In Shadow - Ch 20 - The Raven Witch

Content Warning: brief reference to sexual assault, mature themes, profanity, drug references

"Orange! OhmyGod, hi!" Corrie was so excited she bounced. "Did you see? That's Jenny Poole! Sitting with George. He knows her too!"

Uptown Glass was the GOAT, Corrie thought. The view from the penthouse club's glass walls was amazing. The music was the best and the people... OMG!

"Uh, yeah, yeah. I know. Jenny's a friend of mine," Orange said, trying to get a word in. "Corrie, are you OK? I've been looking for you."

Orange was such a nice guy, she thought. She'd met him after one of George's bad nights and she'd been all weepy. He'd listened to her and even given her a number she could call if she wanted help... but help would mean leaving George, and George was going to make her a star.

"You were?" she said, a little worried because George wouldn't like that. "You really shouldn't..." Suddenly, the thought went completely out of her mind. "Oh my God, OhmyGod, OHMYGOD! Look. Over at our table. It's..."

-----------------

"Cassie Goth," George snarled.

"George," Cassie Goth, the musical superstar and celebrity icon known to the world as the Raven Witch, replied. 

Jenny recognized Cassie's tone as one that might usually be reserved for talking about vomit or maggots. The actress part of Jenny's mind tried to file away that tone, and the accompanying look of utter contempt on the Raven Witch's face, for use in some future role. The rest of her mind was still torn between the rush of relief at her friend and mentor's sudden appearance and the lingering horror of almost losing herself to George T.

"Long time," George said coldly.

Jenny realized he'd forgotten all about her. His eyes, now burning with something that was at once hate and lust, clearly saw only Cassie Goth. Jenny had never in her life been happier to be forgotten. 

"Not long enough," Cassie replied coldly.

"Oh, don't tell me you haven't missed me," George's voice became oily and suggestive. His burning eyes flicked briefly to Jenny, plainly seeing her as nothing but an audience. "We were such... intimate... friends back in college."

"We were never friends," Cassie with utter contempt.

"You know, there's a restroom over by the bar," George said with a cruel smile. "Want to slip into it and relive a old times?"

"It wouldn't be the same," Cassie said with a slight smile that didn't fully hide the horror behind her eyes. "I'm not a terrified coed too drunk to fight back... and you got fat." 

Jenny bit back a gasp of sickening understanding. 

"Bitch," George snarled.

"She... she hates him! But he said he knew her?!" Corrie said, eyes wide in disillusioned misery. "He said he could introduce us."

"He's a liar, Corrie," Orange said softly.

"He said he knew her," Corrie insisted. "He was going to introduce us. I did... whatever he wanted... I did... I did things... Oh God, I'm so stupid. I'm just a dumb, worthless whore."

"You're not stupid, Corrie. You're not dumb, or worthless, or a whore," Orange said gently. "George lied to you. He used you."

"But he was going to make me a star," Corrie sobbed.

"But if you really want to revisit old times," Cassie continued, still with that same brittle smile, "I could call Gwen over. I'm sure you're... burning... to see her again." Cassie's eyes dropped to old burn scars peeking out of George's open shirt. "And I know how much she hates to leave things... unfinished."

For a moment, George's cruel face twisted in unmistakable terror. 

Jenny couldn't hide a cruel smile of her own at the sight of the monster confronted by someone he couldn't intimidate.

"Corrie, please take this," Orange said encouragingly, pressing two cards into the devastated young woman's hand. "This one is the number of that women's shelter... in case you lost it. You can call them. They can help you. They can keep you safe."

"He's connected," Corrie said hopelessly. "He'll find me."

"The other one is Jenny Poole's number," Orange continued. "I really do know her. She told me to give you this if I saw you again. So she can help you... like Cassie Goth helped her. Please think about calling them, Corrie. They can help you, if you let them."

"What do you... want... for this?" Corrie asked, not meeting his eyes. "I'll... I'll do..."

"I don't want anything, Corrie, except for you to be safe," Orange said gently. "You shouldn't have to do things like that... with me or anyone... to be safe and happy."

"He's coming," Corrie breathed, sudden terrified. "I have to go. I'll... I'll think about it. I will."

As George stormed away from the little table, Jenny breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Are you alright?" Cassie asked softly, lowering herself into the seat George had fled.

"I am now. Thank you," Jenny nodded. "Are you OK?"

