Digging a Hole by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
“I never patted you on the head. You ran away too fast,” he says.
I nod. “True. But not anymore.”
“I hate to say this,” Henry rakes a hand through his blond hair, “and I know you don’t like talking about what happened with Dad, but part of me wonders if it didn’t change you for the better.”
I don’t know the answer to that. All I know is that it changed me. “Then we have a deal?”
Henry nods yes. “But if that fucker steps out of line with you again, he’s toast and you’re out of there, Georgie.”
I absolutely know that Brooks will step out of line again. I expect him to. “Let’s set the bar a little lower. And I will leave when I say it’s time to leave.”
Elle smiles proudly at me. “My wing girl!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Two and a Half Months Earlier.
“Georgie was right,” Michelle whispers as we reach the beach in a matter of minutes, which is all we have. Any second now, they’ll discover we’re missing. The only thing going for us is the cover of night, and unfortunately, that’s also going to make it difficult to find a boat.
“I think we should go that way.” I point north. “If we move along the shore, the waves will cover our tracks.”
“Great idea, honey,” says my mom.
We turn and stop with a gasp. A wall of men is standing there with rifles pointed at us. I can’t see their faces, just the silhouettes of their naked bodies and guns.
“Shit,” I say.
“Where do you think you’re going?” asks the man in the middle.
“Snipe hunting with you pervert geniuses,” says Michelle.
“Aren’t you the comedian,” he replies. “Now let’s not make this any harder than it has to be. I’d hate for one of you to get hurt.”
“Right this way, ladies.” One of the men turns on his flashlight and starts back the way we came. I keep thinking I should run for it, but what if they shoot? Or worse, shoot my mother or sisters?
We march through the trees, but instead of going back to our huts, they make us take another path.
“Where are we going?” my mother asks.
“You’ll see,” calls out the man from the back.
I’m scared as hell, my body tied up in knots and my stomach cramping. I am almost shocked that my father would have us hunted down like animals, but not really.
We reach a large structure that looks like an old warehouse with cement walls and a steep metal roof. The lead man opens the door and holds it for us. One by one, we go through, and I enter last with the armed men behind me. The first thing I notice is my mother with her mouth hanging open.
My eyes follow the direction of her gaze. Holy crap. It’s my father. Naked. Standing on a little platform that has this strange-ass throne made of wicker. Wow. That is something I really didn’t need to see.
“Girls, cover your eyes,” says my mother. “Chester, this lunacy has gone far enough! You let us go this instant.”
I agree with her about the letting-go part, but I cannot look away. Because my father isn’t alone. He has a dozen women, all of them naked as the day they were born, kneeling at his feet like he’s some beer-bellied, streaker god.
Oh, but that’s not all. Mr. Naked Yoga has his posse of a hundred people assembled in the room, and sadly the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling’s beams are extremely bright. I’ve never seen so many dicks, butts, and nipples, nor do I ever care to again. For a shy person like me, this is my worst nightmare.
“Remove their clothes!” my father calls out. “Their initiation starts tonight! They will each be wed!”
Scratch that. There’s my worst nightmare. I step back, only to have my clothed ass cheeks smoosh up against a man’s bare dong.
“Ew!” I jump in place, nearly falling.
“Chester!” my mother yells. “I know you’ve lost your mind, but our girls are not about to strip naked in front of your tribe of nudie morons and be married off!”
My father glares from across the room. “I am king here, and my word will be followed. You will all strip, pay homage to my greatness, and be wed to the man who maintains downward dog the longest,” he says to my mom.
If it’s batshit crazy to orchestrate a plane crash and kidnap your own family, it’s fruitcake-fucked-up to marry off your own wife. As for the obligatory nudity, well, there are no words.
The men behind us start to move, and I think they’re going to descend upon my mother and try to take her clothes. But that’s not what happens.
Ohellno. I gasp as half the men in the room, naked as babies, some with very hairy asses, bend over to create an ocean of dangling hairy balls.
“They are all just so…” my sister Michelle blinks, “naked.”
“Yeesh.” Claire can’t seem to look away either. “I’ll never eat frank n’ beans again.”
“It’s the nakedest train wreck I’ve ever seen,” my mom mutters.
“Nasty.” I hold back a gag. This massive butthole exhibition is the sort of thing one cannot unsee. But while I’m standing there, trying to process what’s happening, I realize there is only one way in and out of this nearly empty warehouse. It’s a double door with the steel handles on the outside.
I lean toward my mother, who is standing closest to me. “Quick. Pretend you’re stripping, and take off your bra.”
My mom gives me a look.
“I chucked mine,” I say. “Too dirty.” Seriously, I have small B cups anyway, and the guards have only been giving us the minimal amount of water. We used ours for drinking or underwear washing. “Hand it to me, and then run for the door.” I turn and give my two sisters a wink and then glance at the door. I think they understand, but I’m not sure.
My mother unhooks the back of her bra, followed by the sleeve action, and then in one swift motion hands it to me.
“Go!” I yell and start pushing my sisters, who are following my mother. I stumble outside behind them. “Help me push the doors shut!”
