Killing Kate Page 4

  I start at 11:00 pm and dance until 2:00 am with a break around 1:00 am. It’s a long time, and sometimes I’m clever and put an audio book on my iPhone and listen to it by duct taping the iPhone to the back of my bra and wiring the headphones through my hair. I didn’t do that tonight and of course I regret it after an hour, as my mind is wandering and thinking about Jack and Devin and attempting to remember something happy about Justin.

  Kate sits at the bar, watching me. She is wearing the gold counterpart to my silver bikini which complements her amber hair. “There was this one time when you were riding your bike home from school in the second grade and fell and skinned your knee pretty hard. Devin was ahead of you riding with friends of his and didn’t want to stay behind and wait for his little sister. You sat on the sidewalk and cried for an hour and Justin was the one friend of Devin’s who rode back because he didn’t know where you were and carried you home.”

  “Before you were here,” I say. It’s a sweet memory. “What else?”

  “Not all memories are good,” Kate tells me. “I can’t tell you everything without talking about anything bad.”

  “I don’t give a shit tonight,” I reply. “Today was all bad and I’m alive. Maybe I can live with knowing it all.”

  “Not all of it,” she says. “Even I don’t remember all of it.”

  “Who were they?” I ask her. “How many?”

  “I don’t know who they were,” she says. “Maybe six or seven…maybe ten or fifteen. They were just older men who wanted a taste of something young and sweet, and Jack sold it to them for a price. You probably paid the biggest price.”

  “What did I do?” I ask her. Kate rolls her eyes.

  “You’ve talked about it before,” she says. “Remember years of therapy? Talking about it then did nothing for you. Why relive it?”

  “Because I think I’m ready to remember and get over it.” She shakes her head.

  “Bullshit,” she says. “It will make you crazy. I mean crazier.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” I tell her. “I think it will help. And that scares the shit out of you. If I’m better then you’ll be gone.”

  She smiles at me sadly. “I’m already gone.”

  I don’t understand, but that’s okay, maybe I don’t want to. Suddenly things are slowing down, which they do later in the evening. People are tired and the music gets slower and lower to match their pace. I’m done for the night and Kate isn’t there. I want out of this cage, and I want to shower and sleep until the next time I absolutely have to leave the house. In the locker room I say goodnight to another girl named Sarah and slip on a white shift dress over a pair of blue lace panties and no bra. It’s too hot for a bra. I think about how four bottles of whiskey would be a great way to spend tonight and tomorrow, and I can just go home and lay in bed naked and not move.

  I’m walking out onto Rush Street and I hear him. “Hello Jenna,” he says. His voice is warm, dark honey. I whirl around and he’s standing against the wall. He looks more casual. He’s lost the suit and exchanged it for tight black jeans and a black shirt that shows off his very defined chest.

  “You’re that guy from this morning,” I say. “Drake?” He nods and stands watching me while I light my cigarette. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you,” he says. He makes me self-conscious and I wish I’d worn a bra because I can feel my nipples getting hard, even though it feels like Dante’s eighteenth level of hell outside. “This is your place of…business, right? I came to pay you a less than social call.”

  I shake my head, trying to clear the vodka fog. “Are you fucking stalking me or something?”

  He smiles and takes my cigarette out of my mouth and steps on it to put it out. “Somewhat,” he replies, making my heart beat fast. “I have some business to discuss with you regarding your father.”

  Chapter 5

  We are at a bar. It’s one of those 5:00 am dive bars where the lights are dark and considering the crowd and the level of hygiene, it’s for the best. Drake is drinking a beer and I have a Scotch, neat. He asks me if I’m hungry but I’m really not. I had hoped that all of the Jack business was over and I could move on with the rest of my life but my lack of intuition never ceases to amaze me.

  “Jack hired me a few months before he died to manage his estate and draw up a will,” Drake is saying. “I think he knew he was going to die.” He shrugs. “Some people just do.”