Cassie still looked brittle. More brittle than Jenny had ever seen her, more than she had ever even imagined seeing this confident, powerful woman.

"No," Cassie admitted. "I really want a drink." 

"I hear you," Jenny nodded. "I do too... or we could both not throw away years of sobriety over a bastard like George. He doesn't get to win."

"No, he does not," Cassie smiled. "So what about that?" she added, nodding at the packet of pills in Jenny's hand. 

"Christos," Jenny cursed, throwing the packet across the table. "I don't... I didn't... he..."

"I know," Cassie nodded.

The raven-haired woman gave an almost negligent wave of her hand, and whispered a Word. The packet of pills burst into a sudden flare of blue-white flame, leaving only a faint, sooty stain on the tabletop. Jenny blinked in startled awe. Despite her Raven Witch persona, Cassie rarely displayed her genuine magic so openly.

"What were you thinking?" Cassie asked. "Meeting with George Tobar?"

"I had a plan," Jenny said. OK, she thought, it had actually been a terrible plan, but she had had a plan.

"It's my fault," Genie said, as she and Orange approached the table.

"I should have known," Cassie sighed.

"I'm a reporter now," Genie explained. "I'm working on a story about organized crime, and Jenny was trying to help me out by..."

"You're trying to find information that would help Miranda and Mariah," Cassie interrupted. "Let me tell you right now, neither of them would want you... any of you... putting yourself in danger because of them." 

"I just thought..." Genie started.

"I'm sure you mean well," Miranda's mother continued firmly, "but honestly, what would I tell them... or your parents... Genie, Orange... if you get yourself hurt messing around with gangsters."

Jenny exchanged a quick smile with Orange. It was amazing, she thought, how Cassie could switch almost seamlessly from awesome superstar to spooky witch to supportive mentor to stern mom. To think some people still said she only got acting jobs because she was a famous musician.

-----------------

"Well, that was..." Genie said, claiming the seat as Cassie, with a final stern look, left them.

"I think the words you're looking for are 'a complete disaster,'" Jenny offered.

"Yeah, that sounds right," Genie groaned. "I'm so sorry, Jenny. By the time I noticed you were in trouble, Cassie was already there and I..."

"It's OK," Jenny said. "It's OK. It's on me. I should have signaled you sooner... or at all. Honestly, I should have realized how badly seeing George was going to throw me. I thought I could handle it. I was wrong... but it's OK. I'm OK."

“Thank God for Cassie Goth,” Orange said.

“You’re not wrong,” Jenny sighed. “But did you see how shaken she was? She held it together better than I did, but she was really thrown.”

“I couldn’t hear everything, but I got the definite sense she and George have history,” Orange said.

“They would have been at UBrite at the same time,” Genie mused. “She’s been pretty public about having trouble in her last year… alcoholism and self-destructive behavior. She’s talked a lot about getting clean.”

“She’s got twenty-two years clean and sober, and tonight she wanted a drink… as badly as I do right now,” Jenny said. “Whatever happened back then – and I have a pretty good guess – she’s still shaken by it. I was kinda hoping we could get her help once we had more but…”

“We can’t,” Genie said firmly. “We’re on our own. God, maybe she’s right. We’re in over our heads.”

"Oh, we are totally in over our heads," Jenny said with a sudden smile, "but that doesn't mean we should give up!" 

"Absolutely," Orange nodded. "Also, I think we might have gotten through to Corrie."

"I guess that's something," Genie sighed.

"It’s everything," Jenny said firmly. “Cassie has been there for me when I needed her. Now we’re going to be there for Corrie… and for Miranda and Mariah.”

“We’ve got this,” Orange agreed.

In Shadow - Ch 19 - In High Places

Content Warning: misogyny, abusive behavior, mature themes, profanity, drug references

"How do my tits look in this dress?" Jenny asked.

"I honestly don't know how I'm supposed to answer that," Orange said uncomfortably.

It had taken a couple of days, but Terry had come through.

When Jenny had explained her plan to Orange and Genie they had both responded with variations of "are you nuts?" Orange had told them about his own 'meeting' with George T, and pointed out that it hadn't gone very well. Still, neither of them had a better plan. 

"What are you going for?" Genie asked.

"Someplace between classy hooker and slutty nymphomaniac," Jenny said thoughtfully.

"I think you've nailed it," Genie said.

"Can we talk about the aspects of this plan that I am personally uncomfortable with?" Orange put in. 

