BOMAW 7-9

by Mercedes Keyes

  "See, Bea...that wasn't so bad, now was it?" He asked, breathing hard from exertion. "No matter how you pretend...I know you felt it too. I know you came—just like me. Came just like a little silent mouse. Can't hide that from me, Bea." He told her, pulling her up from the desk so he could kiss her. "Your tight lil' snatch pulsed around me and sucked me dry; sucked every bit of cream from me like a starvin' lil' kitten, like a hungry little pussy."

  Bea looked away from him, burning in shame. He laughed, kissed her, and laughed some more.

  As he promised, with his visits, his touch, came money. A new car. She chose something that looked like it was the best that she could afford, although brand new. A '71 Chevy Nova. She insisted that he never come to her "new" home. She could not bear for her son to know the truth of what was going on. He could have her at Wherrington house, as long as Georgiana was away; if he could find her. She sent him on a wonderful game of cat and mouse. At least, that's how he saw it, when she hid from him. When she dodged him. Often times, she pushed him away. Refusing to give over, regardless of the money. No greed was there to be found in Bea. She did not waste. Sometimes, a couple of weeks went by before Oscar got hold of her again. Yet, when those times happened, when a build up of wanting her rode him without an outlet, upon success of getting hold of her, he rode her hard and mercilessly. He began arranging for her to meet him somewhere else, threatening to come to her home. Afraid that he would, she would meet him, under the guise of making a "job associated" errand. Upon arriving at the designated place, she insisted again that never, not ever was he to come to her home. Not ever was he to call on her once her son was out of school. Oscar agreed, as long as he could have the times when she came to the room he got, wearing the fine lacy chemises, bras and panties he made her buy, where he could strip her bare, and have her as he did, he would abide. Those times were the hardest for Bea, because she could not handle Oscar. Sexually—he was ravenous, tireless. Making it worse, she fit him like a glove, her small size made it easy for him to lift her about, hold her in positions that heightened his pleasure. What made him feel even more in control, was that he could make her come, no matter how she tried not to—she did, he made sure of it.

  Still and yet, neither of them knew how it happened, but somewhere along the way, Bea gained a certain power over Oscar. While he slowly became emotionally and sexually dependent upon her, she remained cool, and sometimes cold, detached. She learned how to use her body to make him weep for her. In the private confines of their room where they met, he crawled about like a dog, sniffing and licking, whimpering, nosing at her private places, corrupting her body, making it as corrupt as his soul. Until finally, she came to be with child. She hadn't counted on that. Contraception was something she knew little about. Afraid that she would now lose her power over him, thinking he would reject her upon learning of her pregnancy, Bea had little choice but to tell him.

  "Will you get rid of it?"

  "Are you asking me to, or telling me to?"

  "Get rid of it."

  "No. It's mine to keep, and keep it I will. You don't want me anymore, say so...and that will be that." She had enough money saved up to figure out a way to make it if she had to. As long as she could keep her job, they would somehow make it. Because she'd never squandered any of the money, but instead opened a savings account and put some away for her son, she had that. She had a car. The most that she might lose, is where she lived. All of her furnishings were paid for, she made sure of it, by him. Only problem that would be, is without Oscar paying her rent, there would be no way she could afford the rents in Compton. Which at the time of the 60's and 70's was a middle class area.

  Oscar couldn't do it. He couldn't get enough of her. Pregnant or not. He never once mentioned anything about the child she carried. Never gave the child notice. Although she was pregnant, he continued on with the relationship as if nothing had changed. As for Bea, something had changed. For one, she struggled with the image she had built for her son, now altered because she was pregnant, absent a husband, absent a father. Shame was like a rash she couldn't get rid of, the itching and burning of it more intense when having to hear questions from her son. Questions for which her answers came uneasily. This was something new in their relationship. When Jeremiah asked questions, his mother had always given an answer, or directed him to where the answer could be found. Now—this time—the questions that he asked, she struggled with the answers to give.

  "How did you get pregnant, mama?"

