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I’ve never been a girly girl. When I played dolls as a kid, I had them fighting crime and beating up bad guys. As a teenager, I only wore enough makeup to hide any embarrassing blemishes. Zella wanted to be a runway model while I was happy to play her bodyguard. Uncle Clive even paid me twenty a week to make sure no one messed with his angel at school. He knew she was a dipshit with a big mouth and the other girls wanted to pound on her. Zella wasn’t a bad person, but she learned early on how she was special, even if she was stuck in Nowhere, North Dakota.
When I became a bunny, Jena took me to a salon to get glammed up. The stylist managed to make my hair shiny, which wasn’t easy after I fried it with bleach. My nails were painted a bright red, and any stray eyebrow hairs were ripped free.
I was taught how to emphasize my big lips and “exotic” eyes. That last part made me laugh. My family comes from the mud. We’re genetic garbage. But Needy said her mom might have cheated with a good-looking man in town. He liked slumming it, apparently. His positive genes overcame the Hobbs family’s negative ones enough to give Immee and Needy a step up in life. I got even luckier with a handsome dad. If Conor and I have a kid, he’ll be fucking gorgeous, no doubt.
Today, I visit the salon with Amity, Jena, Roni, and Lisa Leigh. They’re here to refresh themselves. I joined them because I don’t like sitting alone in the apartment, and Conor won’t be available until this afternoon.
My platinum blonde hair’s dark roots announce the passing of time. “I’m thinking of dying my hair back to brown,” I say to the brunette Amity on my right and the blonde Roni to my left. “I had this fantasy that I’d look like a sex bomb, but I feel like a stranger when I look in the mirror.”
“What about Conor?” Lisa Leigh asks from nearby where she gets her eyebrows threaded.
“He knows I have brown hair.”
“But he probably likes it blonde better,” Jena says.
“But what about what I like?”
Amity and Roni glance at Jena, waiting for her response. The Overlook’s den mother doesn’t answer. She no longer knows how to treat me. I was the newest bunny, needing her guidance and occasional nagging. Now, I’m blood to the second most important man in the Executioners. Can she still put me in my place when I mouth off?
“The blonde hair helped me hide,” I explain when Jena keeps her lips zipped, “but I’ll need to either fix my roots or go back to brown.”
The girls still think I’m hiding from an ex-boyfriend. That was the lie I thought would make sense to them.
“Hiding isn’t necessary now, is it?” Amity asks, standing behind me as she runs her manicured fingernails through my hair.
“Maybe not, but keeping a low profile can’t hurt.”
“If that asshole shows up here,” Lisa Leigh says, “it’ll be the last thing he does.”
I smile at the thought of the Executioners acting as a protective wall. Unfortunately, I’m too insecure about my new reality to believe Lowell and his tatted pals won’t hand me over to Clive if it fixes a problem. Sure, Conor won’t, but he’s just one guy, and younger than most other members.
While he might be president one day, I can’t see it. Conor never once mentioned taking over. And we babbled about a lot of random shit last night. I admitted I was afraid of balloons, and I’ve only told two other people this embarrassing fact about myself. Yet, during all our unfiltered babbling, Conor never mentioned the club’s future or his place in it.
The girls clearly think I should ask his opinion about my hair before I make a move. As bunnies, their images don’t belong to themselves. They can’t decide to go natural in the bikini region. Or get a short haircut. They need to ask permission from Jena. I don’t know who she asked when she was a bunny.
I’m unclear if I need to ask permission. I’m not a bunny, but that doesn’t make me a Woodlands honey, either. I don’t know my place. Not so different from how things worked back in Minton. I was powerful through my connection to Uncle Clive. Yet, I felt stuck on the outside. Since his blood didn’t run through my veins, I never quite fit anywhere.
Sometimes, I sensed Clive wished I was his kid. Zella never showed any interest in stuff he cared about, and his brain refused to accept how he needed to care about her shit. I was into sports and would wrestle around with my cousins, Brian Clive and David Clive. He could trust me to do errands, yet Zella always got distracted. Yeah, I was the one that Uncle Clive wanted to keep around. Zella was the daughter he planned to marry off to a fat cat with connections. She would have a comfy life, and he would have more power.
Except she died, and I didn’t. His love for me ended that day. Uncle Clive is cold like that. He once killed his friend for stealing a tiny bit from the business. No warning or second chances. Clive loves but only on the surface.
