Does she like being under the control of a man who dictates every aspect of her life? She wants to fulfill her lifelong hope to write poetry, so I know there are desires conflicting with what James’ dictates. She’s young with so much promise, but she’s giving him her entire life to control.
I exit the building and walk to the Porsche. I parked outside the building since parking downtown on the weekend is free. This car’s one sweet ride, but something about James offering it to me seems amiss. He was so insistent I drive this car, and it makes me wonder why. I guess I’m generally suspicious of him. The uncle I thought I knew is a creepy piece of shit.
I wonder how he has done so well in life. Maybe he’s one of those people like my father, his own brother, who fools others into thinking they walk on water when they’re really the type who should be swimming with the sharks below the surface.
My grandmother can’t be to blame for how her sons turned out. She practically raised me and I know the difference between right and wrong—more like treating people with dignity versus a possession for someone to control.
Blaming my tyrant of a grandfather is another matter. He made his millions in New York’s financial world by climbing over or squishing those who stood in his way. Unlike my father and uncle, he put up no charades to hide his true character. Even after his death, rumors still abound about his ruthless, cutthroat behavior.
Psychoanalyzing my family won’t change the situation here in Rochester, though. My uncle plans to marry a woman he can control or imprison. The very thought makes my whole body tense at the injustice of Harlow succumbing to his will.
I open the car door and slide onto the soft leather seat. When I turn on the car, the stereo system comes to life and fills the quiet air. I hear my stomach growling over the music, and a pang of hunger hits me.
During our short lunch break, my head was still spinning from seeing Harlow and food was the furthest thing from my mind. I back out of the parking spot and drive toward James’ house while looking around for a place to pick up a bite. There’s nothing but various fast food chains and a drive-thru burger doesn’t appeal to me.
Driving farther, I spot a small pizza place in a shopping center a few miles from The Clinic and pull into the lot. Not wanting to look like an ass and bring home food just for myself, I decide to ring James’ house to see if they’d like anything while I’m out.
My palms perspire while I wait for the line to connect in anticipation that Harlow will answer. It will be the first contact between us since I tore my eyes away from her this morning. To say I’m anxious is putting it mildly.
“Hello,” Harlow whispers into the phone after a couple rings. Her weak voice worries me.
“Harlow. It’s Sin.” She sighs on the other end. “Have you eaten anything for dinner? I’m picking up a pizza.”
Maybe this conversation will help break the ice between us. Hopefully things will be less awkward when I see her face to face. I’ve been dreading that all day while at the same time dying to see how she is doing.
She takes forever to answer me. “Nothing yet. James is going to be back late, late, late as usual.” Her response doesn’t sound like the toe-the-line Harlow I have come to know with James. I hope a crack is forming in his control over her. It might be wishful thinking, but I want to have hope that she’ll break away from him before it is too late.
“Okay. What’s your favorite choice of pizza?”
“Whatever you want is fine.” Her answer sounds like the kind James would expect—the kind that says she’ll bend to his will and then let him bend her over the table to fuck her. My fingers grip the phone tighter. It’s like she’s fucking brainwashed.
“When you were a kid, what did you like? Cheese? Pepperoni?” I ask, trying a different approach.
“My mother and I would order Hawaiian. The ham and pineapple kind.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I like that kind, too. I’ll see you in a few.”
“Thanks, but really, I’m okay with something else.” Sweet thing has no idea she doesn’t need to please me by doing what she thinks I want. I want her to be who she is.
“It’s cool. I want to make you happy.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. See you in a few.” My heart breaks over the concept of wanting to make her happy seeming foreign to her.
I order the pizza and add a few breadsticks into the mix. My stomach continues to roll in empty protest and I plan on eating them on the way back to James’ place. I laugh to myself, imagining how happy he’d be seeing me eating greasy breadsticks in his fancy car. Hey, he gave me the keys to his six-figure set of wheels without any caveats, so eating junk food on the German leather works for me.