Chapter 3

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Bernadette Austen made cookies almost every afternoon since she started her first semester of the College Restaurateur Program. It relieved her stress. This fall, she was taking a full course load of restaurant management courses and cooking technique classes, plus working at one of the several the college-owned coffee shops for her work-study scholarship. Her roommates arrived home and practically mugged her for the treats. She lived in a boarding house with four other students to save on her living expenses, because it was a fourth of the dormitory charges.

At first, she made them meals at least once a day, but the longer the semester went on, the more she worked, and the harder it became to find time to cook for her housemates. Only one of them really appreciated it, she always did the dishes and cleaned the kitchen when Bernie cooked. Ruth also always said thank you when Bernie brought food home.

"I knew you made cookies! The moment I got out of the car, I smelled them," Ruth giggled.

"They are a recipe my grandmum taught me. I'm driving home for the weekend, my sister is getting out of jail," Bernie said happily.

"I can't believe you have a sister in jail," Lindsey said judgmentally, but she took a cookie too.

Ruth rolled her eyes behind their anorexic roommate and motioned she would throw up. When Lindsey turned, Ruth was chewing on her cookie innocently. Bernie turned away to keep from laughing at the social work major's mocking of their fashion design roommate.

"So, your mom and grandmum were good cooks?" Ruth asked changing the subject.

"Grandmum taught me how to cook when I was eight. Something my mother would never do, cooking was beneath her. My snobby mom wouldn't let me cook when we did live with her."

Bernie scowled at the memories of Jane. "She always wanted to eat out and if I cooked, she would take two bites then throw the rest away. I hated that about my mother, she was always so wasteful."

"But you turned out sweet," Lindsey said.

"Thanks to my grandmum," Bernie pointed out, "I gotta shower and go to work. One more each. Those are for the kiosk." She scolded as Ruth hovered predatorily over the pans.

Bernie didn't have to worry about Lindsey eating too many or even more than one, but Ruth was a cookie monster. She was glad her manager let her sell her pastries; she needed the extra money.

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It was a cool November day outside. A nervous Bernadette waited patiently with her Grandmum Emma for Beatrix to come out. Bernie was surprised at how thin and fierce her petite sister looked. Everything about her was changed. They hugged and got in the car and when Grandmum Emma lit a cigarette, Trixie took it and smoked it like she had done it all her life.

"Thanks, Grandmum."

"Beatrix, you shouldn't smoke," Bernie scolded but her sister just threw back her head and laughed.

"I shouldn't do a lot of things, but I have since I was 13, and it's the only things I'm good for.... And don't call me Beatrix, I'm not one hundred years old. Trix or Trixie or nothing." Her sister's voice held a hard edge.

"Girls, don't fight," Emma scolded.

Once they were home, Bernie began making dinner. She made all her sister's favorites, but an hour later, Trixie came downstairs wearing a club dress under a knee-length coat. She looked at the food and left without taking a single bite. Bernie and her Grandmum ate in silence, then Bernie packed the leftovers away, so Trixie could have them when she returned, if she wanted them.

The whole evening made Bernie want to cry.

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Sexual content warning

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Trixie rode the bus straight to a club where she knew a doorman who would let her in for the right attention, and a bartender who was wrapped around her finger. She walked past all those in line and around to the VIP entrance of Club Holo. She flashed Kurt her flirtiest smile.

He grinned at her as he unclipped the rope. "Well... well... If it isn't Trixie the fox. Where have you been 'cause little K hasn't had any strawberry cream pie for months?"

She stepped through the door, narrowing her eyes seductively as she dropped her coat slowly to reveal a skintight latex dress which shimmered like an iridescent disco ball. He took the coat and put it on a hook as he looked her up and down like a starving animal eyeing fresh meat. She smirked, knowing what he wanted because it was the same thing she wanted tonight. Kurt looked good in his silk shirt and leather pants, but not as good as she knew Max would look. She reached up and undid an extra button on Kurt's shirt as she pressed against him.

