A BWWM erotic short story adapted from the classic fairytale, Rumpelstiltskin.
***
"Tomorrow? But there's no way I can have the money by then." Tasha bit her lower lip. The last thing she wanted was to break out in tears over the phone.
"I really hate to put you in this position, Tasha. I admire your business and want to help you out in any way I can, but you're three months behind on the rent. And I can't stay on top of my wife's hospital bills without this income." Henry was genuinely apologetic and she felt a twinge of guilt at having forced him into this situation.
It wasn't his fault that she hadn't had steady business in over a month. "How's she doing?"
"Her spirits are high, which is more than we could ask for." He sounded tired but hopeful.
Mrs. Sutter had been in and out of the hospital since Tasha signed her lease almost a year ago. "I'll keep her in my prayers." Prayers were about all she had to offer at this point.
Tasha's savings account was down to a few hundred dollars. She'd spent the majority on rent and renovations on her shop, The Dog's Bow Wow. The tens of thousands of dollars she'd saved over her previous career as a corporate lawyer had vanished in a matter of months. And now she would lose the shop she'd poured the last of her blood, sweat, and tears into.
"I can give you until midnight tomorrow, but after that..."
"I won't let you down, Henry. I'll figure something out." She wished him a good night, disconnecting the call in resignation. Where would she get thousands of dollars in less than thirty hours?
Asking her mother for money wasn't an option. The judge had made it crystal clear what she'd thought of Tasha's "impulsive" actions, though she'd known her daughter's plans from the very beginning. Leaving a lucrative career in law to open a dog grooming spa had led her mother to suspect Tasha was suffering from a mental breakdown. She'd even enlisted a close family friend - a psychiatrist - to stage an intervention of sorts with her immediate family. In defense of her decision, Tasha had boasted she'd be in the black within a year and now here she was, almost a year later, on the verge of losing it all.
She looked around the small shop for anything she might be able to sell. Her business was a modest storefront operation in an upscale neighborhood, renovated to give it a modern and sleek feel. The stainless steel washing tubs against the walls and two electric-powered grooming tables occupied the majority of the space. Getting a good price for the cumbersome equipment on such short notice would be nearly impossible. The titanium shears she'd invested in - all in different sizes, with their own unique purpose - might get her close to the funds she needed, but she couldn't bring herself to part with them. She'd purchased the first pair on the day she'd decided she would go into business for herself. She collected the others over time, each purchase bringing her a step closer to realizing her dream. The utter lack of success, however, had come as a sobering realization.
Her business plan had been sound - or so she'd thought. She'd expected to tap into the dog show circuit and secure regular appointments with breeders who were willing to pay higher prices for haircuts tailored specifically to their dogs. She'd apprenticed with one of the best groomers in the country, developing a new style that had even impressed her teacher. She moved onto her new career with such high hopes.
But then the customers never came. The first couple of months, she had a steady stream of appointments. But that had been because of the heavy marketing she'd invested in. She'd hoped word-of-mouth would keep the momentum going, but in the end, her client base dwindled. She only had a handful of clients coming once a month, and that wasn't enough to even cover the rent on the shop. And now her reckoning had arrived.
She flipped the door sign from
Open
to
Closed
and shut off the lights. There was no need to clean, as it had been another drearily uneventful day with no appointments or walk-ins. The meticulously clean and utterly empty shop made her feel anything but hopeful. She grabbed her things and headed out.
As she locked the front door, a black streak darted across her feet. "Oh!" Tasha jumped back.
"Meow," she heard from directly behind her. She spun around to find a black cat with the clearest blue eyes staring back up at her. He sat on his haunches with an elegance unique to cats and began cleaning his left paw with his little pink tongue.
"If you were trying to give me bad luck," she said, squatting down, "it's too late. I'm already cursed." She reached out to pet the cat and it stepped forward, rubbing its jaw against her hand.
Tasha's love for animals naturally extended to cats. The enigmatic, self-grooming creatures were so different from the fun-loving dogs she'd grown up with. Cat videos were her go-to for de-stressing after a rough day.
The cat placed its front paws on her knee and she couldn't help but pull it into her lap. It purred in triumph as she gave it a good petting. Though it lacked a collar or ID tags, its fur was clean and soft, unlike the stray cats that roamed her neighborhood. It snuggled closer, licking her hand with its sandpaper tongue.
"You're a sweetheart, aren't you?" It looked up at her with those hypnotic eyes again. She'd never seen such clear blue eyes in a cat, especially one with a jet black coat. "Ok, that's all I've got for tonight." The cat meowed in protest as she set it back down on the ground, giving it one last stroke before walking over to her car.
Some invisible force tugged at her, forcing her to look back. It sat there staring at her. It looked so alone in the light of the street lamps, its eyes shining with the intensity of moonlight. The meow it gave this time was sad and demanding, bordering on a whine.
Apparently, she wasn't the only one in need of rescuing.
#
Back at her condo, the cat played with a wide strip of red ribbon, pouncing and biting at the silky strip. She'd saved it from one of the gifts she'd received at her going-away party. The memory of her last day at the law firm was bittersweet. Everyone had wished her well and had such high hopes for her. Now, she'd have to suffer the humiliation of begging her boss to take her back.
Tasha dumped a can of tuna into a bowl with blue and orange fish painted on the white ceramic. She'd made in it in a high school pottery class and it had somehow survived all through college and her adulthood. It seemed appropriate for a cat. The impish creature was her guest after all.
She grabbed her own dinner for the night - a small pot of spaghetti with homemade marinara sauce - and headed into the living room. She found the cat taking a break from its play, lounging in her usual spot on the sofa. Tasha placed the bowl of tuna on the floor next to the couch.
"Dinner time, kitty." She still had no clue if it was male or female. How did you tell with a cat? Did it even matter? The cat looked at the food and then back at her, its blue eyes narrowed in offense.
"Fine, don't eat it," she huffed, not in the mood to negotiate with a cat. "That's my seat." She nudged it out of her spot, receiving an angry meow in return. She plopped down, sinking into the spot that naturally conformed to the contours of her body and covered her legs with a throw. She was home, safe from the disappointments of the outside world.
The cat climbed into her lap, turning in a tight circle before settling down in a little ball. It purred with warm contentment.
She shook her head and clicked on the TV. Selecting a Korean drama to watch, she dug into her dinner, awkwardly balancing the pot above the cat's head. She needed to laugh, cry, scream - anything to dislodge this deep-seated dread.
An entire bottle of wine later, Tasha sobbed as the female lead of the drama broke up with her true love. Life was so unfair. She was reminded of her own problems. If she'd only had the capital or the connections, everything might've turned out differently.
Woulda, shoulda, coulda
. Her mother's authoritative voice rang in her mind. Judge Harris was a winner. She repelled failure with the force of a two-ton magnet. The only imperfect thing in her life was the daughter who'd quit her job in the prime of her career to chase a fleeting dream.
The frustration, anxiety, and genuine fear that she'd tucked away in the name of progress, came bubbling to the surface. She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, sniffling through the deluge of emotion.
A sudden roughness against her hand startled her. The cat was licking away the tears from her hand. The gentle action only made her tears flow stronger. In place of the woman she'd once been - tough, formidable, confident - was a sopping mess, pitied by a rescue cat.
Hope was no longer in her vocabulary. She'd lose the shop and her childhood dream along with it. "I wish I could just start over." Her heart squeezed at the frustration and hopelessness of it all.
