by L. A. Zoe
“But it’s got running water and central heating,” Mr. Cunningham said. “That’s something.”
“He pays his share,” I said. “More than his share, really, because I’ve got the only bed.”
There. Chew on that.
Mrs. Cunningham nearly tittered. “When he told us he met you in the park one night, well, we—”
Mr. Cunningham cleared his throat.
You assumed I was a whore walking the Red Line. Almost too funny. Instead of a virgin walking the Red Line.
And after sleeping close to him under a roof for over a month, my hymen’s still intact.
A compliment to him? Or an insult to me?
“Well, we’re glad everything’s working out for the best. He says you’re a waitress at the Sunshine Garden? My daughter had the most frightful experience there the other night—”
“We shouldn’t say it in front of him,” Rhinegold’s father said, “but we’re hoping you’re a good example for him. Gainful employment instead of a shaky, illegal business. Do you like the restaurant business? Would you like to stay in it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Though I shouldn’t admit it, I’m just taking everything one day at a time. I’m saving up for college, but I don’t have a career in mind yet. I’m assuming I’ll figure that out when I’ve looked around a little.”
Mrs. Cunningham brightened. “College! You’re looking better and better, SeeJai.”
“You might enjoy the law, SeeJai,” Mr. Cunningham said. “You’re obviously a bright young lady. It takes a certain mindset, and it’s not for everybody, but it can be quite rewarding.” He swept his arm in a semicircle. “I wasn’t born with all this. I grew up in Sandusky, you know.”
“I can relate,” I said.
“Maybe you know some of my old neighborhoods,” he said. “Or kids of buddies I used to run the streets with. Of course, it’s just one option, and maybe not one you’d like. I’m just making a suggestion, you ought to look into it.”
“I will,” I said, meaning it. Any career that could take me from poor white trash to this mansion was worth checking out.
“I had high hopes for Rhinegold following in my footsteps,” Mr. Cunningham went on. “My friends and his high grades could get him into a top law school, and then into a high grade law firm. One of the ones would have laughed at me when I started out, until in court I ripped their faces off.”
Wow. Did all lawyers talk so viciously behind their expensive suits and stacks of papers?
While I daydreamed of standing up in court giving a speech to a jury—losing myself in the fantasy of possessing overwhelming wealth and influence—Mrs. Cunningham began speaking to Rhinegold:
“— if you like, we can all listen to it after dinner. It’s divine, she plays the violin so beautifully, and it was so thoughtful of her to send us the CD.”
“I haven’t seen her since I left the condemned house.”
Seen who?
“I thought of asking her over tonight, but of course … didn’t seem proper.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Rhinegold said. “But you’re probably right.”
Seeing my confusion, Mr. Cunningham told me, “Just a friend of Rhinegold’s from high school and the club.” As though that should reassure me.
What made my face flush red and my fingers clench into fists at my sides was their assumption I’d be jealous. Ridiculous!
Though, what old—female—friend visited him at the condemned house? I never met her, so of course I felt curious.
And about a woman who played violin. After dumping a plate of stir fry curry over Helena’s head not long ago, I had to think of her.
Though, of course, lots of women played the violin.
The front door rattled, then opened.
Mrs. Cunningham started, and turned to her husband. “Who could that be?”
“Mom? Father?” a bright, cheerful young woman’s voice called out.
“Keara!” Mrs. Cunningham exclaimed in a low voice.
“Did you tell her?” Mr. Cunningham said.
“I didn’t expect her home tonight. She said she was going out with college friends this evening.”
“Anybody home?” Right in the hallway outside.
Rhinegold half-stood. “We’ll go,” he said. “Come on,” he told me. “Out the back. Hurry.”
Mr. Cunningham looked worried, but just looked at his wife, and said, “It’ll be all right, dear. Isn’t it time the four of us were a family again?”
“You sure?” Rhinegold said, still halfway between sitting in the chair and standing up.
