Page 137 of Easy
A thrill courses through my body, my fingertips aching to reach for my throbbing clit.Wear a skirt.The images flashing through my mind are vivid. Sordid. A recent fantasy. I’m lost to the imagery of being touched and fucked while others watch on. As my phone rings, I curse.
‘Louise, honey. I was beginning to think you were screening your calls,’ my mother titters a little nervously, and my stomach twists with guilt. ‘It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, Mom. Great.’ I inhale deeply, covering the pregnant pause audible on both ends of the line as I wonder how Xanax is treating her today. ‘And you—how are you?’
‘Oh, I’m just fine. Busy. You know. Same old, same old.’
I know, all right. No time to be anything but busy. My father is a fire and brimstone pastor—one of God’s soldiers—who runs his household with military precision. My mother is no more than one of his grunts. Idle hands do the devil’s work. I smile as I think about Dan; it seems busy hands still find time to dabble in the dark arts, too.
‘And... Dad?’ Please don’t let him be there.
‘Daddy’s fine. He’s here. I’m going to put him on next.’Hell. ‘How’s work?’ she adds quickly. ‘Is my baby girl running London town yet?’
‘Work’s fine, Mom, and London is... interesting.’ In a lot of senses. On the surface, it’s cold and wet pavements and crowded buildings, but around every corner is a piece of history, a slice of elegance, and greenery.
‘Well.’ She pauses, and in the silence, I hear her emotion, tight like a violin string. ‘We miss you. I miss you, but I’m so pleased you’re having fun.’
‘Fun?’ My father’s bass tones take over the call, no doubt from a line in his home office. ‘Hang up, Marion. I’d like to talk to my daughter, now.’
Possession is everything, and power is love in his eyes. Between a hurried, ‘I love you’, and a whispered, ‘Call soon’, my mother does as she is told.
‘It was my understanding you were there for a promotion, Louise.’
I close my eyes and inhale over a count of three. Holding the breath there, I release it over the same count. Coping mechanisms. Don’t internalize. I open my eyes ready to deal with him. Remembering I no longer have to be frightened of him.
‘Your understanding isn’t wrong, but everyone has to live a little, Daddy.’
Daddy. As long as I live and have sex, I’ll never understand those who like daddy games.
‘Keep your eye on the prize, Louise,’ he commands gruffly. ‘You get nothing for second place. Did your mother tell you that Trent has been offered a partnership?’ Trent. My brother. The man with whom I’d competed in all things. Grades. Sporting achievements. Possessions. And most of all, our father’s approval. For years, he’s sat between us, feeding the rivalry.
‘I don’t know. Maybe I missed that bit. You were listening in; you tell me.’ I almost want to bite off my tongue in regret.
‘Your insolence is so generalised; I try not to take offence.’
My throat thickens at the reprimand, the fingernails of my free hand digging into my palm.
‘I apologise. I spoke out of turn.’ It’s ridiculous that I can’t seem to suppress the urge to bite. Or apologise.
‘Trey and Stacey are doing well?’ Trey married last year and had a baby on the way. I don’t know if that makes him the winner in my father’s eyes, but it didn’t matter. There’s no way I’m ever competing on that score.
Having zoned out, I become aware of my father’s voice once again.
‘... you’ll be home in six months, anyway.’
‘I have eight months left.’ At least. ‘Speaking of which, Mom caught me at a bad time. I’m in the middle of preparing for a meeting.’
‘Yes, I should let you go,’ he replies with a gruff sort of pride; early Saturday evening and his baby girl was still hard at work. Well, I have high hopes of being hard at something in a few hours, that much is true. ‘Keep in touch, and I expect to see you at Thanksgiving.’ Not an invitation but rather an order.
‘Yeah, maybe. Speak soon.’
I hang up following a terse goodbye, releasing my fingers to view a palm full of bright red and stinging half-moons.
~*~
‘You’re out again tonight?’
Balanced on her forearms, Flo appears to be doing something that looks suspiciously like yoga as I enter the living room. A New Age chakra-fixing chant plays in the background, and the room smells like incense with the underlying hint of weed.
