Lawsuit and Leather Read online

  “Congrats Gemma!” Tommy announced, raising his glass, meeting Dana’s extended hand as he reached to pat my back. Instead, the cup smacked loose from his grip, spilling directly onto my chest and down my cami. I gasped as the ice cubes fell down my top, instantly perking my nipples with their chill. I shivered quickly, allowing them to fall through the bottom of my skirt. “Fuck!” Tommy winced, “Gemma, I’m so sorry.” With a napkin in hand, Tommy reached toward me, but Parker grabbed his wrist.

  “It’s ok.” Parker warned, his tightened grip squeezed for just a moment before letting go. Tommy looked absolutely frightened, startled more by Parker than from my gasp. “I can take care of this. Why don’t you get Dana a fresh drink?” He looked over at an amused Dana, who was equally enamored by the charm Parker had. “These ladies are always honored guests within this chapter, and I want to make sure they are treated as such.” If Parker wasn’t already intimidating, the fact that his father, Albert Jones, was both a notable alumnus and a legal powerhouse, provided an extra heir of authority to Parker’s family name.

  “Of course.” Tommy nodded, “Can I get anyone anything else?”

  “You’re good, Tommy.” Parker assured him, his eyes not once leaving mine. I wanted to stare forever, my heart raced at the possibility of saying the sweet words I held in for so long.

  “You two going to the roof?” Dana slipped the question, a subtle reminder of our foolproof plan.

  “Yes! These boots are killing me.” I half grinned, “You know I wear them for the look not the comfort.”

  “I’m not taking you to the roof like this?” Parker laughed. “You’re soaking wet, and it’s far too cold to be wearing wet clothes. I’m cleaning you up first.” Cleaning me up? Dana wafted her face, her hand acting like a fan to his words.

  “You feel dirty, Gemma?” Dana asked, her unconcealed meaning enough for me to melt from embarrassment.

  “Sticky.” I replied, but how the words fell out felt less innocuous than I hoped.

  “I’m taking you upstairs, let’s go.” Parker reached for my hand, engulfing its tiny size with the care of his grip. I held onto my cup as he divided the crowd, reaching the dark spiraling stairs which led to the private rooms above. I sipped my drink, feeling the faintest of buzzes kicking in as we ascended along the wall of regal grey decor and polished dark paneling. There was something about the dimmed lighting, how its subtle and warm tones made me feel more prepared, as though secrets could easily be told in the shadows. He couldn’t see my face, which made me feel more secure than in the light. Without realizing, I squeezed his hand harder, and my action reciprocated as his grip tightened. “Right here, Butterfly.” Parker held the door open to a rather clean bathroom. Its honeycomb tile was marked in a mosaic, showing the year of the chapter’s establishment: 1942.

  “I smell like the bar on 94th street, remember how we snuck in for New Year’s Eve?”

  Parker sighed at my words, recalling the colossal hangover he suffered.

  “Teeeeequila.” I slowly dragged out my words, teasing the memories from that night.

  “Just hearing the word.” He crinkled his face, the line of his brow visible. Even when his face scrunched with disgust, he was handsome. “I’ll never drink it again, and if I do, it better be for a damn good reason.”

  “I happen to like it a lot.” I chirped, but my smile quickly shifted into shock as Parker placed his hands around my hips, lifting me into the air and onto the porcelain counter. It happened so quick and with such ease, he didn't even bat an eye. It was as if I were weightless, his attention turned to the cabinet where he pulled out a towel.

  “Well, if you like it, it can't be that bad.” He conceded, wetting the towel at the faucet.

  “Ugh, I think my outfit is ruined.” I muttered, catching a glimpse in the mirror. My curled auburn hair was pulled back with golden pins, my hazel eyes crowned with a smokey look just for Parker. I checked the stain. My black bra was visible through the cami, transparent from bourbon and ice.

  “I’ll fix it.” Parker rolled up the sleeves of his grey sweater, just before wringing out the excess water from the towel. His thick brawny arms flexed from the force, defined by fine hair and a thick vein.

  “You promise?” I asked innocently.

