Inferno: Part 1 (4 page)

Mila

My hair will not cooperate and I know I need to look my best to get good tips. Finally, I just settle on a simple ponytail. Before I can decide whether I should attempt make-up, there’s a knock at the door.

I crack the door and peek to see who it is, but the landlord’s face is red, so I open the door without delay.

“Mila, you’re three months behind on rent. I need a payment,” he barks at me.

“I know, Mr. Welsh. I’m really sorry, but I’ll have a partial payment after tonight. I got a job and I’ll bring you everything I make.” I’m hoping he understands the desperation in my voice.

“It’s not enough. You’ve had three months and I need payment in full—now!” He’s really angry, I’ve never seen him like this.

“Please, I know it’s not perfect, but I’m in school and I just got this job. I promise, I will work as much as it takes to get back on track. Can I just have more time?”

“I can’t. This is my livelihood. When you don’t pay, that income is gone. I have a family.” He looks at me through furrowed brows and his glance implies that he’s not going to be understanding.

He turns on his heel and stalks towards the entrance of the building, and I beg for just two more days to his back, but he doesn’t stop. Without even a glance in my direction, he shuts the door.

My stomach is in knots but I have to get ready for work. It’s the only chance I have of making things right.

I finish getting ready for my shift and choke down every single sob that wants to boil its way to the surface.

When I step outside, I’m glad I didn’t waste much more time on my hair. It’s raining, and even with the umbrella, I can feel the frizz coming.

A few steps away from Inferno a gust of wind blows my umbrella inside out, and I hear a snap. One side is collapsed in, and funnels the rain directly onto my head. I run for the door, but it’s locked.

Just my luck.

The windows are cloudy, but I don’t see anyone inside or any lights on when a hand grabs me from behind.

“Ahhh!” I scream, before realizing it’s my new boss. I look like a drowned rat, and he pulls me under the umbrella with him. Not a single hair on his head is out of place. It’s not fair.

He doesn’t move to open the door, but looks me up and down.

“Only your first day working for me and you’re already wet?” he laughs.

I frown, hoping to discourage him, but this seems to have the opposite effect.

“Come up to my place and take off those wet clothes,” Bryce says.

“Excuse me?” I make sure the expression on my face matches the amount of disgust I feel. “I’m not some skank you picked up in the bar; I just need a job. But my job is serving clients, not you.” My face is heated and I’m sure my cheeks are crimson.

He forces the umbrella into my hand and then takes a step into the torrent of rain, holding his hands up near his shoulders and begins to back away.

“That never even crossed my mind. I’m sorry—it came out wrong. I just meant you might want to clean up before your first night. I have extra uniforms,” he insists.

Oh God, I just called my boss a pervert. My mind switches to damage control.

“Come back under the umbrella—now we’re both soaked,” I manage to blurt out.

He looks contrite, and steps back under. I motion for him to lead the way, and he takes the umbrella in one hand, loops his arm around my shoulder, and we walk into the fancy hotel just a few numbers up from the Inferno. Guess my boss is also kind of my neighbor. How I didn’t know that is beyond me.

His towels are unlike anything I’ve experienced, even in a hotel. I don’t know how they’re so soft, and they smell like lemongrass.

By the time I come back to the living room he has the fireplace going and has laid out dry clothes for me. He’s sitting on the couch, like a lion lying in wait, so I walk around the living room.

Not many pictures have made the cut, so I assume they’re important. There are a few pictures at an amusement park, and although the boys are dressed the same their faces are slightly different. One is Bryce, but the other boy looks almost identical.

“Do you have a twin?” I’m not sure the world can handle two of him.

“You’re the first one to be even remotely close,” he nods in surprise. “Not a twin, but brother. That was our trip to Coney Island.” He gets up from the couch, coming by my side as I continue to examine the photos.

“I’ve always wanted to go there—was it great?” I ask.

“One of my favorite memories,” he shakes his head as if he’s reminiscing.

Another picture is more recent, him with a distinguished older woman. Her hair is less shiny than Bryce’s, but the resemblance is clear.

