Devil's Contract
A Peek Into Their Childhood
Bonus Content By Alta Hensley and Livia Grant
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Katja - Five Years Old
There’s a small box sitting on my bedside table when I wake up. I jump out of bed, excited to open my present, except it isn’t wrapped in paper like on Christmas morning or my birthday.
And there’s no card.
I take the top of the box off, ripping through the tissue paper inside until I uncover the mystery gift.
Tears fill my eyes, and a now familiar pain makes my tummy hurt. In a rush, the bad memories from the last few weeks come back.
I’ve had so many firsts this past week.
My first funeral.
My first time seeing Daddy cry.
The first time I had to wear all black clothes.
I don’t like black, but Daddy says that’s what people do when someone they love dies. I tried to tell him Mommy wouldn’t like it. She doesn’t like that color. She always wears pinks, and purples, and reds.
But Mommy isn’t here anymore.
I know my nanny, Jessica, made the new black clothes I find in the box, all miniature versions of my own meant to put on my Barbie.
But Barbie doesn’t like to wear black either.
“Oh good, you’re awake. I see you got the gift Jessica left for you,” Daddy says from just inside my bedroom door.
“I don’t like black,” I remind him, pouting.
“I know, sweetie, and I promise you don’t have to wear your new black clothes in the penthouse. Only when we leave home. Like… this morning.”
More bad news. I don’t want to go anywhere or see anyone.
I just want my Mommy.
“You said once we finished the funeral that we could stay home.”
“I know, but I still need to take care of The Whitney, don’t I?” he asks, not even giving me enough time to answer before adding, “I have an important business meeting up at The Rooftop restaurant. Let’s get you dressed. I’m sure Chef will make you the Mickey Mouse pancakes you love.”
I had to hear Daddy wrong.
“Mommy says I’m not allowed to go up to The Rooftop. It’s off-limits to little girls.”
I watch Daddy’s face get really sad and realize that always happens when I talk about Mommy now.
“Your Mommy was a smart lady and I’m sure she wouldn’t be happy that I’m taking you there for breakfast this morning, but Jessica is visiting her family for the next two days, so that means you need to come with Daddy for Sunday brunch. It will be alright. I promise.”
“Do I really have to wear the stupid black dress?”
Daddy hesitates, but finally agrees. “Since we’re staying in The Whitney, you can wear whatever you want to the restaurant, princess.”
I’m not sure if it’s because I get to wear my favorite Cinderella gown or if it’s because he called me his princess, but I feel better already.
Even though I’m with my father, I still feel naughty stepping into the elevator, knowing we are going to the only place in the hotel higher than our penthouse. It’s also the only place in the entire building off-limits to me… until today.
Mommy made sure to teach me my letters and numbers. I can even read a lot of words, and that’s how I know how secret The Rooftop is. There is no button to push to get there. No sign explaining how to get to the restaurant Daddy told me has the best view in the city. Daddy even has to use a special key that looks like a fancy pen to make the elevator go up.
When the doors slide open, a part of me is excited to explore the forbidden, so when we walk into a huge open room the size of our entire penthouse, I can’t help but be disappointed.
It doesn’t look very different from all the other restaurants in The Whitney, at least not at first.
There are tables and booths—a long bar with lots of bottles filled with things I’m not old enough to drink yet.
But as Daddy weaves us through the half-filled tables, nodding at the guests as he goes, I start to notice what isn’t at The Rooftop.
There are no kids… or mommies. In fact, I don’t see a single lady unless you count the one on her hands and knees next to a table with three scary looking men seated at it.
She must have lost something on the floor.
Unlike the other restaurants where we eat most of our meals, I don’t recognize any of the waiters up here. They don’t even have on the same kind of uniforms.
The farther into the room we go, the harder I squeeze Daddy’s hand.
A bald man with lots of tattoos smiles at me, but I look away.
I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.
Daddy finally stops when we get to the very last table in the corner. It’s one of those round booths that Mommy always makes me scoot in first, so she doesn’t mess up her dress.
Finally, there are people I recognize.
“Hi Dex!” I call to my friend, the only other kid that lives in The Whitney like me.