Jenny felt she was pretty clear on what Orange was uncomfortable about. They still hadn't really defined their relationship, but after his run-in with George, he was obviously feeling protective. Yeah, he was still his supportive and encouraging self, but Jenny sometimes caught a look in his eye that suggested he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and lock her in the bedroom. Which, she thought, could be fun under the right circumstances. Just, not tonight.

"Look, we need information about Max," Jenny said confidently. "George is going to know stuff... probably more than Max would be happy with. Like I told you, they were always competitive. Always trying to one-up each other. The last time we met, I was with Max. No matter what happened back then," she firmly pushed that memory back down, "Max was the one in control. George will love the idea of taking one of his things."

"You're not a thing," Orange muttered.

"You're sweet. I know I'm not a thing," Jenny smiled. It had taken years under Cassie Goth's wing to really believe it, but she did now. "But George doesn't. Trust me, I get him thinking he can have me, after I got away from Max, and he'll be putty in my hands." 

"Which is why you're dressed like a slutty hooker?" Orange sighed.

"Slutty nymphomaniac," Jenny corrected confidently. 

"Classy hooker," Genie added.

"The more he's thinking about getting his hands on my tits, the less he's being suspicious about my motives. His dick will totally override his brain," Jenny grinned. 

"It's a guy thing," Genie said brightly.

------------------------

Uptown Glass was the hot new nightclub in the San My nightlife. A glittering jewel set on the top floors of the fashionable Torendi Tower, it offered overpriced drinks, the hottest local DJs, dancing, a game room, two swimming pools and, most importantly, a chance to be part of the in crowd.

Jenny supposed it wasn't a big surprise that George T had chosen to meet there.

"If you get uncomfortable at all, you'll signal us, right?" Orange asked. 

They'd agreed on a simple hand-sign Jenny could make to let them know she needed backup. It was an old barhopping trick. Genie was already mingling with the crowd, as ready as Orange was to come to Jenny's rescue.

"If I get into trouble, I'll signal," Jenny said, adding softly, "I'm already uncomfortable."

Actually seeing George, sitting across the club, had twisted her stomach far more than meeting with Terry had. Which, Jenny thought, was odd given that Terry had been a bigger part of her life, shamelessly exploiting her naivety and desire to be a star to get her to do things she wouldn't have considered. Still, in his own twisted way, Terry had taken care of her.

She'd only really met George a few times, always with Max. Like she'd told them, Max had always been the one in control. 

Maybe, she thought, she should have known better. When she'd met Max, she'd already gotten away from guys like Terry. Cassie Goth had taken her under her wing, protected her from the predators in executive suits and started to show her that she was worthy of respect.

She'd just started believing that, and then Max had swept her off her feet. All dark charm and sinister glamour, he'd gotten in her head. He'd also gotten her drinking heavily, which Cassie had discouraged, and using hard drugs, which she'd hidden from everyone. 

It was the drugs that had led to Max introducing her to George. 

Looking back now, she wondered if he'd been showing off to both of them. To her, he'd been showing how he was a big time gangster. Bigger and tougher even than this dangerous drug dealer. To George, he'd been showing off his latest conquest. 

Crossing the nightclub floor, she shivered as the memories she'd pushed away earlier came flooding back.

The way George had looked at her, the way he'd treated her... while Max looked on, encouraging it all with a twisted sense of pride... had made her feel cheap and dirty even while she did whatever they demanded. All because she was sure she'd loved Max.

"Jenny Poole," George's harsh voice didn't so much snap her back to the present moment as merge the past and present together like some strange sci-fi thriller. "Don't you look tasty."

"George," Jenny nodded, putting on a smile she'd learned from the great actress and diva, Judith Ward. "It's been a while." 

"It has," George replied with a reptilian smile.

"OhmyGod, you're Jenny Poole," the young woman who must be Corrie said excitedly. "Can I just say, the Urbz is like my favorite show. You're fantastic. I can't believe I'm really meeting you."

"Thanks," Jenny said distractedly.

"Corrie, do something fucking useful and get us some drinks," George commanded.

"Ok George," Corrie replied. "What can I get you?"

"Cherry fizz," Jenny said automatically.

"She'll have a rum and coke," George said firmly. "Make it a double... and get me another whiskey."

"Right away, George," Corrie nodded, rising.

"Great, thanks," Jenny said with mock enthusiasm. Whatever, she thought. I don't need to drink it.

"I heard you wanted to see me," George said, his cold eyes slithering over her body.

