By Bella Moretti Alexandria (Here’s lookin at you kid;)
Vi was bored that night. The ancient looking gentlemen’s club had existed since the days of slavery, though any racist portraiture had long since been taken down from the walls. She sat in a long room panelled with tropical hardwood and carpeted in dark green. Finely carved chairs and tables were placed about the room but no one was talking.
Vi sat in a group of infinitely uninteresting men and smiled and nodded while she did her mental accounting. In truth she owned the club and did not have to hang out with these dullards. It was also true that she was the main reason these rich and stupid men kept on coming to the club and paying their high membership fees. Whiskey and luxurious privacy were universal but a well educated and proportioned geisha like Vi was hard to find.
In truth Vi never deigned to have sex with any of the men that frequented her club. The partners she preferred were vigorous young girls and none of them made enough money to pay the entrance fee. Also she would never bring her girlfriends around these mental vampires. No better way to kill the buzz than to have to spurn a horny old man. She often wished that she owned a tennis club instead of this expensive mausoleum for the old days when “men were men”. The profit margins had always kept her from letting it go.
At least her clients weren’t universally white as they were for the majority of the club’s history. As time passed, black money grew in Jamaica and finally reached her level. The men that made it were now old but she treated them like kings.
Vi was as black as Cleopatra and perhaps more beautiful.
She liked to see a little colour in the room.
What had started out as a hangout for sugar plantation owners, and slavers, had gradually become a venerable institution nestled in the richest neighbourhood of Kingston. The Brighton Club was the officially boring title. The name put a classy angle on the fact that wealthy men liked to drink together in a private space, and not be fucked with.
Vi understood this notion well, and she was never fucked with either. This was mostly because her reputation preceded her. She had destroyed more than one man unintentionally. When club members were told that she was not in fact their love, that they did have to go back to their wife and kids, they tended to get upset. Vi was unconcerned.
If they were business partners she might have tolerated them but as lowly members of the club she just had them banned. When she left the club she travelled in big black vehicles with bodyguards. Men rarely said, or did, anything to her in front of them.
And so it was that Vie found herself trapped in a web of money, carried down time’s stream by a current of ones and zeros. She was becoming numb and she didn’t like it. She had only owned this club for five years and she already wanted out. She suddenly vowed to sell it to one of her ancient black customers for a reduced fee.
A low voice broke her reverie.
“Hello Ms. Can I speak with you?” The voice came from an attractive young woman who was bending down and offering her hand.
“Violet Alta, pleased to meet you.”
How the hell did she get in here? Was this a prostitute? Men often snuck their mistresses into the club but there were other rooms for that. No prostitutes on the main floor!, Vie thought angrily.
“What do you want dear?” Her voice was warm yet measured
“Can you help me please? I need to talk to you in private.”
The woman seemed sincere, so Vi got up and lead the way to her office. When they were alone the girl started to tell her tale. Here it comes, thought Vi. Who abused you and how much money do you need? She had talked to many young girls like this and there were familiar themes.
“I was sent here by your friend, Regina. She said you would give me a job.”
Vie hadn’t seen Regina in years but it seemed that she was doing well for herself. The girl was young, pretty and white. Probably 18. Classic Regina.
“Sure I can give you a job but I am probably going to sell soon.” It was the first time she had spoken these words. What did she care that this empty headed little girl heard them?
“That’s fine, in the meantime I can do whatever you want.” Violet said innocently.
This sounded like the beginning of a corny porno, but there was no hint of innuendo radiating from the girls honest blue eyes. Ah, thought Vi, the long game.
The girl freshly named Violet was wearing the same clothes that Vi had once dressed Regina up in. Short expensive skirts, with expensive shoes and expensive socks. The white shirt didn’t matter as much, they could be as cheap as 50 dollars.
“Well I will probably put you in mining promotion, does that sound like you?”
“It sounds like money,” Said Violet with a look of excitement.
Who was this overenthusiastic girl that Regina had sent her? What was the ulterior motive here?
Regina and Vi’s business relationship had ended after the first job they had pulled. Since then the friends had slowly drifted apart, a relationship made difficult by Regina moving to America. Vi would never leave the island, there was too much easy money to be made there.