Dex taught me to play Uno last year. I wanted to play Chutes and Ladders, but he said that was a baby game.
Daddy waves his arm to have me scoot into the booth ahead of him. Once I’m next to Dex, I ask, “Did you bring the Uno cards with you?”
“Why would I do that? Girls aren’t supposed to be allowed up here,” he says, sounding kinda mean.
“Well, my daddy says it’s alright and he’s in charge.”
“Not up here he’s not. My dad runs The Rooftop.” He makes a funny face at me that makes me feel anxious.
“You’re wrong! My family owns this whole building!”
“You’re just a baby. What do you know?” he says.
“Dexter Andrew. Enough,” his dad growls.
I look down at my hands in my lap, picking at a loose string on my Cinderella dress.
Dex’s father scares me. He always seems so mad at everyone. Mommy told me it was because he was just lonely after Dex’s mom moved away, but that makes me even more afraid.
Now that my mommy is gone, will my daddy start getting angry like Mr. Cohen?
I don’t have time to worry about it because Mr. X arrives and he’s carrying a, “Baby!” I shout.
“Katja, no yelling young lady,” my daddy admonishes.
I’m too excited to let it deter me. “Can I hold the baby?” I ask boldly.
Mr. X looks across the round table at me and only then do I regret asking. Dex’s father seems like Santa Clause compared to Mr. X. Mommy told me to never go anywhere with that man, so when he sits down at our table and reaches over to hand me the sleeping baby, I’m so torn.
Mommy would never allow this. I glance at Daddy for permission. His face looks red, but he finally nods.
I reach out and Mr. X almost throws the baby into my arms. He—at least I think it’s a he because he’s wrapped in a blue blanket—is so much heavier than my American Girl doll, Molly. I rest him on my lap and hold his head up like Jessica taught me with my dolls.
The baby makes funny faces while he sleeps. I’m watching him so closely I’m not paying much attention until Mr. X raises his voice so loud, I can’t help but listen.
“…bitch tried to hide him from me. I knew something was up when she left town without a word last year, but Johnny saw her last week at her father’s butcher shop in Queens. She was pushing a stroller and gave him some song and dance about taking a job as a nanny, but I had Quido dig into it for me. All this time, I’ve had a son and didn’t even know it.”
Daddy glances at me, and I can tell he is nervous, but he doesn’t say anything so neither do I, until my question just bursts out. “What’s his name?”
“The bitch—” Mr. X stops mid-sentence, looks at my daddy and says, “Sorry, I’m not used to having kids around.”
I’ve heard bad words before. Mommy and Daddy use them sometimes when they have an argument, and once I even heard Mr. Cohen use a word that started with an f and Mommy yelled at him. When I asked Mommy what it meant, she said to mind my own business and never use that word.
“Anyway, his mother named him Simon or some pansy name like that. I’ve decided to change his name to just Z.”
I like the name Simon. One of the kids in my ballet class is named Simon.
My arm is getting tired from holding up the baby’s head by the time my pancakes arrive. Even with my arms free, I struggle to cut my own food, but with one arm full I just look at my plate and wonder how I’ll be able to eat.
The fathers are wrapped up in some boring conversation, not noticing my problem.
Without a word, Dex uses his fork and knife and starts cutting up my pancake.
“Do you like butter?” he asks.
“Lots of butter.”
Seconds later, “Syrup?” he asks, nodding at the glass bottle in his hand.
“Lots of syrup,” I say softer, careful not to wake up baby Simon.
I’m surprised Dex is helping me. He seemed so grumpy when we got here.
I’m even more surprised when he uses my fork to poke a bite of yummy pancake and then lifts it to my mouth.
Part of me is angry. I’m not like the baby. Not even Mommy or Jessica feed me anymore.
But part of me is happy because Dex is being nice to me. I’d always wanted Mommy to give me a baby brother, but now that she’s gone, that will never happen.
Maybe I’ll have to settle for having Simon as my little brother and Dex… well he can be the big brother I never had.
After I swallow my first bite, I am careful to say, “Thank you, Dex.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he growls, but I see the small smile on his lips.