“Your mother?”

He nods.

“She’s so pretty. And elegant,” I say.

“Enough about me. You’ve seen my seventh grade photos and I know almost nothing about you.”

He gently leads me over to the couch, and we sit. For a few moments we’re silent, and I know he expects me to share my life’s story, but I’m nervous.

“What about your family,” he asks gently. “What’s your mom like?”

I pause, not sure how to answer at first. Something in his warm eyes makes me lower my guard.

“She was beautiful. And kind. She would always leave notes in my lunch, just telling me I was special or how much she loved me.”

I have to stop talking for a minute, because the memory of her still makes my throat tight. My eyes sting with tears but I hold them back. “She passed away when I was in the eleventh grade.”

“I’m so sorry.” He reaches out for my hand and just holds it. No dramatics, no excessive questions about my feelings. Just that simple gesture. And I begin to open up.

“Thank you. Anyway, she passed away, so it’s just my dad and me. He is such a huge part of why I’m going to Columbia—he always encouraged me and pushed me. We talk most days. And he calls me his little acorn.”

I blush, but Bryce beams.

“I can see it. You’re so tiny, and with your gorgeous brown hair.”

I roll my eyes, and decide it’s his turn to spill the beans.

“What about you?” I ask.

He pauses, and I can see him formulating the words in his mind.

“My mother…you’ve seen her—she is, as you pointed out, beautiful and elegant. But she’s not a typical ‘soccer mom.’ She means well, but she is very set in her ways. I was raised by a nanny named Marcella, but would be brought in every day for my mother to say hello and ask how I was. The older I got the more involved she became. Her greatest joy was setting me up with other eligible young women. And by eligible, I mean boring. Sweater sets, socially approved conversation topics. Can you picture me talking about the weather for thirty minutes?”

I almost snort it makes me laugh so hard. Bryce, in khakis and a polo, sitting down to a society luncheon. It’s like putting clothes on animals—just, wrong, somehow.

He knows what I’m thinking and nods. “Exactly. She means well, but breeding and family name are her main concerns. I’ve thwarted her attempts to marry me off enough times that she has relaxed a bit. Plus my brother provides a distraction.”

“And your father?” I ask gently.

“Oh, my father is basically the ATM. He and my mother married very young, but after Phillip and I were born, they made an arrangement. Dad goes where he wants, with whomever he wants. And Mom gets to buy whatever she wants.”

“Wow.” I squeeze his hand.

“That’s pretty much my feeling, too,” he admits. “But he’s rarely around, unless one of his girlfriends wants to attend a certain function, so less fireworks than you’d imagine.”

We sit on his velvet couch for a while, taking in the secrets we’ve shared. I can’t explain it, but he seems more real to me than before. It could be my psychology classes talking, but based on his parent’s relationship, it seems like he chose his lifestyle to avoid that kind of arrangement.

I break the silence first with the only thing I can think of. “Well, I’m excited to work at Inferno. So I better get dressed.”

I escape to the bathroom, slip on the clothes he laid out and stare at myself in the mirror. This shirt is tighter and more low cut than the one I was wearing before. When I emerge, I put my hands on my hips and stare Bryce down, trying to look serious.

“Is this the standard uniform?” I ask.

He is on the edge of the couch, his fingers digging into the armrest.

“When you look like that, yes,” he says.

There’s no telling whether the smirk is intended to poke fun or mean something else entirely.

I can’t help but laugh, and he seems relieved that I’m not angry. He insists on walking down to Inferno with me, since I’m late and he doesn’t want Sam to think I’m a terrible employee.

We make our way down the elevator, through the lobby, and to the Inferno in what feels like merely seconds.

When we step inside, Alexa is behind the bar drying glasses, and we head for the bar.

She looks up and smiles when she sees me, but her face changes when she notices Bryce is right behind me. Is it because we came in together?

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She sighs. “Nothing, just my back hurts from working four days in a row.”

“You can take off tomorrow,” Bryce chimes in, trying to be helpful.

Alexa looks pissed, and sighs before saying, “Thank you.”