  "The way all women get pregnant."

  "How is that?" The almost seven year old asked.

  "It's the way God made us, honey. It's how all people come to be."

  "How?"

  "We—women—have a time—that we can have a child, get pregnant—and I guess God has seen that I should have a child again, so you're not all by yourself."

  "Oh... but how come?"

  "Jeremiah—don't ask so many questions." She reprimanded gently, because she never raised her voice to him; she was on her way to work and taking him to school.

  "Why not? You told me, mama, always to ask questions. So I know why things happen. You having a baby, just 'cause God said he want you to? Like Mary—Jesus mama?"

  "Jeremiah, please. Don't ask any more."

  "Why?"

  "'Cause I—I just don't wanna answer no more questions right now."

  "Why?"

  "Because I just don't want to. Sometimes, mama don't feel like answering a whole lot of questions. Like now, okay?"

  Finally, he straightened in his seat and asked no more questions. But his mind was ticking, rolling with thoughts and more questions, she knew she would have to face. Sure enough, some days later, picking him up from school, driving home he said,

  "I ask my teacher how babies come to be. How women get pregnant. She said, husbands, fathers are needed to get women pregnant. She say it's what happens with husbands and wives. Where's your husband, mama? How come I don't have a father? Does this baby have a father?"

  Bea thought she would set on fire and burn, wishing that God would strike her with lightening to make it happen. It took forever for Jeremiah to stop asking. To accept that she was having a child. To accept that there was no husband. No father. Just her, having a baby, alone. Alone, the same way she had been when she had him. From that moment forward, her relationship with Oscar began to turn. She made several attempts to break it off. He wouldn't hear of it. Instead, he gave her more money. Money that she'd thrown in his face. She started looking for other work. No one was interested in hiring a pregnant woman. She was too scared to quit. Now with a baby on the way, another mouth to feed, she would go through her savings in no time. With bills to be paid. Food to supply. Insurance on her car. Rent to pay. She looked around for another place, and could not bring herself to return to the area she'd moved from. Once again it came back to, without Oscar, she could not pay her rent. She tried other areas. They wanted too much rent, a deposit on top, and few were willing to rent to a single black mother. She was stuck. Stuck with him.

  Not only that, but the grapevine had leaked it out that they were having an affair. The other servants were starting to talk. Georgiana was giving her knowing glances. Bea lived on the edge, knowing that any moment now, all could blow up in her face. She came close many times to running off. But she couldn't. No amount of suffering she might do, would make her wreck the world she'd built around Jeremiah. As it turned out, despite the gossip circulating, Georgiana Wherrington didn't seem to care that she might be her husband's kept woman. It appeared, that as long as he left her alone, she was happy. Word was, anyway, that she slept around with anyone she took a fancy to. Word was, that their young daughter, Deidre—was not even Oscar's—but the product of some Swede she met when on a skiing trip to Switzerland. It was after the return from there, when the morning sickness started and the word came, that she was with child. It was also said, that the last thing Georgiana wanted, was a child. A narcissist to the extent that she was, forced upon
her measures to ensure that she had no other. At least with her daughter, there would be an heir to her father's empire. Also through the grapevine, was that they, Oscar and Georgiana, were together only because of her father. He made her stay with Oscar T., because she defied them by taking off and marrying him. Now he was her cross that she had to bear.

  For different reasons, realizing that she needed to copy the idea, wishing to never face having explain another child, another pregnancy, upon Maxwell's birth; Bea had herself fixed, her tubes tied.

