by Heidi Lowe
“He doesn't have any pictures of you on display. Not recent ones. Bernie's a sweetheart. He wants to take care of me. I want to let him.” It all sounds rehearsed, like she's reading from a script.
I roll my eyes. “There's a name for women who do what you do, marrying wealthy old men.”
“I'm not here for his money.” She doesn't even seem offended by my insinuation. Typical Angel, impossible to offend. I always hated that about her. “You know it was my idea to get him to reach out to you? I mean, it was eating him up that he couldn't speak to you, but I gave him the push he needed.”
“I find that hard to believe. You don't do anything unless it's to benefit you in some way.”
I hate being the only person in the room losing my cool. To make matters worse, she starts looking at her fingernails, as though I haven't just been insulting her.
“You would think a beautician would take better care of her nails,” she says to herself. Oh my God, she's not even listening to me!
“This is sick, Angel, even for you. I don't want you seeing my father. The thought of the two of you...” I make a face, the bile in my throat close to coming up.
Now she looks at me. “What's the matter, Nikki? You don't like the idea of someone else getting to experience sex the way you did? Didn't you say I was the best you'd ever had, and would probably ever have? Is that still the case?”
I'm not surprised by the turn the conversation has taken. Teasing me is something that even now, after years of being apart, she still can't resist. I'm not going to dignify that with an answer. Firstly, because it's none of her goddamn business. And secondly because, unfortunately, it is still the case.
“I bet you remember every single one of the orgasms I gave you.” My eyes are drawn to her lips, as though she's enchanted them. She licks them because she knows I'm watching. The memory is so strong I can almost feel them against mine, can almost taste them. “And there were many. Making you come was so much fun, because you might be the loudest, most excitable woman I've ever been with.”
My arousal is instant. It's like we're back where we were seven years ago. I'm shocked that she still has the ability to turn me on so easily, so quickly. I shift uncomfortably on the couch, and regret this immediately because she notices.
“I think somebody's excited right now. That's what I liked about you, Nikki. It never took long to get you wet. I actually miss that.”
“You're disgusting,” I say through gritted teeth, glaring at her.
“I bet your panties are saying something completely different.”
Oh, they are! It's growing increasingly difficult to sit there in my current state, glaring at but desiring the cause of my arousal. When I set off this evening for dinner with my father, I didn't expect this to be the outcome.
It's all one big joke to her. “You'll have to get yourself under control, Nik. I'm going to be your stepmother. You can't go around creaming yourself for your new mommy, can you? It's kind of sick.”
I hate her! I hate that grin, those full, luscious lips, the cleavage that she's teasing me with. I hate that her legs beneath the shortest skirt imaginable are leading up to heaven – well, the closest thing to heaven there is.
“What's sick is that you still want to go through with marrying the father of a woman you were once involved with. You need to end this and disappear, crawl back under whatever rock you crawled out from.”
She shakes her head. “I won't do that. Your father makes me happy, believe it or not.”
“Does he know you used to screw women? Because I reckon that would be a deal breaker.”
“He does. Bernie and I don't keep secrets from each other. The only reason why I haven't told him about us is because it would hurt him too much.”
I don't buy anything she's saying, but for the time being it looks as though she's sticking to her story. I know it's only a matter of time until she shows her true Angel colors. Because there's always an agenda with this woman, and she's bound to leave a trail of destruction in her wake. My dad's been jackass of the century, but I wouldn't wish someone like her on him.
Faye, my father and Emily return shortly after, before I can warn Angel to watch her back. I hope she sees it in my eyes when I offer her one final glare before we head into the kitchen to eat.
THREE
Faye's kiss is minty as she climbs into bed later that night. She's just finished brushing her teeth.
“Well that was interesting,” she says with a big yawn and stretch.
“Yeah, interesting,” I mumble. “I'm glad it's over. Now we have no reason to see them again.”
She gawks at me as though I've just spoken Klingon or something. “Why wouldn't we see them again? He's your father, and Emily seems to really like him.”
“I hate to break it to you but our daughter can be bought easily. Give her toys and she's anybody's!”
She cuddles up to me, her body warm, and she kisses me on the cheek. “Well that and he's actually really sweet.”
Now it's my turn to look at her as though she's speaking a foreign language. “Kittens and puppies are sweet, Faye. My father is not.”
“He adores her. You heard him, he wants to take her to Disneyland next summer. We can't deny them that.”
“Why is this so important to you? She doesn't need him. We don't need him.”
She must hear the rising agitation in my voice, because she doesn't respond. I immediately feel stupid and insensitive for asking. Of course it's important to her that family sticks together. I'm literally the only family she has. Both her parents and her only sibling are deceased.
She doesn't speak for a while. Then finally she says, “Angelique's nice.”
Just the mention of her name gets my back up. Just like the “alias” she went by when we were together, I've tried to forget that name. But it's impossible. Everything she does is designed to be remembered, so that even when she's long gone, when you're curled up in bed with your wife – the woman you love more than life itself – you can't help thinking about her. Reliving the first time you felt her lips on yours, the first time she touched you and you knew what she had planned for you. The first time you heard your own moans echoing through the bedroom while she brought you to climax. The truth is, I've never been able to forget her. Even before tonight my mind would wander. She's like an addiction; you can never fully get over it. The poison remains in your system.
