Pandora Wild Child

by Sunniva Dee

  I don’t text Pandora until the day is over and Grandma’s sound asleep. She’ll get the message when she wakes up—unless she’s sleepless again.

  All’s good here. Flight landed. Grandma happy. Hope your back’s better + that you studied. Xx

  Tomorrow, I’m calling my high school ex. Hopefully, she’s up for coffee so we can discuss my grandma’s situation.

  Studied tons! I’m a philosopher AND a mathematician already!

  Pandora’s reply makes me smile.

  Nice! I text back as she continues, So glad your grandma’s good!

  Yeah, I type out, Time for a nap—it’s late 4 u.

  Can’t. Too bright or too dark LOL

  Stop texting, you’ll be fine :)

  Miss you.

  Miss you. Two words complicating things. I miss her messed-up sweetness too. The thought of her unable to sleep bothers me.

  Night, xx, I write back.

  I still don’t sleep much at night, but I manage to wedge in half-hour naps throughout the day while keeping up with my studies. Dominic texts me on Tuesday. He seems delighted that I’m getting stuff done, and I am too. I’m letting myself hope that my dad won’t come running to my, quote-unquote, rescue.

  I had a test on Monday and one today—got a 90 and a 95 on them. Heck yes! At the apartment, Mica rewards my efforts with enthusiastic goofy-faces, while Destiny pats my shoulder whenever she sees me do something good for my grades. Considering how their living accommodations depend on me, their enthusiasm might not be entirely due to their love for me.

  At the spa, the owner works on me the way Dad promised she would. I hadn’t actually met her before, but she’s a petite, elegant forty-something lady with a slight British accent. Her smile is professional and her eyes hard as flint, a combination which throws me off-kilter.

  She’s into client chitchat, and while she works on my back with small, rough hands, she asks me about myself, prattles on about the business and about Dominic.

  I’m not comfortable under her ministrations, but after years with my disease, I’m aware that no good comes of a massage session if I don’t relax. Rather the opposite.

  “You know Dominic from the spa, correct?” she inquires.

  “Sort of. I met him here after we ran into each other at a bar.”

  “At Smother?”

  “Yeah. On my first night in town.” Face down, I smile ruefully into the bench; even in my intoxicated state, I’d experienced an instant attraction to him.

  “Hmm, aren’t you too young to go out?”

  “I’m in college,” I say noncommittally.

  Her knuckles push in between my shoulder blades, not an area that bothers me much, but with the force she applies, I let out an involuntary yelp. Thankfully, she lessens the pressure.

  “Dominic loves that club,” she says in a casual voice. “Excellent place to pick up easy lays, he tells me.”

  Did I hear her correctly? She’s in her forties, but she sounds like Mica.

  My cheeks flush because I remember how I was an easy lay. No. Not easy. Insistent—more of a tough lay to omit; Dominic kept asking me to reconsider.

  The weight of her palms disappears, and by the sound of the splashing water, she’s washing her hands. “But I’m sure you’re smart,” she adds. “I bet he’s just a friend to you?”

  Jesus. What’s her deal?

  I want to whip out the phone and interrogate Dominic. Then I think of how we’re not a couple, how I shouldn’t be digging into his business uninvited.

  “Are we done, here?” I mumble instead.

  “Yes, sure,” she chirps. “I’m penciling you in for Thursday at seven p.m., per your father.”

  I wait until she leaves before I slide off the table and get dressed.

  The apartment is dead quiet, and I’m awake. I have yet to find a light source I can fall asleep to. Again, I try with the door ajar to the hallway and the lights on outside. If I wedge a towel in against the floorboards, it should stay in place, leaving me with a thin stream of light. This could work.

  My brain grinds on coursework and back pain worries, but mostly the comments from Spa Lady are what chafe at my nerves. Just as I’m about to nod off, the epiphany smacks me right in the face, and I fling my eyes open and stare at the ceiling.

  Of course. She acted strange because she’s had sex with Dominic. She’s freaking slept with him, and she knows I have too. Wow, my mind whirls so fast. God, I hurt. I totally hurt over this. She’s a beautiful fucking bitch, and I think I hate her.

