Butterscotch - Chapter 4 - Preview (Patreon)

Arno’s table companion called out to him and the strange Mr. Pink let my hand go and went back to his own table. But not without a parting pat on my cheek and a confidence shared in a stage whisper, “You’re going to have such fun!”

“Toodles,” Marjorie told his back and he waved at her without turning around. The man waiting at his table looked like an ex-professional bouncer who had made it big as a financial consultant, or maybe Dwayne Johnson just beginning a campaign for president.

“Strange man,” I said quietly which caused her to bang her teeth on the water glass. 

“Understatement,” she managed to get out. I giggled while she wiped water off her chin with one of the yard-wide green napkins.

We continued our meal in peace for a bit, savoring the unusual flavors for my part. I didn’t even know what some of the vegetables that made up the salad were, but it was good. We sipped wine and nibbled on tiny rounds of buttered bread in between trying to chase down the last bites of rocket, bok choy and jicama.

“What do you want to do with your life?” Marjorie asked after we had decided not to have dessert. “Is there any place you would like to go?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t have a car or even a license. I’m not eighteen yet. Thinking about the future is not something I’m good at.”

She snerked. 

“What?” I asked.

“Something old people say,” she said. “Youth is wasted on the young. I’m only twenty-five, but I’ve already wasted six years acquiring college degrees I don’t need and have no use for. My family….” But she stopped there and only shrugged when I sent her an inquiring glance.

“Yeah, well,” I said. “I guess Mom would like me to go to college. Improve my chances of getting a job that pays a decent amount. Mom’s a medical tech, a phlebotomist but she wishes she had a degree and could aim higher. She’s been going to classes to qualify as a physician’s assistant.”

“Your mom’s a vampire?” Marjorie was amused. “No wonder you burn in the sun.”

A phlebotomist is someone who draws blood, like for testing, in a hospital or a clinic, and yes, their co-workers call them vampires and they do so themselves, too. I rolled my eyes, it was an old joke in my family; one Dad had made often enough that now he lived six thousand miles away.

“I’m not talented. I have no particular skills, or even interests other than gaming. I’m a latter day slacker, I guess.”

Marjorie looked at me seriously and said. “You’re beautiful.”

I squinted at her, then pretended to examine her wine glass. “How many of these have you had?” I counted her dimples. One, two.

“You are beautiful,” she insisted when she stopped laughing. “Even an old jade like Arno Pink saw it.”

I wasn’t completely innocent. I’d been hit on by gay guys before. And propositioned in some pretty crude terms. Arno Pink was just a whole new level of that. I shook my head. “How am I beautiful? I’ve got hair the color of rusty aluminum, my skin is covered in pale orange spots, I’m short, I’m skinny, and when the puberty bus left, I didn’t have a ticket.”

“It’s the hat,” she said and we both laughed. “People see the hat and think, only a girl would wear that. And if they look at you as a girl, they see how beautiful you are. I did.”

“But then you saw I was a boy?”

She nodded. “It wasn’t just the rest of your clothes. You don’t move like a girl, not even like a tomboy girl. And your voice is high but you don’t talk like a girl, either. Not the right rhythms or word choices.” She smiled slowly. “But you could, easily, with the right incentive.”

A shrill laugh attracted our attention and we both glanced at Arno’s table. Apparently some remark the older man had made caused the Dwayne Johnson clone to gag like he’d tried to swallow a shoe. He recovered, then looked directly at me and winked.

I turned away quickly. 

“Stop flirting with Double Johnson,” Marjorie said. “Unless you want to be dragged away by the hair.”

“Double Johnson?” I squeaked. I’d been calling him Johnson after The Rock who he resembled in size at the very least, but to have it confirmed as part of his name was freaky.

“Johnson Johnson,” she confirmed. “He’s a gay porn star, specializing in ‘rough trade’ pictures.”

“I’m not flirting,” I squeaked. “Look, those two know I’m not a girl.”

“Exactly.” She nodded. “You fascinate them. And they can see how beautiful you are.”

“I—you—they…” I stammered. “You keep saying that.”