“It won't last,” I say, because I realize I've been quiet for a long time and Faye is waiting for a response.
“You don't know that. I think she's good for him. They seem genuinely happy.”
“Yeah, well she's a great actress.” It's out before I can stop myself. Shit! I sounded so adamant, so certain. I hope Faye doesn't pick up on it.
She shakes her head. “You can't fake affection like that.”
For the first time in a long time I look at Faye and see a naive person too romantic for her own good. I wish I could tell her how wrong she is about Angel, but that would blow my cover.
But is that really a bad thing? I mean, I have nothing to hide. Everyone has a past, has an ex. So my ex happens to be a stunning blonde who reentered my life looking even more gorgeous than she did before... She'll understand, right?
“Faye...” I start, taking her hand, taking a deep breath at the same time. But I can't bring myself to tell her. It's on the tip of my tongue, but the words won't spill forth. I'm a coward. And if I don't tell her now, I can't ever tell her, because the longer you leave a revelation like this, the more guilty you look. “Nothing, let's just go to sleep. Goodnight.” I fake a yawn, peck her on the lips and switch off my lamp. Telling her would only cause unnecessary strife.
The goodnight is supposed to signify the end of any further discussion, any further exchange, but soon after I lie down and pull the duvet up to my chin, I feel Faye's hand creeping along my leg, seeking out my crotch. It doesn't take her long to slip her fingers into my panties.
“What are you doin
g?” I whisper. It's a stupid question, but I'm so surprised by this impromptu move that I don't know what I'm saying.
She laughs as she kisses me. “I would have thought that was obvious to you by now.”
I want to want her, God knows I do, but even with her fingers dexterously stroking my bean in that gentle way that she does before leading into more firm strokes, I fail to get excited. It's as if a button has been switched off down there.
With Faye's lamp still on I can see the confusion in her eyes as she strums away, unsuccessfully. It's painful to watch, so I turn away. She doesn't know it's not her, but me.
I let her try for another couple of minutes before I take her hand, clutching it at the wrist. “I'm just not there tonight, baby.”
“Okay, I'm sorry.”
“No, don't be. I've just got too much on my mind.”
She's embarrassed, I can see it in her cheeks. Even though I've told her she isn't to blame, she'll question her skills anyway. That's what she's like.
I give her a long kiss on the cheek as though that will fix everything. “I love you.”
She says it back as she switches off her lamp and settles into bed, her back to me. At that moment I hate myself, but even more than me, I hate Angel. This is why it's imperative that I get her out of my life for good. Because I'm already slipping back into old habits. Faye's ability to get me off has always been sufficient; it's always done the job, and I've never complained. But Angel's return has brought memories, reminders of what I've been missing. When the person who gave you the best sex of your life reenters it, suddenly what you thought adequate just starts to seem inadequate.
Angel has to go.
“So... what was she like?” Sandra practically pounces on me the second I walk through the office door that Monday morning. It makes a change from hearing profanities shouted at our equipment. But this topic is one I don't want to discuss.
“What was who like?”
She rolls her eyes. “You know who. Your new stepmother.”
I unwrap my scarf. “She's not my stepmother yet. And with any luck she never will be.” If I have anything to do with it.
“That bad, huh?”
I trust Sandra with my life, and I tell her almost everything. She's great at keeping secrets. But as I open my mouth to say what has been bugging me since Saturday evening, I stop myself. It's too awkward, too embarrassing to share with even my best friend. Besides, I'm hoping this situation won't last long. If I can get Angel to walk away, there will be no need to mention our past involvement to anyone.
“She and my father have nothing in common. They're the most mismatched pair I've ever seen. Like chalk and cheese.”
“What does she look like? Is she pretty?” She perches herself on the edge of the desk, looking way too intrigued by all of this.
I shrug, unable to keep eye contact, and say with forced nonchalance, “Yeah, I guess, if you like that sort of thing.” I might as well have said she looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, because downplaying her obvious beauty is akin to lying.
“Bernie's loaded. A good-looking woman and a rich older man, that's all they need in common.”
“When did the world get so...immoral?”
“It's always been that way, girl, you've just managed to stay sheltered from it, and married the one woman in this world with integrity.”
Sandra loves Faye almost as much as I do. She's always telling me that if I ever screw things up with her, she'll step in to take my place. The imagery is hilarious – Sandra coming face to face with a vagina! She would run for the hills!
“When's the big day?” she continues.
“Mid-July, but hopefully never.”
Sandra folds her arms, gives me one of her looks. “Does your father seem happy?”
“That's not the–”
“Does he?”
