Queen (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (126 page)

It’s early in the day. We don’t open until eleven am and we close at six pm. There isn’t a huge market for the kind of stuff we sell. I think we buy more than we sell- inside the store anyway. Mr. Kline is allowing me to do online auctions for some of our more valuable merchandise. See- I’m not a moron.

I grab a random CD from the shelf and its sound floods the store.

“Good choice,” Mr. Kline’s deep voice resonates from the back of the store. He chuckles and it’s a nice sound- happy and sweet.
“Isn’t this before your time?”

“You know I’m a random selector,” I laugh back at him. I don’t know who is singing but the lyrics are a trip- cat scratch fever… what the hell is that? Is it a real thing?

My eyes keep track of an auction ticking its time away on the screen of the laptop while I tidy up the store. It’s hypnotic and completely distracting. I barely dust a square inch before I refresh the browser to see if the bid went up. I snap the laptop shut and growl at it in frustration.

My sneakers had left tiny puddles from the front door to the counter. I grab a hand towel and crouch to swipe them up while humming to that ridiculously infectious song.

“Ow!” I hiss as the front door beams me in the head and its bell dings for an eternity. I sit on the heels of my Converse and rub the goose-egg that is forming.

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry. I didn’t see you down there.” I stare wide-eyed at the boy who hit me with the door. The blond and blue-eyed crush I’ve had since grade school. The boy every girl wants; the type of boy that never gave me the time of day. I’m ashamed to admit that I always had a thing for the quarterback. I know he’s probably a total dick with the conversational skills of wet cotton, but he is a fantasy. Kent is a very gorgeous, boy-next-door fantasy.

“Isalright,” slurs together. I meant to say
it’s alright
, but whether from the hit or the gobsmackage, I can’t form a complete sentence. 

I shuffle to my feet looking like a goob.

“Willow,” Kent says like he’s never seen me before. I look like hell because I’ve perfected my wayward appearance. I’m in ratty jeans, a faded sweatshirt from our local university, and sneakers. My thick brown hair is in a ponytail. I don’t look good so I know he isn’t impressed by me and he's seen me worse in gym class. I shrug-
whatever
.

“I didn’t think you worked here,” he says in honest surprise. Oh, that is what that look meant. I’m such a loser that he didn’t think I had a job.

“What can I do for you, Kent? What brings you to Revamped?” I say with a saccharine sweet voice- a voice that is so false I wince. My natural voice isn’t the whiny brat or cheerleader
yay
that he’s accustomed to. It’s gravelly. I always sound like I’m getting over a cold or I smoked five packs a day since kindergarten.

“I…” he hesitates and grips the bag he’s holding. I decide to look professional and go around the counter and stand behind the cash register.

I narrow my eyes as his huge, ball-catching hands flex on the bag. I wonder what those hands would feel like flexing on other things. I smirk at my naughty thought and get beamed in the head again.

“What?” I whine and rub my new owie.

Mr. Kline looks at me like he knew the naughty direction of my thoughts. I was so caught up with Kent that I didn’t know he came out of to see who made the bell ding.

“NO!” He points the rolled up comic at me- the comic he hit me with like a naughty dog who pissed on the carpet and was punished with a rolled up newspaper. I give him big, brown innocent eyes. He looks at me in a way he never has before, just as Kent did moments ago, like he’s never seen me. His view of me is different. I stifle a shiver.

“Mr. Mason, what can I do for you?” Mr. Kline asks Kent as his hip nudges me away from front-and-center. His hand slips up my back, over the nape of my neck, and up the back of my skull until he finds the bump on my scalp. His fingers tap around it in a weird manner causing my mouth to fall open. I snap my jaw shut on a whimper. He keeps it up while he conducts his business and my upper body slumps to the counter like a ragdoll- Mr. Kline’s ragdoll.

“Ah- these are in excellent condition, Kent. How much are you asking?” He sounds professional, not like he’s playing phrenologist on my scalp.

Kent’s bag was filled with action figures. His face is bright-red with embarrassment. Now I understand why he didn’t want me to know what he came here for. He’s selling what constitutes as playing with dollies. For some reason it only makes him cuter.