“It’s true. It’s what intrigued me about you. Here’s this boy with a face that could launch a thousand ‘ships, and he’s completely unaware of it.” She finished off her wine just as the waiter brought the credit slip.

I’d drunk less than half of my wine but nearly all of the water. I wasn’t sure I liked wine yet but I took another sip while she signed for our meal. We both stood when the waiter moved away.

Arno and Marjorie traded finger waves as we threaded our way through the crowded tables and out a different way than we had come in. Johnson, double-or-nothing, sent me a look as hot and smokey as a wood-fired pizza oven.

I took a risk and mouthed at him, ‘I’m not gay.’

He mouthed back, ‘I know. I’ll teach you.’

Arno turned half around to squint a wink at me, too. 

“Oh, fuck,” I muttered as we escaped into a hallway leading to parking lots behind the shops and restaurants.

“You said that out loud,” Marjorie remarked, sounding amused.

I just shook my head. 

Parts of the lot were railed off with cars parked nose to nose, areas leased to the valet parking service on the main drag. I didn’t see Marjorie’s white Mercedes convertible anywhere but it wasn’t really worth it to look. If we needed it, the valet would fetch it, I was sure.

“I’m not gay,” I pointed out to her for some reason.

“I know,” she said. “But I am.”

I boggled only a little, I’d sort of figured that out from things she had been saying.

She went on. “I started calling myself a lesbian in college. But I guess I’m bisexual enough to get a hell of a crush on you.”

Something stirred in my pants. “You—I—me!?” I exclaimed.

“Uh huh,” she said, taking my hand again and leading me down a lane between the parked Bugattis and Teslas toward a building that actually fronted on one of the side streets. “I’d like to show you how beautiful you are—to me.”

The building had two signs and two entrances on this side. One said, ‘Le Trend’—what was with all the half-French on Melrose? The other read, ‘Casual Me’. From the colors and what I could see in display windows, they were both fashion clothing for teen girls and twenty-something women.

“You want to dress me up as a girl?” I wasn’t really asking or even guessing. She’d hinted at it already.

“I’ll pay for everything. And—how much do you get for mowing lawns?”

“Fifty bucks for one the size of Dr. Herlihy’s,” I said. “He’d have to pay more for a gardening service that had their own equipment but he has the tools and lawnmowers…” I realized I was babbling and shut up.

“I’ll pay for everything,” she repeated. “Dinner tonight, everything. All you have to do is wear what I buy for you and let me teach you a few things about how to walk and talk. And a makeover. I’ll give you two hundred dollars, besides.”

I started to answer. “N-n—”

She interrupted. “Five hundred dollars.”

“You’re crazy,” I managed to say. Five hundred dollars? Was this like—like prostitution? It felt that way.

She dimpled up. “You didn’t say no.”

“I was going to say, no piercings, nothing permanent.” I hadn’t said yes, either.

“Right. And no tattoos.” She looked at me, up and down. “You don’t have any piercings or tattoos now, do you?”

“No!” I emphasized that. “None, and I don’t want any.” I had another thought. “You’re not going to get in trouble for this are you?”

“For what? Buying you clothes?”

“I dunno. Contributing to the gender confusion of a minor? I’m just seventeen,” I reminded her.

“That’s only going to be a problem if we have sex in the next three weeks,” she said with a perfectly straight face. “Was that any part of your plans?”

“I guess not,” I admitted. “Maybe some of my fantasies.”

She laughed, holding the door open for me as we entered Le Trend. She pointed at a window mannequin. “I haven’t seen your legs yet but I’m guessing you would be hot in a little black dress like that one.”

I closed my eyes, not looking at it. If I didn’t look at it, I couldn’t imagine a skinny, red-headed boy wearing it. “I haven’t agreed to this yet,” I pointed out.

“But you’ve quit raising objections,” she said. “And I’m prepared to go higher if I have to.” 

“It’s obscene that you have that kind of money to spend on some crazy idea like this.”

She leaned toward me, and naturally, I leaned in her direction.

“We haven’t got to the obscene parts yet,” she whispered.