“Well then Violet, let’s get you settled.” Vie went back to the main room and said goodbye to the sleepy turtle-men. She had a car called and they set off to the suburbs. Vie had moved to the hills after she had met Regina and neither Luficer or Yaweh could pull her back to the city. She had a huge house, property, no neighbours, room to store her cars. A descendant of slaves, she had risen to point where she had imported a white butler from England. Wilfred spoke exquisitely and also showed evidence of having a soul. She thought she was happy.
“Wow” Violet was impressed as they pulled past the main gates. The mansion had been built in 1803 by a first cousin of Willie Lynch the infamous slave catcher. Vie had bought it because of this and also the fact that she looked very beautiful when standing in front of white marble walls. She liked to be part of the moral arc of history as it curved towards justice, but also look good while doing it.
“Ok kid the guest house is over there. Wilfred will see to all of your needs.” Vi seemed to dismiss Violet coldly as she left the car and walked up the main steps, but she was very tired. She had invented her own game and did not want to play it anymore. Violet did not look hurt. She merely nodded and followed the men carrying her things across the expansive lawn.
Vie entered the house. Walked into a sparse white-marble living room and collapsed on a black leather couch. She plugged into a VR rig and faded away.
=
The next morning Violet was exploring the edges of the garden where it met the lawn when Vie walked up behind her.
“Hello darling, it’s nice to see you in your own clothes.” Violet was wearing an off the shoulder Thrasher shirt and stretch pants with a Tupac face print on them. Her hair was put up with a white ribbon and she looked like a ghetto version of Rachel McAdams in Mean Girls.
“Hey there boss, when are we going to get started?”
It was a Saturday and Vie kept the Sabbath holy by drinking margaritas and working in her garden. She did not look at all like and old lady, but after a long career of pointless dealings with shitty humans, she preferred old lady pastimes. She had realized that digging into soil was far more satisfying than the lying intricacies of the human mind. Her best friends were gardening, tea and a good record on the phonograph. The phonograph in this case was an internet sound system tuned to Mad Decent Radio and other sources. As long as the music had a Jamaican riddim she would play it.
“We’ll start when I damn well feel like” said Olivia with a pride that was well deserved. She ran things, she was used to it.
“Why don’t you go enjoy the pool? Take off those clothes and jump in.”
The words were said with whimsy but had the ring of truth. Violet undressed and ran toward the swimming pool. Vie swaggered behind her, a lioness.
There are perfect bodies and then there are D cups that are just small enough to stay firm. This group comprises a small part of the population and is more wanked to than any other kind of breast. Violet had these in spades. Her rib cage was small though, cutting down to a tiny waist which then blossomed into a heart shaped ass. Vi’s dreams were made of these.
Vi sat by the pool, swimming in a buzz that they both seemed to share. Wilfred brought drinks, music was played. Vie felt like she was 25 again, soon got drunk, undressed and jumped into the pool. She swam toward violet under water, surfaced and hugged her. Violet did not resist. Still pushing herself into Violet’s glorious tits Olivia started to inch one hand down her body while whispering in her ear.
“I want you right now, will you be a good girl for me?”
“Yeah,” Violet said breathlessly. Vi’s fingers were deep inside her pussy now.
Vi pushed her to the edge of the pool, boosted her up onto the deck, and then stuck her tonque deep inside of Violet. What these women then did would make both a Nyad and Dryad and all the other Nymphs blush, even if they had just eaten each other’s pussies at the time. Pan would stand nearby, speechless, displaying a timeless erection.
In ancient mythology there would be nothing wrong with this scene. A celebration of life itself. In Christian Jamaica however they would be stoned in the street, verbally or literally.
Vi was rich however, and protected from most of the bullshit inflicted on queers throughout the developing world. It was as though she lived in a Nazi country that still respected property rights. She was in international waters when at home, and as such nothing interrupted their play apart from the eventual setting of the sun. After sunset they held each other under the stars and told stories both ancient and new.
Part 2
The morning sun found them at work as Vie prepped Violet for the week ahead.
“There is value in what we sell but based on the percentages B-Class stocks take more salesmanship than A class stocks.”
