“I told you I didn’t want to talk about her,” he finally says. A prompt if I’ve ever heard one.
I keep my eyes down, watching the knife blade glint in my hand. As much as I’d like to stab him right now, I can’t kill him. Maybe no one saw me riding through the neighborhood in Steven’s car, but there are texts between us. I suppose I could stab him and claim an intruder did it, but I’d have to set up some obvious motive. Score a pound of heroin and hide it in a dresser drawer. Claim the guy with the knife kept demanding payment. But setting up Steven as some middle-class drug dealer would take time.
Perhaps I could stab him and claim self-defense. Tell everyone he tried to rape me. But the police are skeptical of rape even when it’s real. I was in his house, after all, showing off my bosom and letting him see my ankles. I can’t cry rape now. They’d doubt every word and look deep into my background, and I don’t have that kind of cover.
Damn.
I set the knife down. I nod. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“What?”
“I’m sorry I pushed you about her. I just wanted to know what happened.”
“And you call me mean?”
“It wasn’t mean. I just—”
“You didn’t care what I wanted,” he snaps. “You just wanted details. Details that obviously hurt me.”
“No. I thought we should talk about it. It’s something important that happened to you.”
“Yeah, it is, so have a little respect for once.”
“I said I was sorry.”
He watches me for a while before he shakes his head. “Jane.” He sighs my name like a disappointment. “Maybe this is how you treat other men, but you’re not going to treat me like crap. I’m not some loser you can push around. I have a good job, a nice house, a great life.”
“I know you do. And I didn’t mean—”
“I like you, Jane. I really do. But I don’t need you. And I expect to be treated with respect.”
“I wasn’t being disrespectful!”
“Weren’t you? I said no. Isn’t that what women talk about all the damn time? I said no, and you kept pushing me.”
“Steven, I’m sorry!” I make myself sound a little panicked. Just a little. That’s what he wants. “I’m sorry, okay?”
He shrugs and downs his third beer before tossing it into the trash can. I jump as if the crash of glass is a slap. “I just wanted to have a nice evening with you,” he mutters.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “Really. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
“Yeah.” He relaxes a little and his eyelids are heavier when his gaze falls to my cleavage.
I push off the island and move closer. “I was being a bitch.”
“You were.”
“Are you still mad?” I ask as I press into his body.
He shrugs again, but he puts his arms around me and stares down my dress.
“Don’t be mad.”
Instead of answering, he slips a hand over my chest and undoes an extra button. Now the fabric gapes open, exposing my black bra. With no warning at all, he shoves his hand into one of the cups and wrenches the whole thing down to expose my breast. He kisses me hard, kneading my flesh and trying to swallow all my breath. I let him push me up against the counter and grind his crotch against me. I guess this is forgiveness.
A button of my dress pops off and drops to the floor, rolling away with tiny clicks I can barely hear over his panting.
God, I hate these stupid dresses. They’re weak and flimsy.
I hear the sound of his zipper and roll my eyes.
“Suck me,” he whispers.
“Steven! I can’t. You’ll think—”
“Come on. I know you do it. You’ve done it plenty of times, right?”
“You’ll think I’m a slut.”
“I won’t. Just do it. Come on.” His hand is on my shoulder, pressing me down. This is how he’ll forgive me. This is how I’ll show respect for my big, strong man.
I pull back a little and he follows. I slide along the edge of the island. After a quick glance toward the vent in the living room, I let him push me to my knees.
“Oh yeah,” he groans before I even touch him. “Do it.”
It doesn’t take long. He’s primed on anger and frustration.
Afterward he drinks another beer and grills the steaks. I make the salad. The bodice of my dress gapes at the missing button. He’s in a great mood, laughing and joking. He teases me about having a healthy appetite. I’ve done a good job making up for my bitchiness.
The steaks are surprisingly tasty.
At nine I yawn and tell him I’d better get home. He offers to pay for a ride.
Even I’m shocked by that. “Can’t you drive me?”
“Sorry, baby. I’ve had too many beers.”
“You could take me home and sleep over at my place.”
He curls his lip. “The cat.” I notice he doesn’t ask me to stay here instead.
“Oh.”
He kisses my hand. “I’ll put the ride on my account.”
Jeez, I feel like a princess.
I curl up against him and watch TV for a few more minutes while I wait for a stranger to drive me home. “This was nice,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “You’re great, Jane.” He kisses my head and gives me one last squeeze. “You’re really great.” His phone dings. My ride is here. He walks me to the door and waves.
And people say romance is dead.
CHAPTER 23
I’ve made sex tapes before, of course, but this is something different. It’s like watching reality TV made just for me. I eat microwave popcorn and watch our little argument play out over and over. It’s a fascinating class in manipulation, and Steven and I are both playing the game. Unfortunately for Steven, he’s a rank amateur. His technique is clumsy and dumb and only works when emotions are involved.
Each time I see my glance at the camera, I giggle. Steven is completely absorbed in his penis and doesn’t notice me breaking the fourth wall.