"I know it's been a few years," Jenny sighed theatrically. "The show keeps me busy."

"Your message said something about Max V." George's dead eyes flicked to study her face.

"I heard a rumor the bastard was back in town," Jenny said, the heat in her voice more genuine. "I thought, with you being so... connected... and all, you might have heard from him."

"Now, why the fuck would you want to talk to Max V?" George mused, his eyes traveling over her body again.

"I don't," Jenny said firmly. "Fuck him. After what he did, he doesn't get any of this again," she added, arching her back in a way she knew emphasized her chest.

"His loss," George said, openly leering.

"Too damn right," Jenny nodded. "Still, I want to know what he's doing back. If he's going to show up at my door, I want to know... you know? Besides, hearing about him... got me thinking about old times."

"I remember." George actually licked his lips, his eyes crawling over her body. "I remember you being pretty wild, once we got you... relaxed."

"Good times," Jenny smiled, calling on every ounce of her acting abilities. Stay focused, she thought. You can do this.

"So... about Max," she continued. 

"Fuck him," George snorted dismissively. "I'm thinking we should go back to my place and get... reacquainted."

"What about your date?" Jenny said, trying for a flirty smile. Maybe the dress had been too much, she thought. "Corrie, was it?"

"What about her?" George chuckled. "She won't bother us. Maybe we can even have her join us. That could be a lot of fun."

"Maybe," Jenny said, trying to keep the growing tension off her face. She knew she was losing her grip on this conversation, knew she should probably signal Orange. "But..."

"I remember how to turn your maybe into yes," George leered, casually pushing a small packet of pills across the table. "Best quality. You remember how they made you feel."

"Yeah," Jenny's breath caught in her throat. 

She remembered. Three years clean and sober, and she still woke up some nights craving that feeling. 

She watched, horrified, as her own hand snatched up the pills. Three years clean and sober. The pills, washed down with the rum and coke that Corrie would bring back any moment. Three years clean and sober. No worries. No fear. No shame. Just floating, shiny, in waves of pleasure. 

She remembered. She was drowning in memories. 

"Jenny." 

The woman's voice was soft and powerful, a singer's voice laced with the relaxed, smoky accents of Willow Creek. By only saying her name, somehow that voice wrapped itself around Jenny's desperately floundering soul and pulled her gently back toward safety.

"Cassie Goth," George snarled.

In Shadow - Ch 18 - Low Friends

Content warning: partial nudity, drug references

Jenny had a plan.

It wasn't a particularly good plan, she admitted to herself. This hero stuff was a lot easier when someone handed her the script and the director gave her notes. 

At least, with the show still on hiatus, she didn't have an early call. She wasn't sure how she'd be able to help Orange and Genie and do sixteen hours on set. She loved being an actress, loved being a success, but it was exhausting sometimes.

Firmly ignoring the bursts of static coming from her old stereo, Jenny headed for the bathroom. She had a lot to face today and just wasn't up to dealing with that. Everything would look better after a shower.

A shower and an omelet. Everything looked better after a shower and an omelet. 

OK, it still wasn't a particularly good plan. No... actually it was a good plan. It just wasn't a comfortable plan. It wasn't a plan that made her happy. It certainly wasn't a plan she wanted to explain in any detail to Orange. He had a protective streak. Yeah, he wasn't pushy. She didn't think he'd tell her what to do, or not do... but still. He wouldn't like the plan. That was kind of... nice actually. He was nice. 

Glancing over at the rattling kitchen cabinets, she bit back the urge to yell. Really, was all the radio static and rattling supposed to help? All it did was remind her about her apartment's other tenant. Yeah, technically she was the only person who lived here... but she wasn't alone.

Wait, she smiled. She wasn't alone!

----------

It had taken more calls than she'd thought, but eventually she tracked down the person she needed to talk to. They arranged a meeting that evening, at the Old Salt House. She certainly wasn't letting him into her apartment. Not again. 

Enter The Creep, stage left.

Five years hadn't changed Terry Stone much. He still wore loud shirts and tinted glasses. He still had that dumb mustache and that same bad toupee. Even the knot twisting in her stomach at the sight of him was familiar. 

Terry Stone. 

He was one of those guys who lurked on the fringes of the Del Sol Valley studios, offering "opportunities" to young actresses. Five years ago, he'd done that for a naive kid then called Jennifer Parker from Rangerville, and little Jennifer Parker been thrilled at any chance to break into the industry.

