Good Pet

Out of discomfort, or a need to do something (I’m not sure which), I move Dennis’s picture down and away. I stow the whole thing in a drawer. As I slam it closed on him and my growing anxiety, Isabella notices and says, “Dang, Melissa! I guess you sure are over him to stick that boy in there and slam it like that.”

I answer her halfheartedly. It’s so halfheartedly, I don’t even remember what I say exactly. Just something along the lines of, “Over a lot of things,” before getting yanked into anxiety again with another ring of the phone. I pick up, praying it someone other than Tommy, or silence on the other end.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Tommy

After sending my text to Melissa, I turn on the microphone/record feature on my phone. After that, I get busy turning on all the lights in the office. But not before setting my coffee and donut on Vanacore’s desk. I intend that to be a temporary resting place, of course. But fate, it seems, has other ideas.

Before I can move my coffee and donut from her desk, there’s Vanacore. She comes in, just as I’ve finished turning on the last of the lights, and the few other bits of preparation for the start of the workday. She grabs the coffee and donut and starts sipping and nibbling on them.

I’m staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at her, wanting to say something about those being not for her, not an act of kindness toward her, but I can’t say anything. She’s already sipping and eating happily. And she’s also just begun to thank me for getting breakfast for her. “So nice of you, Tommy. So sweet of you.”

I smile awkwardly through it, knowing I can’t say no. Instead, I have to play along with her — pump up her ego even further. So I say, “Of course, ma’am. You’ve been so kind and nice to me lately” — Vanacore’s eyes catch a glimpse of my new, fancy clothes and widen — “well, I thought I should get you something nice. Get you some breakfast, since you’re always working so hard.” I finish this with the sweetest, most sickening smile I can muster. One that makes me feel like I’m going to have to wash in holy water for how sinful and beguiling it feels.

Vanacore takes a sip of my coffee and says, “Looking good, Tommy! Those look like nice, new clothes you’re wearing this morning. Are they?”

“They are,” I say, trying to sound easy and then concerned. Not liking that she’s going to be digging around in there. Praying that she won’t.

Vanacore just smiles indulgently. Puffs herself up. “You bought those with the bigger, fatter paycheck I gave you, didn’t you, my boy?”

“I did,” I say, knowing it’s exactly what she needs and wants to hear. Everything has to be about her, or about how much I idolize her, anyway. “I gave some thought to what you said about first impressions and everything, so I figured I had better dress a bit better than I have been.”

Inside, I’m grimacing and feeling like I’m bleeding out my eyes for having to lie and stroke her ego that much, but it’s unavoidable. It’s part of the game I’m playing with her, no matter how much it disgusts me to do it. After all, lying is probably the least dirty thing I will be asked to do with this mouth before the week is over, given what the rest of my “mission” entails.

Vanacore eats up the lie I just fed her, looking like it’s sweeter and thicker than the donut of mine she’s just eaten. “Very good! Very good, my boy. Exactly the kind of good behavior I want.” Here, her eyes brighten and fog over. “Especially with all of the other good work I expect you to put in for me this week, to keep getting those kinds of paychecks.”

To this, I just grin. I make myself blush and look shy and available. “Yes, ma’am.” I make it a point to look down at her crotch. I study the zipper and fabric there as if she’s got a meal I’m really looking forward to eating. I meet her eyes, seeing exactly what I was hoping for: hunger. That particular shine to her eyes, like a hyena in the bush.

“Are you hungry now?” Her voice is misty, floaty.

Covertly, I check my pants pocket for my phone. It’s still there. Now I can only hope that the barrier between my phone and this conversation is slim enough to catch some good soundbites.

“Well, Tommy?” Vanacore asks. “Are you hungry? Do you want to eat me?” Whereas her initial question sounded innocent and curious, these questions sound a little crazed, hungry, and intense. As if she might tackle me with one wrong answer.

I look back up at her, covering the movement of my hand away from my pocket with an innocent, blushing smile. “What would you feed me, ma’am?” I ask, hoping this will get her to say a juicy word. “I haven’t had breakfast, so I want to make sure that I’m going to get full of whatever you’re going to feed me.”