Arousal is a funny thing. I suppose when there’s actual intimacy involved, arousal might bring you closer to the other person. Who knows. But in general it’s a selfish state. Steven is turned on and all he can think about is getting more, more, more. Even afterward he doesn’t notice that I turn and spit him out onto the clean floor. I hope he steps in it tomorrow morning.
I picture him hopping around on one foot, horrified and disgusted, and I laugh so hard my eyes water. Salt and butter coat my hands, so I wipe my face on my sleeve. I can’t wait to review tomorrow’s video.
After I left, Steven watched a little more TV and then went to bed. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, then put on two different moisturizers. I guess he’s a little vain. Then he put on honest-to-God pajamas like he’s Ward Cleaver. What a sicko.
I watch him sleep for ten minutes and then the camera feed ends. I back it up and watch it all again. At midnight I finally get to bed, but a text dings just as I turn off the light.
Still up?
It’s Luke, and I would have welcomed this two hours ago, but even I’m too sleepy to be interested in a booty call right now. Barely, I answer.
Want to grab lunch tomorrow?
Lunch? I was expecting him to ask for a quick topless pic to help him get to sleep. I hesitate, frowning at the phone. Maybe it’s just an opening gambit.
I can’t.
Too busy? I can come over to Minneapolis if that helps.
I’m tempted, but I can’t risk Steven seeing me with another man.
I’ll probably eat at my desk.
Ok. Maybe another day?
Maybe.
There’s a long pause and I think the conversation is over, but just as I’m setting my phone down, there’s another text.
I don’t want you to think this is all about sex for me. It’s not.
Hm. That’s . . . interesting. I’m almost always certain of myself, but this is the type of interaction that can th
row me off. Before I can think of an appropriate answer, he texts a follow-up.
You can probably tell by the way I’ve played hard to get.
I laugh at the stupid joke and finally respond.
Well, I think I’m starting to wear you down.
Maybe.
I have to admit, he intrigues me. I shouldn’t spend time with him, but I like that he surprises me.
We’ll see about lunch. Maybe Monday. Good night.
He signs off with a winky face. My cat jumps onto the bed and curls close. When I pet her, she stretches out and her heat presses all along my side.
Tonight . . . tonight I feel something that seems like true happiness, but it might just be satisfaction.
CHAPTER 24
I get up early to watch Steven get ready for work. The camera wakes up when he gets out of bed and stretches. I watch him tug up his ridiculous pajama bottoms before he heads to the bathroom. I hear him pee; then he tosses his pj’s out the door and into a hamper. He wears a fresh pair every night, I guess. He probably irons them before stacking them neatly in his dresser drawer.
A glance at the dirty clothes lying on the floor of my bedroom makes me smile. It’s too bad all my clothes are so pale and flowery. I’d love to wear a black shirt to work with gray cat hair all over the back of it. Still, that might be too much this early in our relationship. A deal breaker instead of a trigger for abuse.
I’ve already showered and dressed, so I wait impatiently as Steven gets ready. In the end I’m disappointed. Once dressed, he heads out the door, not even stopping for coffee in the kitchen. By the time he gets home from work, the puddle I left on his floor will be dry. I’ve missed my moment of slapstick comedy. Still, I feel certain he’ll give me another chance.
I’m just finishing my last cup of coffee when my phone rings. Is Steven actually being considerate and giving me a morning-after call?
No, of course not. It’s my mother. I put my phone down and ignore it. It’s her second phone call in a week. Maybe I should turn off call forwarding so she can’t reach me on this burner phone. She’s becoming a nuisance.
A buzz indicates that she’s left a message. Before I can listen to it, the phone vibrates with yet another call. It’s my mother again. Jesus.
“What?” I snap when I answer.
“Daddy’s had a stroke!” She always calls him Daddy. I haven’t called him that since I was four. Even in kindergarten I could see he wasn’t a hero who would fight monsters for me. He was a shiftless, immature loser with a massively overinflated ego and no sense of responsibility.
“Did you call 911?” I ask.
“We’re at the hospital now.” I hear the helplessness in her voice, but I feel no sympathy. She’s always been helpless. Hapless. Unable to deal with life. Having a sociopath for a daughter was a boon for her. I started cold-bloodedly taking care of family business by fifth grade. “Okay. You’re both on Medicare, right?”
“Yes! But they took him to the hospital up in Enid, and I don’t know how I’m going to get back and forth. He could be here for weeks! If he makes it through.”
“I just paid for a car repair, so I’m not sure what you mean.”
“It’s a two-hour drive! I’ll have to find a place to stay, Jane. And I can’t afford that. You know we’re living check to check.”
“Fine. I’ll send a prepaid debit card.”
“Can’t you just set me up somewhere nice?”
“No. I’ll send five hundred dollars, and you make it stretch.” If I set her up, it’ll be all room-service meals and valet parking. This isn’t my first rodeo.
“Jane . . . Jane . . .” She’s weeping now. “You should come on home and see your daddy. Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case he doesn’t make it!”
“You’ve hardly said one word about his status, so I’m going to assume he’s stable.”
“He had a stroke!”
“Well, big surprise. He’s been drinking hard and eating rich since the seventies. Was it a big one or a little one?”