  I—text Dominic.

  Your spa boss is a bitch.

  Oh God, and I… rage-texted. That’ll fix things.

  Panda, U OK?

  Never mind. Bye, I text back.

  My phone rings immediately. Way too loudly for the late hour. I wish I had the piece of crap on silent, although that is the least of my worries. I hit “answer,” and press the speaker to my ear.

  Dominic’s voice teases my eardrum, but not in a mild greeting. Instead, he goes straight to my message.

  “What did Ger say?”

  “Ger!” I spit out like I have a right to be upset over his nickname for someone he’s known longer than me. Dominic waits patiently for me to reply.

  “Your boss”—I emphasize the boss part—“tells me you go to Smother for an easy lay.” And as I say the words, I recognize how she’s told me nothing. Apart from the one sentence, all she gave me was bad vibes.

  “Okay. Well, I used to,” he starts.

  “Crap, I’m sorry.” I backpedal. “What you do or don’t do is none of my business. But she’s a bit of a gossip, huh?” I add because—

  I’m not sure why.

  Where do I go from here? The silence between us is awkward, and I groan quietly. I hate being on the phone in the first place. It’s so easy to blurt stuff out and then afterwards, what do you do? Phones are always just not… right.

  “She isn’t all that happy with me,” I continue.

  “Why’s that?” Right now, the calm, comforting sound of his voice is better than a massage. I want him close, though. He’s so far away.

  “Hold on,” I croak out, drop the phone, and grab the water on my nightstand. Once I’ve had a couple of sips, I can talk without choking up.

  If I’d had a buzz on, I would have flung my suspicions about him and Spa Bitch in his face, but now that I’m sober, I fumble.

  “She’s into you,” I finally cough out.

  His laughter is quiet, and it sounds so intimate to me. “Don’t be silly, babe.”

  I’m a cocktail of emotions from his reaction. I’m upset because he doesn’t believe me and giddy that he’s treating me like we’re together, and shit, I—

  Fuck!

  “Miss Walker—” he begins. Maybe he uses her real name because I didn’t approve of the nickname? I growl at my own excitement over the prospect; I shouldn’t be reacting this way.

  “—she just needs a boyfriend. She’s divorced and too busy with the spa to date. Don’t mind her, Panda. Let her work on your back—she’s good at what she does.”

  “I guess,” I mumble. “She was pretty rough with me today.”

  Silence on the other side.

  “Was she.” It isn’t a question, and he’s not happy. Him not being happy makes me happy. I’m smiling a little bit.

  “Are you in pain?”

  “No, I’m fine. I just—it was weird. I’d rather not have her the next time.”

  “She’s the best one until I’m back, babe. I’ll talk with her. When’s your next appointment?”

  “Thursday.”

  “You got class in the morning?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Okay, you need to sleep then. I’ll sort this out—don’t worry.”

  “All right, but…”

  “Sleep. Night, babe.”

  “Goodnight, Dominic.”

  I head back in from the porch after I hang up with Pandora, and there’s my grandma, holding out a glass of f
resh lemonade. Alan isn’t as full of shit as I thought—he hasn’t been exaggerating her mental state. She’s been confused most of the day, and it’s sad that this rare, good moment of hers comes when I need to be alone.

  The missus will be getting a phone call from me. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to hold off—I’m fucking pissed over how she’s treating Pandora in my absence. If I call right now, though, I’ll be ripping her a new one, which won’t do any good. Mentally, I make a note of calling before the spa hours are over. One way or another, I’ll be giving her a straight-from-the-liver, no bullshit talking tonight.

  Grandma’s new teeth gleam like the mother of pearl entrails of a mussel, and she’s working her lips up and down, sucking, while getting used to them. Alan called the dentist as soon as we got home to check if the behavior is normal. Apparently, it is. Thank God her nose wasn’t broken.

  “Why are you sad, baby boy?”

  “I’m fine, Grandma.”

  “No, you’re not. You men bottle everything up—it’s not good for you. Your gramps was the same way, bless his soul, and your uncle is too. Things become more manageable when you let them out.”

