey, Livi, let’s get married, live in a box, and have our love keep us warm.’ I’ve got it all planned out, and took her dreams into account. We’ll get married now, move in together, both finish college; and a few years down the line when we were financially secure, we’ll have those kids she’s always dreamed of.

I know it won’t all be rose petals and sunshine, since we do have our occasional fights (which always end in fantastic makeup sex), but I know that we could make it in the long run. It may sound cliché or naïve, but I just know deep down in my soul that we wouldn’t be one of those teen marriages who wound up in a divorce. We both know what we want, and there’s more than enough love to make it last. I want to spend my life with her, and I want to start now. As the saying goes: life’s short, and then you die, so I want to make the most of it.

I’m pulled out of my mental psych up fest by the sound of my front door slamming, and the slam is quickly followed by quiet footsteps moving swiftly. Knowing that there’s only one person I know who can run in near silence, and has the key to my house – since it’s hers too even if she doesn’t know it yet – I hurriedly stuff the ring box into my pocket. Confident that it’s hidden from view, I turn toward my bedroom door; just in time to see Olivia burst through it. When I spot the red blotches on her cheeks, and still wet tear trails on her face, I move to intercept her. She meets me halfway, and buries her face in my chest.

Now, Olivia is not much of a crier. Never has been, and probably never will be because she trained herself so well during our adolescence to be the tough tomboy that she’ll always carry some form of the façade. She never cries when she gets hurt, not even when she broke her ankle and couldn’t dance in her recital during sixth grade, or had to give up her lessons sophomore year when they could no longer afford them; but I have seen her shed tears a few times. One was when her dog got run over, another was when her dad died, and the last time was when Cory left for his first tour in Afghanistan. Seeing that these were life changing circumstances, I figure that whatever has her this upset must be pretty damn bad.

I hug Olivia close and give her as much comfort as I can, all the while contemplating the best way to dispose of a body if someone dared hurt her. Cory would help, no questions asked, but he’s not due home for another five months. As pissed as I know he’d be if I were to leave him out, I simply can’t wait that long. Still, a discrete email to Cory could give him a head’s up and provide me with some ideas, but that would leave a paper trail. Watching a few of Mrs. St. John’s favorite crime shows could help, but then I’d have to explain my sudden interest in the Investigation Discovery channel; and be yet another line of evidence that leads the crime straight back to me. I put potential murder schemes aside when Olivia’s back stops shaking with sobs, and she lifts her head to meet my eyes with her tear-filled greys. Seeing her pain has an almost physical response in me, so I swipe my thumbs under her eyes and kiss her forehead.

When I pull back, I ask, What’s wrong, prima ballerina?

A smile ghosts itself at my usage of Mr. St. John’s nickname for her, but it only lasts for a second. That right there sets me on alert. Something that can overcome her dad’s memory must be catastrophic. That’s the fuck it, someone’s dead as soon as I get my hands on them. I don’t care if I’m not a violent person, some bastard hurt my Livi, and they’re going to pay for it. Fuming internally, I make a conscious effort to keep my touch gentle when I cup her cheeks, tilt her head back, and lean down a bit to meet her eyes. Sometimes I wish I were shorter because having over a foot in height on her sucks in times like these.

What is it, Livi? She opens her mouth, but only a choked noise comes out. Are you hurt? Did something happen on your way over? ‘Who am I going to prison for?’ Seeing as I’m firing off questions at light speed, Olivia shakes her head before trying again.

M-mom, she says as more tears stream down her cheeks.

Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. While Olivia and her mom may be close, these last few years have done a number on their relationship. Louis St. John’s death was a major contributor to that change, but the way Margie dealt with her grief is what truly did the damage. Damage that has only just recently begun to repair. All this runs through my head, and my body loses some of its cagey stiffness. No one has to die today, but I still have to figure out what’s wrong so I can fix it for my Livi.

What’s wrong with Margie?

C-c, Olivia swallows hard. Cancer.

Fuck, she can’t go through this again. The death of a parent at sixteen was hard enough, but to have another torn away so soon after? It’s just cruel. Losing a parent at any age has to be tough, but I can’t even imagine the pain of losing them both before I even hit my twenties. I have two parents, three surviving grandparents, plus oodles of cousins, aunts and uncles; but Olivia only has her mom and maternal family. And even then, they’re spread across the U.S.; making them more like strangers to her since she doesn’t see them all that often. So, really, she only has her mom for blood family. My family may adore her, but their love can’t fill the gaping hole a mother’s death would leave behind. Shit, I’m getting way ahead of myself, and have to rein in my own emotions over Margie’s diagnosis so that I could provide Olivia with the support she needs.