Her voice was husky, "I've been on ice, and haven't had a creamcicle in months." He laughed, but she cut him off with a fiery kiss then whispered into his ear. "I'm serious, Kurt. A girl has needs, needs that haven't been met in a long time but I'm free now. Celebrate with me?"

Caught off guard, he leaned away, "Seriously Trix, where were you?"

"In jail," she said casually, flicking his butane lighter open to light a cigarette she took from his pocket.

"Damnit, Trixie, I'm still on probation, if they find out I let you in..."

Trixie blew a smoke ring and put the cigarette in his mouth, so he would shut up. She purred, "No one will find out and I need you, Kurt. Meet me in the storeroom later."

He was caught between her sultry ocean blue eyes and his hardened desire to again have the best sex he knew. He swallowed, pulling the cigarette from his lips. "Trixie, if we're caught... I'll go back to jail."

"So will I, but we won't be," Trixie promised, then she sucked at the cigarette he held.

As she walked toward the lights and music she called over his shoulder, "And send me your bartender friend to limber

me up... Marx- something isn't it? Like I said, it's been a long time."

She flubbed Max's name on purpose, because Kurt needed to believe he was the important one to her, just like he needed to watch. He liked it hard to make up for his size.

Kurt nodded as she sashayed away, breathing out, "Dammnn." He knew Trixie liked sex a lot, but for the way he liked it, he needed someone to get her warmed up and loosened up so he could slam her hard enough to make her scream and it wouldn't hurt to watch. Max was a gorgeously muscled guy who was sadly too straight for Kurt to be happy about.

Going back out to the VIP line, Kurt took a bachelorette party to room four. He ordered the waitress to bring pitchers of mango-ritas and Cuervo shots from the main bar, but to Max, Kurt lied and said they wanted champagne, knowing there wasn't any because the rain delayed their delivery a day. Max had a little surprise waiting for him because what Trixie wanted, Trixie got, so Kurt could have what he wanted later.

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The VIP bartender cursed under his breath as Kurt ordered, "Max! Room four wants champagne."

Max hated bartending, hated Club Holo with its loud music and strobing lights, hated that his uniform made him look like a male stripper and got him groped constantly, but the tips paid the bills on his studio, for time with models, and bought his art supplies; everything not covered by his grants.

"Tell the boss if I can't find a few bottles, I'll have to go to the liquor store," Max called out and Kurt waved his hand over his head as he walked back to the VIP entrance.

Punching in the code for the storeroom, Max was shocked to see a familiar strawberry blonde sitting on a crate drinking vodka from a bottle. He closed the room quickly, but the bass still thumped through the walls.

Trixie practically purred his name, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "Hello Max, I missed you." She shifted, revealing she was wearing crotchless underwear.

He dragged his eyes back to her face, she was years younger than him, the same age as his younger brother, but he was addicted to her, she was his muse. "You're out of jail?"

"Yep, and I came to see you first. Did you miss me, or did you find a new muse?" She pretend-pouted, crossing her legs.

"Never," Max breathed out, his manhood was already pressing painfully against his leather pants.

Trixie smirked and walked toward him with a seductive sway. She stopped just in front of him, dropping to her knees and unfastening his uniform pants. He groaned at her touch when she pulled him free and licked his length, humming as she murmured. "Mmmmm, my favorite cocktail."

His hips bucked as he grabbed onto the shelves for support, behind him the door opened and closed. Max knew it was Kurt coming in to watch. Trixie liked to be watched, and whatever she wanted, she got, because the sex was the best he ever had. Max hated sharing her, but she was right, she was too much for one guy.

Half an hour later, Max was driving to the liquor store on the slick road, feeling sated and sleepy from being with Trixie. Now, it was Kurt's turn, and since they were on a time limit to get back to the club, Kurt and Trixie were having sex in the back of the Club-Owned Towncar. The dark tinted windows hid them from all but Max. He tiredly admitted there was something thrilling to watching his muse working her

seductive magic on another man, even if it was Kurt. Max couldn't help his yawn or his hard-on as Trixie cried out in pleasure and Kurt swore. She climbed half over the seat, snagging her coat, as she pressed a seductive kiss on his neck.

