Crazy Bitch (Bitches and Queens) (4 page)

“Nothing that I have to be at
besides my classes,” Willow answered.

“Fabulous,” Hannah said. “We’re
going to have so much fun together. You do have a passport?”

“No, not yet, but I can get
one.”

“Do it,” Hannah commanded, “right
away. You should probably see if it can’t be rushed. We’ll do Paris in February
and Milan after that. While we are over there, we might want to stop by some
German fashion houses as well.”

Paris, Milan, Germany—Willow’s
head was spinning. In all of her twenty-two years, she had yet to leave the
state of Texas.
They would have so much fun together?
Fun didn’t even
begin to describe it. Stealing one of Hannah’s signature taglines, this was
going to be fabulous.

Later that evening, Hannah
relaxed in her bathtub. As the soothing aromas filled her senses, she closed
her eyes and imagined Willow. It was hardly a stretch to recall her smooth
porcelain skin or sparkling green eyes as Hannah had thought of little else in
the last six months. Like everything else in her life, when she was obsessed,
she did it big time.

It seemed such a shame, given
Willow’s pathetically morose childhood, that fate had intervened and given her
the ability to thrive in such mediocrity. Homeless shelters, an absentee
father, and, no doubt, a dead-junkie mommy had all the makings for a perfect
pet. And Willow would be perfect.

From the moment Hannah saw her
on stage, she knew Willow was the one, the only one. A smile curled her angel-bowed
lips as she imagined all the things she could do with her. The possibilities
were endless. The only tricky part was negotiating that razor-thin line of
things she could do and things that might be deemed illegal. If she were given
complete and free reign, Hannah would start by locking Willow in her room and
keeping her there forever. With Willow as her pet, there would never be a need
to leave again. It would be the perfect world.

Zachary Bell was the one dark
cloud in her otherwise beautiful vision. Long term, he wouldn’t work for Hannah.
Where was Dmitri when she needed him? Stashed away in a Russian prison for the
rest of his life because the damn fool got sloppy. Hannah felt herself grow
tense and forcibly made herself relax. There were other ways to depose of the
loser musician.

Once again, Hannah started to
recoil in disgust. He wasn’t just a loser—he was a goddamn pimp. What could
Willow possibly be thinking? Didn’t she know she deserved better? She deserved
Hannah. Now that Willow was hers, she would never need to degrade herself
again. No more stripping for strangers. Willow would be treated like a
princess, like royalty, because now that she was Hannah’s, she was.

Hannah played nice for the
first week. By the start of the second week, Willow was beginning to realize
what she meant by good days versus bad days. Hannah had failed to mention that
in between the days, she also had good minutes and bad minutes. Her mercurial
emotions flipped with the ease of a light switch. One moment she was happy and
giddy and the next she was cursing a blue streak.

Most of the time, Willow sat
back silently, watching mesmerized, like standing in front of a fire and waiting
for it to explode. Willow figured Hannah had some serious anger issues or quite
possibly the worst case of PMS since the dawn of time. Occasionally, Hannah’s
verbal attacks were more personal, more directed towards her, but she held her
tongue. Still being new on the job, and not knowing Hannah well enough to know
how she might react, she thought it might not be in her best interest to tell her
to quit being such a bitch.

But the storm would pass just
as soon as it blew in and, once again, Hannah was back to being sweet and
outrageously generous. Whenever she was in town, Hannah came each morning with
a bouquet of fresh flowers. At first, Willow assumed they were for the office
and sat them in the empty reception area as Hannah had yet to hire a receptionist.

That morning, Hannah walked
into Willow’s office, which was just across the hall from her own. “Do you have
allergies?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“You put my flowers out front,”
Hannah said, sounding almost hurt.

“I thought they were office
décor.”

“Who the fuck is going to come
in here? One of our zero clients? You haven’t even designed anything yet,”
Hannah hissed. “I bought them for you.”

“Sorry,” Willow said, embarrassed.
“I didn’t realize.”