It’s going to be okay, I tell her. Yeah, and pigs could spontaneously grow wings and take flight. They found it, now they can fix her up, and she’ll be good as new. Olivia shakes her head vigorously.

No, Travie, they can’t, she says, teardrops clinging desperately to her soot colored lashes. It’s lung cancer, and they gave her less than six months. She won’t even be here to see C-christmas.

I pull her closer as a new set of sobs takes over. We can deal with this. I can be there for her, and she’ll make it through. Olivia’s a strong woman, one of the strongest I’ve ever met, and I know that it may suck at times, but I’ll be there with her to ride all the ups and downs. It’s part of life, and since I want to be a part of hers, this is only going to be one of the many hurdles that we have to overcome.

«≈≈≈≈♪≈≈≈≈»

Disc One:

Mad World

Chapter One:

Auntie Dearest

July, 2012

Olivia

You’re sure you want to do this? Travis asks.

No, but it’s my only option left − sans prostitution. I’d never tell him that, though. Never would I admit to this boy, who’d probably sell his kidney and left testicle on the black market if he thought it might help, just how desperate I’ve become.

I glance over at him in the driver’s seat, but Travis’s looking out his window at the brick house we’re parked in front of. The sunlight streaming in shines off his blonde hair, making it appear as if he’s haloed in gold. A trick of the eye, but no less true about the angel in my life. I told him he didn’t have to come with me, but he insisted, and it made me love him more. Even though I tried to hide my hesitance, he could read me like a book; and said that if I was going to do this, then he was going to be right here with me.

I’m sure, I say while blowing out a breath to try and relieve some of the pressure that’s threatening to suffocate me. The action has Travis turning his attention back to me, and his eyes scan my face; worry – that I doubt he’d want me to see – hidden deep in the bright blue irises.

You don’t have to, he says. My parents already said that they’d help, Cory offered up some of his GI fund, and I have money. You don’t need her.

I’m thankful for your offers, really, I am, I insist when he doesn’t appear to believe me. But we’re not a charity case. We’ve managed this long, now she can relinquish the trust that’s rightfully mine.

Alright then, Travis says.

He doesn’t look at all convinced that she’ll help, and to be honest, neither am I; but as I’ve already said, this is our final option. I’m already working two jobs while looking for a third, I gave up on going to college, and I haven’t spent a single penny on myself unless it was absolutely necessary (namely socks and underwear) in the past two years. I’ve sacrificed so much, and now I’m going to have so sacrifice pride because I refuse to give up my mom without a fight.

Travis gets out of the car, and after years of being together I know that he’ll be miffed if I don’t wait for him to open my door like a gentleman, so I wait for him to come around and help me out. As much as I tell him that I’m fully capable of pulling a handle all by myself, I still find it a charming quality that you don’t see much of in today’s society. My bet is that it was instilled in him by his Grandpa Ben, and his mother for her southern upbringing. His mom still has the accent even after living in the north for almost 30 years, so I always make Mrs. Prescott say certain words just to hear her twang.

You ready? Travis asks.

I’ve just been staring at the flowerbeds decorating the window boxes since I got out of the car, but Travis’s question stiffens my spine and I give him a firm nod. ‘I’m here for mom,’ I remind myself − for the twelfth time − as I cross the street. Travis takes hold of one of my hands, and gives it a reassuring squeeze before opening the gate that leads into the small courtyard. I give him a grateful smile, which he returns. I may not want to do this, but I have to; and as long as Travis is by my side, I know that I can weather this storm with him as my anchor.

I go up the steps first, and stall from ringing the bell by smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in my dress. It’s a modest black one with imitation-pearl buttons running down the front that I’ve worn to church a few times in the past, but it was the best I had at the moment. You can’t really buy designer threads on my restricted budget, and I wouldn’t waste a hundreds of dollars on a single outfit even if I were a millionaire. I paired it with a grey cardigan, and low heels that were a hand me down from my mom; so I think I look presentable.

At least I thought I did until the door opens and Aunt Crystal eyes my clothing with distaste evident on her face. Well, not her whole face, since I don’t think that it’s physically possible for her to emit that kind of emotion with the amount of plastic she’s injected into it. I don’t know why she got over a dozen cosmetic procedures, since she was a beautiful woman in all the pictures I’ve seen of her and my dad growing up, but she’s no longer the brunette bombshell from years of old. She’s now a bleached-out Barbie doll who’s forever trying to make herself younger, which just isn’t possible for anyone to accomplish no matter how many thousands of dollars they spend. Clocks go one way, not the other, but I don’t think Aunt Crystal’s gotten the memo yet.