She slipped her arms into her coat. "Drop me by my house?"

"Sure, my muse." He pecked her on the cheek.

"Thanks, Max," she whispered in his ear before gasping in surprise then giggling as Kurt pulled her onto his lap.

"I'm not done with you yet," Kurt announced, "You promised me pie if you got a creamcicle. Damn, I love these crotchless panties."

She squealed with laughter then groaned as he flattened her on the backseat and began licking her sex between the lace folds. Max tipped his head and adjusted the mirror to try to get a better angle. While he was distracted, they blew through a stop light and the world stopped with the sound of Trixie's scream and crushing metal.

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"Do you have the Red Hatters tomorrow?" Bernie asked as Emma took off her oxygen canula and lit a cigarette. Trixie had been gone almost an hour and Bernie didn't want to think about where she went or what she was doing.

"Yes, at the Yacht Club Marina. Would you like to come? I have been bragging to all my girls about how my own personal chef jumped ahead a whole year in school and is going to take the restaurant world like a steam train," Emma bragged. "They all love you like their own."

"Aww Grandmum... I'm just a student."

"I know but you have talent, my girl." Emma was quiet for a moment, slowly savoring her cigarette. "I'm sorry about tonight, and about Beatrix. If I had just taken you both from Jane sooner. I just didn't think it was my place to tell her how to raise you girls after the poor job I did raising her."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, I'm sorry... for everything you went through, because I was a poor excuse for a mum," Emma declared regretfully.

"Grandmum, you were seventy-seven when she died. You took us in, so we wouldn't go into foster care, you did an amazing job. It isn't your fault, Jane's boyfriend hurt us. It isn't your fault Trixie wants to be just like her. She doesn't remember what Jane was really like."

Bernadette sat on the footstool in front of her grandmother and held her hands. "All those times we stayed with you were my happy memories. When I tell my roommates about my childhood, I tell them about you."

Tears ran down both their faces, but before more could be said, the phone rang. Bernie got up to answer it and her face paled. Hanging up the phone, she turned and announced in a shocked voice, "Trixie's been in a car accident, she was a passenger, but they think the driver was drunk."

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Trixie's hand flailed around seeking the source of a sound the way she often slapped her alarm clock. Someone caught her arm.

"Don't move, I'll get the doctor." Bernie said softly.

Moments later, Trixie could smell antiseptic and old man. He turned her head slowly toward him. A bright light flashed in her eyes as the doctor held her eyelids open.

"She's okay?" Bernie squeezed her hand with a tight smile and the doctor mumbled something Trixie didn't understand, then left.

Trixie tried to smile back; she could feel the bruises on her face, so she frowned instead. "How did I get here?"

"The guy who was driving wrecked, he's still in surgery." Bernie explained softly. "You were thrown into the backseat."

Trixie laid there trying to remember. She knew she had gone to Club Holo knowing that the VIP doorman would let her in, even though she was underaged.

She seduced Max in the storeroom while the doorman watched. She wasn't there an hour before leaving with them to go buy champagne for the club. Kurt was with her in the backseat, and they were having sex while Max drove and watched in the mirror.

They crashed and she remembered nothing after. She wondered where Kurt went. She knew he would have left them rather than go back to jail for being in a car accident with a underaged drunk girl. She worried about Max, but she felt like crap too.

"I'm thirsty," Trixie croaked out, her throat was scratchy like she had been eating sand.

Bernie held a straw to her lips and Trixie drank greedily, then she reached up, a wad of gauze met her fingertips. Underneath, she had a giant goose egg. One eye was half-swollen shut, and she could feel her lips were swollen too. Her neck hurt but she didn't turn her head. The doctor came back a few minutes later with her discharge papers and a nurse.

"You may go home, Miss Austen. You are a very lucky girl that your injuries were not worse, but you do have a concussion, so remember to follow all the protocols on this sheet, and wear your seatbelt next time," the doctor said in a droll tone and the nurse unhooked the heart monitor and her I.V. then pulled out the needle.