It’s nice to have a sort-of brother.
There’s a small box sitting on my bedside table when I wake up. I jump out of bed, excited to open my present, except it isn’t wrapped in paper like on Christmas morning or my birthday.
And there’s no card.
I take the top of the box off, ripping through the tissue paper inside until I uncover the mystery gift.
Tears fill my eyes, and a now familiar pain makes my tummy hurt. In a rush, the bad memories from the last few weeks come back.
I’ve had so many firsts this past week.
My first funeral.
My first time seeing Daddy cry.
The first time I had to wear all black clothes.
I don’t like black, but Daddy says that’s what people do when someone they love dies. I tried to tell him Mommy wouldn’t like it. She doesn’t like that color. She always wears pinks, and purples, and reds.
But Mommy isn’t here anymore.
I know my nanny, Jessica, made the new black clothes I find in the box, all miniature versions of my own meant to put on my Barbie.
But Barbie doesn’t like to wear black either.
“Oh good, you’re awake. I see you got the gift Jessica left for you,” Daddy says from just inside my bedroom door.
“I don’t like black,” I remind him, pouting.
“I know, sweetie, and I promise you don’t have to wear your new black clothes in the penthouse. Only when we leave home. Like… this morning.”
More bad news. I don’t want to go anywhere or see anyone.
I just want my Mommy.
“You said once we finished the funeral that we could stay home.”
“I know, but I still need to take care of The Whitney, don’t I?” he asks, not even giving me enough time to answer before adding, “I have an important business meeting up at The Rooftop restaurant. Let’s get you dressed. I’m sure Chef will make you the Mickey Mouse pancakes you love.”
I had to hear Daddy wrong.
“Mommy says I’m not allowed to go up to The Rooftop. It’s off-limits to little girls.”
I watch Daddy’s face get really sad and realize that always happens when I talk about Mommy now.
“Your Mommy was a smart lady and I’m sure she wouldn’t be happy that I’m taking you there for breakfast this morning, but Jessica is visiting her family for the next two days, so that means you need to come with Daddy for Sunday brunch. It will be alright. I promise.”
“Do I really have to wear the stupid black dress?”
Daddy hesitates, but finally agrees. “Since we’re staying in The Whitney, you can wear whatever you want to the restaurant, princess.”
I’m not sure if it’s because I get to wear my favorite Cinderella gown or if it’s because he called me his princess, but I feel better already.
Even though I’m with my father, I still feel naughty stepping into the elevator, knowing we are going to the only place in the hotel higher than our penthouse. It’s also the only place in the entire building off-limits to me… until today.
Mommy made sure to teach me my letters and numbers. I can even read a lot of words, and that’s how I know how secret The Rooftop is. There is no button to push to get there. No sign explaining how to get to the restaurant Daddy told me has the best view in the city. Daddy even has to use a special key that looks like a fancy pen to make the elevator go up.
When the doors slide open, a part of me is excited to explore the forbidden, so when we walk into a huge open room the size of our entire penthouse, I can’t help but be disappointed.
It doesn’t look very different from all the other restaurants in The Whitney, at least not at first.
There are tables and booths—a long bar with lots of bottles filled with things I’m not old enough to drink yet.
But as Daddy weaves us through the half-filled tables, nodding at the guests as he goes, I start to notice what isn’t at The Rooftop.
There are no kids… or mommies. In fact, I don’t see a single lady unless you count the one on her hands and knees next to a table with three scary looking men seated at it.
She must have lost something on the floor.
Unlike the other restaurants where we eat most of our meals, I don’t recognize any of the waiters up here. They don’t even have on the same kind of uniforms.
The farther into the room we go, the harder I squeeze Daddy’s hand.
A bald man with lots of tattoos smiles at me, but I look away.
I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.
Daddy finally stops when we get to the very last table in the corner. It’s one of those round booths that Mommy always makes me scoot in first, so she doesn’t mess up her dress.
Finally, there are people I recognize.
“Hi Dex!” I call to my friend, the only other kid that lives in The Whitney like me.
