He looks tired, and staring at him makes me wish I could do more. I don’t wanna do it, but I have to for Goldie.
I reach out and fist his cock through his stupid fancy boy slacks. He lurches forward with a yelp, his hands immediately dropping to mine, trying to get my fist to unclench. I can literally feel this guy's soft dick fold in half under my grip.
“Call the cops, call Goldie, do anything stupid, and I’m gonna come back and rip your dick off.” I stare him dead in the eyes and get a little spooked with myself because, fuckin’ a, I think I really would make good on that promise.
I would. For her.
He nods, and when I let go of him, he topples over into his stupid office chair, holding his little dick. I’ve collected everything I came for, so I drop a hand on his back, giving him a casual goodbye pat.
“Well, Reynold, I hope I don’t have to see you again, but if we meet again, I’ll be the last thing you ever see.” I wiggle my fingers. “Bye.”
He groans, and I can still hear him licking his wounds as I make my way out his back door, slipping into his yard until I’m hopping the barrier between the gated community and normal street. I continue jogging until I make it to my truck. My heart beats a mile a minute as I make the hour-long drive back to Oakcreek.
I look in the rearview a few times, wondering if he’ll call. If I’ll get pulled over and end up tossed in jail before I even get a life with her. That would ruin my parents.
But there are no lights. And there are no sirens.
I shower when I get back to my place, and it’s nearing four-thirty in the morning when I’m getting in bed. I hold my hands out over me, my knuckles discolored from the beating. Purple and blue spread along the ridges, and my hands ache as I open and close them.
The check and the USB sit on my nightstand next to me. I look at them. Two items. Common items that are otherwise meaningless to most.
And those two items are the best thing that can be given to her after what she’s been through. A piece of paper and digital files. That’s what she gets after everything he stole from her.
It’s not enough.
But I know it’s all I can get from him.
The rest of it, I’ll give to her.
I’ll hold her, I’ll kiss her, I’ll fuck her, I’ll let her throw her fists into me when she’s angry and doesn’t know why; I’ll absorb her tears when she cries and I’ll sit in Longo’s parking lot waiting for her session to end. I’ll do it all for as long as it takes until she’s healed. I'll give her what she needs, what he stole, I’ll give her every goddamn thing she deserves.
Finally, my body calms and I drift to sleep; the last thing on my mind is the image of Goldie sitting across from my Mom, laughing and smiling, that blue spot of polish silent and powerful between them.
nineteen
goldie
It will always be me
I stare downat the written reprimand, the pink color of paper telling anyone who looks into my office that someone is in trouble.
The thing is, I combed through the employee files the weekend before I started. Brought them home with me, unpacked them all, and strategically placed them all over my apartment in the layout of the dealership. It helped me mentally remember where each name belonged around the building, helping me to associate them with their role when I hear their name.
It helped and made the first week and a half of meeting people much easier.
But as I look at the pink slip with Amy Morgan’s name on it, I’m also remembering what I read in her file.
One of the things I read is that she’s been written up two times before, the last one being fairly recent.
My gut instinct is to bring her and the employee she had an argument with in my office and talk to them both. Spin some bullshit to make the other employee see why this wasn’t a big deal and talk to Amy and get her to see why she should veer away from that behavior.
My gut is trained to gaslight, and I want to blame years of PR work for that, but I know it’s a little bit my style, too. I’ve never been confrontational, and the desire not to give birth to a massive inability to stand up for myself and others.
This isn’t PR. This isHR. The R means resources, not relations. As much as I can be Amy’s friend, I’m here to balance the resources at hand and keep the waters calm.
Turning back to my open laptop, I click through the open jobs here at Gonzo Family Auto. Amy is working the front desk, helping customers and answering phones. She does that with three other women, though only two are up front and on shift at once.
I read the complaint on the pink paper again.