"Olivia, what a pleasant surprise, Crystal says with a strained smile. You can hear it in her voice that my visit is anything but welcome. Too bad, I don’t want to be here anymore than she wants me to be, so she’ll have to get over it. I didn’t know you’d be coming by today, I was just on my way out."

I glance at the silk robe she has wrapped around her shoulders, the satin house slippers on her feet, and the smeared makeup that was left over from last night’s partying; then lift a brow at her. There’s no way in hell she’s going anywhere like that. Besides, I knew for a fact that she’d be here since I called and scheduled an appointment with her assistant to confirm it. Yeah, you heard me right, I had to schedule a visit to see my aunt − who’s never worked a job a day in her life − as if she were the freaking president.

That’s funny, Elizabeth told me that you were free today, and penciled me in, I say. Irritation tries to battle the Botox for the right to appear on her face, but is unsuccessful in the attempt against such a formidable opponent. Poor valiant knight, you were by far the underdog in this fight.

"Then I guess I can spare a minute for my favorite niece," Crystal relents when she realizes there’s no getting out of this, or perhaps she came to the conclusion that arguing further will just prolong my presence in her company.

While I want to make a comment that calls this phony bitch out about being her ‘only’ niece, and therefore I can be both her ‘favorite’ and most detested niece all in one tidy package; I know it wouldn’t work in my favor, so I instead opt for a quick flash of teeth in my attempt of a smile. I don’t think I was any more successful at it than she was, but hey, it’s the best I could do on three hours of sleep. Working a double shift at a diner sucks ass, but that in addition to an all-nighter? Damn near impossible to stay upright. When I just stand there, since she didn’t even acknowledge Travis’s presence or invite us inside, the mask finally succeeds in cracking out a glimmer of irritation.

"Won’t you please come in, Crystal says with a sweep of her arm like she’s the hostess of a great estate. I wouldn’t want my neighbors to think that I’m harboring bums."

‘Don’t say it, just keep your mouth shut and do what you came here for.’ I take a deep cleansing breath, that does absolutely nothing for me, before tugging Travis along with me. No way am I leaving him outside while I face the dragon lady. He may actually have to save me from tearing out my aunt’s frizzy hair. Too much processing is the cause of the damage, so I’m surprised that there’s anything left for her to dye.

I follow Aunt Crystal down the hallway and into what was previously her parents’ formal living room. The couch alone could pay our mortgage for three years, so the small loan that I’m hoping she’ll give me wouldn’t make a dent in her spending money. Crystal sprawls out on her chaise lounge like she’s the Queen of Sheba, and spreads her silk robe out as if we were peasants who have come to feed her grapes.

Why the hell am I here? A picture of my mom’s smiling face answers that question. I know the chance of Crystal giving assistance is slim to none, but I still wanted to give it a shot before resigning myself to swinging nude around a pole. While some might find it degrading, it’s a form of dancing, so I may even love it and decide to quit my day job if the pay were right. But I don’t think Travis would like that profession any more than Cory did when he found out I was working while underage at a bar; so I can’t risk losing him.

Resigning myself to begging from blood relatives, I remind myself of what I’m here for – that of seeing my mom’s smile for years to come. With the image set firmly in my mind, I take a seat on the couch, and fold my hands daintily on my lap in hopes of appearing more like a sophisticated woman than the dirty street urchin I feel. I doubt I’m any more successful in that endeavor than I was with my choice of clothing, but I do it anyway, before deciding not to beat around the bush. The less time I spend in her cloying perfume, the better off both my physical and mental state of health will be. I go to open my mouth, only to have Crystal beat me to it.

Have you called Charles back? Aunt Crystal asks. It takes me a minute to place the name, but when I do, I have to fight a lip curl.

I regret to inform you that Charles and I were not a good fit, I reply while holding my hand out at Travis. Not to mention, I’m not an adulterer.

Come now, Olivia, she chastises me as if I were a small child who placed its toys in the wrong bin. He’s just a fling, while Charles is the real deal.

"That ‘fling’ you just referred to happens to be my committed boyfriend for the past three years," I say, and can’t completely keep the bite out of my voice. Go ahead and insult me all you want, but you don’t fuck with my loved ones. Crystal waves a hand at Travis like she’s trying to erase him from her parlor.

