Anjali's Red Scarf Ch. 06

Chapter Six: La Belle Dame Sans Merci

After our concert date I didn't see Anjali again for almost two months. She was preparing for a conference in Italy, and I had a birthday party to organise.

I've never really thought of John as my stepfather. To me, he was "Mum's boyfriend", and then later "Mum's husband" and "Cassie's dad", never my anything. That wasn't his fault. He's a good bloke, very normal in all the ways that I'm not, and when I look back I can see he was doing his best to be a good stepfather to me. But the timing wasn't on his side.

Nobody had asked me whether Mum and Dad should get a divorce, nobody had asked me whether we should move for Mum's new job, nobody had asked me whether I wanted to change schools and leave my old friends behind. John came into the picture as one more change foisted on me without asking.

Another teenager might have acted out: tantrums, shoplifting, or perhaps taking up smoking. Me, I was the sort of goody-goody who could barely bring herself to whisper "shit" when I stubbed a toe, never mind more drastic measures. What I did was more civilised, and in its way crueller.

I was impeccably courteous to John. I said hello and goodbye, please and thank-you, I did all my chores. I gave him no cause at all for complain. But whenever he tried to do something fatherly, offering me help with my homework or a lift to Physics Club, I would, very politely, turn him down.

Memory is unreliable, but I don't think I was trying to be hurtful. I was dealing with bullies at school and trying to figure out whether Cassie's inexplicable friendliness was some sort of trap, while struggling through the complications of queer puberty. My relationship with Mum was changing as I tried to come to terms with the idea that I wasn't the only priority in her world, and I was missing Dad, who was somewhere in Idaho with his new girlfriend. I'm not good at multi-tasking, and as best I can interpret it now, I just didn't have room for John in my emotional world.

It didn't help that we had so little by way of shared interests. When John wasn't running his hardware shop, he liked to spend his time at the football or trekking in the great outdoors. Me, I was a bookworm who believed our ancestors had invented roofs and electricity and the internet for a reason.

It can't have been easy for him banging his head against my wall, and eventually he must have got the message. He backed off on the overtures and we settled into a cautious, distant sort of interaction, more like housemates than family. Things improved a little after Cassie and I became friends, but by that stage John and I had set the pattern for our relationship. Once the rut is worn, it's hard to break out of it.

Then the unthinkable happened, and suddenly John and I had all too much in common. Losing Cassie tore a huge hole in my heart. I can't imagine what it must have been like for him to bury his daughter only a few years after her mother.

After that, I made a conscious effort to be kind to him. I didn't have the conversational tools to talk to him about Cassie, much less my own grief, but I made a rule of saying yes to family stuff whenever I could. I'd sit and watch the footy with him, helping him cheer on the Swans, trying to work out the rules of the game. I'd go on family outings with him and Mum even when it meant getting wet and mosquito-bitten. These are the sacrifices we make.

I always feel Cassie's absence on holidays and anniversaries, so I assume John does too, and I make an extra effort to be there for those. That's why I put my hand up to help Mum organise his sixtieth celebration. I called around venues, I arranged a group outing with his friends to watch the Swans squeeze in a narrow win against the Bulldogs, and I booked a karaoke dinner afterwards, because John loves karaoke.

He was duly grateful, and I was glad to have helped him enjoy himself. But in hindsight, it should have been obvious that I was setting myself up for a small meltdown. Phoning strangers, trying to guess what other people might like, going to a footy game surrounded by noisy fans, and boisterous drunk people singing: any one of those is guaranteed to drain my batteries. Packing them all into a single event was asking for trouble, even before the inevitable "wish Cassie was here" thoughts.

I'm used to being surrounded by neurotypical people, and normally I can deal with it. But when my defences are low, sometimes it catches me unawares and I feel myself lost and lonely and far from home. When the party had wrapped up and everybody was gone, I was still wide awake and fretful at three in the morning.

In hindsight, I can see how it happened. But the more stressed I am, the worse I am at figuring out why it happened. As I tried to work out the cause of my malaise, my brain attempted to help by dredging up a long list of Stressful Things To Fret About, playing on endless loop inside my head. Of all the things I could have picked, the most obvious one was something from two months ago that I hadn't quite let go of, the thing Anjali had said after the concert.

"A job on the side" was how she'd described our arrangement. Was that really all I was to her?