That’s why if he finds me, I won’t be able to sweet-talk my way out of the situation. He might let me live if I marry the dork in Bismarck, so he can save face. If not, I’m dead. A part of me respects how heartless Clive can be, but another part wishes I burned his house to the ground before leaving. He isn’t the only one with a temper and no expiration dates on grudges.
My temper threatens to awaken when Topanga shows up at the salon. I don’t dislike the woman, but I sense her maneuvering me even before she speaks.
“I hoped to catch you,” she says, guiding me away from the bunnies. “I wanted to talk. Have you had lunch?”
I ought to weasel out of leaving the salon. Conor, though, warned me how Topanga can be a force of nature. She nags and compliments people into submission. The only tactic to stop her is to walk away and ignore her following. Well, that or throw a punch. He claims his mother is prone to the latter. Having met Barbie in passing, I believe him.
I can’t run away from Topanga. Where will I go? How long can I dodge her? Obviously, throwing a punch isn’t an option. If I appease her, Topanga could gain whatever she wants from me, and then she’ll go away on her own. Hell, maybe I can be the one to go on a charm offensive? No, probably not.
We walk to a pizzeria where she orders a big salad, and I get a slice of pepperoni. Without any distractions, I really see Topanga. Her shiny blonde hair hangs loose yet sits perfectly. Her long legs are on display in a short hot pink skirt, and her sizable boobs are shoved into a pushup bra hidden under her pale pink shirt. Every inch of her face is perfectly made up. Her smiling lips shine with gloss. Though effortlessly beautiful and confident, I sense Topanga puts a fuck-ton of effort into her looks. Is she worried Lowell will dump her otherwise? Is that the kind of relationship they share? Are they superficial people? Is that why he was so grossed out by me? Am I not up to his highfalutin standards? Okay, I’m probably reading too much into shit.
Across from me, Topanga never stops talking. She says so much, so fast that I find myself missing most of the details. We’re twenty minutes into lunch before I realize she isn’t talking as much as hitting me up for information. I don’t catch on until she follows up praise for my mom raising me alone with a casual question about how Needy is doing these days.
“I don’t know.”
“You said she was missing,” Topanga replies in an offhanded way. “Did she run off, or did someone take her?”
The stubborn part of me refuses to respond to the question, let alone trust Topanga. Grudges come naturally. Especially when someone puts their hands on me. I always file away those offenses in my “Hard Feelings” mental file cabinet. Then, if I see a chance to exact revenge on that person, I pull out my reason and let my temper take over.
But Topanga is putting tremendous effort into being nice. Sure, she’s also fishing for dirt. I don’t know what I have to lose by telling her the truth. I assume anything I end up telling Conor will eventually end up back with his bosses.
“Earlier this year, Needy and Immee went to Branson for a sisters’ retreat. My aunt returned alone, claiming my mom met a guy and wanted to spend extra time with him. Weeks passed. Mom finally wrote a message from a new email address and told me that she wanted to start over fresh. She promised I would be okay. Since then, I’ve only gotten three messages from her and one phone call. I refuse to believe she ditched me for a man.”
Topanga pats my hand. “You know your mama better than anyone. Trust your instincts.”
Yeah, Topanga is completely full of shit. However, I still appreciate how she didn’t second-guess my opinion. Too many people in Minton claimed my mom had me young and worked hard to care for me. Now an adult, I ought to stop being selfish and let her start fresh with a new love.
Except plenty of men showed interest in Needy over the years. She always put me first. That’s why we lived with Aunt Immee and Uncle Clive. Mom hated being dependent on her sister, but she knew we’d be more comfortable there.
“My mom was my best friend,” I tell Topanga, who watches me with her big blue eyes. “If she fell in love with someone, she’d tell me everything. I’m the person she trusted most. Instead, she just cut me off. That’s not her.”
“Do you know where she’s living?”
“In Kansas, but I’m afraid to contact her. I considered going there and spying on her until I saw a chance for us to speak alone. But I don’t know much about the town. Maybe I’d be spotted right away. Then, Uncle Clive would send men to Kansas, and I’d have to run.”
I realize Topanga’s chattiness has rubbed off on me. That was her plan, no doubt. Jena warned how of all the old ladies that Topanga was the one to worry most about. Her warmth was a trick. Whatever anyone told Topanga, she reported back to her man.
“My parents are treasures,” she says after I fall silent and wonder if what I’ve shared already will put my mom in danger. “They supported me in whatever I decided to do. But my paternal aunt was a nitpicker. She bullied everyone. Is that how Uncle Clive and Aunt Immee are?”
