39. Rest In Peace
REST IN PEACE
PRESENT
Pulling up to the country club, I anticipate my confidence to plummet under the judgmental stares being leveled at me the second I step out of the car, but I find myself grinning.
It seems my freshly dyed hair has provided me with a little bit of anonymity, because all I’m greeted by are the same stares and sneers I got the evening of the engagement party rather than the whispers and snickers from the coffee shop.
Yep, I’m back to being the dimestore harlot.
This time, however, I’m not alone. Jase barely meets the country club’s dress code standard, waltzing in wearing black pants that look like they’ve never met an iron, a worn half-unbuttoned shirt, and motorcycle boots ravaged with scuff marks.
And I’m every part his equal, adorned in the red halter mini dress I bought for the Angels & Devils rager one of the frat houses hosted this past spring.
The deep v-neck in front shows off ample cleavage, making it every bit the no-no in high society, but it’s the only dress I own that offers what I currently need.
Not to mention, I also have a case of the fuck-its.
If anything, I leaned into the look when getting ready, opting for smokey eye makeup, pin-straight hair, and red stripper heels, making sure it couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than clubbing attire. Hey, if I’m going down swinging, I may as well look good while doing it.
Although, it seems others disagree.
One of the older women by the entrance to the banquet hall gasps and not-so-quietly suggests to her husband that he get hold of security, believing Jase and me to be party crashers.
I can’t help but laugh, until Ainsley Windsor walks by. She gives me the same cursory side-eye as everyone else but does a double-take when she realizes who’s accompanying me.
Ainsley turns on her heels and goes over to another one of my former classmates, Jocasta. The two begin whispering and looking our way, and to no one’s surprise, they both pull out their phones, setting off the chain.
And, oh boy, does word spread fast.
Jase and I get as far as the swan ice sculpture when her laugh cuts through the air, a comment already locked and loaded.
“Well, if it isn’t the ho and hobo,” Sienna coos from the nearby table, earning a round of snickers from the other dinner guests seated around her.
Unsurprisingly, Patrick is seated beside her, and like the obedient lap dog he is, he laughs right along with everyone else, despite the fact he’s too busy looking at his phone to even know who Sienna’s talking to. When he does lift his head, that laugh collapses the instant he sees Jase.
While Patrick looks like he wants to throw himself out the closest window, Sienna’s the very definition of catty.
Sure, she tries her best not to appear pissed off, but the sight of Jase and I standing here together, his hand resting low on my back, has her taking too much pleasure in knocking us both down a peg… or a thousand.
Sienna eyes me up and down, her shit-eating grin on full display.
“I wasn’t aware this was a bachelor party.
Or are you just looking for work?” She points to her left.
“The gentlemen’s club is on the south side, sweetheart.
After all, trash attracts trash, so I’m sure you’ll both fit in just fine down there. ”
Neither of us responds, instead turning our attention to the thick, luxury envelope in Jase’s hand.
The decorative navy material is embossed with a gold border and ribbon, looking every bit like the gift everyone else thinks it is.
Assuming she’s won, Sienna turns back to the table and continues taking her victory lap, remarking she can “smell the cheap perfume, desperation, and stale beer just thinking about it.”
Soak up the attention, asshole. You’re about to get a lot more of it.
Jase opens the envelope and slips out the single sheet of paper, leaving me to my work.
Sauntering over, I watch Patrick’s tanned complexion lose another shade of color as I come to stand between him and the queen herself.
“You’re a ‘model,’ right?” I smile sweetly, pulling out the glossy eight-by-ten printout. “Could I have your autograph?”
I lay the picture down on Sienna’s empty plate, and given her comments, we’ve procured a crowd.
Between the people seated at the table and gossipers loitering around it, there are easily two dozen spectators around us.
Every last one of them leans in to see what I’ve put down is none other than one of the many images Trent posted onto Maggie’s social media accounts, the nearly naked redhead posed with her ass practically in his face.
Sienna smirks, flicking the picture away with the tip of her bedazzled nail, like the idea of even touching it will give her leprosy.
“I’d say I should be asking you that, but we both know it’ll be worthless.