Terry had helped Jennifer Parker start down the road to become Jenny Poole. He'd encouraged her. He'd introduced her to some of the right people.

Of course, he'd also "helped" her to "relax" and prepare for her early gigs. Some things, she'd discovered, were easier to agree to, easier to do, when you were high.

It could have been a lot worse, Jenny thought.

Sure, he was a sleazy creep, but Terry wasn't mean or cruel. He never hurt her, or even threatened her. Sure, he gave her drugs, but not really hard drugs. OK, those early "screen tests" for Terry weren't exactly what she'd imagined herself doing when she left her dusty little town out west, but even they could have been a whole lot worse.

In the end, he really had helped her break into the industry. He'd helped her get the Salty Suds ad campaign, which had started everything for her.

"Jenny Poole." Terry greeted her warmly, but his eyes looked shifty. "What brings a big star like you down from the heavens?"

"Hey Terry," Jenny said with equally false warmth. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Now, Jenny, you remember you signed releases," Terry said hastily. "I had every right to sell those pictures to WickedHub."

"Hell, Terry, is that what you're worried about?" Jenny rolled her eyes. 

"Well, some big time actresses don't properly appreciate being reminded of their early work," Terry said.

"You're a slimeball, Terry," Jenny said. "But, as it happens, I actually do like those pictures... and it's not like you're the only guy with nudes of me. Come, sit. I've got something else I wanna talk about."

As Terry took the seat across the table from her, Jenny felt her stomach unclench. It was like realizing that she really understood a part, that she could really nail a scene. Only the part was her actual life, and the scene was real.

"So, what can this slimeball do for a big time actress like Jenny Poole?" Terry said brightly. 

He really didn't seem to mind being called a slimeball. Terry knew who and what he was. He had his place in the industry hierarchy, Jenny realized, and he embraced it. 

"I'm looking for somebody," Jenny said. "I'm hoping you can arrange a meeting."

"I might be able to help," Terry said. "I've got some new talent."

"Not new talent. Not today," Jenny said, but filed the thought away. Cassie Goth had once helped to lift her out of Terry's world. Maybe she could do the same thing for someone. It was an idea to be pursued, when she had a chance. 

"I'm looking for George T," Jenny added.

"Oh Jenny," Terry sighed. "I thought you did the rehab thing. Got clean."

"Don't worry about that," Jenny said confidently. "You know him. I know you know him."

"I know him," Terry sighed. "But Jenny, if you're looking for a fix, I've got other sources. Safer sources."

"I need to meet with George T," Jenny said firmly. "I need you to set it up."

"Jenny, I know you did a little partying with these gangsters a couple of years ago," Terry said. "I keep track of my girls, even after they move on."

"So you can resell our old nudes when we hit it big," Jenny snorted.

"You wound me," Terry grinned. 

"But Jenny, listen to me," Terry continued. "Guys like George T aren't safe to be around at the best of times, but what I hear is, since Nick Alto went inside, that world has gotten a lot more dangerous. There's a lot of bad stuff going on. The old guard, like Nick, had a code. Yeah, they were bad guys, but they had rules. These new gangsters, like George T, are just brutal. You shouldn't be messing with them."

"Can you arrange a meeting or not?" Jenny pressed. 

"Maybe," Terry admitted reluctantly. "What do I say it's about? He's not big on social calls, even from big time actresses."

"He'll meet with me," Jenny said. "Just tell him I want to talk about Max V and old times."

"This isn't a movie, Jenny," Terry warned. "Nobody is going to shout 'cut' if the scene goes wrong and George doesn't put blanks in his gun." 

"Are you worried about me, Terry?" Jenny asked, a little surprised.

"I always worry about my girls," Terry said with what Jenny realized was complete sincerity, or at least as close to it as a guy like Terry could get. In his own twisted way, he really did care. 

"Arrange the meeting," Jenny said firmly.

"OK," Terry sighed. "I'll make a few calls and I'll let you know."

"Thanks, Terry," Jenny smiled. "You're a slimeball, but I knew I could count on you... and don't worry, I can handle myself."

"I hope so, Jenny," Terry smiled. "I'll get it done. Anything for you."

The plan, step one, accomplished, Jenny thought.

She was actually very pleased with herself. She'd been worried about meeting with Terry. Worried about the old memories it would dredge up. It hadn't been that bad.

