Phoenix Rising

by Anais Ninja

  The houses below seemed to get larger, white squares on winding streets contained within square tracts, aqua and teal dots that became swimming pools as we descended. In the distance was a cluster of larger buildings, downtown Phoenix, and a bluish ridge that seemed to emerge from the earth like the spine of some massive animal.

  The ground seemed to go by faster as we approached, with the closest features turning into a blur of green and brown and white. Then we passed the perimeter of the airport, a long chain link fence, a series of metal towers with flashing lights, and then the gray concrete of the runway, black streaks of rubber and unbroken yellow lines. There was a squeal of rubber against cement and the engines revved up again.

  “Thrust reversers,” Robby said. Deceleration made the seatbelt dig into my lap, but it abated a moment later. We were on the ground again, taxiing slowly towards the terminal. It felt strange, this slow movement, and I felt like my blood was still racing along at 500 miles per hour.

  “Here’s my address in Boston,” Robby said, writing in his notepad. “If you feel like writing or something.” He tore out the page and handed it to me.

  “Thanks,” I said, folding the piece of paper and slipping it into the pages of my journal. “I’d like that.” So much for zipless fucking. But I did want to see him again. He was interesting, he was cute, and he fucked like an animal. I wondered what he’d be like outside of the coffin-like confines of an airplane lavatory. There was one problem, though: he didn’t know I was only fifteen.

  The plane stopped at the gate, and our fellow passengers stood up from their seats, reaching into overhead bins and under seats to collect their belongings. Robby and I waited until the line of people leaving the plane began to move before we got up from our seats. We walked off the airplane together, past the smiling row of flight attendants at the door who thanked us for flying United. Well, at least Robby and I had flown united for a few passionate minutes.

  “I’ve got to catch my connecting flight,” Robby said. “I’ll be back in Boston in a couple of weeks. Call me?”

  “I will,” I said. He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss, and then he was gone. I watched him walk down the concourse towards his next flight, and then I hefted my backpack over my shoulder and headed away from the gate.

  It seemed as if there were as many people here to meet the flight as there had been on the plane. Wives greeted husbands, husbands greeted wives, a large family had a noisy, happy reunion. One man stood alone, scanning the faces of people leaving the plane: tall, tanned, dark curly hair graying at the temples, khaki slacks and a sport jacket. His eyes met mine and he smiled, walking over to me from where he stood.

  “Annie?”

  “Daddy?” I recognized him now.

  “Annie. At last...,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. I hugged him, feeling my eyes well up with tears. I didn’t want to get emotional, but I just couldn’t help it. I looked up at him and he held me tighter, kissing the top of my head.

  “Let’s go get my suitcase before I start crying in the middle of the airport,” I said. My father laughed and hugged me again, and then he took my hand and we headed towards the baggage claim area.

  “You’re beautiful, just like your mother,” he said as we waited by the baggage carousel.

  “Thank you, Daddy.” I blushed, looking around to see if anyone noticed. The conveyor belt lurched to life, and luggage started appearing from a small door set into the wall. It took a few minutes for my suitcase to appear; my father scooped it up from the conveyer by the handle.

  “I’m parked over by Terminal A,” he said. “This way.” I followed him down a wide concourse and we stepped on to a moving walkway, looking out the glass walls at the distant hills.

  “Flight okay?” he asked.

  “Fine. Just a bit of turbulence,” I said, trying to sound like a veteran flier, even though I was a bundle of nerves for the first part of the flight.

  “Good, glad to hear it,” he said. “Mia and the kids are back at the house. There’s enough time for you to settle in and unpack, and then we’ll go out to eat. Sound okay to you?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” I said.

  “You look great. Really great,” he said.

  “Thank you, Daddy.” I blushed again, and he chuckled.

  “Just like your mother,” he said, reaching out to touch my cheek. “I could make her turn as red as a beet.”

