by Asha Daniels
An odd assortment of fragrances greeted me, including vanilla and cinnamon laced with a deep, rich pine. Even the scent of the wooden pieces in the foyer had a distinct odor. Everything appeared to be spotless, shined and cleaned given the fact the household was expecting guests. There was something else in the air, a tangible electricity that I always experienced. It was as if Daddy had a difficult time being alone with me now that I was all grown up. I couldn’t help but wonder what business associates my father hungered to show me off to or perhaps prospective clients he acted as if he so desperately needed.
“Miss Megan. Welcome home. I’ll take your things.” Alice was more of my father’s assistant, but often served beside him during various household parties as well as corporate events.
“Hi Alice. Is Daddy here?”
“He’s on a call. I’m certain he’ll be right down. So glad you’re home. The place isn’t the same without you. Why don’t you wait for him in his office?” Her smile was genuine, yet her eyes hardened from years of working with my father.
Nodding, I dropped my bags, hanging up my coat and walking toward his office. He’d left the doors open and I could see the waning sun washing over his art collection, flanking both sides of the floor to ceiling windows. Every step inside seemed heavy, difficult. As I ran my hand over the edge of his desk, so many memories rushed to the forefront of my mind. I remembered the laughter as well as arguments my parents had, frank discussions over money issues that I’d listened in on. My father had never taken a day off, never put his family first.
I also remembered the various punishments.
Power. Obedience. Discipline.
I knew the words well. I’d been a part of a powerful and influential group of people from the time I could remember. A part. I was brought up in a special family. At least my daddy always reminded both my mother and me how lucky we were. I just didn’t care any longer. I was tired of representing the upper echelon of Denver society, but I remained Daddy’s girl, perfect in every way. That’s what Daddy required of me of every time I came home from school. I was the perfect daughter. I was the perfect student. I was the perfect friend.
My choice in studies was a dig that kept me working harder. One day…
The sigh slipping past my lips was the same expression I had every time I came to Daddy’s house. His house. The two story modern work of art no longer belonged to my mother. Not that it ever did. She admitted only one time that she hated the house, Denver, all her fake friends and her position in life. That was a year before her death. I was only sixteen. I lost the only person in my life who understood me. I died along with her on that cold, winter day.
I couldn’t help but think about her. She was beautiful and charming, but there was so much more to her conservative appearance and grace. She made every holiday special. Every time I came to the house, I was reminded of what I’d lost. I’m not my mother, much to my father’s chagrin. How many times have I heard him exclaim, anger laced in his comment about how I should be more like her? Perhaps that’s why my father, my daddy didn’t like me at all.
The window overlooked a lovely garden, now covered by the recent snows, but the place remained magical. Icicles hung from the eaves, dangling down like dangerous weapons. The trees were illuminated by the spark of pinks and tangerines as the sun gleamed off the solarium glass. I envisioned my mother’s flowers, carefully tended to and loved, fertilized and watered no matter the season.
“Megan. Darling, you’re finally home.”
The sound of his voice, the deep and husky baritone no doubt sent shivers down the spines of women he dated. No, the women he commanded. For me? I shivered every time as well, but my reasons were entirely different.
“Daddy. Good to be home.” I turned toward him and noticed his face, the pinched look I’d grown accustomed to was then followed by a deep sigh. I’d been home less than thirty minutes and I’d already displeased him.
“What are you wearing?” His demanding question was followed by a head shake.
I knew his body language so well. Feeling so small, so insignificant, I managed a smile. “Jeans. The ride was long. Remember?” His look became calculating, as if sizing me up. The truth is, I think he preferred when I was younger and he was able to pull me into his office and close the door, away from prying eyes as he would say. I always knew what to expect then. A hard spanking.
There was little I did right or good enough all through my years in school. He’d ask me to come in and after closing the door behind me, he’d sit down behind his desk, lecturing me on everything I’d done wrong. I never knew what he’d use for the day’s method of punishment. There was no rhyme or reason. He often selected a special paddle he once told me he’d purchased from a little shop in Switzerland. I remember every time how I whimpered and begged, but my words and promises seemed to make things worse.