"It’s a phase, a very delicious phase; I’ll allow, but eventually you’ll have to grow out of it, she says, and I have to physically restrain myself from clawing her eyes out when she observes Travis for a price tag. Before she needs a bib to collect the drool flooding her mouth, Crystal looks back over at me. I do hope it’s soon, though, because Charles won’t wait around forever."

Tell him not to hold his breath, I respond, even though I think the asshole should do the world a favor and hold his breath while strapped to cement at the bottom of the country club’s pool. Travis isn’t going anywhere unless he wants to.

And that’ll be never, Travis adds before threading his fingers through mine. So you can go ahead and tell that dickhead Charles to take a hike. I fight back a smile when Crystal’s expression turns pinched.

I wasn’t talking to you, hick boy, Crystal snaps, obviously overcoming her lust for my boyfriend when she remembers just who he is and where his family came from. I was speaking with my niece.

The same niece you’ve insulted twice in the last five minutes, Travis retorts. But I can promise you this, there won’t be a third.

Travis, I whisper and rub my thumb over his tense hand. I raise my voice a little for the next part. It’s fine, she’s just concerned over her niece’s welfare. Right, Aunt Crystal? After all, we’re the only family we have left.

Of course, she agrees easily, since arguing is beneath her. Or maybe she fears that Travis is a ‘ruffian’ who’s come here for the distinct purpose of beating her up? Please, my man may be tall, but he’s a giant teddy bear. I just want to make sure that my niece is taken care of, and the blood line; tainted though it may be, needs to be preserved. Bitch. How dare she call my mother’s blood ‘tainted’? With that in mind, Charles would be a better man for the job, on both accounts. He’s from old money, and has a pedigree to be proud of. Yes, she did just say ‘pedigree’ as if she’s an AKC board member trying to authenticate the purity of a dog’s ancestry.

I’m from money, Travis counters.

Yes, Crystal allows with a roll of her eyes. "From rancher money. That’s sweat equity, we didn’t have to dirty our hands to make ours."

"Ours comes from olive oil," I point out, and stress the ‘ours’ since it is my birthright even if she and her parents have refused to acknowledge it.

"But we didn’t make it, she says with a tilt of her nose. We paid people to do the grunt work." What the fuck ever. I couldn’t care less if our ancestors dug through pig shit to find gold, so long as I can get my hands on some of it right now.

Completely uncouth, I say. Ranchers, how dare they make a living?

I know, Crystal agrees emphatically, wrongfully interpreting my comment as disdain instead of sarcasm. She points at Travis while staring me down. "You see, Olivia, he’s not the right sort for you. His hands are filthy, and he lives on a farm."

I don’t live on a farm, Travis interrupts. I live next door to Livi.

Actually, he owns a house in Saugus, I correct.

Travis keeps forgetting that he purchased the beautiful two-story house four months ago. The day he closed on it, he blindfolded me, and took me there. When I opened my eyes and saw the colonial home, I immediately fell in love. I don’t know why he brought me there before his family, maybe to show me that he now had a place where we could be alone? I don’t know, but I’m glad he did; even if it did get some bells ringing in my ears.

Phish, that’s middle-class, Crystal says. Charles could have you living in Manhattan.

No, thank you, I respond, quite firmly because I would never subject myself to living in city that’s congested with Yankee lovers. "I’m very happy where I am, and who I’m with, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t trick me into another blind date. Especially with that lily-handed, nasal-toned, uppity prick."

How dare you insult him? Crystal demands to know, her eyes narrowed into angry slits. He’s the perfect catch.

Yeah, if you like pompous, beyond-their-prime-but-refuse-to-accept-it assholes who think they’re above everyone else simply because they were born into a privileged life. I guess no one had ever told Charles that he wasn’t special just because he was lucky enough to tumble out of money’s thighs rather than the help’s. Until Kyle, that is…

«≈∞≈»February 2012«≈∞≈»

I received an invitation to the country club that my aunt Crystal extended to me. I didn’t want to go at all because I had no idea what I could say to a woman avoided the little contact she gave prior to my father’s death after he passed, but my mom guilt tripped me into it. ‘You’re the only family she has left, maybe she wants to bond with you?’

It was the week after my eighteenth birthday, so I figured that maybe my mom was right. Crystal never really liked children, so maybe now that I was technically an adult, she was finally reaching out to me? Sucker that I was, I fell hook, line and sinker for the fantasy playing out in my head where my aunt actually welcomed me with open arms and we could form the family my father had always hoped we’d be. Full of opportunistic energy, I requested the day off from both my jobs, paid extra attention to my appearance, went to the club promptly at six P.M., and was shown to a table where a lone man was seated.