Vie was using old words and didn’t care. Saleswomanship sounded weird and took longer to say. The fact was however that it was unusual for two women to be selling mining rights. This sort of thing was usually left to sapiens with sausages. As such the pair had the option to mesmerize the clients like Cleopatra and Helen of Troy, something their frumpy male colleagues lacked.
An intelligent, beautiful woman is a powerful thing. Somewhat like an emotionally-intelligent jock, this sort of person often confounds our current labelling systems. A perfectly shaped and symmetrical woman with a great personality has the upper hand on the majority of men. The great Queens of history are perfect examples. They were females who’s authority did not diminish their femininity. Personalities of this type can also be found in modern times. Humans are susceptible to manipulation by balding hypnotist hacks at birthday parties and the like. Hypnosis knows no bounds when done by an attractive breeding-age female with a superior intellect.
In the early 2000s big pharmaceutical companies started to recruit attractive female college grads to be product reps. These saleswomen had been so successful in convincing doctors to prescribe narcotics, benzodiaprines and anti depressants more freely, that other companies soon copied the practice.
In every transaction there is a relationship, and even in the age of the internet the face to face meeting was still a live or die when big money was at risk. This made their bargaining position even stronger. By appearing mysterious and elegant, yet extremely knowledgeable about the industry, they would entice numerous marine mammal-like men to buy their products.
For the first couple of meetings Violet stared at the clients and smiled. In the next couple she offered her opinion on mining futures. At the end of the day she was trying to hard sell a dying man.
“Don’t you want this pussy?” She paused, “I mean, don’t you want to get in on this? You little pussy.” She said these last words while leaning forward in a loose blouse and pushing a price sheet forward on the table.
The man purchased the baseline amount and then bought more. He couldn’t seem to stop staring at Violets tits. They laughed about this afterward.
The thrill of victory in their ears they walked to a nearby pub.
“You are for real hey?” Vi said as the entered the booth.
“What do you mean?” Asked Violet without a hint of intruige.
“I mean what’s your deal, why did Regina send you here?”
Violet paused before she spoke.
“Thing were bad in The States. I wanted something new.”
“And I am your something new?” Vie asked, suspicion dancing at the edge of her voice.
“Hey! I am newer than you.’ Violet stood up, twirled around, sat in her lap and wiggled.
Vie laughed and had to agree it was true. Vie looked 30 but was 38 now. That she was older than she looked was a fact she kept to herself. She still believed that she was young enough to change, she had just realized recently though that she was too old to keep doing the same thing. Violet seemed to sense this.
“Why don’t you take me away on trip?” Violet said this while standing up straight legged turning around and bending over at the waist.
Now Vie paused before answering.
“Why don’t you start making me money first you little slut?” She said with a laugh and pushed Violet, making her stumble forward.
Violet recognized her wry sense of humour and smiled. It was a good day and there was nothing to be mad about.
Part 3
Days and nights passed alike with tropical regularity. A hard sunset 6AM leading to a quick close of day at 6pm. Violet slowly pried her way into Oivia’s heart. Now Olivia wanted to take her away on a trip.
Their plane touched down in Miami. They were headed to the international conference of Old White Fucks who were Born Lucky. OWFBL. In actuality it was another mining conference, but Vie’s mental title fit better. They had passed the flight ordering cocktails and spurning advances.
Their hotel options near the airport were The Hyatt, A Four Season and Trump tower. Trump was a fucking misogynist and the other two were too cheap so they air b’n’bd an expensive apartment on the strip.
Looking over the city that cocaine built, Vi felt a strange sense of morality. At least her product didn’t destroy lives. She merely sold stocks of the speculation companies that had stakes laid out but no guarantee of success. She had never visited any of the mines, and if any of them actually started producing and the rights were sold, that was not her business.
If she had seen them she might have found child soldiers among ranks of starving, disgruntled African, Chilean and Argentinian workers. Mining was a dirty game especially when done in zones of political conflict. Unrest was actually the best environment for resource extraction however, as scrabbling factions ensured that commodities be bought from the lowest bidder and exported from the country on the cheap. Vi never thought about these things. It was bad for business.
Behind every fortune was a great crime. Vi’s only crime, she thought, was being born 150 years too late as black woman. If her race and gender were reversed, in an earlier time she would have given Rockefeller a run for his money.