  “He drank himself to death,” I say, taking a long, ironic sip of Scotch. “It was bound to happen. Some of us wish it had happened a long time ago.” Perhaps before I was ever born, I think and shudder slightly.

  “I think it was intentional,” Drake says. “But regardless, Jack did have $50,000 and his house, which he’s divided equally between you and Devin.”

  My heart stops cold in my chest and I feel my throat closing up. My fingertips go up to my temples in an attempt to not pass out from Drake’s words. Where the fuck did Jack even obtain that kind of money? I think about this and realize Jack had probably been involved in more horrible things than I ever could have imagined. As much as I could use a permanent home and a chunk of change, it doesn’t feel good to me. “I don’t want Jack’s drug money,” I say. “Won’t some loan shark or the police just come around seize it from Devin or me if we claim it?”

  Drake shakes his head. His sensual mouth tightens into a small smile that I fix my gaze on. I resist the urge to touch his lips with my fingers, wondering if they are indeed as soft as they appear. “This is Jack’s actual money, completely legitimate funds. The house is fully paid off. There’s also a car. I hope you’re not uncomfortable by what I’m about to say, Jenna, but I’ve taken the time to do a little research on you, “ he waits and looks at me to see if I look shocked. I try and restrain myself from reacting physically. “I think you could use this money. You can quit your job in that stupid cage, start over, and do something different. Maybe try going to school or starting some sort of business.” I scowl at the mention of school. I always hated school with a purple passion. “It’s entirely up to you, of course.”

  “The house is also half Devin’s,” I say quietly, but the words falling out of my mouth sound hollow. I already know I’m taking this money and moving into Jack’s house. My life is shit. Drake is right. I work and live in a cage and this money and Jack’s house is my only way out of it. I want to abandon everything I have going for me or not going for me and take whatever I’m being handed. “I have to talk to Devin,” I finally say. “I can let you know what we decide.”

  Drake nods. “Of course,” he tells me. “Contact me during normal business hours, preferably.” He yawns dramatically. “You’re a tough girl to chase down, Jenna Parker.”

  “Not really,” I reply. “I pretty much sit around my apartment drunk or sleeping unless I’m at work.” Ugh, way too much candor, I think. Now I sound like a loser, which I pretty much am compared to the man I’m sitting next to, in expensive clothes looking perfectly coiffed and prepped for business at whatever hour of the day. I’m wearing Goodwill clothing and could probably use a hairbrush and a shower.

  “I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to help you,” is his reply, and I look at him quizzically.

  “Help me?” I say, looking straight at him. His brown eyes and thick lashes look sleepily at me and I shrink back. “You’re my scummy father’s lawyer, not my genie released from the lamp.”

  He grins. “Money and property? I’d say I’m exactly what you imply. Your genie from a magic lamp. Your wish is my command.”

  I shrug. Erase the past, I think. “Maybe. I’m not sure that you have the answer to all of my problems, but money and property doesn’t hurt.”

  Drake finishes his beer and leans closer to me. “And what, pray tell, are ‘all of your problems’?”

  I can’t hold back much longer at this point. I swivel my stool toward Drake and lean as close as possible. My hands rest on his knees and pull them apart and I stand up a
nd place my hips in between his parted knees. My face is inches from his own and I can feel the sharp intake of breath from him. He wasn’t expecting me to be forward. Men never expect me to be anything other than a waif. Every now and then it comes out, and it’s all me. “You don’t get to fucking ask about my problems,” I whisper. “My problems are my business.” I am pleased to see him looking flustered and a little bit red. I push my drink to him. He finishes mine and stands up. “Leaving so soon?”

  He actually grins at me, reaches into the back pocket of his tight jeans and fishes out a card, which he pushes over to me across the bar. I touch it with my hand and our fingers graze. “Call me when you’re sober tomorrow.” He reaches in his pocket and throws a few twenties on the bar.

  “Who says I’ll be sober tomorrow?” I say after him as he walks out. I sit still for one hundred seconds, counting slowly to myself, my lips moving with each count. I stand up on shaky legs. I need to get home.

