A recent graduate from business school, she took over as floor manager last year. I noticed her chatting with Edward, flirting, and I assumed it was just her outgoing nature because she was friendly with all the staff. Even me.
She was very friendly in the supply closet. I came in early for my shift and opened the closet, and there she was, on her knees in front of Edward. His eyes were closed, his mouth slack, his jeans at his feet. She hummed like a porn star on his cock as he called out,Harlee, oh baby, Harlee!
Unbeknownst to them, I watched them as my head flicked through memories, the times we went barhopping and they’d disappear, the weekends he said she needed help moving into her apartment, then helping her put furniture together.
I remember wanting to yell and pummel them with my fists. I felt as if my chest would explode, but I forced myself to shut down, to pack it all away to sort out later. After all, this wasn’t the worst betrayal I’d experienced.
When Harlee turned around, I pointed at the semen on her cheek.Missed some,I said, then,Next time, lock the door.I flipped around, and Donny stood behind me, his eyes wide as saucers as he took in the scene. I canceled my appointments, left for the day, pawned my big-ass engagement ring, bought paints and canvases, and then went home and let the tears fall.
Gianna takes my hand and gives me a squeeze. “Oh my God, men are so stupid. When did this go down?”
“Three months before the wedding. I caught them in the supply closet.”
“Are you okay? I mean, are you being good to yourself?”
My head immediately goes to Prince Player. He was good for me. The first few weeks after we met, I walked around in a bemused haze, my body heavy with awareness. For once, it hadn’t pricked to see Edward and Harlee together. At night, I touched myself to the memory of him inside of me, to the feel of his shoulders under my hands. I even found myself searching the faces of men on the street, in restaurants, inside stores.
I wanted to see if a man like him wasreal.
I had to make myself stop. He didn’t really exist.
He was a stranger who put a bandage on my pain.
Stuffing it down, I focus on her tattoo. “Here you go.” I cover her wrist in petroleum jelly, then wrap it loosely with a clear bandage. “Remove this in twenty-four hours, wash with antimicrobial soap, and pat dry—don’t rub. Apply a layer of antibacterial Vaseline, and don’t cover it. Do this twice a day for two weeks. I’ll give you a handout that explains everything, plus tips for keeping the tattoo from fading.”
I pop my gloves off as I stand and roll my neck. It’s past seven at night, and I’ve been bent over for hours.
She hops off the chair and flutters her hands. “Francesca, darling, no way—we have to discuss. You must get revenge or vindication or something. This can’t be okay.Youcan’t be okay. That fucker.” Angry hair flick.
“Yeah.”
“I know people who know people who know people if you want him taken out. Or her. Italians don’t mess around when it comes to love.” She mimics shooting a gun, then stabbing.
I laugh, a rusty sound. “I’m good, thanks.”
We both watch as Edward stands from his chair and drapes Harlee’s coat around her shoulders. Then he slips on the vintage caramel-colored leather jacket I found for him in a secondhand store in SoHo. They stroll toward the door, and his arm clutches her shoulders, pulling her in as their heads touch. It’s the same way he used to hold me.
Harlee stops at the door and glances back at me, her voice sweet as syrup. “Clean up when you’re done, Francesca. Have a good evening.” Sly, evil smile. “Bye!”
My hands curl. I could take her. Black her eye. Kick a kidney. Show her who’s really in charge.
By age five—after a stint in a home with six other kids and alcoholic foster parents—I learned how to defend myself. When you’re smaller than your opponent, you have to be fast. You go for the tender bits: the crotch, eyes, and throat. You use your teeth, nails, and knees. You yell in their ear—maybe take a bite of it.
Never let them pin you.
At sixteen, I moved into a group home with fifty other kids. It was a lot like prison; I trusted no one, even the girl I shared a bunk with. My weapon was my ink pen tucked under my pillow. A week after I began living there, an older boy attacked me in the bathroom. He had waited for me, he said, and was going to teach the new girl a lesson about whoto give her dues to. Him. He shoved me down on the floor and pinned me with a knife. While we were wrestling, my hands floundered, searching for a weapon. I grasped a piece of broken tile under the sink and jabbed it in his eye, then his neck.
He lived and was sent to juvie.
At the heart of meisa fighter—but I’m also pragmatic to the bone.
I need this job.
“Holy shit, how can you still work here?” Gianna says after they walk out the door.
I wash my hands in the sink, then pat them dry, thinking about my reply. “Honestly, I was here before either of them, and it’s like I’m giving in if I leave. Why shouldIleave? Does that make sense?”
“Girl. I’d be out of here in a heartbeat—but not before I beat his car with a bat.”