After a solid ten minutes of berating, he’d command me to lean over the desk, after raising my skirt. The spanking was never under ten minutes or more than fifteen. The timer on the desk was set, dinging when the punishment was completed. Then I was sent off to my room to ‘think’ about my bad behavior. I closed my eyes just for a second as the memories sent a quiver down my spine. He had the same look today.
“Yes. Well, of course you’re going to want to change. We have very important company coming tonight for dinner.”
His disgusted tone admonished my choice. I watched as he walked toward his desk, the carved wooden box that held his precious cigars. I loathed the stench, the smoke floating throughout the house. Just like my mother. Not that he cared. He ruled the house just as he’d commanded my sweet and loving mother.
Until the day she died.
“I know. You told me.” Three times. I resisted barking at him. That would only garner some form of punishment. He could no longer pull me over his knee or the edge of his desk, spanking me as if every action is a mere disgrace. The physical punishments ceased on the day I turned eighteen, but his mental and emotional demands were almost as ruthless. I always wondered whether he feared some form of retaliation. Gabriel Wallace was a man of importance, an influencer all throughout the state. However, he didn’t have any clue how much I’d learned since leaving his home. He had no idea what evidence I held against him.
After all, he was nothing but a murderer.
“Excellent.” His smile was polite, as if greeting a servant.
I watched as he clipped the end of the cigar, the cutter edge shining in the bright sunlight. I often wondered how terrifying it would feel to shove his finger into his prized cutter, grinning as I sliced off his finger. Perhaps I would never experience the delicious moment. I knew the rules cold, his requirements, and moved closer, keeping the same plastic smile. I’d practiced my reactions during nights spent alone at school. I never, ever wanted him to see me cower again. Not once. “How is the business?” I knew the question would chide every aspect of his being. He and his business were fake, moving money from one account to the other. He certainly didn’t want anyone to know he’d ridden the line of bankruptcy for almost a decade, turning to more ‘profitable’ actions. I almost laughed at the thought.
Everyone believed we were rich, enjoying the spoils of a multi-million dollar corporation. If only his friends gathered how many lies he’d told over the years. Money made from destroying others. He was nothing in my mind but a blood sucker, using violence to secure contracts, even deeds. But sweet Daddy had never gotten his hands filthy. He paid a few close pals to do his dirty work.
I found out so many details about my father’s company from an old friend, a disgruntled employee who’d been forced out of my father’s regime. At least he was still alive. What I’d learned from the haunted man had kept me awake at night. However, Gabriel Wallace was not to be challenged.
“Fantastic. We have several new clients,” he stated, a hint of discord in his voice. He took a deep puff and moved around his desk, coming closer to me. Too close.
And how’s the ba
nk account, Daddy? No, I couldn’t ask the question, but I already knew the answer he would supply. “I’m so glad.” I gave him a sweet smile as he studied me, his eyes drifting down to my torn jeans and rugby shirt. Every time he looked at me this way, I felt uncomfortable. Even today, after promising myself that I would not succumb to his fury or his requirements, I faltered, failing myself.
“I do have a surprise for you.”
The tone of his voice changed, almost filling with glee. I’d experienced this before. So many times, in fact. “Surprise?” I didn’t know why, but I took tentative steps toward him. He was my father, my protector and teacher, yet I felt as if I didn’t really know him. Something died in him with my mother’s death. As it should have. And he had no idea how much I hated him.
His eyes twinkled as he pulled out the top drawer on his desk. He kept his hand inside, touching whatever surprise he believed to be so grand as he exhaled. The pause was meant for me to understand how impressive the surprise was going to be, at least to him. “I know how much you adore skiing.”
“Skiing?” Really? This was unusual.