The flowers were only a small
token. One of Hannah’s more costly presents was allowing Willow to decorate her
office. Hannah said that she didn’t want to impede Willow’s creative process by
filling her surroundings with furniture that wasn’t to her taste, and
repeatedly told her that money wasn’t an object. They spent an entire afternoon
huddled together in front of Hannah’s iPad, shopping online.

Considering the small fortune
Hannah dished out, you would think that the stuff might come preassembled, but
that wasn’t the case. Box after box was delivered, and once all was said and
done, there had to be at least a thousand different pieces. Hannah remained
uncharacteristically silent. She didn’t pop in until late in the afternoon.
Willow was standing helplessly in the middle of a pile of oak planks, or was it
bamboo, her numbed brain couldn’t remember.

Hannah started laughing. Unlike
the polite chuckles that are reserved for people you don’t know that well,
Hannah was truly full of mirth, and the sight was so dazzling Willow’s heart
did a strange little flip-flop.

After a moment, she wiped her
eyes. “Do you want some help with that?”

Willow’s brow puckered with
frown. On any given day, Hannah seemed like a lot of things, though a handyman
was never one of them. Still a little put-off by her strange reaction, Willow
shrugged, “Have at it.”

Much to her amazement, fifteen
minutes later her office was fully assembled. “I never knew you were so good
with your hands,” Willow admitted.

“That’s because you thought I
was just a pretty face,” Hannah playfully chided with a wink.

Yet, Willow could not ignore
all Hannah’s faults. The paper she kept on her at all times was just a classic
example. Hannah had called it a schedule; Willow thought of it as a color-coded
monstrosity. At first, Willow thought it was some sort of joke, but she quickly
discovered Hannah fully expected her to follow it to the letter. Every minute
of every day had been carefully plotted out in a spreadsheet. It took Willow a
few days to get over feeling slightly resentful—after all, Hannah had only allotted
one hour per week, on a Thursday evening, for what she coded as private time
with Zach. And the internship hadn’t even officially started yet.

Just when she was beginning to
have second, third, and fourth doubts about signing the contract, one conversation
changed everything. After her office was officially organized, Willow sat down
at her new desk ready to create, but nothing came to mind. The problem was she
wasn’t creating for herself. She was designing for Hannah’s label and the one
thing she hadn’t been clear about was her expectations. Willow’s personal
tastes always ran slightly outside the lines, but with Hannah’s name and
reputation attached, she didn’t want create anything too far out there. The
self-imposed limitations were putting a plug in her creative well.

For three days, Willow fretted
and stewed that nothing looked right. Hannah tried to remain inconspicuous, but
Willow was well aware of her impatient hovering. When she finally told Hannah
she had something for her, Hannah was so excited she practically skipped into
her office.

On pins and needles, Willow
watched as Hannah silently studied the drawing for several long moments. After
what felt like an eternity, Hannah said flatly, “I like it.”

“You hate it,” Willow said. It
felt strange that they had only worked together for a few weeks, but she knew
Hannah was lying. Truthfully, she didn’t know much about Hannah. Nothing more
than her public persona, but Willow knew what she hated.

“No…” Hannah denied, biting her
lip, “…I don’t hate it…” She paused and let out an impatient breath. “What the
fuck is this? This is nothing like your portfolio.”

“I just thought…” Willow
started to explain.

Hannah quickly interrupted. “You
just thought what? That I wanted to sell naughty underwear at some goddamn
discount department store?”

“I didn’t know what you wanted.”

“I wanted what I saw,” Hannah
answered honestly. She reached out, placed her hands on Willow’s shoulders, and
began massaging away her nervous tension. “Stop worrying about what I want. I
want the Willow that first caught my eye. Let her come out and play, and
anything you create I’ll adore.”

