Page 41 of Rake

I nod and hobble into my room. God, what a weekend it’s been. I’m going to use a sick day tomorrow. Carney will be served in the late afternoon, so there’s nothing I can really do in the office anyway. Besides, there’s something else I need to get done now that’s directly related to this work.

I text Jamilah.What time are you going in tomorrow?

I don’t work Mondays.

Can you let the Monday crew know that the NLRB is serving papers tomorrow?

The next text is full of exclamation point emojis.

Hell yeah. I know it’s going to be a fight to get people to vote but I hope Carney pops a hemorrhoid at the news, evil son of a bitch. Him and any of the managers that kiss his saggy ass.

I wonder about asking my next question. I consider Jamilah a friend, but I don’t want to violate any boundaries. But I could use her help.

Do you have time to get together tomorrow? It’s about the casino, but not directly. I need help finding a dress.

Jamilah is one of the most fashionable women I know, and dresses well on a budget.

FINALLY. YES. Meet me at the Ashmont subway station at 10am?

I’m worried that I’m putting Jamilah in danger, but the goal is to help her and the rest of the staff.

My phone lights up again.

I know what you’re thinking. We’re gonna hit up Mattapan. No fucking way the Carneys’ bougie asses see us there.

She’s amazing. I tell her that and prop my crutches against my dresser. I take off Finn’s scarf. The material is soft, but strong and warm. I fold it up and put it on my dresser. I almost feel bad for him. Dr. Smith is right—Finn is a product of his environment in the same way I’m a product of mine, but he also had far more opportunities than I did.

It won’t be good for him when his plan to use me as a prop at the gala backfires, but he’s a grown man. He can deal with at least as much as I have. The sad part is that I believe that he doesn’t want to hurt me.

But there are so many ways to be hurt, and why bother trading one version for another? I do need to face what I’ve been through. I realize that now more than ever. I need to believe I deserve to be treated with kindness. But I need to get through the next week first.

Strangely, I find that I miss Finn, or maybe it’s just his excellent water pressure and expensive sheets. Still, it’s a relief to be able to change into my pajamas and be in my own bed in some ways. I lock my bedroom door, hoping I’ll be able to sleep without being plagued by nightmares tonight, but I worry I’ll be hung up on dreams about Finn’s caresses instead.

As intoxicating as his touch is, I need to stop thinking about it. Need to stop thinking about him as anything other than an extension of James Carney.

The next day, I meet Jamilah at Ashmont Station and give her a hug. She takes in my crutches and shakes her head. I have Finn’s scarf on. I shouldn’t, but it’s too nice to not use. Once in a while I catch a hint of his cologne and I flush remembering its smoky scent on his neck as he made me orgasm the other day.

“What happened?” she asks. She looks amazing, wearing a bright red frock coat, a gorgeous flower-printed head wrap, and brown boots with three-inch heels. In the snow. I wish I had a tenth of her style.

“Carney set his goon on me. I guess Finn hasn’t been doing his fair share to crush the rebellion, so James had his thug drop me off as a little loyalty test.”

We head over to the Mattapan trolley line.

“Did he hurt you?” she asks, the words catching in her throat.

“No. The goon did all this. Finn took me to the family doctor, which was weird.”

“What a gentleman,” she sneers. “I hope both of them get socked in the mouth by karma.” She takes my hand. “Sasha, I’m so sorry I got you into this. I knew it’d be hard, but I genuinely didn’t expect you to be hurt.”

“It’s not your fault.” We board the trolley, and I sit next to the window. Jamilah hates how this train passes through Cedar Grove cemetery. Thinks it disturbs the dead. I hope any nearby spirits find my mother and grandmother and ask them to look out for me. “Neither of us expected this. It feels like being in a stupid mob movie. I always thought those were exaggerations.”

She slides in next to me. She’s tall and willowy, like a model. I always feel so dull next to her.

“What’s our next play?”

I tell her about the gala, as well as Dr. Smith’s advice.

“I wrote it all up,” I say, “for the reporter Dr. Smith told me about. I’m not going to send it unless I have to, but I packaged it up with some pictures.”

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