  As for Oscar, the affair carried on; with him having to struggle more and more to get her to comply, once she recovered from her birth, and then from the surgery. Once she returned to work, and was allowed to bring the child with her, as long as it stayed out of sight, out of hearing—not difficult to do, considering the size of Wherrington house—his attention to her commenced. More times than not, Bea would try to fight him off. Problem was, the challenge only heightened his passion for her. He treated her rejection of him like a game they played. The harder she "played", the more turned on he was, she fired his blood, never boring. There was nothing but pleasure to be found for him while she struggled, made more keen because of the fight and pushing him away. He derived gratification out of taking her, forcing himself on her. Realizing the futileness of denying him, Bea gave up. She accepted. For a while, for a spell, that what was—would always be. Five years later, she met Daniel Brody. He lived upstairs from her. They'd been seeing each other from afar, politely speaking to one another. He was a stunning black man. Hard working. A gentlemen. At first, they chanced to see each other only occasionally. Then started bumping into each other at the local grocers. Because she was a single mother with two sons, he was hesitant, keeping his distance. She was shy, and did nothing to encourage his attention. This went on for two more years until finally—he needed to know her.

  Bea had been attracted to him, but—because of Oscar, dare not cause conflict. She wasn't sure how to get rid of him. As for Daniel Brody, he was a man she'd come to secretly admire, and yes, desire. She wanted out. She wasn't sure how she would do it. But somehow, she had to keep her job, while discontinuing the affair with Oscar. Making up her mind, she carried on all that day, the day when her mind had been made up, deciding that this time, when Oscar came to her, she would try and reason with him.

  It was time for her to get off of work, he hadn't shown up. Before she lost her nerve, she went into his study, took a pen and wrote him a note, it said, in short—I can't go on like this. I can't take it anymore. This is not what my life was meant to be.— She signed her name. Using the secret key, she placed the note on his hidden stack of money, making sure no one else found it. It wasn't until she was about to get off work, that he came to her. When he did, he was furious. Pulling her into his office, he started shouting at her about her son, saying that he'd just gotten home, and saw him in the yard, that he'd kissed his daughter, Deidre. He'd sent her up to her room and told Jeremiah to wait for his mother by her car.

  "Jeremiah would never do such a thing! I know he wouldn't!"

  "Well, I saw it! You keep him away from my daughter!"

  It was as good as a punch to her stomach. The disdain on her face was clear, "Fine, and while we're talking about keeping away from people. From now on, you keep away from me."

  "Don't you use this against me! Don't you dare! I have every right to protect my daughter."

  "Yes, you do. So, from now on, I will have my son wait for me elsewhere. Okay?"

  "Thank you—I don't want a repeat of what I saw out there today."

  "No problem. And, uh, we need to talk, about—us."

  "What about us?" He asked.

  "I didn't think I would see you today, so I left you a note."

  "And what does it say?"

  "I can't do this anymore. You and I. I can't. And I need this job. I have two sons to see about, but I can't go on living as your..."

  "Our arrangement is not open for discussion."

  "It's over, Oscar. I don't want it anymore. I'm ending it here and now."

  "You wouldn't dare!"

  "I am...it's over."

  "And who's going to pay your rent, hm? You can't afford it, even with this job!"

  "I'll have to figure out a way. As of today, I'm not sleeping with you anymore."

  Oscar stood with piercing eyes of glaring disbelief. He could tell by the look of her, that she meant it. He smiled and threatened, "You insist on this—and you're fired."

  "I have your son! You can fire me knowing that!?"

  "You have my bastard! The choice is yours. You want this job, you know what you have to do."

  "I'm not sleeping with you any more, Oscar...no more. Why can't you just leave me alone!?"

  "What's it going to be? Job—or—homelessness! Did you know your rent is due? I was just about to come in and take care of that. Now...I'm not so sure."

  "Bastard or not! He is your son! How can you do this, knowing that!?"

  "My advice to you, is that you do what you have to do, to keep that roof over his head." He leaned against his desk, arms crossed, smug.

