A Graceful Mess Page 2

  “Oh, no! No, no! Maci you have honestly outdone yourself this time.” Pushing her and the dress out of the doorframe, I slide by her.

  “Come on, it isn’t that skimpy, and hell, you just spent an hour shaving your gorgeous legs. Let’s show those puppies off!”

  “Puppies? Are you serious right now?” I huff, feeling slightly annoyed and confused as to why she would refer to my legs as puppies.

  “Grace, look at yourself.” Jerking the sage towel out of my hands, she exposes my naked body.

  “Holy cow, it’s freezing. You pervert!” Turning my chest away from her staring eyes, I use my hands to cover up my lady parts. Just as I stoop down to pick up the towel that is lying in a crumpled mess on the floor, she kicks it out of my reach.

  “Was that necessary?” I snap, now angered by her shenanigans.

  “Grace, quit fighting me. You know I always win.” She smirks while holding one hand on her hip, bracing her body weight on the foot that is holding my towel hostage. She wins, as usual, and I am left standing in my birthday suit in front of her. She has no modesty, and apparently thinks I shouldn’t either.

  “Okay, you win. I’ll wear the slutty dress if you give me back my towel!” I let out a puff of air knowing once again I am bargaining with the devil who has taken the form of a brunette bombshell.

  “I am glad we came to that conclusion, because trust me, this dress was built for your body, honey. All the guys are going to be drooling over you tonight. I might even be outshone.” She winks as she bends to pick up my towel and tosses it in the air in my direction. After I dry off I apply a small amount of coconut-scented lotion all over my body. As my hands glide across my torso my fingers instantly find the small two-inch scar on my waist. The thought of having a daily reminder of him when I look in the mirror makes me sick. I have used every kind of cream they sell to try and get it to fade, but nothing ever works. It’s there, sticking out like a sore thumb, a reminder of that night.

  After the incident, I didn’t talk much. I kind of shut down really and wasn’t excited about attending prom in the slightest. Of course Maci was behind that scheme as well. I’d never stood naked in a mirror before, not even at home behind closed doors when I was alone in the bathroom, but I remember the day like it was yesterday. Maci had talked me into going. She knew what happened, but she convinced me that I needed to go, and try and put the past behind me. Several guys had asked her as their date, but she bluntly turned them all down, claiming I was her date for the night. I am sure the guys got a little excited thinking we were a pair of lesbians or something, but they were sadly mistaken. She and her mom had dragged me down to a small dress boutique, and had me in every color gown imaginable. I was in a white cotton bra and white and pink underwear when Maci barged in with several dresses. She had never seen me undressed before. I wouldn’t even go swimming in the summers, because I knew I would be so exposed. Her jaw dropped, along with the dresses she came in carrying.

  “Gracie, have you been holding out on me?” She grinned as she walked closer.

  “Holding out? What do you mean?” I enquired, confused by her question.

  “You are adorable! I can’t believe this smoking little body you’ve been keeping secret.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I would appreciate it if you stopped gawking at me.”

  “Oh, no you don’t, little miss,” she said as she removed my arms that were covering my chest.

  Suddenly seeming serious, she asked, “Is that the scar?”

  Swallowing hard I replied, “Yes,” as I held back the tears that were already ready to fall from my eyes. I stood peering in the mirror, eyeing the area that her hands hovered over. A small, narrow, bright pink scar stood out on my stomach, my reminder of him. My battle wound. I agreed to try on one of the dresses she brought in. The distraction of my sudden approval of her gown choices quickly took over all of her attention, and she soon forgot about my scar.

  “This is Parker.” I hold my phone up to my ear while fumbling around with the gym bag it had been stored in. As if this day couldn’t get any worse, seeing my dad’s name on the caller ID irritates me like nothing else can.

  “Hey, Park, we just got a new assignment. How close are you to the office?” my father, Hank, asks on the other end of the receiver.