The advice I would've given anybody else was "sleep on it and see how you feel in the morning," and it's good advice, but I was in no place to take it. I was unhappy, and I ascribed my unhappiness to that issue, and through sheer force of will I managed to turn a molehill into a mountain. I spent the wee hours of the morning drafting an email of a few paragraphs, unsure whether my words were communicating my anxieties, unsure whether I was being unreasonable.

It was almost five AM, and I still wasn't happy with the wording, when I noticed Anjali's IM light come on—of course, she was in Florence, it would be evening for her. Messaging her might not have been a good idea, not in my state of mind, but I was lonely and needy and couldn't help myself.

PrincessOfParallelograms: heya, how goes the conference?

NeutroniumGirl: Hey Sarah! It's going very well, I think they really liked my talk. How are you?

PrincessOfParallelograms: um... not great.

NeutroniumGirl: Oh no, what's wrong? Trouble with the party?

PrincessOfParallelograms: No, the party went fine. Just fretting about other stuff.

NeutroniumGirl: Do you want to talk about it?

PrincessOfParallelograms: You remember when we were talking to Thomas and Heather after the Sisters concert, and you said you had a job on the side. Did you mean us?

NeutroniumGirl: Yes?

PrincessOfParallelograms: Is that how you think about me?

There was a long silence. I could see she was typing, pausing, typing, but no text came through for almost fifteen minutes. Then at last:

NeutroniumGirl: Sarah, this is hard to answer right now. I need to think about this and right now I'm really busy with this conference. Is it all right if we talk about it after I get back?

PrincessOfParallelograms: sure.

Of course, it wasn't all right. Even as I said it, I knew I was going to spend the next week trying to guess what Anjali was going to say, and fretting over things that hadn't even happened. But I couldn't very well say no, I demand to talk about it right now. I just had to stifle my impatience and pretend to be an adult until time did its thing and we finally had a chance to discuss matters in my lounge room, over the wreckage of a gourmet pizza.

"So," I said, feeling the anxiety gnawing in my belly, "...that stuff we were talking about..."

"Yes. About me calling this a job?"

I nodded.

"Well, it is, isn't it? You're paying me to do," she waved her hands, "certain things."

"I know, it's just... is that all we are? Do you just think about me as your employer?"

"Wait, as—no, of course not! You're my friend, Sarah. You're a good friend. I didn't think I needed to say that."

"Oh. Oh, I'm glad to hear that. Thank you."

But now she was looking at me oddly. "Why on earth would you think I didn't care about you?"

"I'm sorry. It's just, oh, it's complicated. Stupid insecurity. Sometimes it feels like it doesn't count if I'm paying for it. I need to know that I matter." I remember I had my arms folded tight around myself, and I must have sounded whiny. I felt whiny.

"You paid for this dinner, didn't you? Does that mean you're not allowed to enjoy it?"

"No, but... I don't think of you as takeaway pizza, Anjali. Lily. Whatever."

"I hope not! I don't want you keeping slices of me in the fridge. You're paying me for a service, Sarah, one that I'm happy to provide. You're not buying me." She looked me over. "Although... I do believe you rather like the fantasy of owning me."

"Maybe," I mumbled.

"Only 'maybe'?" She came around to where I was slouched on the sofa, and sat by my side. "You don't know whether you like the idea of being able to claim ownership of a good, obedient girl who knows she has to do whatever you tell her to do?"

"Anjali..."

"That's 'Lily' to you." She adjusted the scarf, revealing a little of the skin of her throat. "Of course, if you did own me, you could choose whatever name you wanted for me. 'Miss Kapadia'. 'Lily'. 'Good girl'. Anything you like, I'd have to answer to it."

I was still trying to sulk, but she wasn't making it easy. "Anjali, this is very distracting."

"Or perhaps you would like it better if I wasn't so compliant? Perhaps you'd have to take control of me and teach me my place?"

"If you don't stop that, I'll—"

"It wouldn't be easy. You know how stubborn I can get when I put my mind to it. I wonder what you'd have to do to persuade me. If you think you can."

Somewhere deep inside, I felt my gears shifting. "Lily, are you testing me?"

She leant forwards, whispering. "I bet you can't."

"I can," I growled, "and I will." I grabbed at her, but she dodged away, and my fingers only brushed her arm. By the time I got to my feet she'd scampered away to the opposite side of my dining table. I edged left, and she sidestepped to my right; I made a sudden jump to the right, and she dashed left again, keeping the table in between us.