Thinking he has resolved the issue, Bryce cheerfully walks away. Men are so oblivious.

I spend the next five hours serving drinks but a few times I almost trip over the bouncer. Not that I’ve been to a lot of clubs, but it seems odd for him to be tailing me instead of watching the door or the room. I ask Alexa if that’s normal, and she frowns.

“No, no one usually gets a bouncer to trail them. Bryce probably gave you extra security.” She pauses, trying to seem casual before asking me, “So what do you think about him?”

The question catches me off guard, so I just say I don’t think about him.

“Well, I’ve seen you look at him a couple times. And he’s been watching you, too. Look, I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Bryce isn’t the type to stay with one girl. He picks up someone new almost every night.” She emphasizes the last two words and her jaw becomes tight.

There isn’t much for me to say except “Thanks for looking out.” I smile, trying to let Alexa know I want to be her friend, and she smiles back. It’s hard to tell if she is being friendly or feels like she’s dissuaded me from being interested in Bryce. Honestly, it’s too much stress. This job is all that is keeping me from losing my apartment and I can’t risk it over workplace drama.

When I catch Bryce looking at me, I frown and shake my head ‘no.’ Far from being put off, he smiles. It’s not a game! I focus on my work, passing out the beers on my tray and then my phone goes off.

My aunt is texting me to call her, ASAP. She almost never texts.

My heart is racing, but I need to finish running the credit card for this table. Alexa says I’m done for the night after that bill, so I drop off the receipt and race back to the kitchen so I can hear.

The phone hardly rings once before my aunt picks up.

“Mila, sweetie, your dad isn’t doing so well. They need to operate in two days. Now, he doesn’t want you missing school, but I just want you to know I’ll be here with him. He won’t be alone.”

“Thanks, Aunt Jill.” I try to figure out how I’ll afford a plane ticket and rent but know there’s no solution to it all. I pray silently for an instant before my aunt interrupts my thoughts. My heart feels like it could just pour out of me and form a puddle on the floor.

“No problem. I got to go, honey, but we’ll talk soon,” Aunt Jill says.

As soon as I hang up the phone the tears come. The most important person in my life is having surgery, and I can’t be with him. I don’t want anyone to see me crying, so I rub my face and bolt out the door, hoping no one notices.

Bryce

If I hadn’t been looking for her, I would have missed her leaving. She runs out the door, and her face is red and shiny so I know she’s been crying.

I shoot Sam a glance and motion for him to come over.

“Sam, have one of the bouncers make sure Mila gets home okay.” He knows by the way I’m speaking that I’m not looking for questions, I just want him to get on it.

I am wondering if I should just walk her home, when Phillip walks in.

“Hey bro! Long time, no see.” He claps me on the back and I’m still somewhat guarded, wondering why he’s not at school.

“It’s been a while. I’m not used to seeing you on days when the post office is open. How’s school?”

He gives me a look, and then begins to give me the details on his latest exploits in New Hampshire. We’re interrupted by Sam, who only interrupts when something important happens, so I have to cut Phillip off to find out what’s going on.

“The bouncer called. All her stuff’s on the side of the road,” Sam says and gives me a look that tells me he’s awaiting further instructions from me.

“My car?”

“It’s waiting outside,” he assures me.

“Thanks, Sam. Keep an eye on him, will you?” I nod toward Phillip.

Sam knows the drill, and he gives a tight-lipped smile.

The distance from Inferno to Mila is short, but when I pull up she’s sitting on her couch next to the curb, surrounded by scattered clothes and dishes. Her head is buried in her hands, brown hair falling around her face like a curtain, but from the way she’s shaking I know she’s in tears.

She doesn’t move when the limo doors open and close, so I kneel before her, and part her hair with my hands. Tears trickle down crimson cheeks and I can tell that she is too tired to conceal her distress.

“You can stay with me tonight,” I say, lightly propping up her chin so she looks at me.

“Well, thanks to Inferno, I have eighty bucks for a hotel.” She looks to the side.