  “I’m just around the corner at the gym about to work out,” I reply, feeling annoyed that once again I have to drop what I’m doing for the family business. My brother, Carson, was accepted at the University of Iowa on a full scholarship, so Dad had the bright idea to try and expand the business further up north. Of course Carson wants nothing to do with Porter & Sons, Inc. Knowing I will be solely responsible for running the business brings on a whole heap of unwanted stress, but leave it to the only responsible Porter son to inherit it.

  My dad lets out an exasperated huff into the phone, ending my trance. Knowing my old man relies on me, I hesitantly say, “Ugh, yeah, just give me a minute and I’ll be there.” I disconnect the line as I shove my protein drink and headphones into my duffle bag before walking out of the gym, turning my back on the only place I really want to be today. I walk to my truck, hop in the black Dodge Cummins Diesel, and turn the key starting the ignition and bringing my baby to life. It was a college graduation gift from my parents. The first thing I did was drive it straight to the gym back home in Alabama and show it off to my buddies. My dream has always been to own my own gym, but fate had other plans. I sigh, knowing this is the life that was mapped out for me before I was born, as I turn into our parking lot and whip my truck into my assigned spot, Reserved for Owner.

  Walking to the front door of the two-story brick building I buzz myself in. It’s Saturday so our staff is all off, leaving the building dark and quiet. The muffled sounds of a keyboard come through the silence leading me towards my father’s office. I pull on the elastic around the waist of my white basketball shorts and bend to sit on the couch adjacent to my father’s oak desk.

  “What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait until I finished working out?”

  Turning around in his chair, he says, “I’m glad to see you’re in great spirits today, son.”

  My father has always been an independent man. He’s never asked for help at home or work, but this year when he decided to open a second site here in Iowa, he gave me the opportunity to manage it. Private investigation is no joke. It takes countless hours of trailing and reporting all finds back to our clients. My dad has built quite a large clientele over the years, ranging from people with infidelity cases all the way to insurance fraud claims, but today he seems a little giddier than usual about this new case. I wonder if it’s another presidential sex scandal. God, I hope not; the last one got fucking messy as hell. He stands up and walks a white piece of paper over to me, lays it face down on the cushion next me, and casually walks back to his black office chair. I pick up the paper and notice it was the fax he mentioned earlier. The header reads “Urgent and time sensitive.” I look up and make eye contact with my father, unsure of the matter of this case.

  He must have noticed my hesitation. “Read who it is from, Park,” he instructs.

  “Legislator Mark Jacobs?” The name sounds familiar, but hell, I have seen countless ads on TV since the election is coming up.

  “Recognize the name, son?”

  “I don’t know, Dad. Should I?” I don’t mean to sound like a dick, but we have a lot of clients who are all important in one way or another. Why should this one stand out more than the others?

  “He contacted us and needs your assistance immediately. I told him we weren’t open yet, but he offered to pay us double the contracted rate. He is running for a spot in the Senate and has some, let’s say, ‘secrets’ he would like to keep hidden in his past. Needless to say it’s your job to keep an eye on a very big burden he has. Her name is Grace Clearwater, his biological daughter. If the world found out about her, it would hinder his campaign, or stop his chances of being elected all together.
Parker, this is your big break. Don’t let me down.”

  My dad spins around in his chair leaving me facing his back once again, wondering who Grace Clearwater is and why the sound of her name alone pierced through my body like a jolt of energy. Opening the manila file folder sitting on the corner of the desk, my eyes immediately wander to the picture that was provided to us. My first reaction is that she is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. Her long blonde hair and blue eyes captivate me instantly, and leave me wondering why on earth anyone would willingly give her up. My father coughs, breaking the spell her eyes had me in, as I drop the folder and the contents fall to the floor at my feet.

  “Is there a problem, Park?” His voice has changed to a deep, stern tone.