The women looked impeccable as they stepped into the conference center. They endured keynotes and then used the roundtables and meet and greets to cut weak animals from the herd. These prospects were then sliced, diced, and slowly roasted. They were rarely released without signing a contract.
Tag and bag thought Vie as she watched Violet go through the same hard-sell seduction routine for the fifth time that day. This wasn’t even fun anymore. These men were too stupid and the women had the advantage of evolutionary history on their side. Every old man wants at least one chance to fuck a young girl as he careens towards death. Men would pay alot of money to be close, to the chance, of the slightest potential of this happening, especially if they could write it off as a business expense.
If their would-be suitors became too amorous they simply gave them the cards of escorts, becoming erstwhile pimps for girls with titles like Candy, Delicious and Destiny, although they never collected a fee. The oldest profession was alive and well in Miami FLA, which was of course why a lot of conferences were held there. The men told their wives it was because of the nice weather and wonderful ethnic food.
That night Violet dragged Vi out to see some of her relatives.
“So what is it you do exactly?” The question came from a man seated in an Applebee’s wearing a trucker hat unironically. Violet’s family was deep Florida white trash and although they did not attend church they still didn’t cotton to queers. It wasn’t “Adam and Steve” and so on.
Vi answered with a smile “I sell hope, and business is great. People will always pay more for the hope of new mines magically producing ore, rather than trying to get rich on old claims.”
The man was Violet’s cousin Billy and he was long way from his ancestral hills. Violet’s people had escaped from Appalachian mines and through victory and disaster had slowly made their way down America’s abdomen and settled in the middle of its non-erect penis. Now they were as swampy as Cajuns and made a living selling oxycodone to out-of-staters.
At the time Florida’s still had no narcotic prescription laws, and fly by night “clinics” lined the streets. Desperately wanting to profit from America’s flowering heroine epidemic, the Stitlers had started selling pills during the first big wave of oxycodone, acting as pushers for big pharmaceutical companies.
Stitler was her mother’s last name, “Alta” came from an Italian father she never knew. The fact that she was a half-Italian bastard was not ignored by the Stitlers.
“Oh I know what you mean Miss, I sell hope too. People are always hoping to get high.” Billy grinned too widely while loudly shaking a pill bottle in his coat pocket. This gesture, and sight of his teeth, made Vi lose hope altogether.
“So how did you two meet?” Billy asked this with a sneaky leer as though he thought they were a couple and didn’t like it.
“An associate of mine put us in touch. Violet is a talented salesperson.”
“Oh don’t I know it,” Billy said this enigmatic statement with such creepy pride that Vi was sure there was a story there and that she didn’t want to hear it. Violet for her part had dressed as if she was going to a funeral and was currently staring at her hands.
Angry at being abandoned to converse with cast of Dukes of Hazzard, Vi changed the subject.
“How much money do you make selling hope?” She asked this question nicely but it still broke one of the last taboos that white people had carried into the 21st century, even poor-as-fuck white people like Billy. Never tell people how much you make. He started to redden and replied with studied indifference.
“Well, you know enough to get by. Why do you want to know?”
“Well I just want you to know that despite the fact that I am black, queer and a woman I could probably buy and sell you and your family about a hundred times over. I have basically beaten you to a pulp in this life while carrying a thousand-pound handicap. I’m not even American.”
This again was said so nicely in Vi’s polished English accent that Billy was angry but confused. It was a familiar feeling. Now it was his girlfriend Kasey’s turn to get red.
“What the fuck did you say you Nigger bitch?” She spouted the ancient ugly fighting words as if by instinct, using one of the few weapons that poor white people had left. Thank God they still had black people and Mississippi to look down on.
Vi had assumed they were racist, played her gambit and checkmated them in one move.
Just then she caught the waiter’s eye, “Cheque please.”
Vi stood up gracefully, awash in their glorious anger, turned without farewell and left to pay at the front desk. Billy and Kasey sat woodenly at the table, looking like they wanted to start a physical fight but also thinking that Applebee’s was too classy a joint for that sort of thing. They were wrong of course.
Violet also stood up, looked awkwardly at her flesh and blood, turned, and did not stop walking until she was back at the apartment.
