Chapter 3 #2
She smiles, but sadness falls across her eyes. A major event Nonna won’t be there for. The table falls silent. I said, “she’s” as in present tense. But Nonna… sigh… stupid grammar.
The woman with light brown hair leans in. “I’m Katya. I’ve only read about Nonna in files. I’m a newbie here, my first Vice Night.”
I glance around the space, and I can’t figure out what the vice is. Hanging out? Drinking?
Katya picks a leather booklet from the other table, which is storing their purses and stuff. “Do you do Karaoke?” she asks.
Alana whispers, “This is the vice.”
Izzy brings a glass of water to her lips. “My brother is snorting coke off a stripper’s tits, but my vice is far more embarrassing since none of us can sing.”
I wonder what the other grandkid’s Vice Night will be.
Stories about Nico were my favorite. Nonna had the most stories about him.
Some were heartbreaking. Like the time he found a baby bunny in the backyard.
He ran inside to get a bowl of water for it, and when he came back, it was already dead.
Then, about ten seconds later, a hawk swooped down, knocking him over and carrying the carcass off with it.
Others were heartwarming. Like the time he drove home from college, through a snowstorm, to shovel her walkway.
Nonna said her husband once had hundreds of employees, and any one of them could’ve done it, but Nico was already on the case.
Over the years, I’ve built up Nico in my head.
He’s an untouchable demigod with great abs and a biting sense of humor.
He’s sweet and sensitive and cares about family more than anything else.
Have I been crushing on an imaginary persona for a little while?
Definitely. Will I be going to Nonna’s funeral to pay my respects and try to slip Nico my number. Yes, yes, I will.
I should definitely use her funeral to get laid. Nonna would’ve wanted it that way.
“What will Nico’s Vice Night be?”
All four women look at me like I’m insane. Alana whispers, “Who’s Nico?” Waverly and Katya frown and shrug.
“OHHHHH.” Izzy slaps her head. “I haven’t heard anyone use that name in years.
Nico’s vice is probably dragging Thiago out to all of his businesses and forcing Thiago to watch as he works on spreadsheets.
” She giggles into her glass, but everyone else is still super confused.
When she sees no one else is laughing, she says, “Nico is Joey’s middle name. ”
My heart drops. What the hell?
Waverly laughs. “He’s probably going to be super grumpy while doing payroll.”
Izzy supplies the rest of the information as understanding moves through the group.
“Yeah, Joey’s mom didn’t want him to be called Junior after his father, and Nico sounded cooler.
When his parents died, everyone started calling him Joey to keep his parents’ legacy alive. Only Nonna still called him Nico.”
I’m trying to understand this whole process. “But Joey tried to kill me today.” My super sweet, kind-hearted Nico would never do that. Ever.
“Also sounds right,” Waverly says into her wineglass.
But nothing about this is right. How could Nico and Joey be the same person? My fictional image of a man I used to daydream about, think about while I was getting my vibe on, is Joey?
And I need to see him again? And often?
Shit.
A purse starts buzzing and singing on the other table. Katya leans over and grabs it to hand it over to Alana. After digging through her purse, she pulls out her cellphone. Her expression doesn’t change as she says, “We have a new client.”
“Who?” Kayta says.
“Brendan Barnes.”
My heart stops and the room’s temperature spikes ten billion degrees. “The Pirate King from The Knights of the Night?”
Alana gives a small nod, and the squeals are deafening.
“You have the hottest clients. First Grae, and now Brendan. Both of those guys were in my mental rotation while my ex was fucking me,” Waverly explains. TMI, but not bad selections. “But now my boyfriend holds my attention long enough to get the job started and finished. A couple of times.”
“Did you see his interview for the season three promotional tour? The story about losing his chinchilla in a hotel room for two weeks had me cracking up for hours.” Izzy doubles over in a fit of giggles.
Katya leans back into the bench and sighs. “It’s the Pirate Prince that does it for me. The dark and broody, deep-down cinnamon roll kinda guy.”
“Wait? You mean you’re attracted to a character who is a literal description of your boyfriend?
So weird.” Izzy is laughing so hard little tears leak out, but I can see through the emotional masks, and the story isn’t nearly as funny as she’s making it out to be.