  “No, sir. I’m on it.” Standing up from the couch, I bend to pick up all of the loose papers and walk the short distance to my office, as I prepare to find out as much about Grace Clearwater as possible before Monday comes and she becomes my new person of interest. I sit in my leather chair and spin around to face my computer. My desk is still a giant mess from the move, something my father has made clear needed to be straightened out before he left and made the trip back home to Alabama. Thoughts of home invade my mind as I remove heaps of file folders from my desk, desperately trying to find my keyboard underneath.

  It’s been about six months since I got to Iowa. Dad has been here for the last month or so preparing for the grand opening. I guess the case seemed urgent enough and paid well enough for him to take it on only days before we actually opened up shop. After my break up with Kristy right before her friends’, Haley and Kyler’s, wedding, I knew I had to get out of that town and away from her. She cheated, but that wasn’t the sole reason. I had too much history in that town. So when Carson got his scholarship here, I knew dad was right and this place would be the perfect home for our second site. Reluctantly admitting he was right was worse than the actual move, but Iowa was now where I called home.

  I feel like I’ve been staring at this screen for hours. Who am I kidding? It has been hours. I just don’t understand why Mr. Jacobs did it. How he could give away this stunning girl? I know it isn’t my place to understand it, and hell, he didn’t know what an intelligent and beautiful woman she would grow up to be, but still there is an uneasy feeling in my gut I can’t seem to shake.

  “Park, you’re still here?” I hear my dad’s voice ask curiously. Looking up, I see him leaning against the doorframe in my office.

  “Yeah. I just want to be prepared before Monday. Oh, and Dad, thanks for this,” I hold up the file I’ve been staring at for over an hour. “I won’t let you down, and I appreciate you finally giving me my own case.” He steps into my office, and suddenly the roles are reversed as he sits down on the couch in front of my desk.

  “This is all going to be yours, Parker. Hell, son, I know this isn’t the life you envisioned for yourself. Trust me, I know you’d rather be managing that gym, but this,” he waves around the room, “This is our family’s livelihood. It has been for generations and hopefully one day your son will take over for you, just as you are doing for me.”

  Great. The guilt trip again.

  “Pops, I know, but how can I run a business when you’ve never allowed me to work my own cases? I’ll never be the investigator you are if you don’t let me learn, even if that means by trial and error.”

  “Well, here is your big break,” he pauses, “I know Carson won’t be around to help you run the place, but your mother and I have nothing but faith that you will keep the business afloat. I’ll be leaving in a few weeks, and it’ll be all yours. Oh, and Park, I know she is easy on the eyes, but don’t let it get to you, and make sure you’re thinking with the right head on this one.” He sneers as he stands up and straightens his blazer. “The night is young, as are you. Don’t stay here too late.” He turns and walks halfway to the door before spinning around to face me again.

  “I almost forgot. Carson called. He is meeting Spencer at the tattoo shop before they go out tonight. He told me to tell you.”

  “All right, cool. Be careful going back to the house, Dad.” I look away from the grey-haired man he has become and back to the file sprawled on my desk. He’s right, as much as I don’t want to admit it, her beauty did draw me in. I’ll have to remember to be on guard at all times. It shouldn’t be hard seeing as how I will be like a stalker following her every move. I pick up my phone and dial my brother’s number.

  “Hey, Car, Dad said ya’ll were going out?” I probe, although I already know the answer.

  My brother is a few years younger than me. I remember taking him out for his eighteenth birthday. The memories wash over me to a time when he was still a responsible young adult, before he got mixed up with Spencer Ramsey and turned into the punk he is today. Ramsey is my age and the owner of Tats-N-Tyme, but he isn’t as rock and roll as his appearance leads you to believe. We went to college together back in Alabama. He graduated with a bachelor in business management, and soon after graduation he followed his true passion and started interning at some tattoo shop in New York City. That’s when he changed, and started being flaky and rolling with the wrong crowd. I was just making a name for myself, and my dad clearly didn’t want me being associated with his rough crowd, so we grew distant, then one day we stopped talking altogether. Until Carson’s birthday, when I took him to see Spencer to get his first tattoo. The rest is history, and they are now two peas in a pod. Spencer even moved to Iowa once his apprenticeship was over and opened up his shop here. Business isn’t booming in our small town, but he keeps things going and he manages.