=
“I am sorry you had to hear that,” the words came slowly and sadly from Violet as they lay in bed together.
“It’s all right little girl. Easy prey. I didn’t want to be there and they gave me the perfect out. Also having them say that word removed you of any family responsibility as well. Two for one shot baby. Double header.”
Violet heard these words and felt a little better. She wanted to say a bunch of embarrassing things about how she wasn’t a racist like her relatives, how she actually thought that black people were really cool and made great music etc. These sorts of things were often said by idiots and racists however, and she didn’t want to kill the vibe, so she just put her head on Vi’s shoulder. She was glad that she finally had a protector.
“Besides I have made a living by beating better men than him. It really wasn’t fair for poor Billy.” She said these last words with a cooing sympathy that made Violet laugh.
“Billy is never going to get it I’m afraid. Not my high quality pussy or relief from his many STDs.”
Violet couldn’t stop laughing now.
“I would like to give Billy a little brown sugar but I am afraid he is in love with the Co Co… Coco is the name of his pet pig.” Vi ramped up and started tickling her. Violet couldn’t breathe now and begged her to stop.
Vi stopped tickling and said, “I don’t know what brought you to try and have me meet those people Violet. You know I hate families, pictures of children and ice cream.” This slowed down the laughter as Violet knew that this was actually true. At least she liked flowers.
Having defeated the pathetic Billy & Co. with truth and humour Vi rolled over and started to deflower their cousin, who did not seem to mind at all.
Vi was in love. It was an unfamiliar feeling. This girl now ruled her and it was getting harder to keep up the pretense of control. This is what made it so painful when, toward the end their Miami trip, Violet disappeared.
Finale
When Regina popped on screen Vi knew something was amiss. The old friends hadn’t done anything more than text Christmas greetings over the last five years. Although the greetings praised the Old Gods on the hallowed day of winter equinox rather than the birth of a homophobic newcomer. Now that she had returned to Jamaica, without Violet, Regina was calling her.
She smelled a trap buried deeply in the sand.
She had spent the last five days selling the club and turning a new sales team on to her mining work. Her management company would move forward indefinitely with the job she lacked the desire to do anymore.
“What’s up boss?” said Regina with a smile.
“Nothing much CEO.” This was old banter with a somewhat perverted backstory. It brought back conflicting feelings for them both.
“I am just calling to see how you are doing. We haven’t spoken in so long.” Regina spoke with a hint of the posh, Queen’s English accent that Vi had taught. Now it was blunted however by a generic American slur.
“And why wouldn’t I be doing well?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.” These words were said with no hint of intrigue. Vi started to relax slightly.
“I’ve seen much better days. I have just been spurned by a young lover, something I’m sure you are used to by now.” Vi said these words indifferently hiding the giant empty pit inside her soul.
“Oh? Was that the girl I sent you? She was nice no? A good girl.”
“Yeah, too good to stay with me I guess.” Vi said bitterly giving up
her icy façade.
“Maybe there is a lesson in all of this, things happen for a reason you know.”
The fuck was this girl talking about? She was heartbroken and Regina was offering the kind of help found in greeting cards and bad movies. The most generic and easy sentiment to understand was also the most worthless. Vi’s anger was deserved when she spoke again.
“Are you trying to teach me lesson Regina? Did you make this happen for a reason? Because if you did you better hope that there are Gods that might save you.” Vi was not talking to an old friend anymore but a new enemy with the potential to truly hurt her.
“Relax kid, I will get you through this” Regina calling her kid was laughable as Vi was 10 years her senior. They had always had a sisterly relationship though, and right now her little sister was being a total bitch.
“ Really how?” Vi said partially giving up. What was she going to do to Regina anyway? Make death threats and other desperate attempts to gain back control? They had known each other for too long and had probably loved each other even at one point. Besides, Vi had already tortured Regina in a way and doing more would have been excessive.
“Take off your clothes.” Regina said simply.
Vi was suddenly relieved. This was all just a game and Violet would be returned to her shortly.
“Is this what you want to see you little slut?” Vi laughed as she tried to sexily take off the oversized t-shirt with stretch pants that she had been wearing. Violet’s old clothes.
Her body had not been diminished by age and her lithe form looked far superior without ratty cotton draped over it.
