At nine I yawn and tell him I’d better get home. He offers to pay for a ride.
Even I’m shocked by that. “Can’t you drive me?”
“Sorry, baby. I’ve had too many beers.”
“You could take me home and sleep over at my place.”
He curls his lip. “The cat.” I notice he doesn’t ask me to stay here instead.
“Oh.”
He kisses my hand. “I’ll put the ride on my account.”
Jeez, I feel like a princess.
I curl up against him and watch TV for a few more minutes while I wait for a stranger to drive me home. “This was nice,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “You’re great, Jane.” He kisses my head and gives me one last squeeze. “You’re really great.” His phone dings. My ride is here. He walks me to the door and waves.
And people say romance is dead.
CHAPTER 23
I’ve made sex tapes before, of course, but this is something different. It’s like watching reality TV made just for me. I eat microwave popcorn and watch our little argument play out over and over. It’s a fascinating class in manipulation, and Steven and I are both playing the game. Unfortunately for Steven, he’s a rank amateur. His technique is clumsy and dumb and only works when emotions are involved.
Each time I see my glance at the camera, I giggle. Steven is completely absorbed in his penis and doesn’t notice me breaking the fourth wall.
Arousal is a funny thing. I suppose when there’s actual intimacy involved, arousal might bring you closer to the other person. Who knows. But in general it’s a selfish state. Steven is turned on and all he can think about is getting more, more, more. Even afterward he doesn’t notice that I turn and spit him out onto the clean floor. I hope he steps in it tomorrow morning.
I picture him hopping around on one foot, horrified and disgusted, and I laugh so hard my eyes water. Salt and butter coat my hands, so I wipe my face on my sleeve. I can’t wait to review tomorrow’s video.
After I left, Steven watched a little more TV and then went to bed. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, then put on two different moisturizers. I guess he’s a little vain. Then he put on honest-to-God pajamas like he’s Ward Cleaver. What a sicko.
I watch him sleep for ten minutes and then the camera feed ends. I back it up and watch it all again. At midnight I finally get to bed, but a text dings just as I turn off the light.
Still up?
It’s Luke, and I would have welcomed this two hours ago, but even I’m too sleepy to be interested in a booty call right now. Barely, I answer.
Want to grab lunch tomorrow?
Lunch? I was expecting him to ask for a quick topless pic to help him get to sleep. I hesitate, frowning at the phone. Maybe it’s just an opening gambit.
I can’t.
Too busy? I can come over to Minneapolis if that helps.
I’m tempted, but I can’t risk Steven seeing me with another man.
I’ll probably eat at my desk.
Ok. Maybe another day?
Maybe.
There’s a long pause and I think the conversation is over, but just as I’m setting my phone down, there’s another text.
I don’t want you to think this is all about sex for me. It’s not.
Hm. That’s . . . interesting. I’m almost always certain of myself, but this is the type of interaction that can throw me off. Before I can think of an appropriate answer, he texts a follow-up.
You can probably tell by the way I’ve played hard to get.
I laugh at the stupid joke and finally respond.
Well, I think I’m starting to wear you down.
Maybe.
I have to admit, he intrigues me. I shouldn’t spend time with him, but I like that he surprises me.
We’ll see about lunch. Maybe Monday. Good night.
He signs off with a winky face. My cat jumps onto the bed and curls close. When I pet her, she stretches out and her heat presses all along my side.
Tonight . . . tonight I feel something that seems like true happiness, but it might just be satisfaction.
CHAPTER 24
I get up early to watch Steven get ready for work. The camera wakes up when he gets out of bed and stretches. I watch him tug up his ridiculous pajama bottoms before he heads to the bathroom. I hear him pee; then he tosses his pj’s out the door and into a hamper. He wears a fresh pair every night, I guess. He probably irons them before stacking them neatly in his dresser drawer.
A glance at the dirty clothes lying on the floor of my bedroom makes me smile. It’s too bad all my clothes are so pale and flowery. I’d love to wear a black shirt to work with gray cat hair all over the back of it. Still, that might be too much this early in our relationship. A deal breaker instead of a trigger for abuse.
I’ve already showered and dressed, so I wait impatiently as Steven gets ready. In the end I’m disappointed. Once dressed, he heads out the door, not even stopping for coffee in the kitchen. By the time he gets home from work, the puddle I left on his floor will be dry. I’ve missed my moment of slapstick comedy. Still, I feel certain he’ll give me another chance.
I’m just finishing my last cup of coffee when my phone rings. Is Steven actually being considerate and giving me a morning-after call?
No, of course not. It’s my mother. I put my phone down and ignore it. It’s her second phone call in a week. Maybe I should turn off call forwarding so she can’t reach me on this burner phone. She’s becoming a nuisance.
A buzz indicates that she’s left a message. Before I can listen to it, the phone vibrates with yet another call. It’s my mother again. Jesus.
“What?” I snap when I answer.
“Daddy’s had a stroke!” She always calls him Daddy. I haven’t called him that since I was four. Even in kindergarten I could see he wasn’t a hero who would fight monsters for me. He was a shiftless, immature loser with a massively overinflated ego and no sense of responsibility.
“Did you call 911?” I ask.
“We’re at the hospital now.” I hear the helplessness in her voice, but I feel no sympathy. She’s always been helpless. Hapless. Unable to deal with life. Having a sociopath for a daughter was a boon for her. I started cold-bloodedly taking care of family business by fifth grade. “Okay. You’re both on Medicare, right?”
“Yes! But they took him to the hospital up in Enid, and I don’t know how I’m going to get back and forth. He could be here for weeks! If he makes it through.”
“I just paid for a car repair, so I’m not sure what you mean.”
“It’s a two-hour drive! I’ll have to find a place to stay, Jane. And I can’t afford that. You know we’re living check to check.”
“Fine. I’ll send a prepaid debit card.”
“Can’t you just set me up somewhere nice?”
“No. I’ll send five hundred dollars, and you make it stretch.” If I set her up, it’ll be all room-service meals and valet parking. This isn’t my first rodeo.
“Jane . . . Jane . . .” She’s weeping now. “You should come on home and see your daddy. Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case he doesn’t make it!”
“You’ve hardly said one word about his status, so I’m going to assume he’s stable.”
“He had a stroke!”
“Well, big surprise. He’s been drinking hard and eating rich since the seventies. Was it a big one or a little one?”
“He’s drooling, Jane! Slurring his words!”
I sigh. “Yeah, what do the doctors say?”
She hesitates, so I know she’s trying to figure a way to frame it in the most dire terms. She once carried on for days about a “brain tumor” she had. I was six years old and still terrified of being sent to an orphanage. I knew damn well my father wasn’t going to keep me if my mama died.
Four emergency room visits later, it turned out it was just a migraine. She got a lot of pain pills out of it though, so it was a win-win for her.
“Paralysis!” she finally warbles. “Daddy’s right side is paralyzed! He can’t hardly lift his foot!”
“Is it temporary or permanent?”
Uh-oh, I can tell by her silence that I’ve got her. “They . . . they say you can never be sure.”
“But they think it’s temporary?”