  The little lady blinks slowly, short white lashes obscuring her pale irises for an instant. “I know this isn’t easy for you, Dominic. I’m not well, and you should be back in school. Talk to me.”

  Grandma has always had some sort of intuition with me, but the fact that she recognizes her own illness gets to me. Now, those wise, bright eyes follow me as I shut the door and lock out the darkening sky.

  “Please,” she says.

  I sigh, mostly to myself, giving her a last moment to let this go, but she leaves a palm on my arm as I take a swig of the lemonade. It’s my little lady’s way of insisting.

  Finally, I relent.

  “There’s this girl in Deepsilver.”

  One more day, and I’ll have completed a full week of excellent schoolwork. Dominic texts me updates on the “little lady,” as he calls his grandma, and he always inquires about school and about my back. His phone calls inspire me. Dominic’s interest makes it easier to stay focused.

  I’m content. I go to the gym, and I keep Scheuermann under control. I haven’t even been to Smother since the mishap last weekend.

  Obviously, with Dominic gone, I can’t invite him over at night when I’m lonely. During daylight hours, this makes me proud, because my conscience is clean; without even trying, I’m doing him a favor.

  Yes, at the moment, I enjoy the best of both worlds: Dominic and I speak every day, and I don’t feel guilty—I’m not messing with his life.

  A message plings in on my phone.

  How’s your collection coming? he texts.

  Better than ever. Some guy sent me a 120-watter.

  Hmm, wonder who?

  I grin, turning his gift in my hand. So pretty. I think it even has a pink tint to it.

  It’s the best ever. I like them big, I flirt.

  Yes. Always a pleasure to… please you, is his immediate retort.

  I smile to myself as I type out my reply.

  Sassy boy.

  On Thursday, I’m on Miss Walker’s bench at the spa again. This, I have mixed feelings about. I didn’t enjoy my last appointment with her, and when she enters the room today, her eyes flash dark with resentment.

  “Okay, let’s get started,” she clips out, pulls the sheet down to my hips, and goes to work. I hold my breath, steeling myself for her hard fingers.

  “You need to relax,” she mutters, and I try, but judging by the low, displeased breaths she huffs out, she’s not happy with my efforts.

  “So, what’s new?” Her customer small talk isn’t genuine either.

  “Nothing much. Classes, workouts—the regular,” I say.

  “Right, with Dominic out of town, the options are a bit slim, aren’t they?” Her tone turns ironic.

  I twist my head so I can peer up. At my growing discomfort, her cold, blue eyes soften with pleasure.

  “What do you mean?” As soon as my question plops out, I regret it.

  “Well, Dominic told me about your little fling on the phone yesterday.” She leans in, breathing the rest against my ear. “He doesn’t leave me for long, though, mind you. He always comes back when he tires of the bland Smother girls.”

  What the hell?

  This lady’s crazy, and I’m not playing her game.

  “Get out,” I say from her bench in her spa. All I want is to get dressed and split.

  “Whoops, I’m sorry. Of course: he didn’t tell you.” She doesn’t look apologetic. “But don’t shoot the messenger, okay? I’m just doing you a favor. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. My advice? Let go while you can, because he has a pattern. My Dominic gets impatient with inexperienced girls. He’s predictable. Any time now, he’ll return to me.”

  A perfectly lipsticked smile spreads over her face. She saunters toward the door, pleased with herself.

  I need to leave.

  I scramble off the table and snatch my clothes from the chair, not worrying about the bare skin I reveal in the process. Her hand curves around the handle, caressing the metal while she turns to me, soap-opera-style. Her gaze rolls over my breasts and stomach while I bounce to pull my pants on.

  “The boy’s good, isn’t he? Gotta give it to him—he’s got moves.”

  As I storm past her, shoes in hand and jacket in my arms, she lets out a bright chuckle. “Bye, Smother girl.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I trip off the curb and into Shannon’s car. Why does this get to me so much? I knew, for crying out loud. Since Tuesday, I’ve known. Not that Dominic told me he’s been sleeping with his boss, but it was obvious.