“That’s better. Now I would like you to meet an old friend.”
Serenity came into the shot sat down on Regina’s left putting her arm around her neck and placing her hand directly on Regina’s right breast.
Seeing Serenity was a real shock. She had been a employee of Vi’s since she was 18 years old but they had not been in contact since she had left Vi for a man in America.
“Hello Serenity, you are looking good child,” Vi said this with actual emotion. Serenity was a sweetheart.
“You too boss.” These words were not a nickname but the real title Serenity had always called her by.
“I am not your boss anymore, you earned your way out of the game. I am still happy for you.”
“You too Olivia,” said Serenity, using her Christian name.
“So what are we going to do?” Olivia said, legitimately confused, these words were interrupted by a man bending his face down into the shot.
“Harold!” What was this bizarre reunion? These were all people she had worked with in the past. She felt they had departed each other’s company on good terms. What was this game?
“Hello Olivia!” Harold seemed happy to see her but was actually just excited about something that would happen next. Something that Oliva did not expect at all.
All of a sudden she was staring into the face of a blindfolded Violet. Harold led her on to camera with a silk ribbon tied around her throat. She had was wearing a stripper’s maid costume which accentuated her boobs and ass nicely. Her heart fell and leapt at the same time. Violet was here but not how she wanted. She did not like to see her like this. Dressed up as a slut and out of her control. Violet was better than this. What were they trying to prove?
Harold then made Violet kneel down and without removing the blindfold he turned her head to the side so he wouldn’t block the camera, and put his cock in her mouth.
Olivia screamed inside, a thousand furies and a million bloodthirsty demons raged out of her soul. She would kill them all she decided, she only needed time. Her face remained impassive though, she could not let them know how much Violet meant to her.
Olivia had liked only girls all of her life and by this point she found the penis to be downright offensive. Now one was in her girlfriends mouth, and Harold seemed to be enjoying himself.
“Don’t worry it’s for your own good Oliva. We are trying to make you see the truth.” He said this in fits and starts as he was preoccupied with choking Violet with his dick. After a few minutes of this he then took off Violet’s blindfold and came on her face, blinding her again. She did not look happy as she knelt there but she was not doing anything to escape either. She tried to wipe the cum off of her face but Regina stopped her and started talking.
“The truth of what it feels like to be used Olivia. You thought you were helping us but it was always on your terms wasn’t it. You always needed to be in control. What does it feel like to have no control now? How does it feel to be one of us?”
As she said this she cleaned Violet’s face with a wet wipe, led her over to a chair by her leash on all fours like a dog, and then stuffed her down between her legs. She stared at the camera smiling while holding on hard to the back of Violet’s head. Violet’s perfect ass was now pointed right at the camera. It was too much too handle. Olivia fought for control as she spoke her next words.
“Will you give her back to me?”
“Yes, we just want to have our fun like you did with us.” Said Regina. “You have to keep watching or we won’t send her back.”
At this point Harold, who had been getting blown by Serenity offscreen, came back in to the picture with a diamond hard dick and some lube. Olivia knew what was coming next. He lubed up and then slowly pushed his dick into Violet’s tight virgin ass. She whimpered in pain but Regina did not let her head go. Regina looked like she was close to coming herself.
Over the next half an hour Olivia watched Violet scream in pain while getting assfucked by Harold, slapped around by Regina, and made to eat Serenity’s ass and suck on her toes. They all had a turn as Olivia silently begged them to stop. She would kill them all.
It was now sealed in blood.
When Violet finally got up from the floor she was limping, long streaks of mascara were running down her face. She looked into the camera, started crying, and finally ran off-screen.
“I hope you learned your lesson.” Regina said these words seriously, and then turned off the cam link.
Now it was Olivia’s turn to cry. Something she hadn’t done since childhood.
____
When Violet started texting her Olivia was still angry and heartbroken.
“I am so sorry Olivia. I owed Regina big time and I didn’t know you when I agreed to this job. Please forgive me.”
She was not yet in the mood to forgive.
“Are you sure? I bet you liked getting fucked in the ass on camera you little slut.”
“No please, I didn’t know that would happen. I had no choice. I am sorry.”
“Have wiped all the cum off yet, or is there still a little reminder in your hair? Whore.”
