four
Harper Apple
Over Thanksgiving break, we meet on Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday afternoon before our other obligations. I check in with Mr. D on Friday, though I don’t have much to tell him besides the lurid sex details he wants. I guess telling him about my sex life is better than having to fuck him.
I also slip away to the Slaughter Pen, eager to get my fix after so long without a fight, to feel my fists connect with flesh and the satisfying crunch of bone on bone. Unfortunately, I walk away with nothing, since I take a rare loss. It’s always a gamble to fight Merciless, a masked fighter who obviously didn’t teach herself to box on a bag hanging on in her basement. She has finesse as well as speed and strength and skill, and I’ve heard whispers about a professional career in her future. She always kicks my ass. But I keep gambling because one day, I’ll beat her, and the pot will pay for all the times I haven’t.
At school the following Monday, things are surreal. I’m a Dolce girl, and everyone knows it. I’m treated like the rest of them, and though I never sincerely wanted to be one of them, I can’t pretend to hate it. I could do without the attention, but the protection it affords is priceless. When I walk down the hall, I feel untouchable, even when I’m alone. No one dares trash me for my clothes, no one fucks with my locker, and no one breathes a word about the video.
My main concern now is keeping my grades up and preparing for finals, which is a bit hard since Royal wants to hang out until almost dawn Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for the next few weeks. I also struggle to think of something to tell Mr. D. He still wants info on the Dolces, and the longer I’m with Royal, the harder it is to reveal anything to Mr. D without feeling like the scum that I am.
One afternoon Royal hears my stomach growling as I climb into the Rover, and he teases me until I admit I don’t have any food at home. Instead of going to the bridge, he swings onto the road into town and takes me to Cliff’s, a tiny hole-in-the-wall steakhouse. The moment I walk in and see the ambient lighting and white tablecloths, I know I don’t belong.
It’s one of those moments where I’m jerked back to reality, when I remember that although our worlds may have collided for this brief moment, we exist on different sides of the universe. No matter how long this sexy dream lasts, eventually we’ll wake up and return to our homes, far from each other. Girls like me don’t get to stay in the Dolce world for long.
“Don’t be stupid,” Royal says when I protest it’s too nice. Everyone else in is dressed up. Even though we’re not following dress code, Royal strolls in like he owns the place and greets both the hostess and waiter by name. They just about fall over themselves to seat us.
Royal reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Relax,” he says. “Everyone eats.”
“Not everyone eats here,” I whisper. “This must be the fanciest restaurant in Faulkner.”
“Next time I’ll take you to Little Rock,” he says with a smug smile. “More selection.”
I can’t help the painful self-consciousness that sits with me the entire meal. I do not belong here, and everything in the place screams it. However, I can safely say it’s the best food I’ve ever eaten in my life. So good I actually feel guilty about consuming it, like my stomach is unworthy of a steak that juicy. I’m glad the menu doesn’t have prices because I don’t even want to know what it costs. That surreal, Wonderland sensation stays with me through the meal, the one I get every time I step through another door in Royal’s world and am reminded that I don’t understand the universe he exists within.
I have to remind myself that this is all fake. That he’s only playing, no matter how real it feels. He’s already told me he’s going to get tired of toying with me and toss me. I’m his plaything, nothing more than a whore who doesn’t get paid.
After our meal, a handsome Black man in a tie comes to our table to ask how our food was. Royal actually stands, shaking the guy’s hand. “Perfect as always, Mr. Rose.”
I spot it then, the resemblance between him and DeShaun, who must be his son.
“Gotta keep our star fed,” Mr. Rose says. “Last game of the playoffs is coming up.”
It amazes me how rich people operate. They all know each other, like it’s some secret club. Hell, maybe it is. Maybe being a member of the Swans means never having to pay for meals at the most expensive restaurant in town. At least, that’s one of the reasons I give myself for why we don’t have to pay. Maybe he feeds the Dolces any time they come in because they brought his son into their elitist clique, or maybe he owes Mr. Dolce.
Whatever the case, it just makes me feel more like I’ll never understand their world, like I’ll never really know Royal. Our lives have been so different, how can we ever truly know each other?
I keep reminding myself it doesn’t matter. We’re just fucking. He’s still going to throw me away when he finds another plaything. I’m still planning to take down his family if I ever get the information I need. At least… I think I am.
“So, that just happened,” I say as we climb in the car. The usual hazy lust of going to the river with him has been disrupted, bringing me crashing down into reality.
“It’s just dinner,” he says, handing me a mint he snagged from the bowl near the door on the way out. “Everyone eats it. Don’t worry, Cherry Pie. I’ll still eat you when we get there.”
“So, we sit together at lunch, I go to your games, and I go to parties with you even though apparently girls don’t get to ride with you,” I say, counting off on my fingers. “After the parties, I’m the only girl you leave with. We’re fucking three or four times a week, and now you’re taking me out to dinner at fancy restaurants.”
“I can take you to shitty restaurants if you’d rather,” he says, smirking at me from the driver’s seat.
I unwrap the little clear hard candy, recognizing the lozenge shape as one of Dolce Sweets’ candies. Rich people and their fucking connections. “I’m just wondering at what point you’re going to admit you like me, and that I’m not just a plaything to you,” I say, popping the mint in my mouth.
“When hell freezes over,” he says.
“Okay,” I say, turning to the window and smiling to myself. “Just making sure we’re still clear on that.”
“I’ll fuck you in the ass tonight,” he says. “That’ll remind you exactly what you’re here for.”
“Hell no. You’re way too big for anal.”
He smirks and squeezes my knee. “It wasn’t a question.”