Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Joey
Thiago is playing on his phone, hopped up on Benadryl because he’s allergic to dogs. And it’s like Kingston knows, because he won’t leave Thiago’s side. Jerk-ass dog.
I haven’t decided on my vice yet, but maybe I’ll sit around here and watch Thiago break out in hives. Could be fun.
My phone buzzes. Dimitri and Uri are giving me constant updates about Donny’s evening. It’s been predictable—strip clubs, low-grade drugs, and booze. None of which are any fun to his babysitters—a single dad in a committed relationship with a former spy and a gay man trying to stay sober.
Uri: Boobs are weird
Dimitri: With that kind of attitude, no wonder you never get to touch them.
Uri: Yes, that’s the reason, not my predisposition for dick.
I hear Thiago laugh from downstairs.
Thiago: At least you’re out. Joey’s still ironing his shirts.
Me: I’m not going out looking like a savage.
Uri: Donny’s wearing basketball shorts and a jersey for a team he doesn’t even like.
Me: I rest my case.
I put my phone to the side of the ironing board and press the iron on my inside-out shirt.
I wanted to know how people on TV always seem wrinkle free, so I took a deep dive into ironing styles.
Most useful weekend of my life. Steam first, then iron, lots of starch and other tips of the trade I can’t remember, but I got the basics.
My phone buzzes again.
Izzy: Hey Butthead, Nonna left a letter for Jenny.
It’s in her bedroom in the nightstand. There’s one in there for Alana too.
I’ll take care of A’s, but you can leave J’s on the kitchen table for when she takes Kingston out.
Nonna’s dog. The one she’s had for years.
He’s black and white and has the cutest face.
You know, the dog no one told you about.
Or we did tell you, but you weren’t paying attention.
Me: Text messages are supposed to be short.
Izzy: Fuck you.
Me: Much better.
Jenny’s been on my mind as much as Nonna has been. I have a nagging feeling I met her, but I can’t place where. Maybe it’s because I passed her every day on the street and never realized it. I mean we must’ve passed each other as I was heading toward Nonna’s house and she was leaving it. Right?
Once I finish with my shirt, I shut off the iron and head into Nonna’s bedroom.
I never liked going in here. It felt sacred and forbidden.
This is where Nonna used to cry. Whenever she got off the phone with Aunt Rita, she would come in here, close the door, and play Elvis.
I could hear her crying over The King’s voice.
Sometimes she cried over the people she lost—her friends, her husband, her children.
It had to be lonely for her. That’s why I came by every day.
I should’ve been enough. Why did she need a dog and Jenny? I’d always been enough in the past, hadn’t I?
The drawer Izzy referred to has two envelopes on top. I also know better than to go snooping around Nonna’s stuff. Get what you need and don’t ask any questions.
I leave Alana’s letter alone—earned respect and fear keep me from opening it. Jenny, however, hasn’t earned that right.
Heading back to my room, I use the steamer I used on my shirts to unseal the envelope.
“My Sweet Jenny,”
My heart sinks. This isn’t a letter she wrote to the dog walker about which food Kingston eats or when to take him to the doctor… vet. Animals go to the vet.
My Sweet Jenny,
The past couple of years, you’ve been the brightest spot in my otherwise dark days. I am heading toward the final years of my life, but between you and Kingston, they have been filled with joy and laughter.
For too long, you’ve hidden your true self from the world. Let others see you the way I do. Chaotic joy. Thank you for the laughter and listening over tea and cookies. I’ll be sure to bring you back something sweet.
All my love
Who is this woman?
When I came back to Nonna’s house earlier tonight, the dog greeted me at the door, his mouth wide open and his little tail curled into a tight little circle.
He doesn’t wag it like most dogs. Figures I would get stuck with a defective one.
Still, when he opens his mouth, he does look like he’s smiling.
Weird to have someone who doesn’t even know me be happy to see me. It won’t last long.
I pushed past him and walked through the house. He followed at my heels. Jenny did say he was a companion dog. But I’m not looking for a companion. At least, not one that requires work to keep alive.
I left him on his guard perch in the kitchen and watered the spider plant. Since it’s been in my care for a couple of hours, and I’m proud to say it’s still alive, I have a little hope I can keep the four-legger on this side of life, too.
Thiago calls to me from downstairs, pulling me from wondering more about Kingston and his dog walker. “Hey, I’m going to go through Nonna’s pantry.”
“We aren’t supposed to take anything.”
“It’s for the girls,” Thiago retorts. “We have a deadline in two weeks for the pet simulator to be launched.”
Thiago runs a gaming company, and all of his employees are survivors of sex trafficking.
He teaches them how to code or do some other aspect of the design or business.
They get free housing, are taught in-demand skills, and earn a nice paycheck.
They do have to pay for their food, though.
Which he’s been supplementing whenever he can. The entire operation is very un-Mafia.
He doesn’t have the heart of a killer. I honestly think he’s been searching for a way out of the Four Families for a while. Crime is only a tiny part of his income. Logically, he should get away and focus on building a better life for his employees and family.
“Are you going to use twenty-eight ounces of oregano?”
“Take it,” I yell as I put my arms through the sleeves. My phone goes off one more time.
Dimitri: Looks like the girls are having fun. Katya sent me a picture. Wanna see?
I don’t know why he asks. He’s already attached it to his message.
I have to blink twice at it. Because there’s a certain blue-haired dog walker sitting next to my cousin. Are they all friends? What’s happening here?
Uri: Who’s the new girl?
I’m about to answer, but Dimitri beats me to it.
