The Arrangement Anthology (70 page)

Course after course is brought out to the table on silver trays. Beautiful Ferro china plates that cost more than my car are placed in front of me with little portions of food. I stare at my main course without moving to pick up a fork. My head is tilted to the side slightly as I look at my plate.

“What’s wrong?” Sean ask. “I thou
ght you liked chicken cordon bleu, and those little carrots.”

My
bottom lip quivers and I can see the horror spreading across Sean’s face like spilled paint. I rush to wipe away the look before I ruin all his hard work. I would have never thought he’d do something like this for me, ever. Reaching across the table, I take his hand and pat it. “I do. I mean, I haven’t had a meal like this since my parents died. The only time I eat chicken cordon bleu is at Wendy’s. And I do love little carrots. This is beyond words, Sean.”

My stomach sinks as my old life clashes with the new one. This man is trying so hard to make me smile, but he conjured ghosts
with his gift. When I look up at him, I try my best to blind him with a bright smile, but he sees the sadness in my eyes. I’m such a train wreck. Sniffling, I smile and ask, “Who cries over cute little carrots?” My vision blurs as my eyes brim with tears.

Without a word, Sean stands, walks over to my seat, and holds out his hand. The chef comes out, looking rather horrified
, and covers the plates with silvery domes before disappearing into the back room again. Seeing Sean’s hard body in a soft sweat suit is so strange. My eyes travel over him once more before I take his hand and apologize.

Sean pulls me into his arms and ho
lds me for a moment. Then music starts playing. It’s a slow song, something that I haven’t heard in a long time. Sean takes my hand as he steps back and pulls me with him. His other hand drops to my waist. Looking down at me, he slides his flip flopped feet across the floor and I can’t help but smile. “You can dance?”

“And you can follow. Who knew?” he teases
, as he grips my hand loosely and leads me under his arm so I do a slow spin before coming back to him.

“I can follow.” He laughs. “
Okay, that’s a lie. I can follow sometimes, when my mood is right.”

“And the waning moon is hung in the winter sky, just to the right of Jupiter—” Sean makes an
oof
sound as I elbow him.

“Didn’t you
r mother teach you manners? You seem to say whatever snide remark is floating through your mind.” The memories of my mother’s voice and wintery nights in our warm little house are no longer strangling me now that I’m in his arms.

How am I supposed to
reconcile my past with my present? It seems impossible. People told me that one day the memories won’t hurt so much, but each time one pops up, it feels like I’ve been hit over the head with a shovel. One day I’ll smile and the grief won’t be there. Such thoughts seem like fairy tales. I’m more likely to find an alligator wearing a tutu on the subway, than think of my parents and smile without feeling any pain.

Sean’s voice tightens. “My mother taught me many things. She’s a
ruthless, cold woman, and not the person who you’d want me to emulate.”

“O
h.” Before I manage to completely mess up the evening, I add, “Then tell me, if you could pattern yourself after someone, who would it be?”

He smiles
and the coldness in his eyes melts. “You.”

I think he’s joking, but he stops dancing and takes both my hands in his. “I’m serious. You’re warm and kind. You don’t hide who you are or what you think. You wear your heart on
your sleeve even though it’s been fractured. When you care for someone, you do it wholly and not in part. You don’t hold back. You’re not selfish. Not once have you asked me for anything, even though you need everything. You’re borderline destitute and you haven’t asked me for a dime.”

Sean’s lashes lower as he speaks and
he continues the slow dance that’s turned into more of a rocking hug. His voice sounds strained, like these things are difficult to say. “You’re lonely and I’m alone. It seemed like a good fit, like we complement each other, but it’s more than that. You saw it and I didn’t. When you said you were going to propose to me, every part of me protested to the idea. Marriage is something that nearly destroyed me before, but since I met you—I don’t know.”

Sean
looks down at the floor before glancing up at me with those gem colored eyes. “When you said you wouldn’t ask me to marry you, I didn’t like it. It made me think of the little house and wonder what it would be like to live there with you—to hear your voice echoing through the halls every day. It made me wonder what I could do that would make you think I was worth marrying.”

“And what’d you come up with?” My head is floating off my shoulders. There’s nothing he could have said that would have made me light up more.

Taking a deep breath, Sean replies, “Nothing. There is nothing I can do to make me deserve someone like you. No matter how hard I try, no matter what I do, you’ll always be a better person than I am, which is why I can’t let you go.”

