Page 5 of Caged Captain

“My father can never know about this.”

“Deal.”

She wraps her much smaller, softer hand around mine, her porcelain skin contrasting my darker, olive tone. Instead ofshaking her hand, I simply hold it, feeling the weight of it in mine, how smooth her skin is, how delicate her features.

Imogine withdraws her hand, snapping me out of whatever spell she had me under. We exchange numbers, and she jumps to her feet before I get a chance to pull out her chair for her. She walks through the curtain and out into the main dining area without so much as a thank you or a goodbye.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

3

IMOGINE

“So, tell me again how you were able to pay rent so far ahead?” my dad asks as he adjusts his tie. It’s still a bit crooked, so I get up from the couch and tighten the knot while straightening the rest of the tie. “Thanks, sunshine,” he says with a warm smile.

“I made good tips yesterday and got an advance on my check,” I say as I turn my back to him. I don’t want him to see the lie written all over my face. “And I worked out a deal for, uh, for payments on rent for the next few months. You just focus on paying off… other things.”

We haven’t talked about three nights ago when Marco showed up and demanded fifty thousand dollars. I’m not sure what my dad’s plan is, but I need to figure out a way to tell him his debt is forgiven so he doesn’t do something stupid like gamble away another paycheck. Ideally, he’ll make legit money and we can actually have something in savings for once.

Silence stretches between us, and I know my father wants to ask more questions about the money. I’ve never gotten an advance on a check before, so why now? How did I make such good tips when I was scheduled for the early morning shift, which is notorious for shitty tips?

Before he gets a chance to voice his concerns, a light knock sounds from the door of our room. I glance at my father over my shoulder, both of us exchanging questioning looks. We wait for more knocking or maybe a gunshot, but nothing follows.

I move toward the door, but my dad stops me with an outstretched arm. He takes a few cautious steps toward the door, peeking through the peephole to see who’s there. Opening the door reveals no one, but a dozen bags filled with groceries, toilet paper, toothpaste, shampoo, and other necessities sits outside.

My dad cranes his head out the door, looking left and right to see who left this for us. I already know it was Marco. I didn’t ask for this, and honestly, I’m confused. I thought I was stretching my luck by asking him to pay rent. He must have realized how desperate our situation was and that we probably couldn't afford groceries if we couldn’t afford rent.

“Imogine?” my father calls out, sounding confused.

I look at him and see that he’s holding an envelope with my name on it. I take it before he can open it.

He frowns. “What kind of deal did you make, exactly?”

Without answering him, I open the envelope, revealing a neatly handwritten note.

Our first engagement is tonight. It’s a very public fundraiser that will establish our relationship. You’ll be picked up at 5 pm sharp for hair, makeup, and wardrobe. - M

“Just Sal from the diner. You know how he likes to look after us.” Sal has been the head cook at the diner for longer than I’ve been alive. He’s been known to pay bills, drop off meals, and do light maintenance work for his coworkers when they need a helping hand. It’s not out of the realm of possibility for him to do something like this, but my gut twists up with yet another lie.

Looking up from the note, I see my dad giving me a very skeptical expression. “Sal usually doesn’t provide two weeks’ worth of food and toiletries,” he says flatly.

“Well, we’re in no position to refuse his kindness, are we?” I say dismissively. I know I hit my mark when my dad’s shoulders slump slightly. I hate shaming him, but it’s the only way to get him off my back with all the holes he’s poking in my excuses. Plus, it’s the most truthful thing I’ve said during this whole interaction. We’re not in a position to say no, and it’s okay for him to feel the weight of that sometimes, even if it hurts to watch.

“Do you need help putting everything away?” he asks, changing the subject. I look over at the clock on the microwave and then shake my head. “I’ve got it. You should get to work.” My dad nods and then gives me a side hug. I can tell he’s still confused, but he’s done needling me for answers. At least for now. “I’m picking up a late shift at the diner, so I won’t be here when you get back.”

The lies keep slipping off my tongue, each one easier than the last. I don’t like it, but it’s what I have to do for now.

True to his word, a black SUV rolls into the motel parking lot several hours later, at five o'clock sharp, stopping right outside our door. I wasn’t sure what to plan for or expect, but Marco said hair, makeup, and clothes would be provided. I still wanted to look professional, so I put on the same outfit from when I had my meeting with Marco.

After locking our door, I take a cleansing breath and psych myself up for what’s to come. To my surprise, the back door opens to reveal two women—one who appears to be in her forties and the other in her mid-seventies. I think I must be mistaken at first, but then I hear my name.

“Imogine? We’re here to pick you up for your makeover,” the younger woman says.

The two women look me up and down, their eyes scanning my curves, hair, face—everything about me. They whisper tothemselves, and I wonder if they are about to call the whole thing off and deem me a lost cause.

“Chop chop, dear. We have a lot of work to do,” the older woman says, resting her shrewd gaze on mine.

Just like that, I’m whisked off to a salon on the other side of town, far away from the pawn shops, bail bonds companies, and strip clubs scattered around this neighborhood.

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