I felt more confused than ever, but didn’t have time to think, before a familiar face strode into the room. I’d forgotten her name, even her face, but I recognized her.
Helena’s friend.
Rhinegold’s stepsister? Oh God!
“Hey, everyone. Rhinegold! You’re here! And—” She emitted a startled half scream, then jerked back.
Keara wore sleek bluejeans and a large oval belt buckle. A fluffy wool peach top. A silver and turquoise clip held back her long, platinum blonde hair, highlighting her gorgeous blue eyes. Light makeup. The small gold cross still hung around her neck. She looked even more beautiful than the night I dumped stir-fry curry over Helena.
Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham looked at me with confusion. Rhinegold must have guessed, because he laughed.
Pasting a huge smile on my mouth, I stood up, hands raised to shoulder-height. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, half-whispering.
Rhinegold put his arm around my shoulders. “Keara, please meet my friend, SeeJai. She promises she won’t dump the main course on you. Right, SeeJai?”
I nodded. “Only Helena. And I promised I wouldn’t do it again.”
Finally we settled back into an ordinary-seeming social group, relaxing together before dinner.
Keara took a glass of the same red wine, and ate cheese dip spread over Melba toast. She sat between Rhinegold and I, and exchanged brittle conversation with the others.
About Keara’s college classes, Rhinegold and SeeJai’s room (without mentioning sleeping arrangements), the pressure of Mr. Cunningham’s work, Mrs. Cunningham’s social calendar, and news of various mutual friends and acquaintances.
I tried to relax, but inside my stomach burned with searing fire and sizzling acid.
So many questions.
How did Rhinegold and Keara know Helena?
Did she actually visit him at the condemned house?
Were Keara and Helena sleeping together?
Rhinegold and Helena?
Just the entrance of Helena into my current life made me dizzy with fear. What would she do to me next? Why couldn’t I escape her evil?
I could barely focus on the words flying through the air around me. Yet, eventually I noticed something puzzling.
Something in the guarded way Rhinegold sat in his chair. How he didn’t look straight at Keara’s face.
How Mrs. Cunningham stared at Rhinegold as closely as a bird a nearby rattlesnake.
How Mr. Cunningham drank another glass of whiskey on ice while watching Mrs. Cunningham out of the corner of his eyes.
How Keara glanced at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.
What was going on?
An eight-hundred pound gorilla sat with them, and the other four knew it, but it remained invisible to me. My inner ear heard its heavy breathing, though. My skin smelled its stink. But I couldn’t see it.
Soon they sat down to a dinner of glazed ham, potatoes au gratin, green beans and bacon, and a tossed salad.
“Sorry, but my mother hasn’t gotten into tofu yet,” Keara said to me.
“Are you a vegetarian?” Mrs. Cunningham asked me. “Rhinegold told me you worked at that restaurant, but I didn’t even think—”
SeeJai said, “I do eat meat, except when I get leftovers from my job.”
“We order lots of pizzas,” Rhinegold said.
I nearly decked h
im.
Instead, I smiled at Keara with all the sweetness I could muster. “Everything looks so delicious.”
“Next time you come I’ll tell Mother to serve veggie stir fry, and I’ll put my raincoat on,” Keara said.
I shoved the food into my mouth, forcing my jaws to work up and down before I swallowed it, yet smiling as though I enjoyed it.
It did taste wonderful, but my stomach clenched with too many questions.
So after leaving our neighborhood, Helena’s family moved way out here, and she met Rhinegold. Did they date? Have sex? Was she an old girlfriend Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham wanted him to love again, because obviously she was more suitable for him than me?
Was she pursuing him? Seeing him in the old condemned house? That certainly wasn’t her style. She must want him badly to even drive by that neighborhood, let alone go inside that wrecked house.
And sending his family files of her violin playing. And going to trendy restaurants with his stepsister.
Not fair. After screwing up my life during high school, Helena moved far away, only to return, to poison my life again.
Only—what danger?