  “Promise.” He assured, leaning closer to dab the towel along the top of my chest. His words were scented like soft mint, complimented by the warmth of his proximity. Right where the heat of his hands had been, my hips screamed to be touched again, to be pulled by his strength. A loose golden strand of hair fell before his eyes, cradling the glisten of his brow. “And when I promise something, I keep it.”

  “I know you do, Rattlesnake.” I replied, my eyes focused on him, watching as one of his hands slowly slipped up my thigh. I curled my fingers into a ball, as his hand firmly squeezed, as his stare diverted down to my thin porcelain leg.

  “You’re not eating enough.” He scolded, as his hand measured the width of my thigh. “After this I’m taking you out for food, and I won’t accept no for an answer.”

  “I’m eating, but sometimes I just forget! You know I get so busy with designs. I lose track of time.” I shrugged off his words as if it were innocent, but the truth was I had little to no money. This was another attempt to shield Parker from the ugliness of my private life, and though he knew I grew up poor, he assumed I was doing ok at the moment. The truth was, I was used to skipping meals, especially with a mother who was almost never present when I needed her. But Parker was very observant and fooling him was no easy task. He was onto me as he flashed me a warning stare, something I imagined would be useful when questioning others in court. If he even suspected I was low on money, he’d insist on giving me some. I couldn’t let him do that though. I couldn’t share the shame it made me feel about who I was and where I came from.

  “We’ll get you fed soon enough, especially when you come over for Thanksgiving. Mom keeps reminding me to tell you, and I keep assuring her you wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He dabbed my shirt a little further, “She needs her special girl to make the potato salad.” He laughed, a nod to a childhood story recited at every dinner.

  “I can’t wait to hear the Spuddington story again. It’s literally my favorite part of any gathering.”

  “Why do you torture me?” He asked, dreading the family tradition, pulling away to admire his work.

  “I love to see you squirm.” I grinned, indulgent in his stern yet cheerful face. He glanced up from my chest and into my eyes. Love. The word was said, but only in relation to how I loved to make him squirm. That wasn’t the only thing I loved though, and there was no list big enough to detail the intricacies of my feelings. We grew up together; he held me when I cried; he stayed with me when I felt alone; and despite shielding him from the details of my ugly past, he bared with me through it all. It wasn’t just him, it was his family, the very people who had welcomed me too. It all felt so perfect, and after a lifetime of messy, I was ready for perfect.

  Suddenly, as fast as I could realize, I knew everything I hoped to believe was true. Parker loved me, there was no mistaking it. Dana was right, I was right. Everything would be great, and nothing could go wrong. It crept up in my chest; the blood rushed in my face with the beat of my pounding heart.

  “Parker…” I said softly, staring into his green eyes, the ones I had modeled my skirt after, my most intimate form of expression, until now.

  “What is it, Butterfly?” He asked, his face leaned closer toward mine. I swallowed, unsure of this new sensation, a heightened sense which made my ears ring and hands tremble. It was as if the whole world lit up, defined in clarity so sharp yet intimidating that all I could do was say the words.

  “I’m in love with you…” I whimpered, the sound of the electronic music outside far too faint in comparison to the pound of my heart. Parker’s skin burned red, mirroring my own, his eyes perplexed, blinking as if sending morse code. What did it mean? I cringed as his face appeared shocked as he
absorbed the weight of my words.

  “Gemma… I…” he muttered, the towel dropped from his hand, as his lips hovered near mine. He was so close I could taste them with the slightest sense of imagination. “I love you too…” He admitted, his head leaned against mine as his hand gripped even tighter around my thigh. He pinched his fingers to the point it burned. I winced at what I thought was a confession, but instead was a clarifying stab to the gut. “Like a sister…”

  Sister?

  I hadn’t realized my mouth dropped open, leaving me perched on the counter like some surprised doll.

  “Sister?” I stated, half a question to Parker, and half a question to the universe, to everyone and everything. A sister? Why didn't he just call me his grandma, or even his dog? It was all just as awful, the complete other end to a spectrum of my feelings.

