Bottom Feeder (5 page)

“
Oh, he ran off with
Jackson,” she replies, not bothering to hide her unease.

I am only a little ashamed that the
guy I was previously drooling over is her son. That’s why he looked
so familiar. The pictures in her living room do the real life
version no justice. I almost thank her for bringing someone so
beautiful into the world.

Hold down your creeper
status, Carrington. No crushes.

“
Jackson’s home!” I hug
her. “I’m so happy for you.”

The worried expression is not hidden
well on her face. “He and Cordell were talking cars. I think they
went down to the dock.”

I take the hint. “I’m going down to
show him Nomi’s latest creating.”

She exhales a sigh of
relief.

I make my way outside, hoping to
interrupt the conversation before Jackson makes a life-changing
deal with Cordell Carrington.

Jackson

Sweat pops out on the nape of my neck
as Cordell chauffeurs me through the endless flock of guests. He
greets each person with a handshake, pat on the back, or playful
punch on the shoulder. He even kisses a few babies along the
way.

His walk is as unsteady as I feel.
Probably all the bourbon floating in his bloodstream. We push
through a set of French doors, maneuver around the massive pool
area, down a stone pathway, ending on the rounded end of a dock
overlooking the marsh. A large party boat is anchored to my right,
floating lazily on the water. Four jet skis are attached to the
left side.

Fresh air dissolves the cloudiness in
my head. The profuse sweating comes to a halt. The psych says
reactions like this are normal.

Normal.
Funny. When I asked him to define the term, he
was unable to give a straight answer.

“
Son, I think we can work
out a deal. You have a specific car in mind?”

Wait . . . what? I get to
choose?

“
The
Barracuda.”

Cordell doesn’t balk at the mention of
his seventy thousand dollar automobile.

He takes a sip of bourbon,
regarding me over the rim of his glass. He is reading me: my face,
my stance, my body language. Without changing the stony expression
he says, “Come back tomorrow. Do
not
tell anyone. I don’t want folks
around here thinkin’ they’re all up for sale.”

“
It’s not for sale?” I
ask, deflated.

“
No.” He finishes off his
drink and turns his back to me. “We can work out a deal if you can
keep your mouth shut and don’t ask too many questions. Sleep on
that and come back tomorrow.”

I want that car. I
need
that car. “What
time?”

“
Nine. Maddy should be
gone to work by then.”

“
What does she . .
.?”

Cordell puts his hand up
in the universal signal for
shut the hell
up
. “No questions.”

“
Daddy?” a low, sweet
voice calls out. A dark-haired girl steps into the dim light. She
moves gracefully in stiletto peep-toes on the wooden dock. Yes I
know what peep-toes are. What can I say? I like nice feet. I don’t
have a fetish or anything. It’s just—wow, this thought process is
completely out of hand.

“
Come over here, sugar!”
Cordell beams. “Let me see your dress.”

Cordell’s daughter glances up to meet
my eyes but quickly looks away.

Is she afraid of me?
I
do
tower over
her by more than a foot.

Maddy walks into Cordell’s open arms.
He embraces her like she’s the greatest thing since gooey butter
cake. My stomach growls at the thought. She breaks the embrace,
keeping her left arm around his waist to help his unsteady
movements.

“
Maddy,” Cordell says.
“Meet Jackson Monroe, Violet’s boy. He’s come down from Fort Bragg
to see his mama and asked to come along with her to your
party.”

Cordell winks and pats me on the back.
The corners of her mouth turn up slightly. Seems like her bullshit
meter is pinging on high.

“
Nice to meet you, Jackson
Monroe. Thank you for coming to the party. I hope you are having a
nice time.”

“
Nice to meet you, too,
Maddy.”

“
Come on, darlin’,”
Cordell says. “Let’s go up there and show ‘em how the Carrington’s
do things around here.”

Maddy shifts her weight to hold
Cordell upright. “Oh, I’m sure they know plenty about how we do
things, Daddy.”

He releases a shrill belly laugh and
nods, “Damn right they do.”

She glances over her shoulder with a
nod of goodbye. Blood rushes to her cheeks when I smile. I do like
that.

With Maddy’s short stature, holding up
a staggering Cordell is a feat in and of itself. I would offer to
help but something tells me this girl doesn’t accept help from
anyone. At the edge of the pool area, she steadies and stands
Cordell upright to adjust his suit before disappearing into the
swarm of people.

I find Mama in the game room playing
pool. I am ready to leave, but since she is hustling some
unfortunate chump out of his pride I think we will be here for a
while.

I discover an empty sofa tucked inside
a nook on the upstairs catwalk. If I can close my eyes for just a
minute . . .

“
Jackson Benton-Monroe,
you wake up
right now
!” Mama shakes me until I finally give in and open one eye.
“Falling asleep at someone’s party is
not
good manners. I raised you
better than that.”

“
I’m awake,” I moan and
pull back the soft blanket tucked beneath my chin.

Where did that come
from?

The party is still going strong
downstairs. I sit up and put my shoes on.

Why are my shoes
off?
Good thing I wore decent
socks.

“
I’m going to the car,”
Mama says. “Give the blanket to Maddy and let’s go home. I expect
you to apologize for sleeping through this party.”

“
Yes, ma’am,” I grumble
and stand to stretch.

“
Down the hall, third on
the left.” She hurries down the stairs and, after giving a few
people her farewell for the night, heads out the door. I do not
miss the appreciating stares from some of the men as she walks
away. That kind of attention used to piss me off, especially when
they would blatantly stare and spit out cheap lines in order to
impress her. Their shitty tactics never worked. Mama is not easily
impressed.