Rhinegold wasn’t my boyfriend. He slept on the floor. He paid half of the bills. He could move out whenever he wanted. I didn’t own him. I didn’t want him. I didn’t want any boyfriend. I didn’t even want him living there, except with him paying half so I could save for a car and then to return to college.
I sure didn’t want to spend an evening off my job dining with his rich-ass family. Especially with a stepsister who hated me because she was friends with my worst enemy.
As we finished eating chocolate cheesecake for dessert, Mr. Cunningham said to me, “SeeJai, would you be so kind as to allow me to show you something in my office? I think it’ll interest you when you make your choice of careers.”
I realized I was being summoned for a private meeting. I looked at Rhinegold. He just smiled, and shrugged.
Halfway down the hallway, Mr. Cunningham paused, checked to make sure nobody was nearby, and handed me a piece of paper.
“Please keep this number, SeeJai. Put it into your speed dial address book.”
I didn’t understand, but I just ate a generous, delicious dinner this man paid for, so I pulled out my cellphone and did as he asked.
“I don’t mean to sound mysterious,” he said in a dramatic whisper, but, I hope you realize by now, sometimes Rhinegold needs help.”
“But I—”
He held up his hand to stop me. “It’s just for emergencies. If you need me. I answer that number any time, all day or night.”
“Mr. Cunningham, I’m Rhinegold’s friend, not —”
This time his sad smile interrupted me. “If you’re really his friend, just remember, if you have to, you can always call me. If he needs help.”
“Just for emergencies. Like 911?”
“I hope you never need to call 911 for Rhinegold. But please call me about any emergency.”
“He wouldn’t like this.”
Mr. Cunningham gave me a solemn nod. “Of course not. Please never tell him.”
I placed my phone back into my pants pocket. “Just for emergencies.”
What was Rhinegold’s father afraid of?
When we rejoined the others, Keara said to me, “SeeJai, do you mind getting your coat? I’d like to show you something.”
Mr. Cunningham smiled at me. “Please don’t fall. I hate to defend personal injury suits.”
Say what?
But I couldn’t refuse without looking discourteous and—much worse—chickenshit.
Keara led me toward the back of the house, to a narrow stairwell off the kitchen. Several middle-aged women were cleaning up our dirty dishes. A whiff of hot grease and dish detergent. She said a quick hi to them, and then we stepped up the thick-carpeted stairs.
“I knew they wouldn’t take you up here this time of year,” Keara said. “It’s really too cold, but it’s still worth seeing.”
Following her example, I zipped my winter coat up all the way, pulled on my hood, and slipped on my gloves.
“You’re wearing Rockports, so you have some traction,” she told me. “But still be careful. Nobody thinks to throw rock salt up here.”
A heavy wood door opened onto a small patio. Or maybe balcony is a better word, though the only window was about five feet above it.
Ice did still cover the slick tile floor, and without Keara’s warning I probably would have fallen back and conked the back of my head.
Instead, I just fell on my ass and slid into the stone ledge surrounding it. A waist-high width of concrete on a long line of round, fluted columns. Also still glazed over with ice.
“Thanks for the warning,” I muttered.
Keara slipped and fell, joining me at the railing. “Even slippier than I realized,” she said.
Once stabilized, leaning against the concrete, I understood why Rhinegold’s stepsister brought me out there.
The “backyard” contained a swimming pool detectable only by the surrounding fence and ladder handles extending above the tarped surface covered with snow. Bare trees grew beyond that, beginning the sweeping vista of ice-caked trees and rolling hills of snowdrifts. On each side, wings of the mansion extended back farther than I realized.
How many rooms total? I couldn’t guess. More than most motels, I bet.
Off to the left, tennis courts. To the right, a thick vale of shadowy trees began a forest that might reach the Rockies.
Above all, the black dome of cold stars flashing like beacons.
Winter clouds vanished when Keara went outside, as they did for Rhinegold.
The concrete next to me was poor shelter from the north wind sweeping against the rear of the house, trying to push me over the ledge.