  Kate stands next to me on the El platform. Shady characters stand around waiting for the train. A man is vomiting over the platform onto the tracks on the other side. I can hear each retch from him over the occasional sound of a car whistling by on the street below. “You need me now, don’t you?” she asks and I just nod. She smiles mischievously. I feel myself anxiously awaiting the comfort of a seat on the train in a quiet car to ourselves. The train finally pulls up and I sit down in a seat and Kate sits down next to me.

  I cover my lap with my bag and her hand slides under it between my legs. She pulls up my dress and her hand slides inside my panties. Her touch makes me moan slightly, but I am unfortunately not alone on the car. There is a young couple chatting quietly to themselves and a haggard woman who looks like she is riding to work early. Two young girls wearing club clothing are standing behind me near the door and chattering away. No one sits directly across from me, so I let Kate continue. Her fingers plunge inside of me and my breath comes faster through my slightly parted lips. Her thumb pushes on my clit and my face scrunches up in concentration. In my mind I see Drake at the bar, sitting on his stool as I move closer to him. In my head he kisses me, lips grazing down my neck and over my shoulder, pushing the strap of my shift down and his hands cupping my breasts. I imagine him pressing himself close to me and feeling how hard I am making him. I want to make him hard. In my mind he wants me, and doesn’t turn around and go home, but pushes me onto the bar and lifts up my dress and fucks me, while everyone inside of the bar watches me. The bartender unzips his pants and grabs his cock while he watches, and two other men hold my arms at my sides, even though I want everything that’s happening to me, but it feels good to be grounded. I feel the waves inside of me building. My left hand slips inside of my purse and pushes down on Kate’s hand through it, bringing her fingers deeper inside of me. I’m afraid to open my eyes, but I imagine where I am right now and picture the couple on the train watching me. I am aware of my surroundings, and the prospect of someone knowing what I am doing frightens and excites me. Kate leans over to me and kisses my earlobe gently and moves her fingers faster. A surge of wetness and I explode, but all I can do is wriggle a bit in my seat and press my thighs together to stop her hand from moving anymore and making me scream.

  “Next stop, Morris,” I hear through the train PA system. Getting off at Morris in more ways than one, I think to myself.

  When I get home, I barely have a chance to stub out my cigarette before I completely pass out on my mattress.

  *

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Devin is saying. He means that if we live together, he can keep an eye on me, and I find this just a teensy bit on the offensive side.

  “I don’t need babysitting,” I tell him. We are sitting outside of Ennui, the coffee shop across the street from where I live on a Sunday afternoon. The breeze from the lake feels nice but I’m feeling completely numb. I know what this is going to mean for me. It will mean less late nights, less drinking, more scrutiny from Devin. I’m feeling a bit sick at the idea, but I am more on board than I let on. I can quit my job, I can start over, and I can leave my shithole apartment that felt so good to get out of today.

  “You don’t want to go to therapy anymore, so you get me instead,” Devin says. He is wearing white painter pants covered in red paint and I think strangely of blood. His shirt is white, too, and I think ironically of how I chose black shorts and a tank top to wear to see him and how it was reflective of how we are – him the eternal optimist, and me the dark and brooding one. “My lease is up and my rent is ridiculous for what I get. Your apartment could easily be abandoned and your lease broken and you could save the money you spend on it to do something else. Maybe you could buy a real bed or something. You could quit your job and go back to school…if that’s what you want to do,” he adds, realizing that he is listing off his ideal sister, not what I feel I’m actually capable of doing. But everything he’s saying isn’t out of left field; I’ve already considered all of these possibilities, including an actual bed. “And selfishly, I’m tired of being alone and could use the company.”

  Oh, he’s getting to me. I know how Devin is. He gets weird about being alone for too long. He works too hard, he comes home, he paints, he doesn’t talk to people for days at a time. He’s let people he knows come live with him in an attempt to be more social and it’s done nothing for him except allow him to be endlessly fucked over by assholes and moochers who take advantage of the fact that he makes decent money and is never home to know what’s going on in his own apartment. “If we move, we’ll be in the suburbs,” I say. “I can’t get to work easily from the suburbs, and you know I can’t drive.”