Excuse me, but I believe this might be the wrong table, I told the waiter, feeling the tiniest pinprick of doubt start to stab at my hopeful bubble. I’m here for Miss Crystal St. John. My name’s Olivia, and she’s expecting me.

This is the right one, the waiter said as he held his hand out to the table. Miss Crystal explicitly told me to escort you to Mr. Burke.

Is she meeting us? I asked, hoping this was a serious boyfriend that she wanted to introduce me to so that I could approve of the match since she had no other family. After all, someone trying to reach out to you would want you to meet the important people in their life, right? That’s what I tried convincing myself of, anyway.

Not that I know of, she only said to deliver you to Mr. Burke, the waiter told me, his insistence unknowingly bursting the optimistic bubble I had naively created.

Would my aunt extend an invitation to set me up under false pretenses? Reality clashed violently with the fantasy I’d built up, and I sighed with defeat. Of course she would, shame on me for thinking otherwise. With thoughts of going home to curl up in dejected ball of misery swirling in to wipe away the last traces of the girlish fantasy, I trained my eyes on the man seated at the table. While strategizing the easiest way to get out of this so that I could go home and lick my self-inflicted wounds, I took the man in. Pasty white skin, hands that had never seen a hard day’s work, hair combed over to cover a bald spot, nose large enough to sniff gold from miles away, and an air of douchery if his constipated expression was anything to go by. Yup, this was a man only Crystal would stamp with approval for her teenaged niece.

Have you ever met someone and disliked them at first glance? There’s just something off putting about them that warns you ahead of time that this person isn’t someone you would invite over if you didn’t have to. This Burke guy was one of them, but I’m of the opinion that you have to reserve judgment until you actually know the person enough to dislike them, so I decided to introduce myself and apologize for my aunt’s trickery before I left. Besides, some people may look a certain way, but act completely different, so who was I to say the guy was a dick if I didn’t even know him?

Hi, Mr..., I said and waited for him to fill in the blank since it was the polite thing to do.

Burke, he supplied, standing from his chair and holding a hand out to me. Again, because it was polite, I shook his hand. After all, it wasn’t his fault that my aunt was a conniving bitch. "Charles Burke," he added, putting emphasis on ‘Charles’ as if he were someone important, and I should’ve immediately recognized his name. Perhaps he was in the right circles, but they weren’t my circles, so I didn’t know him from Crystal’s dry cleaner.

Mr. Burke, I said before reclaiming my hand.

I was right about the hands, soft as baby’s bottom, while mine were calloused from years of manual labor. Not that I had a problem with people who could plant money and make it grow, but there was just something commendable about a person who worked to get where they were in the world instead of thinking they were entitled to it because they had a certain last name. I admit that I was a little biased against the upper-class due to my asshole relatives, and while I’m sure there were plenty out of people there who were born into money and genuinely nice human beings, I never got the chance to meet them. On the flipside, some people who ‘raised’ themselves up from poverty could be judgmental bastards too, so the world was full of them; regardless of their financial standing.

Listen, I’m very sorry for the mix up, but it appears that my aunt is trying to play matchmaker. I forced a laugh as if my loving aunt did these sorts of things out of forgetfulness, instead of spite. But you see, Mr. Burke...

Call me Charles, he interrupted, and there was one strike against him. You never interrupt someone when they’re speaking, you rude prick. But since I was raised to use my manners, regardless of the fact that the person you’re conversing with is acting like a complete douche, I plastered a smile on my face.

Charles, then, I continued. As I was saying, dearest Aunt Crystal seems to have forgotten that I’m already seeing someone. Charles’s face fell, and the seemingly apparent regret on his face told me that he either wasn’t aware of my relationship status, or he was an excellent actor. I gave him the benefit of the doubt for the moment. I’m sure you’re a lovely man, but I’m very much happy with the relationship I’m in right now.

Oh, this is embarrassing, Charles said, and began wringing his hands together.

‘Annoying’ would have been the word I’d have chosen. Annoying to have been dragged here, and annoying to have to explain to this stranger how my bitch of an aunt set him up on a date that had no chance of going anywhere. If anyone should have been embarrassed, it would have been Crystal; not that she would have ever claimed it. Still, I was stuck there, and seeing that Charles looked nervous, I pat his hand reassuringly.

Not at all, I told him. Talk first, think later, that’s just Crystal’s way. It’s not your fault, I can promise you that.