  They'll take it all, and they’ll leave you too. Don't say I didn't warn you, someday you’ll end up like me. Claire’s voice popped into my head, a mocking and jubilant taunt that turned my stomach. She was right, I was the fool.

  “Gemma.” Parker sighed, visibly frustrated at my lack of response. “These things are complicated, you’re my best friend.”

  “I got to go…” I stuttered, and the room visibly spun as I stood up. I should have listened to the fear, the one Claire instilled so long ago.

  “You don’t understand, it’s for the best.” Parker panicked, reaching for my arm.

  “Let me go, I have to go…” I shoved him away quickly, completely stunned. This was not supposed to happen, this wasn’t what Dana promised. I was wrong, but worse, I was a fool.

  “Gemma, goddamn it, please!” He begged, gripping my shoulders to face him.

  “Parker…” I wavered, my vision blurred while the walls and lights spun like broken clocks. I could feel it, my years of contemplation and anxiety rising, filling my neck. “I’m going to be sick.” I gargled, my lip trembled not from sadness, but from embarrassment and horror. Right then and there, the perfect ending, my words interrupted as I puked all over Parker’s clean white shoes.

  CHAPTER 1

  Present Day - April 2022

  Businesses don’t fail, people do; that was what I’d been told anyway. The screeching sound of the packing tape reverberated through my clenched teeth, as I tore it away from my boxes. I hated that feeling, the one that gave me shivers in the presence of unpleasant noises.

  “Where do you want this box, Gem?” Parker shouted from his living room.

  “What does it say?” I yelled back, slightly annoyed. Not at Parker, but at this damn box.

  “Uhhh… you wrote, ‘kitchen, living room, bedroom, and misc.’ So, I guess it goes everywhere?” His laugh made its way to the semi-empty guest room, the one where I’d be living out of for the next few months.

  It was a harsh truth, one that was becoming more real with each unpacked box. My business failed, and I had no choice but to move in with Parker. This felt like more than a step back; no, this was a leap and jump in the wrong direction. Crouched near a large box by my new bed, I pulled out an old, wrinkled purse. It was a knock off Coach bag, whose logo of horses were clearly missing a set of legs. It sat completely empty, and I couldn’t help but feel the same. Both of us penniless, both of us cheap attempts to be something greater than what we really were.

  But despite this loss, I still had the one thing that was greater than any dream, Parker. Sure, I was broke, borderline homeless, and impossibly single, but here he was, saving me once again. He never stopped being there for me, not even after my drunken confession on that awful college night. I cringed silently, remembering the past like an embarrassing ghost.

  Next to my purse lay a fresh pack of business cards, taped shut in a little bag. These were unused, and I wasn’t certain if they ever would be. After graduating at F.I.T., I spent two years interning as a stylist for Gerard Halt, who’s name made me twist the fake bag in my hands. I just wanted more, to actually design and be seen, but when his clients started preferring my sketches over his, that was when it all changed. He hated me, no question about it, and when I decided to leave, he didn't let me forget it.

  I grabbed my old scheduler, scanning through the names of recent cancellations, each one slashed with a thick red line. Another client snatched, a string pulled by Gerard, to spite me in the most viscous of ways. Was he that petty? How could an ego so big be so fragile? I found it hard to believe I was at all threatening, seeing how small my business was.

  “Gem?” Parker called out once more, his tone peeked for my attention.

  “Fine! On my way, Park!” I shoved my box aside, running down the hall in my socks. Parker still carried the mystery box in his hands, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled along his thick arms. He winked as I got closer, acknowledging my presence as I rushed to his side, “Set it over here and we’ll take a peek.” I instructed, unsure of what was actually inside. The move from my small place in Soho to Parker’s Midtown apartment was a rushed and sudden chain of events, leaving my packed boxes as uncertain as my future.

  I tore off the tape from the top, allowing the contents inside to billow out like a sigh of relief. I was beyond confused as to what I’d placed inside, knowing I was either exhausted or drunk when I packed it. Inside was a random assortment of things: tubes of mascara, a pizza cutter, a sock with no matching pair.