We went back and forth like that for some time, and I could see I wasn't going to win this game in a hurry. Anjali was lighter on her feet than me, and probably fitter given that her bicycle was her main mode of transport. If I wanted to wipe the smirk off her face, I needed to change the game.

So I chased her around the table some more until she was in the corner of the room, and then I grabbed the rim of the table and shoved. It slid across the floor with a loud squeak, and I kept pushing until it was pressed firmly against the wall, boxing Anjali in on three sides.

"Cheat!" she said, backing into the cul-de-sac I'd made for her.

"I make the rules." I advanced, waggling my fingers. I knew she was going to make a break for it, and I was worried she might try going over the table; if she did I'd have to let her get away with it, because there was too much risk of her taking a bad fall if I tried to tackle her.

But she went the other way, dropping to her hands and knees and trying to scramble out under the table. She almost got away with it, but I just managed to catch hold of one ankle. Then I reeled her in; she kicked at my hands, but I got hold of her other ankle, and soon enough I was sitting on her back as she lay face-down on the floor.

"Got you, Lily."

"That's not my name! I'm Anjali!"

"You'll answer to whatever I choose to call you." I took a generous fistful of her hair and yanked it.

"Ow!"

"Now I'm going to take you upstairs for the discipline you obviously need."

"You beast! I'll never succumb!"

"Never, you say? We'll see about that." I picked myself up and dragged her up the stairs by her hair, holding her head low so she couldn't stand up. Instead she had to scramble after me on all fours, hurling imprecations in Hindi. I didn't know the words, but I got the general idea. When I had her at the foot of my bed, still on hands and knees, I yanked her forwards and off balance: face down, bum in the air.

I still had her hair in my fist; now I separated it into two handfuls, splayed them out to either side, and knelt on them, so that she couldn't move her head in any direction without pulling on it painfully.

"Oh! You beast!" She tried to slap at me, but it was an awkward angle for her and she ended up just flailing ineffectually.

I stroked her cheek. "Now, Lily, just let me know when you've learned your place and you're ready to apologise for the trouble you've given." Then I crouched over her and went for her ribs, tickling ferociously.

"Hahaha! Oh, you bitch! Ah! You're evil, Sarah!"

"Language!" But I was secretly pleased to have driven her to swearing. I wasn't sure I'd ever heard her use that word before. "Ootchie cootchie coo..." I tugged her blouse loose of the waistband, and my fingers swirled over her skin.

"Ah! Oh!" She squirmed, but every time she tried to wriggle her body around to one side or the other, I dug my fingers into her ribs and provided the necessary correction.

I tickled and tickled, and she squealed and called me names, but showed no signs of giving in. "You forget," she gasped, "I have a little brother. I can—ah!— I can take this all day long."

"Very well, in that case I suppose we'll have to try something else." I reached back behind me, to where my dressing gown lay at the edge of the bed, and pulled the cord free.

It took me a couple of tries to remember how to tie a Texas Handcuff knot—thankfully Anjali's predicament stopped her from seeing my failures, it wouldn't have helped the image I was trying to project—and then I slipped it over her wrists and tied it off. "Let's make sure you don't do anything foolish."

I pulled her onto the bed, tugging her up to the headboard, then rolled her onto her back and sat astride her as she glared up at me. Her face was more than a little flushed from our mutual struggles.

"Now, Lily, you wouldn't have a bit of string handy, would you?" I cast my gaze down to where her bosom was heaving indignantly in a most enticing fashion. She was still wearing her scarf, but below that she had on a blouse that laced at the front. I relieved her of the lace and used it to tie her hair fast to my bedframe, wrapping its several times to make sure she couldn't pull through the knot. "That should keep you out of trouble for a little, while we talk."

"You're nothing but a scoundrel and I'll never—mmph!" I had clamped my hand over her mouth.

"Very well then, I'll talk. It'll do you good to listen." I lay down beside her and wrangled her onto her side, so she was facing away from me. "Let me tell you a bedtime story."

"Mmph."

"Once upon a time, there was a fairy named Lilabel, daughter of the Dandelion King. She had beautiful long hair"—I stroked Anjali's head—"and her skin glittered in the sun like a dragonfly's wings. Lilabel was a good and kind fairy, and every day she and her sisters went into the forest to paint spots on the toadstools so people would know which ones were dangerous to eat. And then as the sun set, they would hurry home to their father's palace."