His words make my stomach flip and I stop breathing.
We stop moving. I had been thinking that he’s just talking, saying things I want to hear, until he said that part. “What do you mean?”

Sean smiles and tucks a stray hair behind my ear.
“I mean exactly that. I can’t let you go. I’ll take you any way I can get you. If I have to buy you from Black, I will. If I have to share you,” his jaw tightens but he manages to say it, “because you want to keep working for her, I will. I will do and be anything you want, as long as I can be near you. Avery, you make me a better man. Without you, well, there’s nothing. I’m lost in darkness and you’re my only ray of light.” Sean lowers himself so he’s on one knee and looks up at me.

The smile I’m wearing falls off and thuds on the floor.
What is he doing? I stagger back as he kneels in front of me. My heart slams into my ribs and falls over. This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming, or I’m dead. Is he proposing? He can’t be? But he’s kneeling. A cold chill works its way through my body, tickling my insides, as it passes through my chest and settles in my stomach. My throat tightens as I lock my jaw to keep from speaking. I blink rapidly, trying not to rip my hand away, because I fear this is some cruel joke, but Sean’s not laughing. Not at all.

He’s reaching into his pocket and
pulls something out. Lifting it up to me, I can see the perfect little circle with a bright diamond on top. There are two side stones, each one a sapphire as blue as his eyes. Pressing my lips together, I stare at the ring and try to blink the stinging sensation out of my eyes.

Looking up at me, Sean continues,
“I wish I were more eloquent, that I had a better way with words, but I’m afraid I’m utterly lacking. There’s no profession that will convince you. There’s no testament of adoration to persuade you. I’m afraid that this is all there is and all I have to offer. I’m a broken man that you brought back from the abyss. I know I don’t deserve you, and it’s selfish for me to ask, but I have to. You’ve lit up my life too brightly, for too long, and made it so I can’t tolerate the shadows anymore. So, I must ask you a question.”

The moment is so unreal that I don’t realize I’ve spoken until I hear my voice. “Ask me…”

THE ARRANGEMENT VOL 11

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THE FERRO BROTHER MOVIE

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Stripped

A
Ferro Family Novel

CASSIE

Bruce claps his big beefy hands at us like we’re misbehaving dogs. “Come on ladies! Hustle! The bachelor party isn’t going to be much fun if we never get there. Damn, Gretchen, you aren’t even dressed, yet?”

She laughs like he’s funny, even though Bruce is as far from funny as a person could get. He’s the bouncer at the club and on nights like tonight, he comes with us to keep the guys from getting
handsy. Some rich brat out on Long Island rented us for the night. There are seven of us going to perform on stage, plus the stripping wait staff, and dear, sweet, Bruce.

Gretchen is
piling her long golden hair onto the top of her head and securing it with a long bobby pin. She’s strutting around half naked, as if we like looking at her. She smiles sweetly at Bruce and waves a hand, bending it at the wrist like he’s silly. “Please, I’ll be ready before Cassie even finishes lacing up her corset.”

She tilts her head in my direction as I fumble with my corset hooks. Every time I manage to hook one, another comes undone. Whoever invented the corset should be burned at the stake. The stupid thing might look cool once it’s on, but getting into it is a whole other matter. Add in the fact that mine is a real corset—meaning it has steel boning—and breathing isn’t something I can do either. I got this thing because it was authentic. I thought that meant it had period fabric or grommets or something cool. It turns out that authentic means metal rods built into the bodice, guaranteed to bruise my ribs. Fuck, I hate this thing, but I refuse to throw it away—it cost me three weeks’ pay at my old job. Plus, it’s not like I wear it every night. We only pull out the good stuff on holidays and for special events like this.

Bruce turns his head my way and looks like he wants to pull out his hair. I’m nearly dressed, except for this contraption. My ensemble includes the candy apple colored corset, lace-topped thigh highs, and a delicate little G-string, coupled with heels that could be used as weapons. If I ever get mugged wearing these shoes, you can bet your ass that I won’t run, not that I could. These are the things I think about when I make my purchases. Can this purse do some damage? Maybe I should skip the leather Dooney and grab me that metal no-name bag with the sharp corners. My roommate and I live across the street from a drug den. Don’t even get me started on that. I know we need to move, but knowing it and affording it are two different things. In the meantime, I buy accessories that can be used as weapons.