“Don’t waste your money—we live less than a minute apart. Just stay with me tonight, you can figure everything else out tomorrow.”

She looks back at me.

Part of her wants to fight, find some way to do this alone, but a bigger part is just tired. She stands up in one smooth motion, grabs her backpack, and lets me guide her to the limo.

***

Once we’re in the apartment she sits on the couch, tucking her feet up under her. I grab a blanket, draping it around her shoulders.

I make us both a cup of hot tea, and she leans on the back of the couch, watching me quietly.

I bring the tea to her, watching but not saying a word. Delicate hands take the mug from me.

As she sips slowly, I take her free hand again.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I say as I search her eyes.

The day must have worn her down, because she only pauses for a second before everything streams out in a rush. It’s like she’s been needing to get it off her chest.

“Well, I’m officially homeless for starters. My landlord came over before work tonight saying he needed a payment, and I asked for more time and promised that I’d make money tonight and give it to him, but when I got home, everything I own was on the sidewalk. It’s probably all been picked over and taken by now. And on top of it all, I’m dangerously close to my GPA dropping, which means losing my scholarship. So I will be homeless and school-less soon.”

“You can stay here as long as you need. I have plenty of room and—” I say but she cuts me off.

“Bryce, that’s so kind but I can’t. Everyone will think I’m some kind of slut and I already work for you. It’s just not possible.”

“We’ll figure something out. Maybe I can fire you,” I joke, but her eyes widen in panic. “Sorry, not funny, right. We can get through this.” I trace circles on the back of her hand, and she begins to relax. That is, until her phone dings.

She digs her phone out of her pocket, her face bleak, and when she put the phone back down her face is hopeless. Something in me feels her pain as deeply as if it were my own, and all I want to do is fix this and make her happy.

“Tell me,” I coax.

She has to steel herself for this revelation, breathing deeply and setting her shoulders.

“My father has cancer. He was supposed to have surgery in a few days, which of course he insisted I not skip school for. But my aunt just called. They’re moving him to intensive care and I don’t know what’s going to happen but he must not be strong enough for the surgery right now…”

With each additional sentence her voice grows strained with emotion, until she can no longer speak. A small noise, the tiniest release of pain and stress and I can’t stand it anymore. Even as the tears begin to fall, I pull her into my arms, her head resting on my chest, and support her body as she is wracked with sobs.

***

A bright light shines on my face, and I blink my eyes only to realize she slept in my arms the whole night. She stirs, and panics when I say it’s seven in the morning.

“Oh crap, I should be in class! I can’t afford to get further behind.”

Her mind must still be processing, because in the middle of looking for her shoes, she pauses. “Oh geez, I’m sorry. You slept that way all night—you must be exhausted.”

“It was worth it, Mila. Trust me.” I flash a bright smile, but she is already back to looking for her backpack, now that her shoes are found. She disappears into the bathroom, and is ready to leave when she reappears. “I have a car waiting downstairs for you. It can take you to class.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll take a cab. Thanks for everything, Bryce.”

My first instinct is to insist that she take the car, so I know she arrives safely at her class, but she is running away. It’s like no other girl I’ve brought home—she doesn’t want to stay, doesn’t want free rides in a town car. Not to mention the fact that she slept here all night.

The typical game plan doesn’t apply here—it’s not even the same sport. So, I give in and only say “anytime” before she is out the door.

Usually the morning is my alone time. Women are gone from the night before, Nathan is still asleep and won’t call for several hours, and the club is closed. But something has shifted.

I look around my pristine apartment, surveying the expensive finishes and furniture. None of it makes an impact. All I want is the apple-y smell of Mila’s shampoo, her soft warm skin, the weight of her body leaning on mine.

Most girls are just a means to an end, and while I want to share that with Mila, it’s not about getting laid. My mind pictures something tender, something slow. Exploring her body and pleasuring her. Feeling her on the inside, our bodies pressed tightly together. The words form slowly in my mind, an unfamiliar sentiment: I want to make love to her. But on the edge of my mind, is something deeper I can’t quite face yet.

Maybe, just maybe, I’m falling in love with her.