From the shift in her body I knew I'd caught her attention, and when I moved my hand from her mouth she kept silent. I lifted myself so that my lips were against her ear, and I whispered. "But the forest was home to another fairy. Lady Tanglespine made her palace in a great gloomy tangle of blackberry bushes with thorns like claws. And one evening, as Tanglespine rose from her sleep and looked out at the world, she saw Lilabel and her sisters hurrying home from their work. She saw Lilabel's beauty, and she wanted her."

I paused to kiss the back of Anjali's neck, and she tensed.

"For days she watched the sisters, studying Lilabel's ways and coveting her beauty. The more she watched the more she wanted Lilabel for her own, and she was the sort to take what she wanted. But she couldn't just pop her in a sack and carry her away, as much as she might have wanted to. There are rules in Fairyland, even for the likes of Tanglespine."

I stroked Anjali's throat, and caught the corner of her scarf between my fingers, and pulled it slowly free, and as I talked I retied it in her hair like a ribbon.

"One fine morning, Lilabel was sitting on a tree-stump, putting the final touches on a beautiful fly agaric and looking forwards to her sandwiches, when she heard a noise behind her and turned just in time to see a dog-fox making off with her lunch. She grumbled at the beast, but told herself 'well, I daresay he needed it more than I did,' and went on with her work.

"But as the day lengthened, she began to feel her stomach growling. She was working by the river, and down by the riverside grew thick thorny vines laden with juicy berries, big and fat, so ripe that they oozed sweet juice at the slightest touch. The sight of them made her mouth water, and although her father had told her not to, she couldn't resist. She plucked a handful, and ate them, and they were more delicious even than they looked, so then she took another, and another, and then behind her she heard a voice.

"'What have we here? A thief, stealing from my vines?' And there stood Lady Tanglespine, smiling with teeth that glittered like razors. And there was Lilabel, face and fingers purple and sticky with blackberry juice.

"'I'm so sorry, ma'am, I didn't know they were yours,' stammered Lilabel. 'I will pay you for them. My father has gold and—'

"'Ah, no, my dear,' replied Lady Tanglespine. 'For eating my berries, it's for me to set the price, and it's not gold I want.'

"'Then what?' asked Lilabel. 'Whatever the cost, my father will pay it.'

"Lady Tanglespine smiled a cruel smile and approached, stretching out a cord of the strongest spider-silk. 'Hold out your hands...'

"At that, Lilabel panicked. She turned to flee, but as she ran her skirt caught on the thorns, and she was stuck fast. Then the dark fairy was on her, and before she knew it her hands were tied behind her back."

I tugged on the knot that held Anjali's wrists.

"'By the law of our kind,' said Tanglespine, 'you are mine for seven years, to serve me in everything that I command, until you have paid for your thefts.' Then she twisted that beautiful long hair into a rope and led her away, through a maze of bramble-bushes that scratched at poor Lilabel with every step she took."

I ran my fingernails over her face, her arms, her thighs. I felt Anjali quivering under my hands, and I felt myself suddenly drunk, but not on wine.

"The thorns lashed at her, snagged on her dress, ripped and stripped."

I plucked at her clothes, grabbing at buttons, yanking, pulling, as roughly as I could without actually damaging them. Her blouse, open, pushed back to her shoulders. Her skirt, tugged down over her kicking feet, discarded at the foot of the bed. Her bra, pulled askew, one breast exposed to view. Her panties, rolled halfway down her hips, so they became a hobble instead of a shield.

"Oh, please, miss," Anjali murmured.

"Before long, poor Lilabel was all but naked, and still the thorns clawed at her." I ran my fingernails down her ribs and she gasped, twisted as far as her ties allowed. Then I began to scratch at her, raking angry lines in her flesh, sudden sharp strikes all over, wherever she left herself exposed.

"Oh! Ow! Ah!" cried Anjali, and there was pain in her voice, but that wasn't all there was. "Please, milady—AH!" For I had caught her breast in my clawed hand, fingers closing on her nipple, pinching between hard nails. "Please, milady!"

"Why, girl, whatever is all that noise about?" I squeezed a little harder, relaxed, squeezed, watching her screw up her face with each twinge.