Sometimes I wondered if she ever got
lonely. Not that she ever complained or anything. As far as I know,
I was the only person in her life since Michael left.

I drag my feet to the end of the hall
and knock lightly on the third door.

Maddy seems confused to find me
standing outside her bedroom. Blood rushes to her cheeks as she
tries to inconspicuously hide behind the door. I want to tell her
I’ve seen girls in much less than a tank top and pajama shorts, but
I kind of like the shyness.

“
Mama said this blanket is
yours. I swear I didn’t take it or anything, I woke up and it was
draped around me.”

She smiles and takes the soft fabric
from my hand. “Your skin looked a little purple underneath the air
vent.”

“
I’m sorry. I had
overnight duty before getting on the plane. I’ve been up almost
forty-eight hours and couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer.” I’m
not sure why I felt the need to explain.

“
No need to
apologize.”

A new wave of tiredness comes over me
and I stagger on my feet. Maddy drops the blanket and reaches out
to steady me.

Even through my half-asleep state, my
gaze travels down her body. She has a curvy, athletic build like a
dancer or short distance runner. Private Dominguez would like her.
He’d call her “thick” and try every line in the book to get in
those black pajama shorts.

Personally I prefer slim model-types.
And I don’t stray from that. Ever.

My eyes travel up to her face, to
vivid blue eyes the color of dark sapphire. Suddenly nothing else
in the world matters except those eyes.

Maddy shifts uncomfortably. “You
should get home and get some sleep.”

“
G’night.”

“
Jackson?” I turn back to
Maddy’s smile. It’s a nice, sweet smile that lights up those dark
sapphire eyes. “Welcome home.”

“
Thank you. It’s good to
be home.”

I lumber my way to the car with a
thick blanket of sleep and unease floating over me.

Maddy

“
Who was that?”

Since Dixon practically lives here,
Daddy gave him a bedroom in this section of the house. He usually
sleeps on the guest bed in mine, though.

I hesitate before answering, “Jackson
Monroe.”

“
Excuse me?” He ignores
my
you heard me
look and rolls out of bed. After an exaggerated stretch he
heads into the bathroom. “What was that asshat doing
here?”

Dixon’s sister, Libby, had a huge
crush on Jackson a few years ago. I’m talking hearts with their
initials on her notebooks and children’s names already chosen. The
engagement ring she would hint him to buy her was already picked
out.

Not that they ever dated, so to
speak.

Jackson finally gave Libby
the time of day their sophomore year and she gave it up to him on
the first date. Yes,
it
. Libby has a bit of an addictive nature. She happened to
choose Jackson as her drug of choice during that time. Yeah, she’s
about five pounds of crazy in a two pound sack. He avoided her like
a zombie contagion while she stalked him until he left for boot
camp.

Dixon told me about the situation
between Libby and Jackson. I got the other side of the drama from
Violet. According to her, Jackson liked Libby. At least until after
their first date when she began stalking him with phone calls at
all hours, constant text messaging and showing up at Violet’s
flower shop where Jackson worked after school. Libby would sit
outside for hours watching him work. If a female customer entered
the shop, Libby entered behind her to make sure Jackson was only
talking business. During baseball season she attended every
practice, every game, and stood outside the locker room until he
finished.

The last straw was the morning Violet
found Libby outside her house at two a.m. trying to climb in
Jackson’s window. Only it was Violet’s window. Needless to say,
Dixon only knows Libby’s half of the story. Of course he’s going to
hate the guy his sister still lusts over. There are rumors that
Libby is the reason Jackson joined the Army.

“
Maddy!”

“
Please don’t talk to me
while you’re peeing. Weirdo.”

Dixon laughs and washes his hands.
“Seriously, what was he doing here?”

“
He was with
Violet.”

He grabs my laptop and spreads out on
the chaise. “I hate that kid.”

“
Go to sleep,
DJ.”

“
Take my advice: don’t try
anything with Jackson Sucks-At-Life Monroe. Please. He’s like a
proclamation of death or something really dramatic like
that.”

The next morning I go for a run at
four a.m. The methodical pounding of sneakers against pavement is
one of my only comforts since graduating last week.

Everything is happening so
fast.

High school is over. My job as an
assistant to Mrs. Peavy, my dance instructor, ends Friday. Dixon
leaves for some schmancy school in Paris in less than two weeks.
His dream is to be a stage actor, which is the reason for his
upcoming year studying theatre thousands of miles away from me.
Parting from him will be like losing a limb.

I leave for New York City next Sunday.
Not by choice, might I add.

I was accepted into Duke for a double
major in Neuroscience and Psychology. My love of wanting to
understand how the mind and body work stems from Daddy's constant
pressures to learn about human reaction and interaction. All the
hours he spent teaching me how to read body language, lips, and
facial expressions—not to forget the books on how the brain and
body react to sorrow, happiness, fear, pain and any other emotion
you can think of—taught me more about human nature than reaction
and interaction.

The point of going to Duke was to
learn everything I could and do something good with it, something
to help people who need help. The point of leaving Georgia for
North Carolina was to get away from Larry.

Daddy, however, made other plans for
my life. I cannot fight what he tells me to do. He gets what he
wants, when he wants, how he wants. No matter the price.

I’ll never see him again. He doesn’t
want me. This much I know. I will not miss him when I
leave.

I have only been out of
Georgia a few times, but never any further north than Kentucky. I
hate airplanes.
Loathe
would be a better word, actually. My first and last flight to
Houston began with me hyperventilating and passing out twice before
I made it to my seat.