  “Mom...,” I said, under my breath. It had been a little over three years since she’d been killed, shot during a robbery at the bank where she’d worked as a teller. A social worker had tried to track down my father, but she came up empty. Without any other living relatives, I was left in the care of my stepfather, Ramon, my dear papi.

  “Annie. I’m sorry,” my father said, putting down my suitcase and taking my hand. “I didn’t know about your mother until two years after she died. By then you had left Florida.”

  “It’s okay, Daddy,” I said, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay.”

  “I would have come for you.”

  “I know.”

  “I missed you, Annie.”

  “I missed you, too, Daddy.” This wasn’t exactly true. I was very young when he’d left my mother and I, too young to really know him, but his absence left a hole in my life. I thought about him every Christmas, every Fathers’ Day, and on the anniversary of my mother’s death, but there were people I missed even more: my lover Julia, my papi, my stepbrothers Del and Paco.

  We reached the end of the moving walkway. My father picked up my suitcase and led me out of the terminal, into the Arizona sunshine. We walked across a parking lot, to a red Cadillac convertible with a white interior. He placed my bag in the back seat and opened the door for me, and then we drove out of Sky Harbor Airport and headed towards the distant blue hills I’d seen from the terminal.

  “You’ll like the house,” my father said. “It’s a nice place, but I’m looking for a bigger one in the same development. You’ll have to share a room with Dana for now.”

  “Dana?”

  “My daughter. Mine and Betsy’s,” he said.

  “Betsy?”

  “Elizabeth. My second wife,” he said. “I always called her ‘Betsy’.”

  “Oh. You have a son, right?” I’d only spoken briefly with my father before flying out, and I knew he had two kids from his second marriage, and that his third wife was expecting a child soon.

  “David. He’s twelve.”

  “Twelve? But that’s...”

  “Before I left your mother,” my father said. “He’s Betsy’s son from her first marriage. Actually, she wasn’t really married. It was just some guy she lived with. But I consider Davy my son, anyway.” We were stopped at a traffic light and he turned and looked at me, taking a quick glance at my bare legs. I tugged my skirt down over my thighs, a reflexive gesture.

  “And, um, Mia? Is that her name?” I asked him. She was his third wife.

  “You’ll like her. She’s pretty young, only 24,” my father said.

  “When did you meet?”

  “It was three years ago, when I was still selling cars, before I got my real estate license. Her parents flew down from Montreal to buy her a Jeep,” he said, steering the car down a long avenue lined with palm trees. But for the lack of an ocean aroma and the occasional cactus plant we could have been in Florida. Even the buildings and houses had that South Florida look: white stucco walls and terra cotta roofs.

  We drove the rest of the way in silence. The weather wasn’t as hot as I had expected; it was warmer than Boston, to be sure, but it felt more like a late spring day, even though the sun was just starting to set. I leaned back against the seat, feeling the breeze blowing through my hair. We pulled off the road and went through a set of steel gates, past a security guard with a nickel-plated revolver strapped to his hip. He smiled at my father and waved us through.

  Just past the gate was the clubhouse, a sprawling white stucco building with a sign out front that read “Rancho P
aradiso - MEMBERS ONLY”. Past the clubhouse, I could see parts of the golf course around which the community was built, closely-cropped grass with sandy bunkers, some stunted trees and cactus plants surrounding the fairway. We drove along a winding street lined with houses in various states of construction.

  “This is Phase III,” my father said. “We started this last fall.”

  “They’re nice,” I said. Seeing some of the houses that were only partially built, naked wooden beams only partly covered in plywood and sheetrock, reminded me of the derelict brownstone in which I’d hidden for a few days, abandoned in the middle of renovation. There was something about these houses that seemed cheap compared to houses I’d seen in New England, as if they were constructed from toothpicks and construction paper, hardly able to survive a nor’easter.