Glaring at her, I reply, “Gee, thanks,
Gretch.” My fingers push the next bit of metal through the grommet. This one stays put.

She bats her glittering lashes at me. “No problem.” Gretchen is tall and lanky with a larger-than-life super model thing going on. I hate her. She’s a bitch with a capital B. It’s all good, though. She hates me, too. It’s difficult to be hostile toward someone that likes you. Gretchen makes it easy to hate her guts.

Me, I’m not a supermodel. I’m nothing to look at—my mom drilled that into my head a million times. I’m completely average with sub-par confidence, but I can act. I can fake it so that once I hit that stage, I’m as good as the rest of the strippers.

No, I didn’t dream of being a pole dancer when I was a little kid, but my life took some wicked turns and here I am, dealing with it. There are worse things I suppose, although I won’t be able to think of a single one when I’m letting a bunch of
pervs rake their lusty eyes over my naked body. The truth is, I hate this. I’d rather be anywhere else, doing anything else. The gynecologist’s office, sign me up. Root canal, no problem. I’ll be there early and with a smile on my face. Anything is better than this.

Bruce lingers in the dressing room for too long, staring at his watch. His thick arms are folded over his broad chest as he watches the second hand tick off the passing time. He ignores
Gretch’s gibe at me. I may be newer, but I pull in a lot more cash and that’s what the boss likes—lots of money. As long as I keep doing it, I have a job.

I finally get my corset hooked up when Beth walks by. She’s already wearing some frilly satin thing. “Hey, Cassie. Do you want me to lace you up?”

Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, I nod. “Yeah, thanks.” She laces me in, pulling each X tightly, cinching me up until I can barely breathe. “Tight enough?”

I try to inhale deeply, and can’t because the metal bars inside the fabric won’t permit it. I nod and press my hands to the bodice, feeling the supple satin under my hands. “Yeah, tighter than that and I’ll pass out—or pop a boob.”

She laughs, “You’re the only one who worries about stuff like that. You’re so cute.” She ties off the strings and tucks them in before swatting my back when she’s finished. My boobs are hiked up so high that I can’t see my toes when I look down. I grab my robe and wrap it around me as we head to the cars. It’s going to be a long night.

__
____

The ride to the party is short. We’re on the north shore of Long Island, not too far from the coast. There are tons of old homes with huge lawns and even bigger estate houses nestled out of sight between towering oaks and pines. The place hosting the party looks like a castle. We pass through the gates and drive around to the side of the house. The van stops and we’re told the usual—go wait in the servants’ wing until it’s time.

Beth and I walk inside, shoulder to shoulder, whispering about the garish wealth that’s practically dripping from the walls as we walk inside. Gretchen and a few other girls trail behind us, chattering about what kind of tips they’ll make tonight. A party like this can line a girl’s pockets for a month if it goes well, but for me it’ll do more than that. You see, I’m the main event, the mystery girl in the pink room—the bachelor’s private-party dancer. While my coworkers are off in the main hall, I’ll be earning the big bucks. That’s the main reason why Gretchen hates my guts. Before I came along, she was the top stripper around here.

It’s getting late, which means the party is well under way. Beth picks up a tiny sandwich off a tray as she walks to the back of the bustling room. “You think this guy knows what’s coming?”

I shrug. “Like it matters, anyway? When’s the last time we were sent away?”

“Uh, never.” She pops the food in her mouth and chews it up.

I’m leaning against a counter top with my elbows behind me, supporting my weight. “My point exactly. Guys are dicks. They commit to marrying a woman, but this kind of crap the night before the wedding is okay.” I roll my eyes as I make a disgusted sound, and straighten up. All of a sudden I’m talking with my hands and they’re flying all over the place, “Tell me, why would a guy want a lap dance if he’s in love? You’d think he’d only want his bride, but that never happens. He’s always happy to have an ass in his face.”

“Well, your ass is pretty awesome, or so I’ve heard.” Beth smirks at me and glances around the kitchen. We’re in the way, but there isn’t anywhere else for us to go yet.

“Guys suck, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I know. You’ve said it a million times.” She makes a
roaring
sound and shakes her fist in the air before turning to me and grunting, “Men. Evil.”

“You’re an idiot.” I smile at her, trying not to laugh.

She points at me and clicks her tongue. “Right back at you, Cassie.”