  “I don’t want you working at that place anymore,” Devin says quietly. I can feel something from him. It’s like he wants to explode just thinking about it. “I hate that people watch you do that. I hate that you’re trapped in that cage for hours. I think about how people look at you in there, Jenna. It pisses me off. You’re better than that.”

  I say nothing as I sip my espresso. The hair on the back of my neck feels damp and I consider cutting it all off this summer, but it’s a passing thought that’s distracting me from making an actual decision. Devin looks flustered. He wants this to work, I can tell, and I suddenly don’t want to disappoint him. “Okay, okay,” I say. “I’ll do it. I’ll quit my fucking job and live in the suburbs and slowly die inside just to make you happy.”

  “Stop it,” he says, looking like he wants to grin and I feel a strong urge to slap the stifled smile off his face. “Let’s do this. Jack’s house is big enough for the two of us to live without getting in each other’s way. I can make the third bedroom a studio. The one with the closet so I can stash supplies in there.” I nod, wondering what’s in it for me. Devin is getting excitedly animated. “Do you think maybe you’d like to enroll at Morgan College for some classes?”

  I shrug, not knowing what to think. “How will I get there, Devin?”

  “Get your license, Jenna,” Devin says. “Jack’s car can be yours. I have my bike. I could use the car if I need to transport something to a gallery.”

  “Sure,” I say. “Whatever you want, Devin.”

  Devin reaches for my hand but I snatch mine away. He looks less excited and sad and I feel guilty, even though I did it on purpose. It’s like I enjoy manipulating how he feels. “It’s going to be good, Jenna,” he says quietly. “You’ll see.”

  But I don’t see. All I can think about is how we’re going to be in Jack’s house. It’s not the same house we grew up in but it still feels like Jack. We went and looked around earlier in the week. Everything about it had a freaky familiar feeling. The thing that bothers me the most is that Jack lives the same way I do. No bed, just a mattress. Not much furniture other than the necessities. Ashtrays still overflowing with cigarette butts. The idea that his spit was still lingering on them made me sick. “We’ll have the place cleaned out before we move in,” Devin had said, already assuming that I would agree. He was definitely living there
with or without me. Also, living with my brother at my age? Am I dooming both of us into never meeting anyone who would be a permanent part of our lives? What girl would want to date a man who lives with his sister? Didn’t Devin want to get married one day and have a family? I’m the reason he can’t seem to be a normal guy with a girlfriend or wife. The guilt is overwhelming sometimes. He never blames me outright, but I feel like if Devin had a normal sister he wouldn’t have to be permanently looking out for me. He tells me all of the time that it’s not a bother and that he doesn’t care. And I know it’s not my fucking fault. Normal people come from normal childhoods. But still.

  “I guess I can talk to Drake to see what has to be done,” I say. “I’m sure there’s some legal shit like transfer of property.”

  Devin’s face darkens. “Let me call him,” he says.

  “No, its fine,” I say. I want to call Drake and talk to him again. The way he left me the other night, well, it left me feeling…something. Devin can tell. Why can’t I fucking hide anything from him? “You want me to grow up, so let me handle this for once. You just sit and look pretty or something.”

  “Okay,” Devin agrees, but he isn’t happy. “I’ll let you handle things. Just be careful, Jenna.”

  “And why would you say that?” I ask coyly.

  “Because,” Devin says. “Men like him have had real relationships with women who aren’t anything like you, Jenna.” He shakes his head. “Whatever I say is going to sound shitty, but you know what I mean. He probably hooks up with women all of the time. I saw him taking you in at Jack’s funeral. You’re beautiful, Jenna, and men will look at you, but let him know he can’t touch. You’re an emotional person who isn’t meant to be used and thrown away.”