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All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Selena Kitt
Stacy’s Dad Has Got It Going on © August 2011 Giselle Renarde
eXcessica publishing
All rights reserved
Stacy’s Dad Has Got It Going On
By Giselle Renarde
Chapter One
Savannah took the stairs by twos. Her shoulder bag whacked her thigh all the way up to third floor and she couldn’t find her apartment key fast enough. Stacy ought to be home by now, right? She couldn’t wait to tell her roommate the good news: Chris, the scruffy hottie with the kick-ass orange dreads, had invited her to Kingsley’s Saturday night!
“Stacy!” she squealed, kicking off her shoes and dropping her bag at the door.
“In the kitchen, Sav.”
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Savannah turned the corner. She stopped short when she realized there was another person in the apartment. And that person was…a man. He was tall, built, and blond to the extreme. Aside from his superior taste in Italian suits, she couldn’t make out much about him. He had his back to her, like he’d been talking to Stacy from across the kitchen counter while she prepared dinner.
When the finely-haberdashered gentleman spun around, his good looks caught Savannah by surprised. He was younger than she’d anticipated, judging solely by the cost of his suit, and his vague familiarity didn’t help her cast aside a sense of impending doom. Was he the landlord? Were they being evicted or something? Shit! And right in the middle of her science term. Like they’d have time to look for a new place now!
“Savannah?” The man offered a sympathetic nod. “Nice to see you again.”
“Uh…hi…” she stammered, glancing back and forth between his chiseled jaw and Stacy’s encouraging gaze.
Stacy clicked her teeth. “It’s my dad, Savannah. You’ve met him before.”
Oh yeah. She felt like a total idiot, but tried to cover it up by saying, “Right. I know.”
“Thanks for taking care of my little girl,” he said, giving Savannah a playful punch in the shoulder.
Savannah rubbed the spot where his fist made first contact—not that it hurt, she just wanted to touch it for some reason. “Hey, no probs,” she said. What the hell was his name, again? She couldn’t very well call him ‘Stacy’s Dad’ to his face. “Stacy didn’t mention you were coming to town.”
Stacy gripped the kitchen knife like she could throttle the damn thing. “I didn’t know,” she snapped as she chopped cucumber for the salad. She shook her head, brushing platinum blond bangs from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry, Sav. It’s just…” She looked up at her dad and then set down the knife and lowered her gaze to the chopping board. “Would you give us a minute, please?”
As Savannah looked from Stacy to Stacy’s dad, she suddenly felt out of place in her own home. Their intense gazes forced her from the kitchen. What could she do but nod and back away? Grabbing her bag from the front hall, she scuttled off to her room.
Savannah sat on the carpet with her back against her bed. She preferred to study on the floor—it was more comfortable than the straight-backed wooden chair at her desk, and it gave her room to sprawl. With a notebook in her lap, she looked at her lab notes, but all she could concentrate on were the whispers emanating from the kitchen. She didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she did want to hear what they were saying. It wasn’t like Stacey’s parents to drop by unannounced. In the two years they’d lived together, her dad had never come for a visit before. Savannah had met him when she and Stacy first moved in to this apartment, but neither Savannah’s mom and dad nor Stacy’s lived anywhere nearby. An out-of-the-blue visit must indicate something terrible had happened. Wait, where was Stacy’s mom? Why had her dad come over alone? God, what if Stacy’s mom had an accident?
Savannah tried to hear without listening. Then, she tried not to hear. Then, she turned on her radio and tried to forget there was anything going on at all. When Stacy was ready, she’d tell Savannah what had happened. Until then, she had lab results to type up. The diagrams were always fussy when she tried to do them on the computer, but she’d procrastinated long enough. Time to work.
By the time Stacy knocked at the door, Savannah was typing up her conclusions. She reached up to the radio and turned down the volume. “Come in.”
Stacy slipped inside, falling like a ghost into Savannah’s bed. “Looks like we’ve got company.”
Setting her laptop on the floor and shuffling her papers into a neat stack, Savannah got up and sat on the edge of the bed. She could see Stacy’s red nose and bloodshot eyes in her closet mirror. “You mean your dad?”
Stacy nodded. When she hugged Savannah’s pillow, there was a thump against the headboard and then a muffled thud on the carpet. Savannah breathed a sigh of relief that the romance novel she kept underneath her pillow had fallen behind the bed before Stacy found it. She was always teasing Stacy for reading “that crap.” Far be it for her to admit she read it too.
“My mom had an affair,” Stacy said in a tone so hushed Savannah almost asked her to repeat. “Dad just found out. He came home early from work today and he caught her red-handed.”
Other girls might have wrapped their arms around Stacy, but Savannah wasn’t touchy-feely like that. It’s not that she didn’t care, she just wasn’t good at physical displays of affection. “Oh my god.” She couldn’t think what to say to comfort her roommate. “Who was she cheating with?”
That probably wasn’t the most consoling question in the world.