I found myself inching closer until only the expensive mahogany desk was between us. “I do. You’re doing very well at school and I’m very proud of you.”
The fact was, I tolerated skiing, a recreational function of the rich. I was terrified of heights, loathed the horrifying feeling as I pummeled down a mountain. But all the fashionable families skied.
When he yanked out an envelope, he smiled, but not in a manner that a father would give his daughter in providing a present. His demeanor and mannerisms suggested a payment for his generosity. “I’ve paid for five days for you and your friends to go to Vail.”
I realized I hadn’t said a word or offered any manner of thanks when he shook his head. “Really?”
“Yes, really. All expenses paid.” He tossed the envelope across the desk and puffed on his cigar.
The smoke billowed in front of my face, yet I resisted coughing. Or blinking. I realized my hand was shaking as I reached out, grabbing the ugly brown envelope. I didn’t want to even think about his payment for the gift. I couldn’t. I held my breath as I opened the flap, pulling out the contents. I had to blink several times before I comprehended. “First class flights?”
“Only the best for my daughter.” He beamed as he kept his eyes locked on my face.
“Wow. I don’t know what to say.” Four tickets. Four women. Several ways to ‘appreciate’ the money spent. The resort would no doubt be top notch, our every whim catered to. I swallowed and did everything I could to act excited. “This is wonderful. I can’t wait to call my girlfriends.”
“I thought you’d enjoy it. I took the liberty of calling your friends’ parents, telling them the good news. The plane leaves tomorrow morning. Now, run up to your room and change. The guests will be here in less than an hour.”
I stared at him, maybe even through him and bit back so many ugly words, things I’d thought about during lonely nights in my dorm room. He’d been so difficult, so condescending since I was a child. He had no care that my friends might have other plans. He expected them to be ready at a moment’s notice to fulfill their obligation to the ‘gift’. I nodded politely and turned to leave.
“What do you say?” he asked, knowing the correct answer would come.
I’m trained that way.
“Thank you, Daddy. You’re the best.” I hesitated as he moved closer, his head jutted to the side. I knew what he wanted, what was expected I’d give him. Resigned, I closed the distance, rising on my tiptoes and kissing his cheek. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, an afternoon bracer as he preferred calling his drinking habit.
“Good girl. You’re very special to me. I hope you know that. Just make me proud tonight.”
Daddy’s words were always direct. I could only smile as I held the ‘gift’ close to my chest, scampering out of the room. My friends? He knew all of them, my best girlfriends and had no problem arranging the trip. At least Becca and Pepper’s parents would be thrilled. Jamie, on the other hand, I had no idea what to expect.
The party tonight would be an interesting event. I kept my hand on the bannister as I climbed the staircase, leading to my room, smirking seeing my fingerprints ruining the high sheen of the recent polish. The moment I opened the door, I was dragged back into the past. Nothing had changed. It was as if Daddy wanted his little girl back. Even the few stuffed animals and dolls I’d kept after turning thirteen remained in the room, crowded on my bed, the one with the lavender comforter. Has Daddy forgotten I was all grown up?
My suitcase was positioned just so in the middle of the room, perhaps another reminder to change, to look the part of a polished soldier. That’s all the men and women employed by my father seemed to be. He directed. They obeyed. Without question. Or face the consequences. As I sat on the bed, tossing the envelope to the side, I continued to shake, my stomach overcome with nausea. I loathed coming home for any reason. How sad. How tragic. My father didn’t know a thing about me or what I wanted out of life.
Then again, he didn’t care.
I dropped my head into my hands, trying to rationalize my thoughts. My father was up to something and this very special dinner was no doubt the catalyst.
I called my friends, one by one, pretending how much the gift meant to me. Jamie, Becca and Pepper had been my best girlfriends since boarding school, another expense my father considered business. They had no idea about my father. I could never confide in them. The Megan they knew was fearless, a girl who would try anything without fear of retribution. We’d all been in trouble over the years from my antics.