“I’m trying to raise money to get my truck fixed. The four-wheel drive went out on it last night and I have a lot of driveways to plow. Whatever you can get
me will be great. I…I was just holding on to them. It’s not like I played with them or anything,” he says bashfully and flushes. Like hell… he plays with them. Mr. Kline and I play with all the toys in the store. We’ll play with these after he leaves.

“How about two-sixty?”
I raise a brow at Mr. Kline’s way over the retail value of the action figures. He doesn’t even wait for the boy to respond; he quickly pulls the cash from the drawer and slides a waver across the counter. I stare into his manly face trying to figure out what he’s up to.

“So… Willow, are you still jailbait?” Kent asks while he fills out the paperwork. He doesn’t see Mr. Kline’s face transform from its soft, pleasant features to those of a raging bull. I try to step back and his fingers tighten on my hair. I move back to where I was but that isn’t good enough for my boss. He pulls me into his side and places a possessive hand on the nape of my neck.
“Um… just this morning actually,” I stammer.

Today is my eighteenth birthday. His hand pulsates on my neck in warning. I scowl up and him and bite my tongue. He’s my boss, but I have enough people telling me what to do. I’m an adult today, as ya know.

“Well, maybe we could go out sometime. Ya know… and celebrate your birthday,” he says smoothly. His lips quark up in a smirk and he winks in my direction. I watch Mr. Kline instead as he rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

“She’ll let you know. Good luck with your truck. Tell your dad I said hello and I’ll see him Saturday night as usual.” Mr. Kline’s words are pleasant but his voice is frigid.

“Sure thing, Auggie.” He winks at my boss in conspiracy and blushes.
“I’ll stop in again and see you real soon, Willow.” Kent doesn’t look at me as he says it. He stares at Mr. Kline and it’s said in a way that is mildly threatening.

Mr. Kline makes a throat clearing noise that means
mmm-hum
,
yeah sure
, and
goodbye
all at the same time. I feel like I was the item being negotiated on, not the actions figures.

As soon as the bell dings solidifying Kent’s departure, Mr. Kline breathes in deep and releases it in a gust an
d his hand drops from my neck.

I pick up Darth Vader and march him around the counter towards Aquaman. He disappears just as
Darth was about to pummel him.

“Hey!” I yell in annoyance. “Aquaman sucks anyway.” Darth disappears from my hand and is cradled softly in Mr. Kline’s big palm. He practically coos at it. Ah- it was Darth Vader that my boss was coveting. Now I understand that hefty chunk of change he paid for a handful of shitty action figures. I watch in amusement as he tucks his baby in an air-tight display box and disappears into his backroom.

I transform Bumble Bee from his car into the mighty autobot and continue my assault on the lame Aquaman. He doesn’t stand a chance.  I may have even made sounds to go along with my assault, but I’ll deny it.

“Are you through?” Mr. Kline asks in amusement. He’s leaning his tall body on the door frame to the back of the store. I can tell he was watching me for a while. I blush and quickly pick up Kent’s dolls.

“You put me in a store with this stuff; obviously it wasn’t a good idea. I only had Robbie’s toys to play with growing up. Clover didn’t have toys. My parents thought a toy was a toy, so I had boy toys to play with that were a decade old. Working here is the equivalent of a junkie cooking meth. Not a good idea.”

Big palms grip my hips and plunk me on the counter. I’m five-feet tall and weigh just under a hundred pounds. I look like a twelve-year-old boy with a ponytail. Mr. Kline towers over me by a foot and a half and more than doubles my weight. When I’m in trouble he puts me on the counter like a bad toy so that he doesn’t have to bend down as far to yell at me. I’ve known him as long as I’ve known my brother, just as long as I’ve known my entire family.

My first memory is of him and Robbie playing horsey with me- I was the horse and they were my handlers. I would neigh and crawl around the yard chasing after a carrot. Mr. Kline never let me have the carrot. He’d eat it and laugh. He also wasn’t Mr. Kline; he was Auggie. When he graduated he told me to call him Mr. Kline. See why I am confused now that he wants me to call him Auggie again.

“No Kent. Do I make myself clear?” He says firmly b
roaching no room for argument.