“Well, yes, sure, why wouldn't he? I mean, the guy's marrying a woman more than half his age. He thinks he'll be getting lucky every night for the rest of his life.” I don't think it's just that, though. He does seem genuinely happy, the happiest he's been since my mother died. And Angel isn't even putting out! I wish I could say it was all about the sex, or even the promise of it, but it's more than that. I know she's putting on some kind of act, but he isn't. When he laughed at her jokes, he meant it. When he kissed her, I know he meant that too.
“Then can't you let him have this? You wanted him to accept your marriage, and he's done that. You have to do the same for him.”
“It's not that simple.” There I go again, close to spilling my dirty little secret.
“Why not?”
I shake my head miserably.
“Is it about your mom? Do you feel like this Angelique character is taking her place?”
“Forget it.” I just want to get on with my work and not allow Angel to invade any more of my thoughts. She's done that way too much over the years as it is.
***
As I pull up across the street, the GPS tells me that I've reached my destination. I can see the shop already – bright pink, sparkly, situated in an upmarket part of town beside a boutique ladies clothes shop. Diamond Plaza it's called, and makes me roll my eyes as I cut the engine. She probably came up with the name, I think to myself, and hate it even more.
It's midweek, midday, the perfect time to make my visit, as it should be quiet. I sit back, wait five minutes building up the courage to see her again, and try to stop myself shaking.
“Pull yourself together. It's only Angel. Don't give her the satisfaction of being nervous,” I scold, but to no avail. Fact is, I've always been a little afraid of her, afraid of the hold she has over me. She gets a kick out of being intimidating. In her early twenties, when we met, she had a sort of blase attitude to life, like a reckless disregard for everything. A person like that is bad news.
Another fifteen minutes pass before I drag myself out of the car and cross the street, heading to the beauty salon.
“Welcome to the Diamond Plaza–” She stops when she looks up from behind the counter and sees me. Her smile is equal parts evil and sexy – something only she can pull off. “I was wondering when you'd show up. What took you so long?”
Her two partners look up from plucking eyebrows and giving manicures, decide that I'm not worth their time, and continue with their work.
I had this terrific speech about wanting her to pack up her shit and get the hell out of town, because she wasn't welcome. But now that I'm here, standing in the middle of her shop, staring at the woman who has been causing me grief these past two weeks, I can't speak. What the hell does she mean by what took me so long? How did she know I would come?
“I...I just...”
“Ladies, this is Nikki, Bernie's daughter, and my future stepdaughter.”
The women say hello in unison.
“You're here for a massage, right? We added them to our program a few weeks ago,” she says, and before I know it I'm being led through to the back of the shop, and into a dimly lit room. There's a massage bed in the middle of it, towels and various lotions on shelves covering the walls. Melodious, relaxing music plays from a hi-fi system I can't see.
“I didn't come for a massage.” Although I'm adamant about that deep down, my words don't come out as assured as I would like.
“It's on the house. And it's quiet in here. You'll be giving me something to do.” She shrugs off her cardigan, revealing a thin, white bra-top. I cast my eyes away immediately when I notice that her nipples are showing through the fabric. But it's still not quick enough to prevent my thoughts from running wild, getting impure like they always do around her. It's as if she made them hard on purpose, in anticipation of my visit. When I hear her laugh to herself, I know that she remembers. She could probably tell me how many cumulative hours I spent devouring her nipples, losing myself in her breasts. It was like playtime for me. I wonder if they feel the same against my tongue, if she makes the same sounds she used to make when I worked them over. Oh God, why
am I dredging up these thoughts? I'm a married woman, a family woman. The only breasts I should have on my mind are Faye's.
“I really don't think that's appropriate.”
“Come on, Nikki, it's just a massage. What are you afraid of?”
It's a challenge. She's goading me, I can hear it in her voice. This is how she gets me to do everything. What are you afraid of, Nikki? Then I instantly rise to the challenge.
“I bet you're really tense working at the office all day. I can help to get the knots out of your shoulders.”
“I don't have any knots.”
“Just lie down on the table and take off your shirt.”
Heavenly Father, who art in Heaven, save me from myself! I'm not a religious person by any stretch of the imagination, but a prayer is about the only thing that, at this point, will help me here. Refusing isn't an option, because she'll know she's won. Refusing will mean that my resolve around her is weak, that I don't trust myself enough. I have to see this through.
She watches me as I slowly unbutton my shirt. I've done this a hundred times or more in front of her, but this is the first time it feels dirty. Dirty in a scandalously sexy way.
There's a lopsided smirk that's made its way to her face. Nothing about this will be harmless or innocent, I know that already. With that knowledge, I should take it as my cue to leave, forget my latest show of bravado, and sprint out of there like I'm on fire.
“It's nothing I haven't already seen, Nikki,” she says when I turn away slightly. “Although... I think those have gotten bigger. Yummy.” She's pointing to my bosom.
When my shirt's off, I scramble onto the massage table, lie on my front before she can ogle my breasts anymore. Even with my bra on I feel way too exposed.
“You know, I never thought I'd ever see you again, and certainly not in this state of undress.” She's selecting oils from her sizable collection. The glee in her voice is unnerving. “After the way we left things, I thought you would have fled the country to get away from me.”
“The thought did cross my mind.”