But you see, Miss St. John, it is actually very embarrassing to me, he insisted. Charles tipped his head toward the bar, so I followed his gaze and saw three men inconspicuously glancing in our direction. Those men are partners at my bank, and I told them that I had to leave early because I had a prior engagement. So, if you were to leave now, I could be penalized for it. They may not say it in so many words, but you could tell with their sly looks, or the way they cover mouths as they talk around you. I would become a target for their mockery.

I bit my lip hard, damn you, Crystal. How the fuck was I supposed to just up and walk out of there? The guy didn’t agree to lose his job, or become a subject of harassment; something I had a fair deal of during middle school, so I was completely sympathetic of his plight. He thought he was meeting a single woman, and the poor man was probably lonely, so I couldn’t fault him for agreeing to a blind date. Besides, what would one dinner have cost me? A little bit of time? That was nothing, plus I was hungry, so I figured, why the hell not? But I decided to check with Travis first, because even a faux date was still a date.

I guess I can stay for dinner, I said, and Charles’s face brightened, telling me that was the answer he wanted to hear. But I’ll have to use the restroom first, so please excuse me for a moment.

Take all the time you need, Charles said.

I wasn’t asking, but I just nodded and head toward the nearest bathroom. As soon as I stepped foot on the tiled floor, I reached into my clutch and pulled out my cell. I had a crappy flip phone since that was all I could afford, but Travis got me a sparkly new iPhone for my birthday. I hadn’t figured out how to operate the damn thing yet, so it took me five minutes alone to pull up the freaking dial pad, two more minutes to type in Travis’s number, and additional ten seconds before I heard his voice on the other end.

‘How’s the Ice Queen?’ Travis asked as a greeting.

‘Fucking frigid,’ I answered, hearing him chuckle through the earpiece. ‘She’s like a north wind that doesn’t even have be seen to run her icy fingers down your neck.’

‘Huh?’ Travis asked, sounding confused.

‘I’ll get back to that in a minute,’ I said. ‘You wanna tell me why the hell you gave me this space-aged shit? I have to go through twelve freaking channels just to make a goddamn phone call.’

‘Come on, it isn’t that bad.’

‘It is,’ I insisted. ‘It took me seven minutes just to get you on the other end.’

‘You needed a functioning cell,’ Travis said. ‘Anytime you went near a tree, it dropped the call. It’s dangerous. Do you have any idea how many creeps there in the world?’

‘Yeah, but I can’t even make a call with this thing! What if I needed to call 911? It would take me longer to dial their number, than it would be for me to run and get help.’

‘I’ll teach you how to use it,’ he promised. ‘As soon as you get home from your forced visitation, I’ll swing by, alright?’

‘Okay, and Travie?’

‘Why do I have a feeling that I’m not gonna like whatever it is you have to say?’

‘Because you probably won’t,’ I admitted. ‘Promise you’ll wait ‘til I’m done before you start talking?’ I heard Travis sigh.

‘I promise, now what do I have to hold my tongue about?’

‘Don’t hold it, just wait until you hear it all, alright?’

‘Alright, lay it on me,’ he agreed.

‘Okay, you know how Aunt Crystal is, so this really shouldn’t surprise you, but I showed up right at six o’clock, had the waiter bring me over to a table, but there was this guy there, so I told him, I said, sir, this isn’t my table, but he said that it was, and Crystal said to bring me there, so she set me up on a blind date with some dude, and he’s gonna get in trouble with his job or bullied by his coworkers if I don’t stay for dinner, and if there’s one thing I despise it’s a fucking bully; and I’m hungry anyway, so I wanted to eat, but I won’t stay if you don’t want me to, so what do you say?’

‘Let me see if I’ve got this right,’ Travis said as I pulled in deep breaths to recover from my run-on sentence from hell. ‘You went to the country club at six, just like the assistant told you to. You go to the host, and he shows you to a table with some guy at it.’ I nodded, surprised at how well he was taking the news, then realized that he couldn’t see the action through the phone and responded verbally.

‘That’s right.’

‘You told the waiter that you were there for Queen Cunt, and he said that she gave him instructions to escort you to some random dude’s table.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘What the fuck, Livi?’ Ah, there’s the anger I was expecting. ‘Why the hell would she set you up like that?’

‘Because she’s a bitch,’ I answered with a shrug, which he again he couldn’t see.

‘But this is going too far,’ Travis countered. ‘You’re not some fucking puppet that she can pull the strings of whenever she pleases. It’s your life, and you’re going to live it your way.’

‘I know, Travie, but what am I supposed to do? It’s not as if I can just walk out of here when that man could lose his job because he left work to meet me. He didn’t know that he was being set up with a taken woman, so I can’t hate the guy. I’ll just eat some food, and then leave.’