“Yes, Sir,” I say but don’t mean it. I like Kent. What’s the big deal? Mr. Kline manages to pull off a wince at the sir and a look of disappointment that has me feeling guilty.

“Auggie,” he points at his chest, “Never, Sir. That term isn’t to fall from your lips again, Willow.” I shake my head and keep quiet. I almost said
yes, Sir
again.

“We need to have a talk now that you’re eightee
n,” he says in a parental way.

“I have enough daddies and mommies, Auggie. Clover is enough
parent for a school of kids, just ask my niece and nephew.”

“Your parents and Robbie are too lax and Clover is too strict. It’s created a monster known as Willow. A very sheltered, naïve, innocent, Willow monster and it worries me.”

“Of course I’m innocent. I haven’t perpetrated any crimes lately. I mean, today is the first day that it would matter anyway.” I say jokingly and he looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“I know what you mean, Auggie. I was joking.” I laugh but it doesn’t soften his face like usual. I know I’m in trouble bad this time.

“I saw the look you gave him. I know that you’re not a child anymore. It didn’t happen this morning because you became an adult. It’s been happening for a while. The problem is that since you were too good of a girl, you will now become a target.”

“I’ve had the sex talk a billion times. I was in the room when Mom and Dad gave it to Robbie. I’ve had it from each of them and once from you. I don’t need to hear it again.” I struggle to get down from the counter. It’s embarrassing because having your parents or siblings give you the talk is normal, but your boss giving it to you on your eighteenth birthday while you’re at work- humiliating.

“This isn’t the sex talk. Any idiot can do it. This is a different kind of talk. I know you’ve had a crush on that little douche for a long time and he knows it too. You don’t know men at all. They are despicable creatures. You can’t trust their motives.”

“You said I could trust you and Robbie and my dad. You’ve said it for eighteen years. If I had a problem I was t
o go to one of you or Clover.”

“Yeah, trust us not to hurt you. You family won’t touch you like that. A boy is a different matter. All a boy wants is
a warm, wet hole to rest in.”

“Ew!
Gross!” I push him away. “That’s nasty and it can’t be true.”

“Trust me, it is. And it never really goes away. We hunt constantly. There are two types of men. One type is like your brother and father. The other type is like me and Kent. The difference is that type is broken into two parts, the protector and the predator. And Kent is just like his dad, but his dad knows to stay off the playground. Now that Kent is older, he’s stalking the fringes of the playgro
und so he won’t get arrested.”

“I don’t get it. What does this have to do with a playground?” Mr. Kent’s full
-bodied laugh fills the store.

“Yeah, you need a keeper.” He sighs heavily. “Kent didn’t have a girlfriend in high school, right? He didn’t exclusively date the head cheerleader like every other quarterback in the nation does. No, he had conquests- one girl after another and they all had one thing in common and once it was gone, he was gone. His stalking ground is getting narrower and he will start doing bad things and I don’
t want you to be one of them.”

The look of confusion on my face has him shaking his head in frustration at me.

“You’re a virgin. He likes virgins. The sad truth of it is that he will play you so he can have sex with you and then he will leave. It doesn’t matter who the girl is, this is what he does.”

“Thanks for the talk, Auggie. I feel so special now. No guy will want me except to deflower me. Great, I feel better. And I love how everyone knows everything about me.” I hop off the counter and start to round it. He yanks me back
and plunks me on the counter.

“We’re not finished until you understand this. You are susceptible to his manipulations. He will try to date you and he will get what he wants and move on. It isn’t about every guy, just him. Pick another one and I will let you know if it’s a good idea. I want you to date. I want you to have fun. I’m not lecturing about abstinence. Go ahead and fuck ten guys as long as you want them and it’s about respect and you’re safe. But Kent will either lie to get into your pants or take it. I don’t want you to get raped. Is that clear enough for you? You’re eighteen now and he can’t go to jail for fucking you. And this isn’t his first rodeo- or his tenth. You got it now, Willow?” His entire demeanor is different than I’ve ever see it. His green eyes are usually a happy seafoam color and his face is relaxed and pleasant. Now his eyes are angry and his
face is taut with frustration.