“How many people does this job take?”
“I normally do it myself but — ”
“Good Lord, Janie,” Sahara groans. “Give it to Chester and Lacey, then. You said they’re on board for the ride, right? You trust them?”
“Lately? Yes… I guess. It’s hard not to feel like everyone has a price tag these days.”
“Do you?”
I want to spit. “Some people seem to think so… but no, I don’t.”
“Then maybe they don’t either, okay? Now,” she says, serious again, “say the words, Janie Hall.”
“Fine,” I say, caving in at last. “I’ll do it. I’ll take a day off and… go to the spa.”
“Good girl. If you were here, I’d give you a treat and pet your head.”
We laugh, and honestly… I do feel a little better.
If I had my way — I mean, if I could literally bend reality to my will — I would live my life in near-boiling water.
I’m up to my chin in salt water, after subjecting myself to a deep-tissue massage and a half-hour seaweed wrap that I can still feel aching in my muscles. After that much-needed abuse, they led me to a room all to myself with a massive bamboo tub, Japanese style, and after some argument on my part agreed to crank the heat up — if I signed a waiver, which I did.
The heat sinks into me, summoning a torrent of sweat on every inch of skin exposed to the air, and for a little while I am able to clear my mind of all my worries. The scents of lemon and lavender fill my nose, and I drift.
Like a boat crashing on a rocky shore, I drift right into thoughts of Jake Ferry. Of those strong hands when they were briefly on my hips, and of that confident grin of his in the moments just before he asked me out in the most bullshit way possible.
But if I back up… if I imagine a different question, a different outcome. If I imagine that I’m not fighting a losing battle against him and his father…
My fingers find my clit before I realize where they’re headed and I have to drag them away. For one thing, the staff here will check up on me at some point, and I’ve lost track of time. But for another, even if he isn’t here to know my thoughts I refuse to even give imaginary Jake the satisfaction of knowing how he stirs me up. Oh no. You can go fuck yourself, imaginary Jake.
I take a mental left turn, and immerse myself in planning instead. A literal brainstorm as I try to think of the buzz around this or that distillery or vineyard. Who has something coming up that would make some noise? Someone loyal, that I could keep the Ferrys cut out of? I hate that I’m thinking that way, but at least regional exclusivity is entirely above board. I don’t doubt for second that Ferry Lights is making deals like that. Though for all I know I’m going to find myself blacklisted by every distributer in the region before long.
Didn’t I hear something about a wedding recently? Who was that… I sift through memories of my daily trek through the social media universe, looking for what I’m reminded of and… yes! That’s it. Tim Waller and Jenna Stone just announced their wedding plans a few months ago, and it should be happening sometime this month. I’ve known Tim for years, and he’s been meaning to come by Red Hall. I bet if I offered to host the reception he’d take me up on it. An exclusive event like that would catapult Red Hall way above Ferry Lights; and Reginald can kiss my ass from below.
I need to take more spa days.
Chapter 36
Jake
Reginald doesn’t bother to schedule parties. When he’s in the mood, people show up out of the woodwork to attend. It’s one of the rare times when all his little playthings are in one place.
When I come home from a much-needed visit to the gym — the one across town, not the one at home; it’s as much about getting out as it is burning off stress — it seems one of these affairs has sprung up spontaneously in my absence. For all I know, it’s because of my absence.
The first sign of the event, of course, is the line of cars filling the circular driveway in front of the house, surrounding the great fountain at the center. I have to park the Benz to one side because the garage is blocked.
The second sign, this one far more troublesome, is Toia, who’s barely keeping herself together as she stalks across the foyer and up the stairs, dressed in a bathing suit. That’s not usual, but it’s not unheard of — just normally not during a party. I assume this means Reginald is feeling particularly sadistic tonight.
A quick visit to the party deck, where the pool is, informs me of the problem. It seems there’s a fashion show in progress. Walking across the glass bridge over the pool as though walking on water, there’s a slender Asian girl parading from one end to the other in one of Toia’s evening gowns. Looking around, it’s easy to see that she isn’t the only one. My father is lounging in a speedo, proudly displaying his erection while he cheers them on.
Poor Toia. She’s too damn dumb and helpless to grow a spine. Not like my mother was; though it took her long enough to do so. Somehow, I didn’t think Toia ever would.
It’s disgusting how he treats people. Everyone is a pawn or a plaything. A rapid alpha male, if Reginald can dominate the people around him, he will. Even his own wife. Even these playthings — all of them have the look of women who hate one another, but what are they going to do? Complain? My father keeps them stocked in pretty clothes, prescriptions from crooked doctors, and for the ones he really likes he even puts them up in nice apartments. Two of them have chauffeurs.
The Asian girl
leaves the walkway and is replaced by someone who is clearly a professional fashion model — she manages a more or less genuine-looking smile. She’s probably new. I don’t recognize her, but then again it’s hard to keep track of Reginald’s women.