  We arrived at an older part of the community, built a few years earlier. The palm trees were taller, the houses slightly smaller. I saw a few with “FOR SALE” signs on the lawn that bore my father’s name and phone number, and the name of his company. He slowed down and pulled into a driveway, parking next to a station wagon. There was a girls’ bicycle on the lawn, pink frame and white plastic tassels on the ends of the handlebars, a fake license plate with the name “DANA” on the back of the seat.

  “We’re here,” my father said, turning off the ignition. “I’ll get your bag.”

  The front door was unlocked. My father led me inside, putting my suitcase down on the polished tile floor. “Mia! We’re home!” he called out. I heard footsteps coming from the kitchen, along with another sound, the click of a dog’s paws. Mia appeared, accompanied by a German Shepherd. The dog trotted over to me and immediately stuck his snout under my skirt, pressing his cold, wet nose into my crotch.

  “Hey!” I shouted, stepping back.

  “Schultzie! Sit!” my father said. The dog looked at him and sat on his haunches, his tail swishing back and forth on the tiles. “Give him your hand to sniff,” he said. “He just wants to get to know you.”

  “I’ll say.” I reached out, letting the dog sniff my fingers and then scratching behind his ears, making his tail wag faster.

  “Mia, this is Annie,” my father said. “My daughter.”

  “I’m so happy to meet you finally,” Mia said, extending her hand. She was petite, despite her pregnancy, barely an inch taller than me, with big brown eyes and dark brown hair that had been cut in a sort of shag, coming down to the nape of her graceful neck. She gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

  “Where are the kids?” Frank asked.

  “Finishing their homework,” Mia said.

  “Come, let me show you around,” my father said. I followed him from the foyer, through a large living room with a stone fireplace, an Indian rug in front of the hearth, expensive leather couches and seats, and a large glass-topped coffee table. We walked past the kitchen and through a carpeted hallway.

  “Our bedroom...this is my den...here’s Davy’s room,” my father said, giving me the tour of his house. He knocked on David’s door and opened it. His son was seated at a desk, a textbook open in front of him as he jotted notes in a looseleaf notebook.

  “Davy, this is Annie,” he said. “Your stepsister.”

  “Hi,” David said, getting up from his desk to shake my hand. He sounded shy, looking down at his feet as I accepted his handshake. What surprised me was his coffee-colored complexion, almost the same shade as Cami’s, and his curly copper hair that set off his pale blue eyes. After we shook hands, he stood there quietly, his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  “We’ll let you get back to your homework,” my father said. “Be ready for dinner in an hour or so, okay?”

  “Yes, Dad,” David said, smiling wanly as he returned to his desk. We left his room and my father closed the door behind him.

  “Shy,” I said. “Cute kid, though.”

  “He is. Smart, too. Made the honor roll last year.” My father led me to the room next door, knocking before walking in.

  “Annie, this is Dana,” he said. The girl was sitting on her bed, a book in her lap. She looked up and smiled, soft auburn ringlets surrounding her round face, a cute button nose, my father’s deep blue eyes.

  “Hi, Annie,” she said, putting aside the book.

  “Why don’t you wait here and I’ll bring in your bags,” my father said. I sat down on the bed next to Dana.

  “What are you reading?” I asked her.

  “Charlotte’s Web,” she said.

  “You like to read?” Dana nodded.

  “Well, don’t let me interrupt you,” I said.

  “It’s okay. I was just at the end of a chapter.”

  “I’ll bring the cot in from the garage,” my father said as he returned with my suitcase and back pack.

  “Can I help?” I asked.

  “No, it’s pretty light,” he replied. “Dana? Can Annie use a drawer in your dresser for her things?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” she said, slipping a bookmark between pages and closing her book.

  “It’s not necessary,” I said. “I can live out of my suitcase for a few days.”

  “Nonsense,” my father said. Dana opened the bottom drawer of her dresser, already empty except for a couple of bathing suits. She pulled them out and stuffed them in the drawer above.

  “Thank you, Dana,” I said, as my father left to get the cot. “You don’t mind if I stay in your room?” She shook her head, her curly hair swirling around her shoulders.

