Indulgence. I suppose that’s as good a term as any. Though something about the way she dismisses it bothers me.
“If it makes you feel better, I was saying that I’m not sure if it’s her I want or the idea of her.”
I pause to consider my thoughts.
The moonshine in front of me beckons and I lift it to take a sip. Strong but good.
“This job, this lifestyle, even my apartment. It’s not what I came from. My dad is a mechanic. My mother was mostly a stay-at-home mom, taking occasional odd jobs to help out with Christmas and birthdays. My brothers and sisters? A few have gone to college but none of them make nearly as much as I do. I suppose my youngest sister, Carina, is most like me. She’s at Columbia now. She’ll do well, probably with less baggage than I carry.”
I realize I’m rambling and take another, longer sip.
“My point is, early on, I realized that I could do something big with my life. My parents only encouraged it, my teachers even more. I went to the kind of high school where most boys end up working alongside their dads at the local auto shop or hardware store or construction gig. A lot of cops and firemen. The idea of going to Columbia University, let alone Harvard Law? I might as well a considered becomin’ a astronaut or the president.”
I can hear my Jersey accent coming through, eased along by the influence of moonshine and Honey.
Normally, I’d be horrified at letting it slip. That was one of the first things I worked on in an attempt to transform myself.
I can still remember how casually I was mocked freshman year of college by a handful of guys who were perfect clones of Todd, Vaughn, and Andrew.
My home-brewed method of dealing with it via my fists like I did back in high school was no longer an acceptable solution.
I knew I was in an alien environment where I had to struggle to find my footing, making me an easy target for attack, at least until I learned to use my words as a weapon. By then, the damage had been done.
Old wounds cut the deepest, and take the longest to heal.
Honey smiles, as though reading my thoughts. “You really are a Jersey boy, aren’t you? It makes you so much more interesting.” She leans in to pierce me with those Bambi brown eyes, so hypnotizing. “Let me guess, you felt you had to transform yourself into the new you; into Jesse.”
“In a way, yeah.” New Jersey again. Right now, I don’t give a damn.
It feels right.
“I always knew there was something fascinating underneath all those business suits. Why do you think I call you Clark Kent? I did from the first day I met you.”
My mouth crooks into a half-grin. “Really?”
She laughs and nods. “Which is all the more fitting since he was Superman’s fake persona to disguise the real person underneath.”
My smile slowly fades. “I doubt Superman would put all his talent into saving multi-billion-dollar corporations another nine figures.”
I drown that thought with another sip of moonshine. It’s beginning to go down a lot more smoothly.
Honey grabs my attention again. “You shouldn’t feel like a fraud, you know. What you’re doing isn’t so terrible. I’m the very personification of a remade image. My entire catalog of idols consists of women who have transformed themselves.”
My eyes drop to the pink robe, then survey the room around her.
Honey laughs as though I’ve hit BINGO.
“Coco Chanel was sent to an orphanage by her father and purposely shed her humble beginnings to create a new identity. Beyoncé started off singing in church, now she’s a superstar; Sasha Fierce was absolutely an alter ego. Josephine Baker, my personal idol, was a poor girl from St. Louis who got her start dancing on street corners. She became the crème de la crème of France, or rather the chocolat du chocolat.” That forces a smile to my lips, matching the one on Honey’s face. “She’s probably the one I relate to most. But of course the queen of them all can’t be denied.”
She pauses and it takes me a moment to realize she’s being dramatic. I must admit, she has drawn my curiosity. “Who?”
“Dolly Parton.”
I wouldn’t have expected that one.
“She’s a southern gal like me, from a big family. She’s passionate about reading which I can obviously get behind.” Honey nods toward her bookcase. “But what really shot her to the top of my list was the story of how she transformed herself.” Honey leans in conspiratorially smiling. “I saw it in an interview. She mirrored herself after the town trollop.”
I blink twice.
Honey laughs at my reaction, obviously finding it hilarious. “Oh, the look on your face. But it’s true, and she’s certainly used it to her advantage. Most people, men especially, I have to say, are suckers for an overly dolled-up gal with a southern accent. Why do you think I called myself Honey? It rolls off the tongue so perfectly, especially when it’s wrapped in pure Georgia sugah.”
I chuckle. She’s right, it does have a stimulating effect on the ears. Wit and charm. “Yous definitely got it, sweetheart.”
She tilts her head to consider me. “You know, I’m likin’ the Jersey boy schtick, Giuseppe. It serves you well.”
I lift my glass and give her a wry grin. “Only when in the company of an overly dolled-up southern gal.”
Honey laughs again, and lifts her glass in salute.
Good grief, are we actually bantering?
I must really be drunk.
I take another sip.
“So then what is ya real name, Miss Dewberry?” I ask.
“Albertha Dixon,” she says with a wrinkle of disapproval in her brow.
I nod, judiciously keeping my mouth shut. It’s not the worst name in the world.
Honey laughs and slaps my shoulder. “Oh stop, we both know it’s terrible. I love my parents to
