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“Talking?” he asks. He laughs. “You’ve been talking? About what? Your fucking feelings? Jesus Christ, I didn’t raise a fucking therapist. What’s taking so long?”

“Not every woman bends over just because you snap your fingers,” I argue. “Janie has integrity — she has to be convinced. Seduced.”

“Just show her your big fucking Ferry dick,” Reginald grunts. “Get her wet and she’ll bend over. I don’t need her to want to have your fucking babies, Jake. I need her to be susceptible to sabotage. Fuck her and get it over with. Fast track it. You hear me?”

It occurs to me that my father doesn’t understand women. He’s never needed to. He understands hookers and gold diggers, and how to spot them — but that’s like understanding a carpenter or baker. He understands occupations, not people.

Trying to explain Janie to him is pointless, so I just rattle my keys and smile. “Yeah, Dad. I’ll get on it.”

“I want an update in two days,” he growls. “And I want to hear good news. Is that clear?”

Crystal clear. If I don’t have good news, there will be consequences. “Yes, sir.”

Reginald smiles that fake, predatory smile and puts his paw on the back of my neck, pulling me close. “You’re my son,” he says quietly. “Don’t fucking disappoint me.”

He lets me go to return to his “boys.” I watch him leave, wondering how he navigates the world. But, then, I suppose that’s the wrong way to look at it. Reginald has spent his life changing the world to navigate him.

I leave them to their philandering and circle-jerking, and spend the drive back to the city wondering why I would ever want to be a part of that world in the first place.

Chapter 43

Janie

“So you and Jake Ferry, huh?” Gloria asks.

“Chester, would you run the bar inventory and send me the order?” I ask my bartender.

Gloria isn’t diverted by being ignored, though. “I saw you leave with him. Did you go home with him?” She sounds so eager you’d think there was some prize for guessing correctly.

Lacey comes to me with the updated menu for me to look over, casting a wary eye at Gloria and a sympathetic one at me.

“You know he’s got a reputation, right? With the ladies?” Gloria snorts. “If you can call them that, I guess.”

“This all looks fine, Lace,” I tell my head chef. “Send me the order you need. Ah… try to account for the recent dip. No point in buying product we won’t use.”

Lacey grimaces, but agrees. She hates the idea of running out of anything, I know, but it would be stupid of both of us to ignore the facts. “Sure thing. Say… two hundred for dinner? For the whole night?”

“Let’s be optimistic,” I tell her, “and go for… two twenty. I think there’s an auction going on at Hightower, but they’re only serving cocktails. We might get a boost.”

Lacey nods quickly, and is gone in a flash, counting out loud.

“You had a look, you know,” Gloria says. “Like you were into him. I bet he can smell that sort of thing a mile away. And he’s probably really touchy about money, too — you have to make it seem like you don’t care — ”

“I don’t care, Gloria,” I snap. “About Jake or his money or any of it just... leave me alone about it, all right? It’s none of your business.”

“So what do you want me to do?” she asks.

“Nothing, Gloria! It’s my goddamned — ”

“I mean for tonight,” Gloria says, grinning like she won whatever argument she thought we were having.

“Just… clean front of house. Carpets, tables, all that. Get Mitch and Rory to help when they get here.”

Gloria stares at me like I’ve struck her in the face.

“You’re the head hostess,” I tell her. “It’s in your job description. Go.”

She does, and I think again about when I can get rid of her. Once Mama is out of the hospital. She’ll have some sympathy from her friends, and Gloria’s mother won’t give her a hard time about it. She’s about as intelligent as Gloria, but she’s not a bitch. Where Gloria got that from is anyone’s guess.