Daddy Issues

3. Ivy

3

IVY

The most luxe spot I’d ever been to was the one where I almost bought the farm.

Limousines and expensive cars lined up along the circular driveway. The red carpet-type entryway filled by ladies wearing glittering cocktail dresses, one-of-a-kind jewelry, their men in tuxedoes or suits. These weren’t the first clues Mr. Taylor ran in circles where neither Gigi nor I had tread.

The hostess greeted all of us with her silky-smooth attention and Mr. Taylor commanded respect wherever he roamed.

It made me wonder why he was being so nice to us.

My friend peered around the room, and I could tell she was trying to memorize the expensive décor, the ice sculpture carved like a swan, the charming paper lanterns that hung behind the row of hula dancers on stage, and the scads of appreciative diners sipping champagne or cocktails.

The Lei was the first place I’d ever eaten with white table clothes and floral centerpieces that weren’t made of plastic.

While taking it all in over dinner, it was hard to concentrate on whatever Rupert was saying, but his statement after dessert got my attention.

“I’ll hire both of you at the club I own in Northern California. All employees get free lodging as part of their benefit.” He swirled the ice cubes that remained in his glass. “In case you aren’t picking up what I’m laying down, I’m offering you both a job and I’ll pay you five times what you made at Club Juicy.”

So that was it.

He needed staff at another one of his clubs. No wonder he was being so nice to us.

I knew better than to take his offer at face value.

“What type of club? Why on earth would you pay anyone that much money?” Shenanigans were definitely in play here.

The back of my neck prickled when he went still.

“Yeah, now you’ve got me wondering too.” Gigi said, “What kind of business are you running?”

On top of the white tablecloth, his hands curled almost into fists and then straightened, and his eyebrows squeezed together.

“I can assure you both, the club maintains the highest level of safety. We require extensive background checks on every member, and no client may harass or proposition the staff as you experienced with that cretin bothering you in the bar at Juicy. Such behavior isn’t tolerated.” He frowned in thought.

Each time he said my name, it had the odd effect of stoking a fire I never knew existed between my legs. The bothersome distraction resulted from the fact that my s*x life was barren as the Mojave.

Speaking of deserts, Rupert sold the contrasting virtues of his hometown, “The climate there is nothing like Phoenix. It’s green with beautiful mountains, the Pacific Ocean, ranching and dairy farms as far as the eye can see. Briarville is known as the ‘Victorian Village.’” Rupert’s eyes shone bright, and I noticed his hands shook slightly when he passed me his phone. “Here, let me show you pictures. I have a few photos of the apartments available.”

I watched as he scrolled past charming photos of small-town storefronts which looked more like birthday cakes than buildings with their elaborate paint jobs, and he then displayed a sun-filled loft with hardwood floors and vast windows.

Suddenly, the room grew unbearably hot despite its perfectly regulated air conditioning, “I’m dizzy.” I blurted. Without warning, my mouth was tingling, and my breath wheezed so loudly, people were turning to stare.

“You ever have scallops before?” Rupert stood up and towered over me, running a jerky hand through his silver hair.

“No.” My voice sounded like a bullfrog in heat, “But I’ve had shrimp. No weird reactions there.”

“One moment.” He took deep breaths, as if to calm himself and pushed the touch screen on his phone.

Gigi scooted next to me while Rupert spoke urgently over the phone.

“Keep breathing, Ivy,” she said. “Oh man, your lips are swelling up. You look as if someone punched Angelina Jolie in the kisser.”

I tried to laugh, but it was as if invisible hands wrapped around my throat, making it impossible to draw oxygen.

Rupert shot his hand in the air, and the entire room grew quiet. He cut a commanding figure in his three-piece suit, and his voice was not to be ignored. “Anyone here a doctor or have an epi pen? This girl’s having an allergic reaction to the shellfish.”

Our server answered, “One sec, we keep them in stock for situations like this. You sure it’s a shellfish allergy?”

Our new boss nodded sharply, “I just spoke to my personal physician about the situation.”

The waiter sprinted to the back and returned with a small white tube flagged in orange “needle end.”

I clawed at my neck with clammy hands and couldn’t speak. Images of the cute little town with intricately painted buildings lining its streets flashed through my mind. Looks like I won’t ever be seeing the place.

It was impossible to tell whether the symptoms started up hours ago, or within the last few seconds.

God, my stomach hurt.

The needle that Rupert approached my arm with was short, but it didn’t matter. I hated needles and feared them more than dying on the spot just because it turned out I was allergic to pan seared sea slugs.

I tried to say no, but it came out, “Nhhhh” so I shook my head to convey my meaning.

“Trust me, you won’t even feel it. You’ll be all better afterward.” His voice was comforting, and I nearly settled.

But then he reached for my sleeve.

I snatched it away, and spots appeared before my eyes.

“Ivy, sit still.” Gigi wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Easy for her to say.

She didn’t have scars on her arms which resembled the symbols a prisoner might scratch into his cell wall, marking the days.

Is that what I was doing? Recording the time into my flesh. Making a visual representation of the time spent in that prison?

Now I was thinking crazy.

Clearly, I was delirious, and I needed air, so f**k it. I yanked up my stupid satin sleeve, vowing to never dress up as a fairy ever again.

Rupert’s gaze became pained. But he was all business now. Like a trauma surgeon, his sole focus was on saving a life.

Mine.

The needle pricked the skin in between two rows I hoed in my flesh with a math compass from geometry class.

Nothing happened. It still seemed an invisible monster was tightening its grip around my throat. Panicked, I tried to get past Rupert.

Fresh air would do me good.

“You’re not going anywhere alone.” He stood up, and I saw him reach a hand out to me, but it set me bolting towards the double doors which lead to night breezes and open space. Before I knew what happened, he scooped me up and carried me to the front entrance.

I focused all effort on getting air into my lungs. My breath across my tongue felt as though I had a mouth full of cotton wool.

He walked me toward a free-standing water feature and I could hear Gigi behind us. “Where are you taking her? Is she going to be okay?” Her voice cracked.

“She’ll be fine, it just takes a bit for the Epinephrine to kick in so she can breathe.” He placed me on the ground in front of him. “Don’t move.” He pulled a clean, pressed handkerchief from the front pocket of his suit and dipped it into the water. His touch was cool against my face where he set about wiping off my makeup, and I realized the monstrous grip on my throat had loosened.

I sucked as much air into my lungs as I could and listened to him make a smug sound of male pleasure as he dabbed the last of the grease paint off. “Well, the scare you gave us may well be worth it. Finally, I get to see what lays beneath your disguise.” His expression was grave. “Take a deep breath, Ivy. You’re safe with me. I promise.”

I wanted to believe him so badly but couldn’t allow myself the indulgence. Like E. M. Forster said, “To trust people is a luxury in which only the wealthy can indulge; the poor cannot afford it.”