“Some guy from her office,” Stacy said. Savannah watched her lie very still and stare at her own reflection in the mirror. “They had a big argument. I mean, not the guy—he took off, obviously. Mom and dad had an argument, and she was all like, ‘I’m sorry, it’ll never happen again,’ and he was like, ‘Yeah, that’s right it won’t because I’m leaving,’ and he packed a bag and came here.”
“Why here?” Savannah asked. Right away, she registered how callous that question sounded. She only meant that he surely had enough money to go anywhere. He didn’t have to camp out in his daughter’s college apartment.
Stacy’s voice was hard when she said, “Because I’m here.”
As she watched Stacy in the mirror, Savannah started feeling uncomfortable. Firstly, she had no idea what to say about all this. She wasn’t very good at consoling people. Aside from that immediate concern, they were going to have a man staying in their apartment. Of course Stacy wouldn’t care—the man was Stacy’s dad—but to Savannah, he was a relative stranger. And, god, he’d be sharing their one washroom with the iffy lock on the door…and the apartment would start to smell like boys, and he would stare at her tits, wouldn’t he? She’d have to wear sweaters every time she left her room.
“How long is he staying?” Savannah asked. “And where’s he going to sleep?”
; “I offered him my bed,” Stacy said. She spoke matter-of-factly now, after Savannah had totally failed at showing any sign of sympathy. She felt sympathetic. It sucked that Stacy’s family was going through a rough patch. How could she get that across? “But he insisted on taking the couch, so I guess the living room’s pretty much his.”
And the sympathy jumped out the window. It irked Savannah that Stacy hadn’t put that question to her: “Is it okay if we let my dad take the living room?” It was their apartment, after all. But no, it was a hard and fast statement. He was staying with them, sleeping on the couch that, by the way, was from Savannah’s parents’ basement. That was that. End of story. No argument. Stacy’s dad would be living with them. “For how long?” Savannah repeated.
Stacy’s lips pursed and she rose from the bed like a hasty specter. “I don’t know, okay?” And in two shakes, she was out the door. She grabbed the handle hard like she was going to slam it shut. After holding still for a tense moment, she snapped, “Dinner’s ready. Come eat.”
When Stacy had left the room, Savannah stood from the bed and looked at herself in the full-length mirror: the hip-hugging jeans were fine, but her white tank top was just a little too tight, a little too low-cut, and a little too thin to wear in front of Stacy’s dad. He’d spend the whole meal gazing into her cleavage, or tracing with his eyes the line where her light brown skin met her dark black bra. This outfit represented her skank limitation. Savannah didn’t dress slutty because, generally speaking, she didn’t like people looking at her. She knew she had a pretty face and her curves would draw a crowd if she let them, but she didn’t let them. The only reason she wasn’t hiding under multiple clothing layers today is that she wanted to catch Chris’ eye in lab. Mission accomplished, by the way.
She wasn’t even really sure what she liked about Chris. He was the type of skuzzy indie rocker she’d generally see across campus, not in her own classroom. They were usually humanities majors, not scientists. Most of the other students in her program were science geeks and overachievers like Savannah and, to a lesser degree, Stacy. That’s probably what attracted her attention in Chris—the simple fact that, in a bio-chemistry lab, he looked different than everybody else. That made him seem less boring than all the other guys, but, at the same time, she knew if he was in her program, he must have a few brains in his head. So, today she’d made herself amply visible and he took the bait! Saturday night, she was going to Kingsley’s to see his band play!
“Sav!” Stacy hollered from down the hall. “I’m going to eat your kebab myself if you don’t get your aaa…uh…your butt in here.”
Chuckling over Stacy’s self-censorship in front of her father, Savannah grabbed the grey Varsity hoodie off the back of her chair. She zipped it all the way up to her chin before joining Stacy and her dad for what promised to be a ridiculously depressing meal.
Chapter Two
When Savannah walked into the kitchen, she was glad to find neither Stacy nor her father eating there. The TV was on in the living room and they were eating in front of it, thank god! The crass cackle of canned laughter was a welcome infusion in their overwrought environment. Savannah picked up the plate of salad, rice, kebabs and mixed vegetables that Stacy had left on the counter. It would have been rude to eat in the kitchen or, worse yet, to take her plate into her bedroom, but when she stepped into the living room, she wanted quite badly to turn tail and run. Stacy had parked her ass on the armchair, leaving Savannah to share the couch with her father.
He looked up at her—at her eyes, not her boobs, so the hoodie obviously worked its magic—and offered a nervous smile. For some reason, she said, “Hi,” and then felt like an idiot.
“Hello, roomie,” Stacy’s dad replied. He reached across the couch and tossed the throw cushions to the floor so Savannah wouldn’t have to sit on his lap. That, she perceived, was highly empathic of him. She expected every older man she encountered to have no respect for women, but maybe that view was a little too harsh. She ought to give Stacy’s dad the benefit of the doubt.
“Thanks,” she said. Curling into the very corner of the couch, she placed her plate on the armrest and tried to watch TV without looking too much in his direction. The sitcom Stacy had turned on was way too risqué to be watching with somebody’s father in the room, and everybody very obviously stifled their laughter at the crudest of the jokes. Awkward!