All four of us lean hard, giving me just enough time to tie the bra around the handles, sealing everyone inside.
“Brilliant work, Georgie!”
“Go! Go!” I yell.
We run like the wind. In the dark. If that wind had no shoes on. But this time, we don’t hold back. Now we know what we’re up against. The nut farm. Pun intended.
Time passes in a blur, and I have no clue how long we’ve been running or how far. All I know is that all four of us are stumbling our way through the thickest, most grueling vegetation imaginable. Thorns, branches, and whatever ever else nature has to offer in the form of pain.
“Look!” Up ahead I see a light. Then more. Headlights? “A road!”
We make for them and spill out of the trees onto the edge of a highway.
“What the fuck?” Claire belts out.
The cars are zooming past us as we stand there like wet dogs lost in a storm.
“I don’t believe it. I don’t fucking believe it.” I look at the road sign ahead and then at my mother. “We’re in Tampa.”
Within seconds, like a miracle, a highway patrol passes and stops for us.
The nightmare is finally over.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Present Day.
After Henry’s, I spend the night tossing and turning, replaying my conversation with him and Elle while thinking about Brooks. In all honesty, I can’t shake the feeling that I didn’t do him justice. I portrayed him as a monster. Yet, in my heart, I sense he’s not who he pretends to be. Nevertheless, when I told them about the things he said and did, even I couldn’t make a case for the man. It’s difficult to supersede facts with gut feelings, even if my gut tells me the man is smarter, nicer, and better than he portrays.
Or maybe that’s what I want to believe? Because then I wouldn’t feel like a crazy person for wanting to keep working for him.
I roll onto my back and stare at the faint light from my alarm clock shining on the ceiling. I’d plann
I whoosh out a breath, thinking about how hard this has been for everyone—the kidnapping followed by this painfully public power struggle. I know Henry and Elle think we’ll prevail, and maybe we will, but I don’t believe they’ve considered what comes next.
Do we really want to run this enormous empire?
Sure, we wanted to safeguard these twenty companies from my father, but that’s over now. He can’t touch anything because he’s locked up. So why are we holding on to a dream that was never ours?
Again, I don’t know, but I question this path we’re on.
Speaking of paths, my mind drifts back to Brooks for the hundredth time. “You are a natural born salesperson.” I wonder if that’s true, because, if so, I think I’d like to sell a fresh start to my family.
It only takes a moment for my mind to produce an image of what my life might be like if we were truly free. I see Henry and Elle’s children running through a big house and a Christmas tree piled high with gifts. I see Michelle with a big stomach, laughing and kissing Chewy as they expect their first. I see my smiling mother holding my new baby boy. And when I look to my side—
Gack! I catapult upright in my bed. Ohellno. I am not having babies with that man! Over my cold dead body!
“Did you have a good weekend?” asks Brooks as I shuffle past him in the office on Monday morning, avoiding eye contact.
“Sure. You?” I take a seat at my desk and get out my laptop, hoping he doesn’t notice the shame on my face, because, sadly, after I finally fell asleep on Friday, I spent the next two nights having very sexual dreams about him—us riding naked on his bike while we faced each other and screwed. I have no idea who was driving. Then there was the dream where he popped out of a cake, all covered in frosting, and I licked it off. Even down there. Oddly, in my dream, he tasted like grape cough medicine, which I hate. Okay, maybe that dream made sense. But the hardcore humping did not. Ugh. How awful.
“What did I do?” he asks rhetorically. “I went drinking, whoring, and sword fighting—the usual.”
I look up, wondering if I heard correctly.
“The Medieval Festival,” he explains. “Palo Verde Pharmaceuticals is a sponsor. ‘We’re taking medicine out of the dark ages and into the healing light.’”
“Is that really our slogan?” It’s so corny.
“Yes.” He tosses a folder onto my desk. “And here’s the rest of the PR bullshit you should familiarize yourself with for Friday’s fundraiser.”
My heart drops through my chest into my stomach, and the two start boxing. “Fundraiser?”
“The Waltons give it every year, and some of our biggest clients will be attending. Do you have a formal dress?”
I have more dresses than I know what to do with, but no way can I go to an event we’re throwing, and I certainly don’t want to derail my progress. A party is exactly the sort of thing to send me into a tailspin back to my old ways.
“No,” I lie. “Guess I can’t go.” Please don’t make me. Please don’t make me…
“Well, borrow one if you have to because I need you there. You’ll be assigned to the rep from Phillipe Morrissey. He’s a bigger asshole than me, if that’s even possible, and thinks he’s entitled to be surrounded by the most beautiful women in the room at these events.”
Did Brooks just insinuate I’ll be one of those women?
No. I’m sure that’s not what he meant. Still, I can’t help feeling a teensy bit flattered. Okay, a lot flattered. Suddenly, I’m seeing myself walk into the room filled with glamorous people. My chin is held high; I look amazing and confident. Then, like a scene from a movie, my eyes meet Brooks’s. The desire in his eyes is instant and—
Gah! What am I thinking? I do not want my boss. I’m confusing desire with the desire for his approval. Still, now I kind of want to go.
