Page 70 of Cold Hard Cash

Cold’s mother, Suzanne.

She was beautiful.

The lilies were the same kind as those scattered throughout the house, Jimmy realized with a small smile. He also noticed one of the concert posters hanging up was hers, advertising a show from the early seventies. It was bright and colorful, a heavily stylized art nouveau image of Suzanne singing.

Jimmy was sad realizing that these images might be the only things Cold had of his mother to remember her by. While Jimmy deeply mourned the loss of his own mother, he had a few years worth of good memories to treasure.

Cold had but a single Polaroid and a poster.

After heading downstairs, Jimmy found Jerry the limo driver and part-time chef diligently cooking breakfast in the kitchen, and there was no sign of Rowena. When Jimmy inquired, Jerry politely informed him that she was recovering from last evening’s celebratory activities.

“Crap, I gave her my house key.” Jimmy groaned. “I really need to go home.”

“Ahem, monsieur.” Jerry reached into his pocket and held up the key to Jimmy’s apartment.

“Jerry! You really are amazing.”

“Oui.” Jerry chuckled heartily and winked, offering Jimmy a full plate of fried eggs and sausage.

Jimmy ate every bite before Jerry graciously gave him a ride back home. He was so happy to be in his own apartment. It was easy to get carried away in a fantasy when he was with Cold. His home wasn’t fancy and new, but it was his. It was grounding. It helped remind him that he had a life beyond his deal with Cold. He had an innocent father in prison he needed to free, bills to pay, and a college education to finish.

He had a life.

But when he was with Cold, all of that faded away. He became a slave to that smooth voice, and Cold’s velvet words were an incantation designed to summon Jimmy’s most intimate self. The hint of danger made it even more titillating, and Jimmy couldn’t deny the thrill it gave him.

Deeper than the superficial carnal pleasures, their time together gave Jimmy a purpose, and it was one he could actually fulfill. He hadn’t been successful at freeing his father or getting a degree, but with Cold, all of his shortcomings about being a failure left him. Wrapped up in Cold’s seductive tones, he was always victorious.

He was always good.

Jimmy puttered around his apartment, changing out of his rumpled tux and into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. He tried to keep busy, straightening up and doing the few dishes he had left behind. He carried his mother’s jewelry box into his bedroom, placing it reverently in the top drawer of his dresser. He laughed when he found his new socks and underwear neatly folded in his drawers already.

Jerry was one of a kind.

Looking through his closet, Jimmy was amazed at how full it was. Everything they had purchased hung neatly in plastic from the dry cleaner’s, and his new shoes were lined up together beneath.

Jimmy thumbed through the new clothing, wondering if he should get rid of some of his old clothes. Some of it was pretty terrible, but he didn’t want to get too spoiled with his current lifestyle.

It was temporary, he knew. Unless he managed to woo Boss Cold before the last night of their arrangement, he would probably end up selling most of those nice clothes and be right back in rags again.

Jimmy didn’t want to think that way, deciding to stay positive and snatch some of his old clothes from the rack. He threw them behind him, building a pile on the floor to donate.

“Hellooo!” Rowena’s musical voice sang out. She strolled into his bedroom grinning, her giant purse under her arm.

“H-hey! Um,” Jimmy stammered in surprise. “How did you get in here?”

“Uh, duh.” Rowena rolled her eyes. “I had a copy of your key made. Now, aw, look at you. Had a good night, huh?”

Jimmy pressed his hands over his face as if he could hide the blush coloring his cheeks. “It was fine.”

“Mm. Thirdsies told me you and Roddy were having a lovely time making sweet music together. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Dario what you guys did to his piano, but he’s gonna find out.”

Jimmy’s face reddened even more. “Oh my God.”

After arching an eyebrow at the clothing scattered across the floor, Rowena squealed excitedly, “Oh my God is right. Are we finally having a bonfire?”

“No. I’m just, you know, clearing out some stuff. I’m going to donate them.”

“Jimmy,” Rowena said slowly before taking a deep, cleansing breath. “Homeless people wouldn’t use your nasty clothes to wipe their asses with. Burn it. Put those poor rags out of their misery.”