‘You’re far too nice to people,’ he said.

‘Am not,’ I countered. ‘Remember that chick who stole your spot?’

Travis laughed, probably remembering me burying the bitch in a snow bank. I mean, who the hell did she think she was parking in a spot that took Travis three hours to clear out? For neighborly peace, and the continuance of my clean record; Travis added a new driveway beside his house this summer, though he claims he did it for other reasons.

‘Fine, you’re too nice to people who fuck with you, but you’re a tiny tiger when it comes to the people you love.’

‘That’s better,’ I agreed. Clearing the mirth away from my throat, I returned to the matter at hand. ‘Are you okay with this? Because if not, I’ll hop into Gertie, and blow this popsicle stand; unemployment be damned.’ I didn’t tell him that I would still find out where this man worked and call the bank asking specifically for Burke to help him save face, but Travis didn’t need to know that. I needed a savings account, anyway, so why not kill two birds with one stone?

‘What’s he look like?’ Travis asked. I rolled my eyes, as if I could ever be drawn away from my blonde haired angel.

‘Oh, he’s hot as hell, so Crystal has good taste,’ I said, and heard what could only be described as a growl from the other end. ‘If I weren’t with you, I might’ve taken him for a test run. I could’ve combed my fingers through his bald spot, blown raspberries on his pot belly, and wiped some Vicks vapor rub on his hairy chest. Yum, couldn’t get any better than that.’ Travis was laughing by the end of my exaggerated description, so I knew I set him at ease. When he recovered, he cleared his throat.

‘Go have your date with gramps, just remember our song,’ Travis reminded me, causing a smile to tilt up the corners of my mouth.

‘Don’t worry, I always save the last dance for you,’ I promised.

‘You better, so I’ll see you soon?’

‘Yeah, but I’ll come to your house,’ I replied before lowering my tone to a suggestive whisper. ‘I have a craving that only you could satisfy.’ I heard him groan through the receiver.

‘Come on, babe, you’re killing me.’

‘One hour.’

‘Half,’ he demanded.

‘Forty-five,’ I compromised. ‘I need to eat for sustenance.’

‘Deal, but not one second later.’

‘You got it.’

‘Love you, Livi.’

‘Love you more, see you soon.’

After I hung up with Travis, I returned to the table. I took twenty minutes, but oh well; I was doing Burke the favor, so he could deal with it. If not, I would have hopped into Gertie (that’s my car by the way, but I’ll get back to her later), anyway, I’d have hopped into Gertie and peeled into the nearest fast food eatery on my way over to Travis’s place. My thighs could have handled a burger with the amount of physical activity I planned on doing later that night. Travis had stamina in spades, but I still remember contemplating whether I should have grabbed him something too? Couldn’t have my man going hungry, and as delicious has he said I was, he needed calories that my body didn’t supply.

Spotting the waiter still standing near our table cleared away thoughts of my pleasurable evening, especially since he was uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot. Why the hell did he wait for me? If I stood around aimlessly at my waitressing job, they’d have fired my ass; but there he was, just waiting there without some smelly asshole breathing down his neck. Men had it so much better than us women, or maybe it was just a perk of working in a high class joint?

The pay may have better at the club, but if I had those snobby fuckers looking down their noses at me, I would’ve probably stabbed them with a fork. Give me Sally Sue or John Smith, over Bradley Archibald Roosevelt Reginald Copperfield III any day. Unfortunately, that mouthful was an actual name of one of the guests in the establishment because I saw it written on the host’s stand. I could only wince as I imagined what his childhood was like.

When the waiter pulled my chair out for me, I felt kind of bad. I mean, did he really stand there for twenty minutes for the distinct purpose of helping me sit? Seriously? I was more than adequate at pulling out my own damn chair, and had being doing it successfully for the previous eighteen years. Fine, seventeen, since I wasn’t able to walk until then.

Still, I smiled at him gratefully, and decided to give him a bigger tip. That ought to make up for the wait. And, yes, I was planning on paying for my own damn meal. Though it would have cost me sixty dollars for a lousy salad and a glass of water (which they claimed was shipped directly from private fountains in Fiji even though I swore it was tap drawn from the Harbor), I would have somehow managed to scrape some pennies together because there was no way in hell that guy was paying my way for me.

There was pride at stake here, since I didn’t want Crystal acting all smug about me not being able to afford to dine in her world. There was also the fact that it was a pseudo date, not a real one; so me paying my portion of the tab should have reminded the guy of my relationship status the next time Crystal tried setting us up. I figured, hell, maybe he’d pass the word on to his golfer friends so that they wouldn’t fall for Crystal’s bullshit. One could have only hoped.