  “Oh, these are perfect.” Parker’s deep voice hung with an impressed tone, removing a stack of playbills tucked inside. “I love how you keep these, not a single one missed.” He thumbed through each one, fanning them open to be read out loud, “Wicked, Rent, Chicago…” He paused, “But what about?”

  “In the very back.” I assured him, “I’d never get rid of it.”

  “Is this the original?”

  “Of course.” I scoffed at his question, “Like I would ever not keep a piece of our past.”

  “Phantom of the Opera…” He looked up with a smoldering tease of his voice, “A child’s worst fear.” I laughed, recalling the moment I first met Parker.

  “What were they thinking? Taking a bunch of first graders to see that?” I questioned, remembering the distinct moment when two classes of Brooklyn’s Archer Elementary school were invited to watch the play on Broadway. In an attempt to foster meeting new friends, each class was paired with a partner, mine just so happened to be Parker.

  “As soon as the lights went out, half the class started screaming.” Parker smirked, “Given most of us slept with the lights on still, I guess it wasn’t surprising.”

  “But not us.” I reminded him, “In fact, we were both giddy. What was wrong with us? Two little kids, excited by the idea of seeing a monster, or so we thought.”

  “I learned two things that day,” Parker motioned with two of his fingers. “One, I was always going to be by your side, and two, we were both a little creepy.” I slapped his arm, his deep chuckle warmed my cheeks with the crease of his smirk.

  “You’re right, we were,” I agreed. “Guess that’s why we love horror movies so much.” This of course was true, but for me, it involved reasons much more important than monsters and gore. It was a chance to sit in the dark, to cuddle close to Parker. In these moments, he’d confuse my pounding heart as an affect from the movie, when, in reality, it was from him. His eyes returned to the box as he bit his lip.

  “What do we have here?” His unassuming tone left me in shock, as he pulled out a familiar hot pink toy. I felt sick immediately. How dare I put my vibrator in a random box? It had serviced me so well, and here it was with the pizza cutter. It buzzed in Parker’s hand as he switched it on. “Still charged.” He announced.

  “Don't you dare!” I screeched, snatching it from his hands and throwing it into the box, “Parker!” His name was all I could get out, my face popped like a red balloon. Ten minutes into living with each other, and I already wanted to die from embarrassment.

  “No judgement here.” He flashed me a grin, the one that caused me to melt time and time again. Even
after the rejection all those years back, we still managed to find our way to normalcy. My confession didn’t ruin our friendship, but something changed within me. I felt myself building up a wall again, the one my mother encouraged. I couldn’t lie, it killed me to hear his rejection, and moving in was a small reminder of that feeling, like he was taking in his little sister. But despite how I felt and what I confessed, Parker never once shut me out or made me feel weird. We were still just us, Parker and Gemma, best friends and overall trouble.

  Parker held my gaze, his bold green eyes attempting to pierce the armor of my walls. He was as handsome as ever, his face more refined, older with slight creases. His once smooth jaw was now replaced with fresh stubble, his look more rugged, appearing like a man of strong labor before slipping into a suit. He always cleaned up before a big case, shaving his beard, returning to the polished lawyer of great prestige. What a man. It felt as though we stared so long, that both of us forgot what we were doing.

  “Ummmm…” He laughed, massaging his strong chin, still bent on his knees. “I got a surprise for you,” he chirped, almost as if he’d forgotten.

  “For me? Parker, you shouldn’t have.” I waved him off.

  “I didn’t, but someone couldn’t resist.” He shot to his feet, quickly making his way to the kitchen and back with a bouquet of flowers. “Mama Meg sends her housewarming regards.” He rolled his eyes, still holding a mischievous grin.

  “No, she didn’t!” I exclaimed, reaching up to smell the arranged cream roses and assorted baby’s breath. Mama Meg was no ordinary mother; she was Parker’s mom, but in many ways mine too. She always had me by her side at family gatherings, seating me as if I were her daughter, showing me the love I never knew I deserved. “I’m her favorite.” I announced, yanking the basket from his hands filled with assorted goodies.