Page 16 of Southpaw Slots
With my stomach twisting into knots at the sheer amount of regret I now feel, I turn in my seat to stare out at the summer scenes. Hopes of having a big family, a nice home, and a loving husband burn up with the acid eating away at my belly. Maybe I should have married Strauss. He, at least, seemed into me.
The limo drives through wide glass gates as we enter the Donovan compound. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been here, but I do remember the odd metal sculptures standing at random intervals on the front lawn. They still look shiny and clean, like someone has kept the place up.
Light tan cobblestones line the drive up to the mansion, giving it a look of sand, while deep, tranquil pools surround the house like moats. Palm trees in large pots decorate the spacious white concrete patios, and I spot a large party area with a gigantic kitchen squatting underneath one of the many flat roof overhangs. The structure is two stories high at most points, but others jut up to three. Glass, teakwood, and white paint give the estate a natural feeling, as if we were in a desert somewhere. I like it.
Using my veil, I wipe some of the wet drops frommy cheeks and try to make myself look presentable. When the car pulls up near the front door, Asa jumps out, greeted by the squirrelly looking man, who stands with a notepad and speaks to him in low tones. Asa waves his hands at him, angrily yelling. The driver hurries to help me get out of the car and, gathering my skirts, I waddle toward the house.
“No, I’ve made up the purple bedroom for you two, so you don’t have to go into that wing if you don’t want to, Ace,” the little man says.
Asa shrugs off his jacket and throws it into one of the pools, then starts unbuttoning his shirt, exposing bronzed skin filled with tattoos.
The rodent man catches my eye as I sneak past and rushes to help me with my dress. With an arm extended, he points the way to the house. “Mrs. Donovan, I’m Kline Jameson, Mr. Donovan’s lawyer and secretary. I’ve had the staff set up your wedding cake in the dining area, the food in the kitchen, and the main suite is on the second story. Your staff brought over your clothes and arranged them in the closet. Smeath will be your head of staff and can help you with all the household tasks. Here he is.”
“Oh my god. What a terrific tragedy you are.” A man with a light blue button-down shirt and plaid shorts greets me with one hand on his chin, eyeing me scrupulously up and down. “Clare! Help Mrs. Donovan upstairs. I’ll take care of the wolf. Where’s the pack?”
A large Escalade barrels down the drive, kicking up stones and smoke as it swivels to a stop just behind the limo we rode in on. At the same time, a very young woman, I’m hoping eighteen, silently exits the house and gathers up my dress, nodding at me as she practically pushes me inside. Out of the SUV jumps Asa’s groomsmen in various stages of undress. Some without shirts, some without ascots. One has no pants. None are wearing their jackets. Before I can make out more of them, I’m shoved into the foyer.
“Just this way, miss. There’s an elevator in the back hall,” the young girl says.
“I remember. That’s one thing I do remember about this place.” On our way, we pass through the nearly bare dining room, which looks out of the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the blue waters outside. The four-tiered cake I chose is sitting in the middle of the long table, alone. Seeing it there by itself makes my heart hurt all over again. When I chose it, it was supposed to be for a joyous occasion. For an event I had always dreamed of since childhood. It didn’t matter who the groom was. I had hopes for it. It was always meant to be shared with friends, and now, it’s just pathetic. And mocks me with its height.
My new bedroom is much larger than the ones back home or any I’ve ever had. Between living in dorm rooms at boarding school, or in our tiny one bedroom with Maxi once I graduated, I feel like I’ll get lost in a place like this. It’s like three rooms in one. Thewalls are painted a deep eggplant, and the furniture is minimal, but comfortable looking. There’s an art deco pink floral chaise by the window and an oversized king bed in the middle of the room with a padded velvet seashell headboard.
Through a set of sliding double doors, I enter a giant closet, half filled with men’s clothes, and the rest are mine. A bathroom is located through another door along the side wall. Clare silently helps me undress, removing all my fine jewels and accessories first before moving to the back.
“Be careful with the buttons. They’re delicate.” When I put the dress on, I hoped that maybe I would have a daughter to give it to one day. Now, I don’t want that wolf near my vagina.
“Yes, miss. I’ll have the cleaners fix it up for storage when you’ve changed.” Her voice remains low and monotone.
“How old are you anyway?” I try to keep the snap out of my voice, but her presence here makes me uncomfortable.
As she stands, her long light brown ponytail bobs, but she doesn’t make eye contact. “I’m nineteen, ma’am. Can I help you get into another dress?”
“No, thanks.” Part of me wonders if my husband has slept with her. And, if so, does he plan to continue to do so? She’s plain, not fully developed into her womanly curves yet. Maybe he doesn’t like them that way.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll prepare this dress for the cleaners, then.”
Just as she turns to leave, I stop her. “Clare?”
“Yes?”
“Are you happy working here?”
Lifting her eyes to my face, it’s clear she is determined to lie. “Uh, yes. Of course.”
“Did you always work here?”
“N-no. I was going to train to be a dealer when I turned twenty-one, but I needed to work somewhere until then.”
Nodding, I let her go with a thanks.
After she scuttles out of the room, I pick out a short white tank dress, then pull off my stockings and garter belt, and slip on some platform sandals. Standing before the full-length mirror, I try to wipe away some more tears that escaped and put on a fake happy face.
At least there’s cake.
My phone rings. Max, probably flipping out about what happened.
“Hey,” I answer.