Poor Izzy is forcing herself to have fun. Been there, sister.
Waverly pushes her hair over her ear and reaches for her drink. “The Pirate King is fine… but he’s fictional. It’s super unprofessional for most of you, but I don’t work for Mastodon, so I’m allowed to objectify him…” She pauses her thoughts for dramatic effect, before adding, “Grae.”
The rest of the girls gush about how hot Grae is, and they are not wrong.
I could get pregnant looking at him. Waverly fans herself, Izzy pulls her hair into a ponytail, and Katya has a lustful grin on her face.
At first glance, Alana seems unfazed by the comments, like she’s heard them all before.
But there’s a line near her right eye that wasn’t there before the conversation started.
She swallows but never wavers her attention from her friends.
Is she uncomfortable? She seemed fine with us objectifying Brendan, but something about this seems different. Her breathing is controlled, but not because it’s natural—it’s because she’s forcing herself.
Super-inviting women who mask their feelings and have the same fan boyfriends I do? Have I found my people? Could these women be my tribe? Ok, be cool, Jenny. Your newfound bestie seems to be struggling here, and you’re the only one who’s noticed.
Time for a diversion.
“Who’s gonna pick the first song?” I chime in. “Are we doing hairbrush pop? Amanda Chase? Maybe classics like ‘Don’t Stop Believin’? Izzy, it’s your vice, get us started.”
“Oh, I’ve got one.” She grabs Waverly’s arm. “And you’re doing it with me. In honor of Nonna, we’re going to sing five ABBA songs. And”—she points to Alana—“you have to join us for one.”
Alana’s resting bitch face deepens. “I don’t do anything I’m not good at, and singing is one of those things.”
Izzy juts out her lower lip. “For Nonna.”
Alana sneers like she’s eating a bag of lemon coated Sour Patch Kids. “You’re playing dirty.”
I nudge her. “‘Waterloo’ doesn’t have the high notes. ‘Dancing Queen’ does.”
Her RBF loosens, and she responds, “Fine, but Jenny is singing, too.”
They all cheer, and Katya sets up the machine. While they’re all distracted, I lean over to Alana. “Thought you needed a topic change.”
She exhales. “Fucking neurodivergent super brains. It’s annoying how little I can get past you guys.”
She knows! I can’t tell if it’s a complement or not, but my fear of rejection isn’t freaking out.
I shrug. “I know a lot about masking, and yours was starting to slip. I figured I would help you out.”
She points her glass at me. “It’s fucking exhausting, and why I won’t go out again for another couple of weeks. I’ll blame it on work, but I already need to recharge.”
The other three women start singing, and it’s more than a car wreck—it’s one of those videos of cars driving downhill in an ice storm, and everyone is sliding into each other, and when it can’t get worse, it does.
Alana points to the stage. “This shit is your fault. I was hoping to keep them distracted for as long as I could without having them sing.”
“I think you’re missing the point of Vice Night.”
“I’m not missing it, but I was trying to avoid it.
” She watches as Waverly and Izzy do matching hand motions, and Katya lags a beat behind, then turns back to me.
“You’re a good addition. I approve.” I don’t know why this woman I’ve met twice now approves of me, and I don’t know why it means so much, but it does. “Do me a favor though?”
“Sure,” I say.
“Let your mask drop. Be the little chaos gremlin Nonna said you were. Two of those women are daughters of mafia bosses, the other is a former spy. None of them are judgy or have any right to be.”
Chaos gremlin. Yeah, that sounds about right.
“And what about you? What’s your backstory?”
“I’m a mystery… And I’m thinking about dyeing my hair brown,” she adds.
“Be a mystery but dyeing your hair would be a crime against humanity, fashion, and Elle Woods. No thank you.”
For the briefest of seconds, her upper lip curls, but then any hint of a smile vanishes. “I’m going to do it anyway, but I appreciate your bravery to try to convince me otherwise. Men have died doing stuff like that.”
I shrug. “Well, let me know if you need to bury any bodies. I’ve got a place.”
“I do too. I wonder if it’s the same place.”
“Last time I was there, it did seem a little bit more crowded.”
Alana nods a few times. “Welcome to the family, Chaos Gremlin. I can’t wait to see what you do to Joey.”