  “It’ll be fun, like a sleepover,” she said.

  “Yeah, it will,” I said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “Help me unpack, okay?” Dana smiled and scooted off of the bed as I placed my suitcase on a chair and opened it. She fetched some hangers from her closet for my dresses and blouses, and helped me fold my skirts, sweaters, and underwear, carefully placing them in the dresser drawer.

  “This is so pretty,” Dana said, holding my sheer pink babydoll nightie against her little body, looking in the mirror on her closet door as she turned this way and that.

  “It’s a bit big for you, sweetie,” I said. It was the nightie I had bought at Mrs. Pomerantz’s boutique, the one that reminded me of the negligees my mother used to wear. I heard the squeak of casters in the hallway, and my father appeared with the cot, an aluminum framework around a mattress that was folded like bread from a sandwich.

  “Is that yours?” my father asked me as Dana folded the nightie.

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “It looks like...nevermind,” he said, wheeling the cot next to Dana’s bed and unfolding it. “Mia’s getting some sheets and pillows for you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Is there time for me to take a shower before dinner?”

  “Plenty of time,” he said. “The kids’ bathroom is through there.” He pointed to a sliding door opposite Dana’s closet. “I’ll get Mia to bring you some fresh towels.” He smiled and left just as Mia arrived with pillows and linen for the cot. She began to unfurl the sheet, slowly bending over to tuck the corners under the mattress.

  “No, no, let me do that,” I said.

  “I don’t mind,” Mia replied.

  “No, really. I don’t want to be a bother. Please.” I took the sheets from her hands and finished dressing the cot while Dana slipped the pillows into their pillowcases.

  “I’ll be back with some towels,” Mia said.

  “Do you help your mom around the house?” I asked Dana.

  “She’s not my mom,” she replied, pouting.

  “Sorry. I meant your stepmom.”

  “Oh. I help a little. Daddy has a cleaning lady come in twice a week.”

  “That’s good,” I said. I couldn’t picture Mia cleaning this house by herself, and she wasn’t even due for another couple of months.

  “Is there anything else I can get you?” Mia asked, returning with a pair of towels and a washcloth.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I said, taking the linen from
her. She smiled and left, and I went into the bathroom for my shower. There was another door that must have led to David’s room, and I locked both before getting undressed.

  Robby’s semen had soaked through the folded paper towel I’d slipped into the crotch of my panties while I was on the plane. Fortunately, my skirt was still clean, no telltale white stains on the back. I filled the sink and dropped my panties in the warm, soapy water to soak.

  The shower had one of those detachable massage heads, like the one in Mr. Sheffield’s bathroom. I savored the feeling of warm water pulsing on my skin, directing the stream over my breasts, my belly, between my legs. There was a pleasant tingling, but I resisted the temptation to linger in the shower and make myself come. Still, it seemed like a wonderful way to start the day. Perhaps tomorrow morning...

  I dried myself off with one of the plush towels that Mia had brought for me, wrapping it around my body and rinsing out my panties in the sink. I wringed them out, draping them over the shower curtain rod to dry. When I stepped back into Dana’s room, she was gone, leaving me alone to brush out my hair and get dressed. I put on a nice dress, a black cocktail sheath that I’d found in a vintage clothing store in Boston, along with black pumps and a simple strand of pearls that Helen had bought for me. A bit of makeup, not too much, and I was ready for dinner.

  Mia and my father were sitting in the living room, sipping chilled white wine. Davy and Dana had iced glasses of soda, and the dog was spread out on the rug by the hearth, gnawing at a big piece of rawhide.

  “Can I get you something, Anne?,” Mia asked me. “A soda or some juice?”

  “Could I have a glass of wine, please?” I said. She looked over at my father, and he looked at me for a moment.

  “Sure,” he said. Mia started to get up from the couch, but my father stopped her and headed into the kitchen, returning with a glass of wine.

  “You look very pretty in that dress, Anne,” Mia said. “Doesn’t she, Frank?”