“You mean Philip Morris, the cigarette company?” I ask to change subjects in my head.
“No, Phillipe Morrissey. They’re some depressing goth, French-herbal, health-kick-bullshit vape company. They buy our organic menthol compounds. The rep is Gerard Boucher, a self-proclaimed ladies’ man—though I’m sure women everywhere would disagree.”
“Wow. I’m so…excited to meet him?” I know I’ve just turned the color of a snow cone without the fancy rainbow syrups. Being pawned off on a man, clothed or not, gives me horrific flashbacks of tropical dangling hairy-berries.
Brooks tilts his head to one side. “You okay?”
I nod.
“Then why the hell did your face turn white? No. Wait. Now you’re turning Kermit green.”
“I wasn’t aware he has an official shade, but I’m fine.” I blink way too many times.
Brooks lets out a groan and places his beat-up leather backpack on my desk. I like that he uses something with so much character to tote his things, but I don’t like him invading my space, apparently, because now my heart is beating faster than ever.
I take a calming breath but only manage to get a good solid whiff of Brooks’s cologne. He smells delicious. Delicious. What’s gotten into me?
“Sydney,” he says, planting his strong arms on my desk, “you know you’re part of my team, right?”
I nod, gazing into those eyes that no longer seem like soul-sucking gray but mildly hypnotic. I feel myself leaning toward them.
“Good,” he continues. “Because I would never put you in an unsafe position. I assigned Gerard to you because if I don’t, he’ll be bothering the rest of the women all night, and I know you’ll keep him in line.”
“Me?”
“Are you not the same woman who read me the riot act of anti-dick swinging in front of our president and then proceeded to leave me stranded in New York?”
I look down at my hands. “The, uh…stranding happened before I yelled at you.”
“Either way, you can handle yourself.”
I shrug.
“Oh no, no, little girl,” he says, that deep voice filled with disapproval. “What did I say about shrugging?”
I glare at him. “Did you just call me a little girl?”
“And there you go, proving my point. You’re tougher than you look.” A sly smile curves his lips.
I sigh with exasperation. He did that on purpose to provoke me, and I somehow can’t say no to this man. But now it’s not because I fear him. I kind of like him. Platonically, of course. A one hundred percent, non-romantic sort of like.
“You play dirty, Mr. Brooks.”
“Nick,” he corrects yet again. “And it doesn’t mean you can’t trust me.”
Now he’s pushing it. His behavior hasn’t been all knights in shining armor and castles. He knows it, and I know it. “If you say so.”
He shakes his head, and this time I can tell he’s not faking his disapproval. “If you doubt me, then get your stuff and leave. There’s the door. Because if you ever feel unsafe, then the exit is exactly where you should be heading. Someday, I’ll tell the exact same thing to my d—” He cuts himself off.
“To your…?” I wait.
“My…dry cleaner. She’s a very nice woman. Good with impossible stains, but some of the customers are a little rude.”
He was not going to say dry cleaner. He’s lying. But why?
“Well, I’ll see you Friday.”
“Where are you going?” I jerk to my feet. I sort of hate the idea of not seeing him, but only because I’m here to learn and nothing else. I mean, what sort of stupid woman would want to smell his sadistic cologne while she sits next to him, going over boring numbers. He’s way too abrasive. And I certainly don’t want to watch him walk away so I might catch a glimpse of his muscled ass in those nice-fitting pants or imagine what he
Georgie! Whatthehell? So now you’re a porn star, wanting your bastard boss and a creampie cameo?
“Gack!” I shake my head.
“What’s the matter with you?” His brows shrug together.
“Nothing. Never better, sir.”
“Nick,” he says with a little growl. “Sir makes me feel like I’m your father, and we both know I’m not him.”
For a split second, I wonder if he’s referring to the fact that he knows Chester Walton is my dad.
“I’m not that old,” he clarifies.
Phew. He doesn’t know, thank God. Because I’m not ready to give up this internship. There’s still so much to learn. Yes, yes. That’s why.
“You’re what, twenty?” he adds.
“Twenty-one just last January.” I celebrated in a hut somewhere in Tampa. There wasn’t any champagne. Or cake. Not even strippers. Because everyone was already naked. I push away the unpleasant thoughts.
“How old are you?” I ask.
He glances down at the floor. “Old enough to know better. See you Friday.” He goes into his office and shuts the door behind him.
I don’t understand what just happened between us, but that was one hell of an awkward conversation that felt more like a weird dance.
And I stupidly enjoyed every bit. I rub my face and groan. What am I doing?
The week passes at an excruciatingly slow pace even though my boss is out and he’s sent me plenty to do from the road, such as preparing the presentation for the next quarter’s reports. All easy, but I notice the numbers, quarter over quarter, are insanely good. Another twenty percent in growth? Good for Brooks, but the best companies in the world don’t grow that fast unless something major has happened, like taking on a big new customer or acquisition or something. But when I compare the amount of customers, they’re pretty much the same. Seems most of the growth is coming from three pharmacy chains in the US.
Huh. Sitting at my desk, I rub my chin. I’ll have to ask Brooks about that later.