  “Ay, bro, long time no talk” he says over the muffled music blasting from the speakers wherever he is.

  “Where are you, dude? I can hardly hear you.” Shouting into the phone, I hold my free hand over my other ear in an attempt to hear his voice.

  “Yeah, it’s loud as fuck in here. Let me go out back. All right, man. You there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Where are you?”

  “About to leave the studio and go to the bar. Ah shit, you wanna come, don’t ya?” he asks, instantly making me regret calling him in the first place. It’s not the going out and having fun side of Carson that I find annoying. It’s more the fact that while he is out living a carefree life, I’m stuck running a business. One he should be a part of. Honestly it’s fucking annoying as shit, but I need a drink and we all know Carson will be drinking tonight.

  “I was thinking about it. We have a big case starting next week and I need to unwind beforehand,” I tell him knowing he knows nothing about the case or who the hell our legislator is.

  The ‘Sons’ in ‘Porter & Sons’ really should be changed.

  “Sounds good, Park. Just meet us there. We’re leaving now.”

  “Give me about fifteen minutes, bro.” Ending the call, I pile up all of the loose papers on my desk into one large neat file. “Grace Clearwater, you will have to wait until Monday.”

  “Brrr, it’s freezing!” My teeth chatter from the breeze. Iowa isn’t normally cold at night this time of year, but for some reason the air has a steady blow, a reminder that the mugginess from the day is long gone.

  “Honey, come on. You know we won’t have to wait. We never do.” Maci extends her hand to me. I grab it and she leads us to the front of the line. I hear girls fade into the background the closer we get to the door. Their moans and obscenities make me chuckle as we approach Henry, the bouncer. I look up to see the words ‘The Red Saloon’ printed in the center of a steel door. I have never seen him before, but his name is penned on a white badge on his shirt.

  “Well, look what we have here: my one true love and her blonde friend,” Henry says while holding up a black and maroon rope, gesturing for us to duck under it.

  “Thanks, baby, we owe ya one!” Maci winks in his direction before her dainty hand grabs me by the elbow and guides my chilled body inside. I never understood the power that woman has over men, or where that power stems from. I
t’s like every guy she looks at she controls with a blink of her eye. I’m not complaining tonight though, because it was frigid out there. We approach the large black steel door and go inside. The music’s volume vibrates the floor beneath my silver heels. As much as I complain and gripe, if there’s one place other than the courtroom where I feel alive, it’s on a dance floor. Maci pushes the double doors open, and it’s like we’re magically in another place. There are beams of bright lights glowing on the walls and steam rising from the floor under the feet of barely clothed females writhing to the music. There are several pairs of eager male eyes staring at girls while they dance, like they are prey just waiting to be attacked by their groping hands. The entry way is on the second floor, so we do a quick glance from above before we glide over to the steps and make our way down to the main level.

  From the time I was tall enough to control the knobs on my parents’ record player, I used dancing as an escape. Eventually they decided to sign me up for a dance class at the local Y.M.C.A, after they caught me several times dancing in the mirror, spinning around and around until I was so dizzy I nearly knocked over my mother’s expensive china. Since then, music has been a passion. Not so much the actual lyrics but the sounds that are produced, the waves and beats that blare out of the speakers signaling my body when to move. Being how I felt like an outcast at home, it was nice to go somewhere where everyone was interested in the same thing. I met a lot of different types of people in my dance classes, especially the director of the program, Dorissa. She was an older African American lady, with long brown hair she kept tied back with an old scarf. I remember being so excited every day to see which scarf she was wearing. When we moved from Maine to Iowa for my dad’s job the summer before my freshman year in high school, I hugged her while crying my eyes out, begging her to make them stay.