  Staring at him, she wondered how could she have let it go on as long as she had. She wasn't in love with him. He wasn't in love with her; so she felt. However, in his own messed up way—she was the only good thing going for him in his life. All else was attached to this world of the wealthy, where all were wolves. A wolf himself, she was his very own private little lamb, and when it came to walking through those doors each day, no matter how twisted—he loved her—he needed her touch, the one touch of something in his life that was in fact, good. Without her, everything else was shit. Regardless of that fact, Oscar T. Wherrington, was a wolf, and by her, he was not to be crossed; he needed to show her that. At this point, there would be by him, no outpouring of emotion. No groveling. No begging. No pleading. As far as he could see, she had become dependent on him. Granted, she was an enigma, in that—she was not as money-driven as he wish that she was. Consequently, no matter how contradictory, that part of her nature made him wish to keep her, because in all else, she was the only person he knew, that he could trust to be what she claimed to be. Although she didn't demand much, she still needed some—money—that is, and it would be his bargaining tool. He gave it when getting what he wanted, and in her case, he could take it away, if she dare take away the one true pleasure that was his to enjoy. She was part of the image he'd built of himself. She was one luxury of all others, he would hold on to; or else, everything he'd given her, would be taken away.

  With a sad expression of pity, Bea shook her head. "Goodbye, Oscar." She turned and opened the study doors, clearing them. Deidre had been coming down the stairs when her father ran out and yelled, "YOU'RE FIRED! YOU HEAR?! FIRED!!"

  Stopping, Bea turned in the hall looking at him, tears welling up in her eyes. "Please—don't do this. I have to be able to pay my rent."

  "You heard me! Take your son, get off this property—don't come back."

  Tears rolling, Bea glanced up and saw his daughter standing there.

  "Daddy, no! It was my fault! I kissed him! He didn't kiss me! You can't fire her!"

  "GO BACK UP THOSE STAIRS TO YOUR ROOM! Wait until your mother hears about this!" Oscar carried on, pretending the reason he fired Bea was because of the kiss between their children, when he knew that was not the case, far from it. Deidre turned and ran to her room, heartbroken and in tears.

  When Oscar turned back to Bea, she was gone.

  He smiled. He would leave things as they were. Give it a month. By then, she would see how much she needed him. She would see, to be his, was to her benefit, and she would no longer lay down the rules of this game, he would. She had to learn, even if the hard way—that he'd paid for her. She was his. A little punishment of fear—worry—was good for her; when he finally showed up on the scene, she would gladly climb back in his bed, and never cross him again.

  Unable to endure the complete month, Oscar waited until early enough i
n the day that the boys were in school and he knew that Bea was home, alone. Going to his secret stash, he pulled out a double stack, and saw the note she left him there. He'd kept it, after finding it and reading it again, he smiled. Pulling it out, he folded it and put it in his pocket. He imagined, that this visit to her would be triumphant, and while in bed, waiting on her to join him, he'd tell her to get it, and burn it, and never do anything so stupid again. He figured she had to miss him by now. She had to be suffering by now. While he would admit it to no one, he couldn't get her off of his mind. He'd been counting down the days until finally, fed up with the agony of waiting, he caved and decided to let her off the hook. He would swoop in and save her, even if from herself.

  Bea spent the month, almost in hiding, except for taking her boys to school. She'd paid her rent, but if she continued living there, she would be through her savings in no time. They had food, and she still had enough money to make it through, as long as she found another job and soon. Although she was free, she wasn't ready to get involved with Daniel Brody. Not yet. She needed to be firm on her own two feet again. The last thing she wanted, was to be dependent on another man—again. Although they now talked, she avoided any lengthy discussions, hiding behind her boys and using the excuse of being busy with them to avoid any involvement. She'd been picking up applications after dropping them off, bringing them home to fill out. Was in fact doing that when she heard a slight rap of the knuckles at the door.

  Wondering who would be at her home at this time of day, she went to the door and stretched up to look through the peep hole. Seeing who, made her ease back to her heels. Biting into her bottom lip, she stood there quiet, as if holding her breath. He gave the light knock again, and then, finally leaned his ear to the door. "I know you're there...open the door, Bea." He called softly. There was no one around. It was that time of day that everyone was either at work, or at school. She gave no response and Oscar tried again, "Please, Bea...I know you're here. Your car is parked where it usually is. Come on, I just want to talk. Can we talk? I said some bad things to you. Things I shouldn't have—come on, open the door."