“Please don’t speak to me this way. I love you. I will always love you.”
This was the first time that Violet had expressed these words. Olivia’s giant castle of hate started to crumble. This bitch was still inside her heart. She despised the thought. Not knowing how to respond she waited until Violet texted again.
“Can I come back to you? Please. I am so sorry for everything that happened I will make it up to you. I promise.”
Olivia stared at the words for a long time. She hated Violet, she hated herself for being tricked and finally she hated Regina, Harold and Serenity. Her house was empty though, she missed Violet’s bubbly personality and naked body. She didn’t know what would happen in the future but right now she did want her back. With immense self loathing and breaking every principle she had she wrote the reply slowly and then finally hit send.
“Yes.”
Part 4
When Olivia picked Violet up from the airport she almost felt like she was rescuing an abused puppy. Violet was wearing large sunglasses and her smiles and small talk seemed forced. She did not have the same spring in her step when they walked to the waiting car, and when they were inside she just held Olivia’s hand in silence as if she were scared to ask for more affection.
Olivia felt different too. What was new and fresh had been tainted. Violated. Violet’s own body was a perfect metaphor for their relationship. On the other hand, Olivia had treated many girls much worse than Regina had treated Olivia. Her former business had rested on the fact that men will work their entire lives in order to save the thousands of dollars required to fuck a hot teenager in the ass. She did not fully understand why this was so. She just saw the raw dollar amounts and reasoned that she was helping the girls that she pimped when she cut them in on the profits. If she had ignored the pain in their eyes, she was now forced to see it in the eyes of Violet. Whereas they had been employees, now the woman she loved had been hurt and it was different.
While Olivia agreed that she had done many bad things she was still refusing to learn this lesson. Fuck Regina. This was so unfair. Why did she have to hurt Violet? Then again the many girls that had worked for her had no say in their fate either. She had usually tricked and recruited them in ways that helped the fantasies she built. It was totally unfair to involve them too. She bought and sold them like commodities.
As the months went on Violet slowly became herself again. They spent their days exploring the island and their nights comforting each other with their bodies. The sex helped at first, then later talking helped too. After what they had been through Olivia was finally honest with someone and told Violet how she had made her money. Violet listened sadly to the tales of exploitation but her love did not alter. She always simply listened in silence and then hugged Olivia when she had finished. Olivia cried often when she did this, over old crimes and betrayals. Whenever this happened Olivia would curse herself. I am old and soft, she thought, too fragile for this world now. What has happened to me?
Her soul had finally cracked open after a lifetime of hustling. The desperation of her youth had powered her ambition but she was not desperate any more. Her heart was full, overflowing with love and opportunity.
The next year they got married in Vermont, one of the few states to allow same sex marriages at the time. The year after that they visited a fertility doctor and Violet became pregnant. The following year they were sitting by the pool with their new baby girl when
Wilfred delivered a letter.
The return address said “Regina Campbell, 23430 Haight St., San Francisco.” Olivia couldn’t believe she had the audacity to let her address be known after all that she had done, although, she thought, it could be a fake. She opened the letter, handwritten in small letters on an otherwise blank page were the words, “To Olivia, Congratulations, you won the game. Love, Regina.”
She felt anger at even having to read Regina’s name again. “Love”, “game”, What do you know of love or games? Then she looked up and saw that Violet was reading the dark expression on her face.
“Who is it from?”
Regina gave the letter back to Wilfred instructing him to burn in and then said lightly, “No one of importance babe. No one who truly matters.”
The game? It was a similar game to many that she had invented but, in her opinion, far more cruel. She had been a game designer in the past, however, and maybe it was just her new role as player that had changed her perspective on games. She had played similar tricks for what she thought was the benefit of other people. She thought that they had forgiven her. Would she forgive them?
She then sat and stared at her wife and young child surrounded by the luxury she could afford to give them. She suddenly realized that regardless of everything that had happened she had fought and worked harder in this life harder than anyone she had ever met. She was relatively young, resoundingly beautiful and surrounded by loved ones on an amazing tropical island. She had earned all of this and didn’t have to work a day for the rest of her life if she chose not to.
If this life was just a game, she finally felt like she had won.