Bernie gave her hand another quick squeeze. "I'll get the car and your other coat," then she left.

A man in a suit came in, Trixie immediately knew he was a cop and she realized she would have to lie or go back to jail for underaged drinking.

"Beatrix, please tell me what you remember."

"Uh, I went to the club to dance and meet some friends. I got a sprite from the bar... I think... then I was here." She moaned as she tried to sit up, hoping to get sympathy from him and that he would stop asking her questions.

"And you don't remember leaving with anyone?" the cop asked.

She lied, in a weak, frail voice, "N-no..."

"What about getting into a car with the bartender Max Dregger?"

"Was Max driving me?" She pretended to be confused.

"Miss Austen, we think you may have been date raped. Can we run a rape kit on you?" He asked with gentle insistence. "The bartender..."

"Max would never hurt me. Maybe he was taking me home, he has before," Trixie insisted.

"Are you sure he wouldn't make you do anything that maybe you wouldn't want him to do for giving you alcohol?" The detective eased out the question.

"Yes... I mean, no, I don't think so. I want to go home." She insisted as Bernie came back in with her other coat.

"Is there a problem?" Bernie demanded.

"Bernie, I want to go home now." Trixie demanded. She realized she was lucky to be alive and allowed to leave already. It was a foolish stunt. She looked at the officer, "I wasn't at the club very long, I'm sure there wasn't time for anyone to rape me. Max probably saw someone slip something in my sprite and offered to drive me home."

"Max?" Bernie asked.

"Dregger," Trixie answered, then to the officer. "He is a nice guy. Is he okay?"

"I don't know he is still in surgery. Are you sure he didn't do anything to you?"

"Max wouldn't hurt her, we go to school with his brother, Malcolm." Bernie nodded, adding, "She was barely gone an hour when they called. If it weren't for Max driving her home, it might have happened later, but he and the accident saved her."

Trixie slipped on her coat, picked up the bag filled with her bloody clothes, and leaned on her sister. "I was only going for a little while Bernadette was making my favorites for dinner."

"I put them in the fridge," her sister smiled, not realizing her honest concern was selling Trixie's deceit. "Can I take her home?"

"Fine. You can go. But next time, be careful what you drink, Miss Austen." The officer warned.

"Um, sure. I will, I mean." Trixie promised and then leaned against Bernie as they left.

"I'm so glad you're okay and nothing worse happened." Bernie declared in a relieved voice.

"Yeah, me too," Trixie added, thinking she needed to be more careful, no more sex in moving cars.

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Bernie left for the university midweek but came back the next weekend and spent two days hovering over Trixie before she went back. Trixie was under doctor's orders to rest for two weeks, but she had other plans, plans to salvage her reputation and the confidence of her sister and grandmum.

On the second weekend, Trixie asked Bernie to help her pack all her party girl things and move them to the attic. Bernie then helped her fill out a job application, for which she was grateful because she had no idea what she would need to say. Bernie taught her how to use the old-fashioned espresso machine at the Sunflower and wrote her out a recipe book. On Tuesday, Trixie had an interview at a coffee kiosk.

Trixie needed to have a job as part of her parole and since she was too young to work as a bartender, she decided to work as a barista, a lingerie barista. But what Bernie didn't know about Trixie's future job, wouldn't worry her.

They made espressos and lattés for hours then Bernie's stomach growled and Trixie's followed suit, they looked at each other and started laughing. Bernie suggested they find a place for a late lunch before she headed back to college. She felt reassured Trixie had finally given up her wild child ways.

Less worried as she drove, Bernie knew she wouldn't be home again until Christmas day and then only for the five days after because she had a chance to work for a restauranteur which catered parties over the holidays as a barista and baker. It was income she needed while the university hospital coffee kiosk was closed for the week between Christmas and New Year's. She managed to get her manager Craig to let her keep it open for the majority of break, so she could bank her tips for the next semester's expenses. She was determined to make it through college without touching the money her grandmum offered. Bernie knew she would need every cent to start her café after graduation.