Sorry, I had an important call come in, I told Mr. Burke. No, Charles, didn’t want him correcting me again.

Is everything alright? Charles inquired. I was getting worried that you stood me up. If he’d added a smile, I might have taken it as a joke; but since he didn’t, it kind of came off as him being a jerk.

Everything’s fine, I answered, then turned my attention to the waiter, who was still hovering. The faster he got the order, the faster I could get the fuck out of there. I’m ready, if you are.

Of course, the waiter said, and crossed his arms behind his back. No order tabs for these fancy folks, they had to show us their superior memory skills. Still, just because it was a high class joint didn’t mean their servers were spared from dealing with finicky customers at some point, and since I had experienced how annoying it could be when a certain diner claimed to be ready to order only to hem and haw over their choice like it were life or death decision; I picked the same thing I had from last time.

I’ll have the portabella mushroom burger with Swiss cheese, on a buttered sesame bun; and a side of your sea salt fries. Doesn’t matter to me which shape they’re cut in: stars, flowers, plain old sticks; whatever’s easiest for the chef. Oh, and could you make sure they remember ketchup? Last time they gave me some kind of soy dipping sauce.

I tried to hide my disgust at the reminder of the shit that both smelled and tasted like feet the last time I was there, which happened to be six months prior for Crystal’s forty-seventh birthday – an attendance that was all for show than actual affection; but I guess I was unsuccessful since the waiter’s lips quirked like he were hiding a smile. Obviously, he knew my pain, so I decided that he was definitely getting a hefty tip from me for hazard pay.

If they mix it up again, I’ll personally escort out a bottle of ketchup for you, the waiter promised.

Thanks, you’re a life saver. When the waiter laughed, Charles pointedly cleared his throat three times. Rather rudely, if you asked me.

A-hem, Charles said.

The waiter, whose name tag read ‘Kyle,’ rolled his eyes at me before turning a bright smile on Charles. A name like his didn’t belong at a club like that, and neither did the eye roll; so I figured that he was here for the cake – monetary variety because I doubt he enjoyed the gluten-free versions they exclusively served here anymore than the soy dipping sauce. Anyway, I figured he wasn’t there for the potential connections he could have made while attending school as lots of the rich members liked to do so their kids could schmooze their future clients before they entered the family business. Kyle seemed to be one of the rarer type they granted employment to who actually worked there for the money.

More power to him, since I wouldn’t have lasted there for longer than three hours without pushing someone’s face into their bowl of lentil soup. You could only handle having so much shit being hurled at you before you started hurling it back. My tolerance level was 18 years, so I considered that pretty damn patient, but this would be my breaking point. As I came to find out mere moments later.

And what may I get you, Mr. Burke? Kyle asked.

"I’ll have the filet mignon, rare, and I mean rare," Charles said with a stern look at Kyle, who nodded, as if it would be his fault if the chef overcooked the meat. A baked potato with sour cream and chives. The side salad dressed lightly in the house vinaigrette, a bottle of your best Dom Perignon for the table, and the manager.

Is there a problem, sir? Kyle asked, looking slightly confused at the last request.

"Indeed there is, but I won’t discuss it with you," Charles answered coolly. He also said ‘you’ in a way which was more like a curse, so it caught my attention.

Why do you need a manager? I asked.

Because this server boy has breached protocol, Charles answered.

And what protocol would that be? I demanded, feeling quite a bit of ire build up at rapid speed. First, my hopes for an actual relationship with my only aunt are dashed, and now I have to deal with this rude fuck? While Kyle looked as if he’d swallowed his tongue, I still had my ability to speak, and I planned to use it.

Fraternizing with guests, Charles said.

‘Fraternizing with guests,’ I repeated, not quite believing my ears.

Precisely, Charles confirmed. He then turned to Kyle, who he shooed away with his hand like he was a pesky fly. But I wasn’t done, so I grabbed hold of Kyle’s sport coat before he ran away like a performing monkey.

This isn’t Dirty Dancing, though that movie may be a little new age for you, I began with barely contained rage. And even if it were, I’d still tell you to shove your job up your ass, you pompous prick. My ‘date’ was now the one who looked as if he swallowed something and couldn’t speak, but I wasn’t finished yet. Kyle has done nothing wrong. If anything, he was providing excellent service to accommodate my request, and should be praised for his dedication. I leaned on the table before pointing a finger right under Charles’s nose.

"Some people actually have to work to make their money, and I can guarantee that your daddy will cut your allowance off if I hear of