“Uno!”
“Yeah, Queenie, I can see that you’ve only got one card. There’s no need to yell loud enough for the neighborhood to hear.”
He was boisterous every time he dramatically threw down a Draw Four card on me too though.
“Take that!”
“Oh, brother.”
“One, two–“
“I know how to count the cards myself, Jackass.”
“Three, four!”
In the end, it got really close, but I was the winner by a narrow margin of forty-three points.
Of course, I had to gloat and decided to play (and perform) Method Man’s Bring The Pain on my portable bluetooth speaker.
“Are you finished?” Knox quips after I perform the last bar of the rap classic.
“I am.”
I give him a deep bow from the waist and almost accidentally hit my head on the table.
“What is your wish, MC sore winner?”
He pulls out his plastic red case and half of a joint. He tilts his head and squints his eye closed as he lights it and takes the first puff.
“You need to smoke so you can think about how I just whooped that ass!” I jest with him.
“Something like that,” he says, giving me a look as if I’m an oddity.
“Okay, you promised I could ask for anything.”
“I did.”
“I want to go to work tomorrow and I want to go by myself. I called Janet, and she said she will put me on the schedule even though I called out the other day.”
I watch as Knox’s mood descends from entertained to displeasure. He didn’t expect me to ask for this. He thought I’d obediently wait on my father’s directive, but if I don’t get out of this house, I’m going to explode. And if I have to choose between shooting the shit with friends or working — it will always be work.
Working with the med students is not exactly the type of acting that I wish I was doing, but at least it’s something. For a few days a week, I get to pretend to be another person with a totally different backstory, and now I see just how much I depend upon that creative release for my mental health.
So that’s my wish.
He takes another long pull off his joint and then wets his thumb and forefinger, pressing them together to extinguish the fire.
“Okay.”
I hate to break the peace we've had between us for most of the day and I know he’s pissed, but this whole idea of playing for something was his. He promised no push back on my wish, but I guess he didn’t promise that he was going to like it either. Oddly enough, I wish he didn’t mind it so much.
“Okay?”
“Have a good day at work. I’ll see you when you get home.”
He stands and then does the oddest thing that leaves my head spinning.
He bends over and gently kisses me on the forehead.
“Good night, Queenie.”
Fourteen
Gigi
* * *
Tears are streaming down my face as I mindlessly press the buttons of the entry code to the front door of my apartment building. I catch a glimpse of myself in the small mirror located in the foyer and realize that I look very much like a feral raccoon. My mascara is smeared and strands of hair have freed themselves from my once smooth ponytail to frame my face in a halo of fuzzy curls.
I try smoothing them down with my fingers to no avail. I look like a total wreck and there’s no hiding it. I’m going to have to come up with a lie to tell Knox so that he doesn’t flip out on me. The last thing I need to hear is an I told you so. I’m an actress, dammit, and if I can’t sell a story when I get upstairs then I’m pursuing the wrong profession.
I’m not as brave as I’d like to be once I get closer to my apartment door. I don’t even know why I care about what Knox thinks.
Why are you so afraid of his reaction, nut job?
I’m not, I tell myself. It doesn’t matter.
Knox’s truck isn’t parked outside and I don’t see him when I walk through the door, which is a relief. Maybe he went out for the night.
I’m going to take a shower, pour myself a glass of something alcoholic, and try to forget that this day ever happened.
I flick off my shoes and start lifting my shirt over my head as I walk toward the bedroom, but then I freeze with my arms mid air once I see Knox standing on my balcony. This time he’s dressed in nothing but a royal blue bath towel wrapped around his waist.
Good God.
His back is to me, but he knows I’m here. His hands are clenched around the iron railing and I watch in awe as the breadth of his back expands wider and wider with each deep breath he takes.
I quickly lower my arms and try adjusting my clothes when he slowly pivots on his bare feet to face me through the glass. The look on his face is hard to read. His expression is blank, but his eyes are wild and stormy.
He knows.
The balcony faces the front of the building. He’s probably been watching me the moment I got out of the Uber. I can see his brain working overtime as he takes an inventory of my appearance. He’s probably conjuring up the worst probable scenario of what he thinks happened to me.
Without thinking about what I’m doing, I walk forward, open the French doors and wrap my arms tightly around his waist. His body doesn’t tense like I thought it would because I may have only hugged him once in my entire life, but instead he exhales.
“What’s wrong, Gigi?” he asks carefully.
I press my lips together because I’m not sure what I’m going to say. The truth? A lie? Something in between the two?
Then his arms slowly wrap around my shoulders and I feel totally enveloped in warm muscle, skin, and protection.
“Tell me what happened,” he demands.
“You were sort of right.”
“About what?”
I squeeze him harder. I’m not sure if I should tell him. I don’t what to be held a hostage in my own house for the next six months.
“It’s all right, Queenie. I won’t be mad. Just tell me.”
A lone tear slides down my face, and I push my face into his chest.
“Ben is not who I thought he was.”
“Why? Did he touch you?”
“Not in the way you mean.”
“Did he put his hands on any part of your body, Gigi?”
“Just my arms.”
“Again? Like in the restaurant?”
“No, this time he was angry when he did it.”
“Angry about what?”
“He isn’t someone who’s been planted to get close to me.”
“Okay, but?”
“But he’s the brother of someone my dad set up.”
“Says him.”
“True, I only have his word for it but, Knox, I believe him.”
Knox unhooks my arms from around him and leans me back so he can see my face.
“You’ve been crying. Did he frighten you? What did he do?”
I silently recall the frightening scene in the break room at work…
“Is your father’s name Camden?”
“What are you talking about, Ben?”
“Your name is Gigi King. Isn’t your father’s name Camden King? Doesn’t he hack into people’s lives and create them a new one? He can turn a nun into a stripper with a few clicks of his keyboard, right?” He asked angrily.