“Pepper, did you hear? We’re going on a trip!” I squealed as would be expected. I could hear the excitement in her voice before she answered.
“Your father is the best!” Pepper exclaimed, her thin voice grating.
I cringed when she went on and on about skiing and finding adventure, boys and drinking. I wasn’t interested in any of the activities, but of course the good little girl would go along. “I know. Right? We leave tomorrow. Get packed, girl. We’re going to have a blast.” Did I sound as contrite as I thought?
“I can’t wait. We’ll shop when we get there. I hear Vail has the most expensive stores. Daddy already bought me a ski outfit and I think I’ll ask for his credit card. Isn’t that fabulous?”
“Sure. I mean absolutely. I’ll meet you at the airport tomorrow afternoon. Get ready to party down!” There was such joy in Pepper’s voice, the way she giggled as she’d mentioned boys. I was the only girl at college, at least it seemed, who didn’t have a boyfriend. Perhaps because Daddy had drilled into me that I was to date then marry a proper man, talented and sophisticated. Just like him. You mean a killer. Over my dead body. My fantasy man kept my vibrator busy.
I felt sick to my stomach as I glared at the suitcase. I’d purposely brought home a red and very short dress that I’d found at a little boutique – a naughty selection for the party. Daddy was going to hate my choice and for the first time since arriving home, I had a genuine grin on my face. I couldn’t glare at the case for much longer. Grabbing the bag, I unzipped it, finding the silky number I’d found for only twenty dollars and did a little dance. Daddy was going to be surprised.
As if I really cared.
I spent time, no doubt too much time luxuriating in a hot shower, wiping the grime of the road away. I was in no rush.
I stared into the mirror for a solid five minutes then grabbed a tube of lipstick. Flaming red in color. The vibrant shade would suit my full lips, accentuating my green eyes. After applying it, I stood back. I looked at least five years older given my hair was neatly in a bun, the make up nearly perfect and the dress was... Well, the dress accentuated the figure I’d grown into. Perfectly. I licked my lips in an exaggerated fashion then made a face. Daddy wanted me to be an adult. Here you go, daddy dearest.
The moment I walked downstairs, all eyes were on me. I knew I was pretty, bu
t none of Daddy’s friends had overtly looked at me in a sexual manner until now. They would never have dared challenge his rules. I smiled at every male in the room, longing for their attention, almost begging to be seen. Wouldn’t Daddy be proud?
I found Daddy only minutes later, holding court in the living room. A glass of wine in his hand, he was telling stories I knew they’d heard time and time again. But every one of his guests laughed as if on cue. I waited in the doorway, sticking my leg out and holding a pose I’d seen in a magazine. You bet I was noticed.
“Holy shit,” the rugged and very male mumble was said just loudly enough that several people looked in my direction. So did Daddy.
I couldn’t help but give my brightest smile as I walked into the room. The hush over the entire group was fantastic. Daddy glared at me yet held his perfect smile.
“Megan. So glad you could join us. Come, I want you to meet our guests.” Daddy’s voice boomed over the music and everyone took a step back as I moved toward him. The room was glistening from glowing wall sconces, a roaring fire, and candles lit everywhere. “This is my daughter, Megan. My bright, shining star. She’s going to make me proud one day.”
The cut was obvious, but I refused to concede to his utter disdain.
“She looks just like her mother,” the man standing closest to my father said, but the words were little more than breath sounds.
“Yes, she does,” Daddy acknowledged as he held out his hand. “Home from college for just one day before going on a special trip with her friends.”
“Ah, what are you studying?” the same man asked, his eyes twinkling.
“Pre-law,” I stated proudly and with enough attitude the man nodded. I recognized his face, but his name had never been of importance. For some reason, I knew it would be tonight. The man’s suit was expensive, tailored to fit his broad shoulders and thin waist, long legs that were no doubt carved from hours spent at some expensive gym. When he smiled, his perfectly white teeth gleamed. Every aspect of this man was polished.