Bruce waves us over to the other side
of the kitchen. “Cassie, Beth—follow me.” We duck out behind him and follow the guy down the hall and slip into a little room. It’s been done up in pale pinks with silver curtains, similar to the room I work in at the club. Since this is a party, Bruce added another dancer and I got to choose. While I work the stage at the front of the room, Beth will work the floor.

Bruce points a beefy finger at the stage and says to us, “Take your places, and remember that this client is the shit. Pull out all the stops, say ‘no’ to nothing. You got it?”

We nod in unison. The stage is elevated off the floor, with a few steps up at either end. It looks like the stage is new, built just for me. People usually rent those gray, make-shift stages that wobble when walked on, but not this guy. They spared no expense. The walls are lined with pale pink silks and illuminated from the floor. Clear tables flicker around the room with pink flames dancing within. It’s seductive. The colors blend together, reminding me of pale flesh and kissable pink lips. As I climb the steps up the side of the stage and head to the silvery tinsel curtain, I call back to Beth. “Who is this party for again? And why is he the shit? I must have missed the memo.”

She laughs as she’s examining one of the lights within the glass table. It looks like fire, but it can’t be since
it’s pink. She looks up at me. “Dr. Peter Granz, and he’s the shit because he’s a Ferro. Hence the swank party.” Beth looks up when I don’t answer.

I rush at Beth, nearly knocking her over. My jaw is hanging open as worry darts across my face faster than I can contain it. “Ferro?”

“Yeah, why?”

I’m in melt down mode. “I can’t be here.” I glance around the room and look at the door longingly. Before I make up my mind to run, I hear male voices
approaching. Fuck! My heart pounds faster in my chest. If he’s here, if Jonathan sees me—the thought cuts off before it finishes.

I’m ready to bounce out the window when Beth grabs my wrist and hauls me to the front of the room. She shoves me behind the curtain and hisses in my ear, “If you freak out now, Gretchen will steal your job. Snap out of it. Whoever this guy is, he isn’t worth it.”

The tinsel curtain in front of me flutters, but it conceals both of us for the moment. The male voices grow louder until the door is yanked open. The curtain rustles and I’m in full freak-out mode. He can’t be here. He can’t see me like this. At the same time, Beth’s right. I can’t skip out. Bruce will run me over with the van and there’s no way in hell they’ll ever give me another cent.

I stand there, frozen, unable to think. Every muscle in my body is strained, ready to run, but I don’t move. My bare feet remain glued to the floor as I smash my lips together.

Then, I hear it—that voice. It floats through the air like a familiar old song. Oh God, someone shoot me. I can’t do this. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. What guy wouldn’t want a party like this?” Jonathan is talking to someone in that light, charming, tone of his.

“Uh, your brother, Peter. Do you know the guy at all? He’s going to act like he loves it and get the hell out before you can blink.” Glancing through the curtains, I can see the second man. He has dark hair and bright blue eyes like Jonathan. The only difference is their posture. Jonathan has all his weight thrown onto one hip with his arms folded across his chest. The other guy’s spine is ramrod straight, like he’s never slouched in his life.

Peering at Jonathan through the tinsel, I see a perfect smile lace his lips. “Sean, I know him better than that. Pete is going to love this. It’s exactly the kind of party I’d want if I was getting hitched.”

“Yes, I know.” Sean’s voice is flat. He glances around the room with disgust, and slips his hands into his pockets. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Oh come on! It’s Peter. What’s he going to do?”

Sean laughs, like he knows something that Jonathan doesn’t. “Don’t let that English teacher façade fool you, Jonny. He’s as hot headed as I am. No one fucks with him. He’s going to consider this a slap in the face, an insult to Sidney. Cancel the strippers before he gets here.” Sean leaves the room without another word.

Jonathan Ferro lets out a rush of air and runs his fingers through his thick, dark, hair. The aggravated sound that comes out of his mouth kills me. I’ve heard it before, I know him too well to not be affected by it. That’s the sound he makes when he knows he’s screwed up, when he sees that he isn’t the man he wants to be. There’s always been this wall between Jonathan and his family. I guess he still hasn’t gotten past it. Jon paces in a circle a few times and then darts out of the room.

“Holy shit.” Beth looks at me and hisses, “What happened between you and him?”

It feels like icy fingers have wrapped around my heart and squeezed. I stare after him and utter, “Nothing, absolutely nothing.”