Dimitri: I think that’s Jenny.
Me: You met the dog walker too? Shit, does everyone know her?
Dimitri: I didn’t know she was a dog walker.
Me: Then how the hell do you know her?
Dimitri: I’m not supposed to say.
Thiago: Is that some spy shit again.
Dimitri: No, it’s Joey’s policy.
My policy?
The realization hits me, and I run downstairs, buttoning my shirt as I try not to wipe out on the stairs. Thiago already has a tote bag filled with dried spices.
“We need to go.”
“I’ve been waiting on you,” he says as he drops onion flakes into the bag. He points to the table. “You gonna eat your sandwich?”
Sandwich?
There’s a note with it:
I don’t know if you ate dinner, but here’s a little something. I’m getting the sense you forget to eat sometimes.
-Jenny.
No. There’s no way she took care of Nonna and now she’s adopting me. Just. No.
I grab the bag Thiago’s holding, tell him, “You’re driving,” and lead him out of the house.
Once we’re in the car he says, “You didn’t say goodbye to the dog.”
“Is that something I’m supposed to do?”
“Well, I say goodbye to my cat every day. I don’t know if it’s something you’re supposed to do, but it’s better than being an asshole to another living creature.” He starts the car and pulls out onto the street. “Where are we going?”
“I need to go to work.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in the back office of the sex club I own.
Funny story that. I wasn’t super huge in the community or anything, but once upon a time, some guy owed me money.
He didn’t have a lot of cash, so he gave me the building.
I overheard some people talking on the subway about how this area didn’t have a sex club that felt safe.
I’m no dummy. And I definitely passed Business 101: Find an underserved market and niche down. A few months later, the club was open.
At the time, I wasn’t expecting it to become a major source of my income.
I would come by occasionally, check out the scene…
but I wasn’t active. And since my love interests are only short term, I’ve never built the trust to be an active member.
It’s totally fine to have a one and done scene. I just can’t do it.
There’s also another reason… and I think Jenny might be a part of it.
I’m scrolling through the membership list, and my heart stops when I see her name. I click on her picture to be sure. Yep, it’s her. The red and pink hair, the dimples, the big trusting eyes.
Shit.
It was a year ago, maybe more. I can’t remember exactly.
I do remember it was a slow night, only semi-full.
A lot of extra space on the couches. I noticed her as soon as I came in.
It was her hair. Pink, with deep red braids, and a crown around her head holding back the rest of her hair.
She was with a guy—blond, tall, straight-up douche.
Instantly, I didn’t like him. He never looked at his sub, which wasn’t abnormal, but something about it put me off.
Sometimes Doms who have subs with praise kinks will ignore them, making them want the attention more.
But this felt different. He wasn’t intentionally ignoring her as part of a scene or play, he wasn’t even interested in her.
He sniped at her for wearing a lacy tank top instead of the corset he’d wanted her to wear. When she countered with, “You gave me the choice between the two,” he replied with, “You chose wrong.”
His voice seared itself into my brain, and I couldn’t figure out why. I think it was the way he said “wrong.” It was demeaning, and not in the consensual way I’d seen from others.
Dimitri and Darren also had concerns about him. That should have been another hint to me that he was beyond bad news.
Later that night, they were on stage. It’s a small one, barely elevated, but enough for people to watch, if that’s your thing.
It had already become apparent she had a praise kink, but he didn’t seem interested in playing into it.
She was on her knees, giving a world class blow job, absolutely fucking incredible.
Blow jobs are a dime a dozen here, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
I don’t remember her technique or anything, but I remember how she stared at him.
And a part of me wished someone would look at me like that.
But when he finished, no “good girl” came.
No tending to her needs. Nothing. He left the stage, leaving her alone.
And I don’t think it was so she could take a bow.
She brushed past me as she walked down off the stage, and I wanted to say, “You were amazing.” Or something, give her even a little praise. But the words never came out. Even when they left, I didn’t say anything.
And my silence fucking ate me alive.
How could she think so little of herself? How could he think so little of her? Was this their regular dynamic, or was it different behind closed doors?
For weeks afterward, I would sit in my car debating if I should go in. Into the club I fucking own and operate. I didn’t. I stayed behind the wheel until I drove away. Every fucking time. Because I was too afraid to go back in. I didn’t want to see her with him.
“You okay?” Thiago asks.
“Um, yeah.” I blink at the screen. Doms and subs who are in a relationship have linked profiles, and if the relationship ends, it must be stated why.
I don’t want to see her status, or his, for that matter.
Instead, I click on her history. She hasn’t been at the club in over a year, and her membership automatically renewed.
Fuck. She was a gold member with an eighteen-thousand-dollar annual fee.
She cleans dog shit for a living. How the hell can she afford that?
We need to reexamine our auto-renewal policy. I might be a part of the mob, but this shakedown is wrong.
Against my better judgement, I click on her partner history.
There’s only one name, and when I click it, I want to throw the computer through the wall.
The screen has a picture of her face under fuckwad’s profile, and under her name it says relationship terminated.
Fine. He didn’t deserve her anyway. Under reason, it states: Incompatible, refusal to meet Dom’s needs. Subpar in every way.
My vision blurs and spots of red dance in front of my eyes. No. No. No.
Slamming my laptop shut, I announce. “I know what I want to do for Vice Night.”
“Color coding spreadsheets isn’t doing it for you?” Thiago laughs.
As I turn to my oldest friend, he leans back, and all amusement leaves his face.
“Let’s go kick the shit out of someone.”
Thiago swallows. “Well, that took a turn.”