Terry hadn't really changed... but she had. With the help of good friends and a real mentor, she'd outgrown him. 

"You OK?" An older man's voice interrupted her thoughts. 

"I am," Jenny said with a smile. "Thanks for being there, Bob."

Bob was an older guy, a divorcee who lived down the hall from her. He'd been a friend almost since the day she moved in. She really hadn't felt comfortable asking Orange to back her up. She wasn't really ready for him to know about Terry, or little Jennifer Parker from Rangerville for that matter. She also hadn't felt comfortable meeting Terry alone. 

Bob hadn't hesitated. 

"Anytime," Bob said.

"I really appreciate it," Jenny said as she pulled out her phone. "You mind? I need to make a quick call."

Voicemail. Damn it, has she even turned her ringer back on?

"Genie, I think I've got us a lead."

In Shadow - Ch 17 - White Knight

Content Warning: misogynistic and racist language

Orange was worried.

His feet pounded against the hard stone paving tiles. The cool early morning air, thick with fog rolling in off the bay, filled his lungs. His arms and legs warmed with the simple rhythms of physical motion. HIs mind, however, refused to fall into the same clean rhythm. 

Jenny said she had a plan. A plan to get them closer to the secrets Genie was hunting. Closer to the criminals, the violent, dangerous men lurking in that shadow world ordinary people pretended didn't exist. 

Damn it, why did they have to be anywhere near that world?! Why did Jenny? He knew he should support her, but a strong part of him just wanted her to be safe. He was shocked by the intensity of his own feelings for her, which only added to his worries.

The police and public safety agencies are supposed to protect us from criminals, he thought.

Of course, he knew those agencies failed sometimes. Failed some people.

Corrie.

He looked at the bench where he'd met that wounded, frightened woman. Had it really only been last week? The women's shelter hadn't heard from her. He'd checked. She was out there somewhere. Out there... with George T. A rapist and murderer. One of the criminals Jenny and Genie were trying to get closer to.

He knew that he couldn't just charge in and save everyone. He knew it, but he had to do something!

"Excuse me, sir," Orange called out, hailing a fellow jogger. "You run here a lot, don't you?"

"Yeah," the crew-cut man replied cautiously.

"Maybe you can help me," Orange said, pulling out his phone, "I'm looking for someone I met around here a few days ago. Does this woman look familiar?"

"Dude, she's hot," the jogger said. "I see why you're looking for her but... sorry. Don't know her."

"Thanks anyway," Orange said. He'd keep looking.

-----------------

Damien watched the big man jogging off as he pulled out his phone.

"Hey, George. I got a guy down here asking about Corrie," he said coolly. "Yeah, he's showing her picture around." 

He listened calmly to the angry reply. 

"So," he said at last, "what do want me to do, boss?"

-------------

Well, that didn't work, Orange thought. 

He'd shown Corrie's picture to other joggers and to people leaving for early shifts, or returning from late ones. A couple of them vaguely remembered seeing a woman who might have been Corrie around the neighborhood, but no one was sure. No one knew her. He shouldn't be surprised, he supposed. He'd be hard pressed to recognize his own next door neighbors if they met outside of the building.

Finally, he'd decided that he needed to hit the gym and clear his head. His arms and legs burned as he threw himself into a heavy lifting routine. The pure physicality of it usually calmed him, focused his mind. 

It wasn't really helping. 

A woman's voice cut through his racing thoughts. "Well, aren't you a tall, refreshing drink o' water." 

"Morning... ma'am," he grunted as he finished up his routine. 

"Oh, please don't call me 'ma'am,'" the dark-haired woman laughed. "You'll make me feel old."

"Sorry," he said, amused despite his worries.

Really, it wasn't that unusual for women to approach him at the gym. It was kind of flattering actually, and had been the heart of his dating life. Of course, he and Jenny were... actually, they hadn't really defined what they were yet.

"I'm Betty," the dark-haired woman said, as he finished his routine.

"Orange," he replied with a friendly smile.

"Orange?" Betty asked. They always asked.

"When I was born, my mom was out of it on painkillers," he replied with a smile. "So the nurse asked my dad what he wanted...  on the birth certificate. He misheard her, and thought she was asking what he wanted to drink. So he said 'orange.'" 

"You just made that up," Betty laughed.

"I did," Orange admitted. 

"Well, Orange, I guess you really are a tall, refreshing drink," Betty said.

"I guess so," Orange laughed.