After five of the longest minutes of her life, Savannah couldn’t take the tension. Grabbing the remote from the coffee table, she said, “Let’s see what else is on.”
“Good idea,” Stacy’s dad said. What the hell was his name?
Savannah flipped through the channels until she came across the familiar face of a young red-head. “Oh my god, I Love Lucy is on!”
Stacy groaned from the corner chair. “Seriously? Dad used to put this on after school when I was a kid and I always hated it. I wanted to watch reruns of Night Court.”
“You weren’t old enough to watch Night Court,” he said.
“Yeah, you probably don’t think I’m old enough to watch it now,” she muttered.
Savannah didn’t want to delve into their familiar discord. She swayed the conversation back to Lucy. “I used to watch this show after school too. I had a babysitter named…oh, what the hell was her name? Anyway, she was Indian with a British accent, which I thought was too cool for school, and she let me watch one half-hour of TV before starting my homework. I always picked Lucy.”
“It’s a classic,” Stacy’s dad agreed. “You know, when I was a kid this show was considered risqué. Lucy and Desi were the first TV couple to sleep in the same bed, if you can believe that. Watch Dick van Dyke or…let’s see…The Honeymooners, I think, or any of those shows. Married couples all slept in twin beds like Bert and Ernie.”
“Now that show I did like,” Stacy said, but the conversation no longer involved her. It had coasted to Savannah and…what the hell was his name?
“But your parents did let you watch Lucy, or they didn’t?” Savannah asked. She turned to face Stacy’s dad, bringing her knees up onto the couch and setting her plate in her lap.
“They were fairly progressive, in that regard. But, god, I was one of those kids who sat three inches from the television, you know? They were constantly telling me to move back, move away from the TV. ‘Eric, twelve inches,’ they’d say.”
Eric! Finally, Stacy’s dad had a name!
He laughed and repeated the phrase, “Eric, twelve inches. Also, by strange coincidence, the caption under my picture in Gigolos Weekly.”
For a split second, Savannah wasn’t sure if that was a joke, but then Stacy moaned, “Eww, dad, what the fuck!”
He blasted a grave look across his plate of half-eaten dinner. “Language, Stace.”
“Penis jokes, dad!” she shot back. “God, I’m trying to eat, here. Show some respect!”
But it was Savannah Eric faced to say, “Sorry if I’ve offended.”
“No,” she chuckled. “I think it’s just Stacy who’s offended.”
Stacy nodded. “Sh-yeah I am! You’re grossing me out. Talk about something else, will you?”
“Okay, okay,” Eric said. He took a mouthful of rice while he searched for a new topic of conversation. “Savannah, where are you from?”
Her fork fell from her fingers. It landed with a clang on her plate before tumbling to the carpet. For a moment, she just looked at it. Savannah didn’t like to think of herself as easy to offend, but it really bothered her when people figured she was not from this country just because her skin wasn’t as snow-white as Eric’s or Stacy’s, or Stacy’s mother’s for that matter. Not that she’d had much interaction with either Stacy’s father or her mother, but she remembered thinking Eric and his wife had that “brother and sister couple” look about them. They were both light-skinned with hair so blond you’d swear it was bleached. Though she was pretty sure Eric and his wife weren’t actually fruit of the same loins, their whole little family looked nearly a
lbino.
“Sav,” Stacy said. “My dad asks everyone he meets where they’re from. He works as the Director of Development for the IHAO.”
Savanna laughed at her overreaction to the simple question. “That’s the International Humanitarian Aid Organization, right?” she asked as she bent down to pick up her fork. It was covered in lint and other grossness, so she put it down on the coffee table and ate her kebab with her fingers.
Eric nodded as he did the same. “That’s right.”
“Wow.” She didn’t even try to hide how impressed she was. “Development…that’s essentially fundraising, right?”
“Yeah,” Stacy laughed. “Dad’s a glorified panhandler.”
“It’s true, and I’m never off the clock, so if you’ve got any spare change lying around, I’d be glad to take it off your hands.”
“Students aren’t the best demographic to hit up for cash,” Savannah replied. But she felt a little guilty giving nothing when she reflected on the four dollar latte she’d downed between her microbiology lecture and her bio-chem lab. “I’ll see what I can dig up after dinner.”
Stacy and her dad finished their meals at exactly the same time. She cleared their plates while he explained, “That’s why I always ask people where they’re from…”
“I’m from here,” Savannah quickly interjected. She didn’t want the assumption that she was born somewhere else to remain hovering on the air.
Eric picked up the TV remote and turned down the volume. “Well, ‘here’ is a place. We fund projects all over the world, including ‘here.’”
“Really?” Savannah asked. “That seems weird to me. This is an affluent country we live in. Shouldn’t our money be going to people who need it more than we do?”
With a nod, Eric grabbed his water glass from the side table and took a sip. “Good question. I feel like I’m being interviewed.”
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