Willow began to relax. Hannah
did have the magic touch. Her scalp massages were to die for. At first, Willow
didn’t know what to think of Hannah’s overly demonstrative nature. Whenever
they were in a room together, Hannah was always touching her, petting her, or
massaging some part of her exposed skin. When they left to go on an errand or
to lunch, Hannah insisted on holding her hand. Honestly, in the beginning,
Willow privately began to wonder if Hannah was trying to come on to her, but as
there was nothing particularly sexual about her touch, she just as soon
dismissed the notion. It was just Hannah’s way. With all her quirks, she was an
impossible riddle to solve.

This was just another one of
her long list of oddities. If Willow wasn’t mistaken, Hannah had just given her
complete and utter creative freedom. This from the same woman who had also
given her a bedtime—per the schedule, she was supposed to be in bed by eleven o’clock
on the weekdays and midnight on the weekends. Yet, in the only aspect of their
working relationship that could have a direct impact on Hannah’s career, she
had surrendered the reigns without a thought.

It was because of that little
piece of freedom Willow no longer minded the hours or the fact that her life,
for the next several months, now revolved around Hannah. The hours of the day
dragged until she got to the office and every evening Willow dreaded leaving
it. As promised, Hannah was frequently absent. Willow still loved the work, but
she could not ignore how quiet and subdued it felt without her. When Hannah
returned, the office was alive and filled with energy—sometimes an insane
energy as Hannah still had her crazier-than-a-loon moments, but Willow’s
creative spirit poured until sometimes her hand couldn’t work fast enough for
her mind.

Always being very open,
particularly when it came to her sexuality, it was strange that it was Zachary
who had to point out the obvious. It was in the middle of January during their
weekly happy hour. They were sitting on the couch together watching a porno.
Zachary was beginning to worry about Willow’s increasing lack of libido.
Although she tried to reassure him several times it wasn’t him—it was the work.
Being on such a high all day long, she often came home drained and exhausted.
He had thought that the skin-flick might be just the thing to get her juices
flowing. They were watching a not-so-
impressive
blowjob scene when a thought raced through her brain. Instinctively, she
reached for her phone and started to text Hannah.

“Come on, Willow,” Zachary
groaned in frustration.

“What?”

“You’re texting her now.”

“It will only take me a second.
I just want to get this down before I forget,” Willow murmured without looking
up.

Zachary pulled the phone out of
her hands. “No, it won’t. You’ll text her, she’ll text you back, one of you
will call the other, and you’ll go back to the bedroom and talk until you fall
asleep. It’s the same thing every night. Seriously, what do the two of you
possibly have to talk about? You see her all day long.”

“Zachary…” Willow pouted. “I’m
sorry, but this is really exciting. We’re both just really excited about it.”

“It’s more than that—at least
it is for you,” Zachary denied. “Even when you’re not talking to her, all you
ever talk about is her. Willow, this is me, babe. You know you can talk to me
if there is something you need to say.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re attracted to her,” Zachary
stated.

“I work for her,” Willow
denied. “We have a professional relationship.”

“I’m not saying you don’t. But
that doesn’t mean you don’t want to fuck her too. Look Willow, its fine. I’m
cool with that. At this point, I just wish you would do it and get her out of
your system. Maybe things would get back to normal,” Zachary explained.

As if on cue, Willow’s phone
began to ring. He looked down and then handed it over. “It’s Hannah,” he said
and then kissed her cheek. “I’m going out tonight. See you in the morning.”

Once he stood to leave, Willow
answered, “Hey, I was getting ready to text you…”

Later that night after they had
hung up, Willow thought about what Zachary had said. As she had been frequently
attracted to other women, it was hardly an earthshattering revelation. For the
past several weeks, Willow had shared long hours in close quarters with a
dynamic, phenomenally beautiful woman, so on some level it was almost to be
expected. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as simple and uncomplicated as Zachary
suggested. There would no fucking Hannah out of her system. For starters,
Hannah wasn’t a lesbian. Secondly, even if she were gay, Willow was sure she
would have some equally fabulous girlfriend stashed away in her closet. She
decided that like many great artist before her, she would use her unrequited
desire constructively by redirecting it into her art.