If you were really that hellbent on being a ho, you could have at least bothered putting it behind a paywall. ”
Some of the people around us snicker, but I continue smiling. “Oh, I can clearly see how people could mistake that for me, if not for two glaring details.”
She just looks bored, throwing in a theatrical yawn for effect, but her attempt at deflection gets interrupted when one of the guys standing behind us reaches around Patrick and takes the printout off the table.
I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know what he’s staring at. I don’t need to look to know that multiple people are noticing it, too, because the snickers turn to silence and then quickly escalate to whispers.
Sienna doesn’t miss the change in perception either, glaring at Patrick, who can clearly see what everybody else is staring at. “What?” she all but sneers.
Before he can so much as gesture, I turn around and let my back do the talking.
Everyone in town has seen the infamous locker room picture of me and my bare ass on display, and just like the girl back then, the supposed image of me and Trent reveals the same prominent birthmark on the right side of my back.
The only problem?
The real me doesn’t have it. Not anymore. My backless dress shows off every inch of skin, leaving no room for speculation.
Thanks to laser treatments this past year, it’s all but gone.
Not only that, but unlike the Fake Me posing with Trent, there’s a Thorolf Rafto quote tattooed in calligraphy on full display running down the length of my spine.
“Caged birds sing of freedom, free birds fly.”
And there’s no arguing that I just got it in the last day or two. I’ve had the tattoo for over five months, the skin long ago healed and not remotely red.
“I suppose I should be flattered that you’d go so far as to imitate me,” I croon. “Though, I’d suggest you be a little more thorough next time.”
Sienna just rolls her eyes. “What would make you think that’s me ? Trent’s got a different girl for every day of the week. That could be any one of them. Besides, even if that’s not you in this particular photo, we all saw you kissing him at the party.”
“Which brings me to Exhibit B.” I lift my hand and wiggle my fingers.
“As you can see, I don’t wear false nails.
And because you were all too happy to take that photo of Trent forcing himself on me at the party, you can also see for yourself that my nails were the same color then as they are now.
Yet, if you look carefully—” I gesture to the bottom corner of the printout “—you can see the thumbnail on this girl looks nothing like mine.”
I don’t keep my nails all that short, but they certainly aren’t long enough to be mistaken for acrylic. Not to mention, they’re polished in nothing more than a simple nude coat. I’m far too harsh on my nails that the chips in the color would otherwise show too quickly.
Sienna may have changed the luxurious gold design since the dinner she spent at my house, but the new artwork is just as elaborate, the blue marble pattern a perfect blend of the colors she’s currently wearing.
And wouldn’t you know it? There’s plenty of nudity on display in the picture I laid down in front of Sienna, but her fingernail certainly isn’t one of them.
Nope, the color and unique design are an exact match to the girl’s nails seated in front of me.
The digital version of the image obviously offers better clarity, and it’s a little alarming how many people are able to pull up the image on their phones so quickly.
The whispers around us grow even louder, inviting further snickering, but I know it’s not aimed at me this time.
Not this time. Not when I can see the panic set into Sienna’s features as she slowly lowers her hands off the table, like there’s a way of hiding what everyone’s already seen.
“Oh, lighten up. It’s not that big of a deal.” I continue flashing her that saccharine sweet smile as I lower my mouth to her ear, making sure only she can make out my words. “Not compared to what’s about to come.”
Sienna jerks away from me like I burned her, and I just keep offering her that smile, patting her on the shoulder before making my way back through the crowd.
“Seeing as how you’re grinning like the Cheshire Cat, I take it things went well?” Jase asks, handing me my phone.
I don’t need to reply. All I have to do is enact the final step in my part of the plan, a.k.a. restore a certain archived post onto my social media accounts.
When I initially got my tattoo done earlier in the year, Maggie took a picture, and I uploaded it, only to regret the decision about ten minutes later. I knew Blythe would find some issue with the tattoo if she found out, so I took down the post.
But instead of deleting it, I had simply placed the post in the archives. Now pinning it, I guarantee that image will be the first thing people see when they pull up my account, confirming once and for all with the timestamp that I am not the girl in the other photos from Maggie’s account.