Page 6 of Big Bad Bully
Good.
“You’re a disappointment.” Neither his words nor the bitterness in my father’s tone are anything new.
“I’m everything you are not,” I say. It’s taken me time to realize that’s a fact worth celebrating. I’ve had to be ruthless and work my ass off, but Brick Blackthroat, the most powerful alpha in the country, finds me indispensable. I have a place beside the king. My father is nothing to me now.
“That’s for sure,” my father snorts as he turns on his heel and walks out.
I pick up the stapler on my desk and crush it into a tight ball, then hurl it at the closed door. It embeds itself in the wood and remains there, suspended.
Chapter Three
Aubrey
I work all Saturday at La Résistance, which has been my home away from home since I was sixteen. Working there isn’t work at all. It’s hanging out in a hip coffee shop with the people I love.
Right now, it’s evening, and I lean on the counter, nursing a mug of chai. The place is quiet, and I’m lost in my thoughts to a dreamy soundtrack. The song is a Bossa Nova cover of “Take on Me,” and it reminds me of my 80’s night date with Madi next week. I can’t wait.
I miss her. This is the sort of night she’d come by the cafe, and we’d chat between customers. Now I’m lucky if I see her once a week.
I don’t want to resent her new relationship, but it’s changed everything. I should be happy for her–and I am. She’s in love, and I’ve never seen her so aglow. It’s amazing. But I feel totally shut out of her life now. At least at the beginning of the relationship, she would share all the gory details. Now I get nothing.
“Hey, chica,” my boss Caroline beckons me back to the office, where her wife Jan is waiting. I greet them both. Caroline is a petite, white spitfire–barely over five feet–and the fiercest and most loving woman I’ve ever met. Her wife, Jan is tall, black, and slender with a close-cropped afro.
These two are like second and third moms to me. They co-own the cafe. Jan is a Legal Aid lawyer, and Caroline runs this place full-time. They’ve staged many a revolution within these walls over the last thirty years.
“We’re meeting with Jamie, right?” I ask. Jamie is the whistle-blower from Sentience.
“Yes, she’s running late,” Jan says.
I have a flicker of unease at that–Jamie isn’t the sort to be late to a meeting. She’s a starched shirt sort of person. But it’s probably nothing. I’m just a little nervous–the drive I procured from Sentience is burning a hole in my satchel.
“First, I’ve got something for you,” Caroline is rummaging around in the coat closet. “Well, you and Madi.”
My heart contracts a little at my best friend’s name. The pain surprises me. It’s not like Madi has died. She’s just busy. Too busy for me.
“Ta da!” Caroline whirls around, holding up a gorgeous turquoise-colored jacket.
“Are you serious?” I move closer to study the jacket. It’s made of leather, and cropped, but in an older style with wide lapels. “This is amazing. It looks just like–”
“Janet Jackson circa Rhythm Nation?” Caroline makes the jacket boogie while singing part of the chorus.
“Yes!” She hands it to me, and I hold it up, admiring it. It’s in pretty good shape but obviously has been worn before. “Is this…vintage?”
Caroline and Jan both shudder. “I hate that word.” Caroline points to me. “One day your clothes will be considered vintage, and you’ll cringe too. This is second hand,” she emphasizes. “For you! For the next time you and Madi play at All Night.”
I take the jacket and hold it up to me. “Oh my God, I’m obsessed.”
“Rhythm Nation came out in 1989,” Jan points out, ever attentive to detail. “So culturally you’re pushing into the 90s.”
“It still counts.” Caroline waves a hand. “And it’s Janet Jackson.”
“Miss Jackson if you’re nasty,” Jan sings, and for a moment, I can imagine her out of her lawyer suit and in a leather lieutenant hat. She once showed up to karaoke dressed like Grace Jones on the cover of Nightclubbing, so I know she probably has a closet full of club outfits herself.
“I also have these.” Caroline produces a pair of white go-go boots. “If you and Madi want to add a little Nancy Sinatra to your set.”
“Oh wow,” I laugh. “Why not? Can I borrow these?”
“Keep them,” Caroline says at the same time Jan says, “They’re yours.”
