“Time to say goodnight,” Baxter tells his daughter, lifting her to press a soft kiss goodbye on each cheek.
“But I want to hear about the party,” she protests, a pronounced V appearing between her brows.
“I’ll tell you about everything tomorrow,” I promise, stealing her from Baxter and giving her a kiss on her cheek hard enough to leave a trace of lipstick behind. “Look,” I tell her, aiming her at the large mirror. “Now you’re wearing makeup, too.”
I let her down and Feliks tries to grab her attention as we walk to the door, finally catching her hand to stop her running after us. The car is waiting outside, and the driver nods to me as he holds the back door open. “Thank you,” I tell him sweetly, realising I don’t know him at all. “What’s your name?”
He glances at Baxter before answering, “Michael,” so curtly that I guess a game of twenty questions is out.
The drive into the city doesn’t take long. I hold Baxter’s hand while peering out the window, watching the streets change as the evening deepens into night. A bunch of schoolkids is transformed into a group of hoodlums by virtue of the hour. A man leaning against the side of the building becomes a lurker, exuding menace.
Adrenaline dumps into my bloodstream as we pull up outside a restaurant and Michael leaps out to open the door. Baxter alights first, then offers me a hand to escape the confines of the back seat. Even with him by my side, I’m trembling, something I try to pass off as a shiver from the cold.
“It’ll be fine,” Baxter tells me as the doorman waves us inside. “Given the clientele, this is the safest spot in the city tonight.”
Sure, for him. An important man and recognised among this group of powerful degenerates.
It’s not as safe for someone who wound up here by accident. Someone who just wanted to go home and put her feet up and would have if her servile boss hadn’t got mixed up in something well above his pay grade.
A promise to marry is as flimsy as tissue paper. I don’t even have a ring to wave in someone’s face.
But my misgivings are soon washed away in a flood of introductions. There are so many names thrown at me in such a brief space of time that I can’t catch hold of any of them. Even the weird ones. Especially the weird ones.
It’s overwhelming.
Strange, too, to see Baxter in his natural environment. There’s a constant undercurrent of respect in every word sent his way, every sideways glance, every gesture.
I mean, the staff at home show respect too, just not in such a posturing way. Here, they want to beseento show it as well, turning the whole interaction into an elaborate dance.
Finally, we’re guided to a table. I watch Baxter survey the immediate surrounds, categorising and evaluating the people seated near and at our table to ensure he’s being treated according to his station.
The thought of passing every interaction through this internal check system exhausts me but Baxter shows no signs of flagging. His smiles are genuine, his greetings warm.
He’s on the inside, among his people. Even with his arm around me, I’m shut out.
“Excuse me,” I whisper when it seems taking a seat doesn’t present a danger of us eating anytime soon. “Just going to the bathroom.”
Baxter squeezes my upper arm and nods, eyes trailing my every step as I meander through the confusion of tables to exit the room. The main restaurant empties into a wide hallway, and I head for the ladies sign on the right, giving a small sigh as I walk inside, and the door swings closed behind me.
It would be nice to hide out here for the remainder of the evening. There’s a cute waiting area with soft seating and mirrors where women can touch up their makeup or have a chat while waiting for a cubicle to become free.
Not that it’s needed right now. I’m the only one in here.
I wash my hands, running the cold water over my wrists until they’re numb. My stomach grumbles, reminding me how long it’s been since lunch. Not that I should care, if I don’t start paying more attention to what I’m eating, I’ll soon swell to ten sizes larger.
“Has he ‘broken’ a condom, yet?”
Alice’s snide voice saunters into my brain and refuses to leave. I haven’t had time to think since yesterday.
No… that’s not true. I have had time. I haven’t wanted to.
I don’t want whatever Baxter and I have to be filtered through her experience.
But now the first piercing has been made, I can’t stop it. I put my hand on my abdomen and turn sideways. Silly. Even if he had knocked me up, a two-day-old foetus isn’t going to be visible. Not without some post-graduate level microscopes.
My imagination helpfully supplies the missing images. Adds a few mini movies where Sophia is accompanied by some shadowy future child so I can give my maternal instinct a test-drive as well.
I don’t hate the idea. If it comes as part of the Baxter package, I don’t hate it at all.