Shrugging, I tear at the napkin. “Immee married a strong man with money, but none of his family likes her. They’re not mean, but they aren’t warm, either. They made comments about how she came from mud and her family was trash. Having her sister around helped Immee, but Needy and I were saving up to move away.”
“And Uncle Clive?”
“He owns that town. Like how the club owns Elko. If you wronged him, annoyed him, inconvenienced him, he could do to you what I assume the club would do to their enemies. People knew to behave. But, sometimes, behaving isn’t enough.”
“Well, then, it’s good that you left. Now, you’ve found a new family,” Topanga says as if she’s completely unaware of Lowell’s desire for me to go away. “And I wouldn’t worry about your uncle. Like you said, the Executioners own Elko. This is your home now, and Clive isn’t welcome here.”
Nodding, I try to focus on the meaning behind Topanga’s words. But I’m feeling salty. And hyper-aware that I’ve shared too much. I need to be more careful. Not only for Needy’s safety, but I’m also dating a criminal. I need to learn to keep my mouth shut. I never had anyone pushing for answers in Minton. Good thing, too, since I seem to be a blabbermouth.
“And you found Conor,” Topanga says, proving she’s an ace at reading people. “He’s a good boy.”
“What does that mean?”
“Not every young man handed the keys to money and power will turn out like Conor.”
“You mean they normally become shitheads like Wyatt?” I ask, feeling self-destructive again.
Topanga smiles wider. “He’s awful, especially since he’s started accepting how he’ll never be president. I don’t know what’ll satisfy him now.”
“I don’t want to leave the Overlook,” I say, taking charge of the conversation. “I’m uncomfortable around Lowell. He doesn’t want me in your house. Conor and I are way too early into our relationship to think about living together. The Overlook offers me independence while also keeping me under the club’s protection. Plus, I like having Amity as a roommate. She’s the kind of calm, cool friend I wanted growing up. So staying at the Overlook is what I want, but I know it’s not what others want. Can you help them understand?”
Topanga studies me. Holding her gaze, I wonder if she’ll admit she’s the one with the problem with me living at the Overlook. Or will she pretend Lowell and I are meant to have the best daddy-daughter relationship ever?
“I’ll talk to the men in charge. I can’t promise anything long term, but they should back off for now,” she says and then throws in the price for her assistance. “There’ll be a party at the Woodlands’ clubhouse this weekend in your honor. It’s important that you come.”
“Is it really in my honor, or is it about kissing Lowell’s ass?”
“The second one. No one cares about you,” Topanga admits, hitting me with the truth. “But Lowell is the Executioners’ vice president, and you’re his daughter. They need to publicly kiss your ass to stay in good graces with him.”
“Do I have to wear a dress?”
“Yes.”
“Do I have to smile?”
“Yes.”
“Do I have to make a speech?”
“No.”
“Can Conor be my date and stay with me the entire time?”
“Yes, but you two can’t sneak off and hump in a closet. Lowell is having a difficult time adjusting to the thought of having a daughter. He might feel the need to go papa bear and beat up Conor.”
“As if he could,” I mutter.
Topanga narrows her eyes at me, wanting to go wifey bear in her man’s defense. “Do we have an agreement?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to help you with your mother?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because your meddling could get her killed. Based on how guilty you feel about slapping me, I don’t know how you’d rebound from triggering my mom’s death.”
“Fair enough,” she says. “However, you’re wrong about Lowell. He seems cold right now, but only because he isn’t sure how to act with you.”
“Thinking of me as the club’s piece of ass messed with his paternal instincts.”
“You’re fun,” Topanga lies while smiling brightly. “Lots of witty banter. We’re having a great girls’ lunch.”
Grinning at her expression, I throw her a bone. “Needy was a great mom. Then, I lost her. My best friend was a great best friend. Then, I lost her. They were all I had, and then they were gone. You seem nice. Dunning’s snarky teenage crap was fun. I had big dreams about Lowell. Conor is sexy as fuck. The bunnies are sweet. There are people here that I could care about. I’m trying not to view living here as temporary. So, I’m glad we had our girls’ lunch. Maybe you and I can understand each other better than Lowell and I ever will. And that’s good. Because he’s still my father, and I know he leans on you a lot. Having us get along is good for everyone.”
Topanga’s face twists up, and she gets teary-eyed. “I’m going to hug you.”
“Or not.”
“No, too late,” she says, standing and walking around the small table.
I get up and let her hug me. Topanga pats my back, whispering how everything will work out. I stroke her head and promise to be open-minded about the party and other stuff. We choose to keep our promises vague enough to ensure we seem as if we’re on the same page.