Dex taught me to play Uno last year. I wanted to play Chutes and Ladders, but he said that was a baby game.
Daddy waves his arm to have me scoot into the booth ahead of him. Once I’m next to Dex, I ask, “Did you bring the Uno cards with you?”
“Why would I do that? Girls aren’t supposed to be allowed up here,” he says, sounding kinda mean.
“Well, my daddy says it’s alright and he’s in charge.”
“Not up here he’s not. My dad runs The Rooftop.” He makes a funny face at me that makes me feel anxious.
“You’re wrong! My family owns this whole building!”
“You’re just a baby. What do you know?” he says.
“Dexter Andrew. Enough,” his dad growls.
I look down at my hands in my lap, picking at a loose string on my Cinderella dress.
Dex’s father scares me. He always seems so mad at everyone. Mommy told me it was because he was just lonely after Dex’s mom moved away, but that makes me even more afraid.
Now that my mommy is gone, will my daddy start getting angry like Mr. Cohen?
I don’t have time to worry about it because Mr. X arrives and he’s carrying a, “Baby!” I shout.
“Katja, no yelling young lady,” my daddy admonishes.
I’m too excited to let it deter me. “Can I hold the baby?” I ask boldly.
Mr. X looks across the round table at me and only then do I regret asking. Dex’s father seems like Santa Clause compared to Mr. X. Mommy told me to never go anywhere with that man, so when he sits down at our table and reaches over to hand me the sleeping baby, I’m so torn.
Mommy would never allow this. I glance at Daddy for permission. His face looks red, but he finally nods.
I reach out and Mr. X almost throws the baby into my arms. He—at least I think it’s a he because he’s wrapped in a blue blanket—is so much heavier than my American Girl doll, Molly. I rest him on my lap and hold his head up like Jessica taught me with my dolls.
The baby makes funny faces while he sleeps. I’m watching him so closely I’m not paying much attention until Mr. X raises his voice so loud, I can’t help but listen.
“…bitch tried to hide him from me. I knew something was up when she left town without a word last year, but Johnny saw her last week at her father’s butcher shop in Queens. She was pushing a stroller and gave him some song and dance about taking a job as a nanny, but I had Quido dig into it for me. All this time, I’ve had a son and didn’t even know it.”
Daddy glances at me, and I can tell he is nervous, but he doesn’t say anything so neither do I, until my question just bursts out. “What’s his name?”
“The bitch—” Mr. X stops mid-sentence, looks at my daddy and says, “Sorry, I’m not used to having kids around.”
I’ve heard bad words before. Mommy and Daddy use them sometimes when they have an argument, and once I even heard Mr. Cohen use a word that started with an f and Mommy yelled at him. When I asked Mommy what it meant, she said to mind my own business and never use that word.
“Anyway, his mother named him Simon or some pansy name like that. I’ve decided to change his name to just Z.”
I like the name Simon. One of the kids in my ballet class is named Simon.
My arm is getting tired from holding up the baby’s head by the time my pancakes arrive. Even with my arms free, I struggle to cut my own food, but with one arm full I just look at my plate and wonder how I’ll be able to eat.
The fathers are wrapped up in some boring conversation, not noticing my problem.
Without a word, Dex uses his fork and knife and starts cutting up my pancake.
“Do you like butter?” he asks.
“Lots of butter.”
Seconds later, “Syrup?” he asks, nodding at the glass bottle in his hand.
“Lots of syrup,” I say softer, careful not to wake up baby Simon.
I’m surprised Dex is helping me. He seemed so grumpy when we got here.
I’m even more surprised when he uses my fork to poke a bite of yummy pancake and then lifts it to my mouth.
Part of me is angry. I’m not like the baby. Not even Mommy or Jessica feed me anymore.
But part of me is happy because Dex is being nice to me. I’d always wanted Mommy to give me a baby brother, but now that she’s gone, that will never happen.
Maybe I’ll have to settle for having Simon as my little brother and Dex… well he can be the big brother I never had.
After I swallow my first bite, I am careful to say, “Thank you, Dex.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he growls, but I see the small smile on his lips.
It’s nice to have a sort-of brother.