I wanted to return to the warmth of this modern castle, bask in the hospitality—even if hypocritical—of the twenty-first century king and queen inside. But I realized I had to spend five minutes listening to whatever garbage Keara wanted to tell me.
It couldn’t be anything I wanted to hear.
“It is beautiful out here,” I said.
A wistful expression relaxed her face. Her eyes shone with the yearning to reach out and touch a memory. “Rhinegold and I used to come out here all the time, late at night when everybody else was in bed asleep.”
“Oh yeah?”
She pointed to the window just over our heads. “That’s his bedroom. Mine’s farther down the hall. He figured out how to unlatch the storm window and screen, and climb down.”
Teenaged kids sneaking around. Happened to rich and poor parents.
“Did you guys drink some beer? Smoke joints? Eat midnight snacks?”
“Talked mostly,” Keara said, her voice thick with a feeling I couldn’t guess.
With the door behind us closed, I heard no noise from within the house. Nothing stirred in the huge backyard or surrounding territory. The entire neighborhood remained as quiet as though all the other houses were condemned and empty. No dogs. No cars running. No music playing.
A private place, safe from pushy parents, prying servants, and curious neighbors.
“How long ago did your mother marry Mr. Cunningham?”
Keara paused, as though considering the implications. “Almost four years.”
“Really?” That surprised me.
“What?”
“I guess … I thought you and Rhinegold must have grown up together. I just assumed.”
She kept gazing out over the landscape. “I was about four when Mother and my father divorced,” she said. “She worked hard to support us, though my father did pay child support. She was a paralegal. That’s how she met Sanders. When they got married, I was a little angry, but not much. I didn’t have any reason to feel loyal to my father. And Rhinegold’s dad has made life a lot more comfortable for her.”
“And you,” I couldn’t help pointing out.
She nodded. “At first, I had trouble fitting in w
ith the rich kids.”
“They did wear K-Mart designer clothes.”
“It was more their style. How they talked, how they saw things, and thought. I didn’t belong.”
I nodded. I felt that way ever since Rhinegold rented the Tercel. I didn’t belong in a brand new, rental car. I didn’t belong in a neighborhood where every house sat at least a quarter of a mile back from the main road. I didn’t belong in a mansion big enough to hold every apartment Mother and I ever shared. I didn’t belong around the dinner table with such delicious food.
I didn’t belong with Rhinegold.
“But Rhinegold helped me. He took me everywhere except to guys-only type of stuff. A few of them assumed I’d—you know—be easy, but he put them straight. He made all of them understand I was his kid sister and if they had looked down on me, they looked down on him.”
“He protected you.”
She nodded and put the side of her face on her folded arms, so she gazed at the stars. “Gradually, I figured out how to fit in, but I’ll always be grateful. Rhinegold did a lot more than he had to.”
A shiver jerked my spine. Keara seemed warmed by her memories. I anticipated getting angry in a few minutes, but right now I felt too cold to feel anything else. Get to the point. Tell me how I shouldn’t be the girlfriend of a man who didn’t want me in his bed, only under his protection.
“He’s such a nice guy,” I said. “It’s hard to believe he knows how to kill you with one secret touch.”
“Maybe that’s why Helena and I are such good friends. She moved out here just a few years ago. By then, I felt like one of the rich kids, and she was the awkward outsider who didn’t belong.”
“Look, I’m sorry I upset you. I wish you weren’t there when I dumped the food on her. It had nothing to do with you.”
“She told me what a big bitch you are.”
“She didn’t tell you what happened?”
“No,” Keara said. “What happened?”
When I didn’t answer, she said, “All right, scratch that question. It’s not my business. You’re not sorry you almost lost your job just to embarrass her, are you? So she must have hurt you a lot.”
“If you want to know the story, ask Helena. But she won’t tell you the truth.”
The ice crust creaked as Keara shifted her weight. She peered out at the far woods. “Please leave him alone. I can tell you’re not a bad person. Please don’t hurt him.”