  My phone lights up with a message from Dominic. I can’t stand the thought of reading what he has to say. Instead of driving home, I head out of town. The phone keeps flashing his messages in my face, though, and he shouldn’t even be texting me; I left in the middle of the massage session. I told him I was going!

  We’re not together, I remind myself over and over again. We’re not dating. No, we’re just friends. Dominic and I support each other. I breathe out as the last houses disappear from my rear view mirror.

  I listen to him when he’s worried about his grandma. He refurbishes my spine. Talks me down from my night fears. Tries to fix my freaking life.

  I stop at the side of the road because my vision blurs. Sniffing, I shoot the back of my hand up to my nose, wiping.

  What a bitch. Plus, if she cares as little as she says about his “flings,” why the need to tell me? I jump when the phone rings. That would be Perfect Dominic calling.

  I drag in a breath and pick up.

  “What?” I say.

  “Babe?” His voice is far away, and yet it stabs at my stomach like a knife.

  “I’m driving.”

  “Ah, okay. Well, guess what—I might have a solution for Grandma. I could be back in Deepsilver sooner than I thought.” He sounds excited.

  Let him enjoy this, Pandora.

  I’m pitiful from within the muddle of my own problems. God, I need to snap out of this. Of course I’m happy for him. Dominic is perfect, so selfless, doing all this stuff for his grandma—even for me, whom he’s known for only a few months. What he does in his spare time, when he doesn’t even have a girlfriend, is none of my business.

  “That’s great.” I manage the words, but I can’t add much else. I don’t want him to hear how I am right now. “Gotta go, though. Give her a hug.”

  “Okay,” he laughs. He’s delighted. “I’ll have that meeting tonight. Cross your fingers for me. If everything goes according to the plan, I’ll be back in a week!”

  Back to what? To the bitch? To me, calling him every night while he tries not to give in to the physical need we have for each other? My imagination roars in: what if he’s been with the bitch and me at the same time?

  He probably has!

  I can’t take my own thoughts anymore. They’re whi
rling out of control, so I say a hasty goodbye. Dry my eyes and speed back to the apartment. Destiny and Mica are watching TV, and Shannon’s at Smother with Christian. I don’t want them to be concerned, but I really can’t stay in tonight.

  I dress up, layer on makeup, and call out a joking “heading to Shannon’s place,” referring to Smother. They both giggle.

  “Weren’t you supposed to, like, not go out?” Destiny asks but accepts my answer easily.

  “Got something for Shannon.”

  At Smother, I see Shannon right away. She’s in her usual spot by the bar. From the color of the drink Christian slides across the counter, she’s having a Shirley Temple. Such a healthy girl.

  Her eyes narrow when she discovers me. “Pandora, shouldn’t you be at home? Study, sleep, and all that?”

  “Hi, to you too.” I grin. “No, Mom, I need a break from being goody two-shoes. Plus, I’ve done my homework.”

  She snorts and rolls her eyes, repeating “Mom” to herself.

  “Pandora.” Christian nods. “Poison?”

  “Yes, please. Crème de menthe—couple of shots with some Sprite?”

  “Shit,” Shannon mutters.

  “You sure?” Christian fixates on me. Since when did he join my haggle of handlers?

  “I’m. Sure.”

  I have two green delights and order a third before Skylar Grey’s “Dance Without You” slams out of the speakers. It catapults me on to the dance floor. I can’t think of a better song, the timing is right, and—I don’t care if I’m out here on my own.

  I close my eyes. Rock my hips. Lift my arms toward the ceiling. I’m relieved—my blood throbs in my veins, my heart matching the beat of the music. It pounds right through me, entrancing me. I’ve got room on the floor, and I become the entertainment. I’m used to it—just let them stare, because I am free now, with every muscle working together, expelling energy, stress, anxiety.

  It’s all I need; another drink and a dance and I’ll get my head back on straight. My thoughts calm and settle. Yes, this is what matters. Tomorrow will come either way—I crave this respite. Everything is okay as long as I sway with the music, as long as the alcohol muffles my senses and keeps reality at bay.