“He’s drooling, Jane! Slurring his words!”
I sigh. “Yeah, what do the doctors say?”
She hesitates, so I know she’s trying to figure a way to frame it in the most dire terms. She once carried on for days about a “brain tumor” she had. I was six years old and still terrified of being sent to an orphanage. I knew damn well my father wasn’t going to keep me if my mama died.
Four emergency room visits later, it turned out it was just a migraine. She got a lot of pain pills out of it though, so it was a win-win for her.
“Paralysis!” she finally warbles. “Daddy’s right side is paralyzed! He can’t hardly lift his foot!”
“Is it temporary or permanent?”
Uh-oh, I can tell by her silence that I’ve got her. “They . . . they say you can never be sure.”
“But they think it’s temporary?”
“Sure, but he’s gonna need a wheelchair for now at least, Jane. We’ll have to make updates to the house!”
She means the trailer. The latest trailer in a string of trailers, each one smaller and more run-down than the last. I don’t think those aluminum doors are wide enough for a wheelchair, so a ramp won’t do any good anyway. “I’m sure Ricky can help with that. He’s pretty handy. No point throwing money into that heap.”
“That’s our home, you heartless bitch!”
“Then you’d better find a way to make it work. If it needs medical fixes, I’m sure Medicare will accommodate you.”
“Family takes care of family.” She’s lost the helpless warble and moved straight into a hard, spitting screech. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? Your own father is on his deathbed, and you could care less! There’s a devil in you, you uppity cunt.”
“You just cost yourself a hundred dollars,” I say. “Care to try for more?”
“You!” she screams. “You evil little . . .” But she gets control of herself. She knows damn well that I’ll cut her off without a dime. “Jane, I need that money.” Helpless wheedling again. “How can I take care of Daddy if I can’t stay close?”
“It’s Enid. Four hundred dollars should go a long way. I’ll send it today. Be sure to make it last.”
I hang up. When the phone rings again, I switch it off. I feed my cat and grab my coat and some gloves. It’s cold outside. When I step out of my apartment, I wish I’d brought a hat too. I’m thankful for the warmth of the convenience store when I stop to put $400 on a card. There’s a post office on the way to work, but I’d rather steal a stamp from my company, so I walk on. I’m not worried she’ll notice my mail is coming from Minneapolis. I travel for work, and my family doesn’t even know who Meg was, much less why I’d be here.
I call the hospital before I get to the office and ask about my father. He’s in room 223. I hang up before the call transfers. I don’t want to speak to him. I just want to be sure my mother isn’t running a scam. This was a little too close on the heels of that car repair.
Twenty minutes later the card is in the mail and I’m working on data entry. Steven walks through the room and catches my eye. He winks.
I ignore him and return my gaze to the computer. It’s time to pull back a little and make him work for it. Maybe I’ll grab lunch with Luke after all.
CHAPTER 25
Luke looks delighted to see me again. I’m not sure why. I only have thirty minutes, so we’re definitely not going back to his place for a quickie.
“You said yes,” he says as he meets me on the street in front of the restaurant. It’s an Indian buffet I figure Steven would never stumble upon.
“I was tired of playing hard to get,” I joke.
“Thanks for throwing me a bone.”
He knows I don’t have much time, so we head inside and get right in line with our plates. I load mine up with a little of everything and I notice Luke does the same. He even grabs an extra plate to hold naan for both o
f us, along with a few dipping sauces.
“How’s your week going?” he asks as we find a table.
“Really good. I’m getting a lot of stuff done. How about you?”
“Same old, same old. How’s the cat?”
“She’s great.”
“Does she have a name yet?”
I shrug. “I asked, but she’s being pretty cagey.”
“Cats, man.”
We dig into our food. It’s not the best Indian I’ve ever had, but the chicken is spicy and the naan is warm and fresh out of the oven, and that’s good enough for me.
“I hear it’s going to snow tonight,” Luke says.
“Sure feels like it.”
“Can I talk you into coming over to hide under the covers and watch a movie?”
I stare blankly at him for a moment. “You mean have sex, right?”
He turns bright red and coughs.
I can be charming. In fact, I’m really good at it. Small talk doesn’t make me nervous, so I ask all the right questions and make people feel special and engaged. I’m good at lying and I enjoy it. It’s an intricate, beautiful dance. But, like a dance, it takes concentration and effort, and pretending that I actually like that jackass Steven is draining me.
I don’t want to lie right now. I don’t want to be charming and warm and human. I just want to relax.
Luke gulps some water and recovers, though his cheeks are still pink. “No,” he says. “I mean yes, maybe sex too.”
I nod.
“But I was mostly asking about the movie.”
I don’t like movies as much as books. With books, the narrator explains what people are feeling and thinking, so I don’t have to figure it out. But some movies are easier than others. “Okay. Something with action, maybe? Explosions?”
“The movie or the sex?” he asks, and I’m laughing again. Really laughing. He grins like he’s proud of himself.
I grin back. “I meant both, obviously.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Then I’ll see you at seven.”
We finish our plates and go back for seconds. I get a big cup of rice pudding too. Luke doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
Jane Doe Page 10