"Well, my tall refreshing drink, I just finished my workout," Betty said. "I was thinking of relaxing in the steam room... but I'm never very comfortable doing that when I'm all alone."

"You're not here with anyone?" Orange asked. 

"No," she said with a gentle purr. "Are you... with... anyone?"

"I... I am... dating someone right now," Orange stammered. Why did this woman made him feel like a stammering teen, one who was suddenly very aware of how tight workout pants were. "I mean, not right now... she's not here now... but I am... with... I mean..."

"Oh, aren't you gallant," Betty said brightly. "Well, then I think I'll feel quite safe with you, my gallant young knight. If you would like to join me."

"Umm... alright," Orange nodded. A deep breath seemed to clear his flustered feelings. "I promise I won't do anything ungentlemanly."

"Well, a girl can hope," Betty said with a teasing little grin.

-------------

"Yeah boss," Damien said. "I followed him to a gym... Luxe Health and Fitness on Gilbert. That's right boss."

Actually, Damien thought, it was a pretty nice gym. He wondered if he could afford the membership fees.

"Yeah, I got a name," Damien answered the boss's next question. "Get this... it's Orange Bailey-Moon. Yeah. No shit. That Orange Bailey-Moon." 

As if there could be two, he thought. What kind of person names their kid Orange, anyway? 

"Yeah, I'll keep an eye on him."

-------------

Actually, the steam room was turning out to be a good idea. At least his racing thoughts and worries had settled down. 

OK, Betty's flirtatious teasing was a little distracting, but maybe he'd needed a little distraction. Just a little. While he and Jenny hadn't really established what their relationship was, or what its boundaries were, he definitely felt that hooking up with flirty dark-haired women he met at the gym wasn't appropriate. Probably. 

He and Jenny should really have a talk. 

"Orange Bailey-Moon," a man's rough voice growled. 

Orange had distantly noted the door of the steam room opening and someone coming in. He hadn't paid much attention. It wasn't unusual for people to come in.

He turned to look at the man. Middle aged, looking a little soft over muscle, like an athlete who'd let himself go. Livid old burn scars covered his arms and chest. Another scar, maybe an old knife wound, traced a line over his eye. 

It actually took him a moment to recognize the man, the monster, he'd only seen in a picture. 

"I almost didn't believe it when Damien told me," George T chuckled coldly. "You know, you actually won me $500. That championship match against Foxbury. That was epic, boy."

"George T," Orange said, rising to confront the man.

"Corrie tell you my name?" George growled lightly. "That girl talks too much... but I put up with it 'cause she does better things with that pretty mouth."

The heat of Orange's sudden rage was stifling. He focused on his breathing, on keeping his cool. He'd been the biggest and strongest, ever since he'd been a teen. The need to keep his body from breaking things, hurting people, had taught him to be gentle, to stay in control. He called on all that control now. 

"Yeah, I heard you were asking about my Corrie," George continued. "I mean, I don't blame you. She's  a nice little piece of ass... and she's a real screamer. Don't you just love a screamer?"

"What do you want?" Orange said, focusing on each word carefully.

"The question is what do you want, boy?" the brutal gangster replied. "You're going around, asking about something that belongs to me. That's not right. Don't piss in my pool, boy."

"She's not a thing." Orange couldn't hold back the snarl.

"Right," George scoffed. "Your whole 'Yes means No, No means Yes' thing. I tell you something boy. You slap 'em hard enough, you can get any bitch to say yes."

"You should leave," Orange said softly.

"You threatening me, boy?" George actually laughed. "'Cause that would be a bad idea. Those steroids messing with your head? I bet they shriveled up your dick too. That your problem, boy? Can't get it up for your own girl but you think you can sniff around mine?

"I'm giving you a one-time free pass," George continued, turning his back on Orange and opening the door. "'Cause I owe you... for that championship game. Stay away from Corrie, and we won't have a problem. You come around pissing in my pool again, and we will. You get it, boy? Yeah, you get it."

Deep breaths, Orange thought. Keep control.

"I'm sorry, Betty," Orange said at last. "I need to go. Can I walk you to your car, or is there someone you can call? I don't think he'll bother you, but..."

"Don't you worry about me, my white knight," Betty purred. "I can take care of myself... but if it will make you feel better, I can call my boys to look after me. I was hoping to ask you meet me tonight. To see about that drink... but no. Looks like you have a damsel to rescue. Good luck, my white knight. I'll be cheering for you."