Caring

"What do you want?"

She didn't say anything just like she never says anything. My hand was still in her hair, I squeezed my fingers and gave her hair a yank. I was pissed off.

"I'm happy, Mike. You've given me everything. I don't need anything more."

"Don't you like sex?"

"Yes."

"Do you masturbate?"

"Yes." This surprised me, not only that she did but that she would admit it.

"What do you think of... when you're masturbating?"

"You. I think of you when you come in here, when you lie next to me. I think of your smell and your sounds and the way you squeeze me when it's over."

"Is that enough — did you get deliberately pregnant?"

For the first time she tried to look back at me.

I tugged on her hair, not letting her. "You know what I mean."

I knew what her silence meant but I wanted her to admit it. I was about to twist her hair, to push my knee into her back, to threaten to hurt her when she said, "Yes."

"How?"

"Poked holes in the condom."

I let her go and roughly pushed her away. She lay on her front, the nightie had risen up, her ass was bare, she seemed to be breathing hard, her face was pressed into a pillow.

"Did your sister know?"

She turned her head to the side, away from me. "She guessed, I never told her."

"Your mother?"

"Yes."

"Was it her idea?"

She didn't say anything and didn't have to.

"Why aren't you miserable?"

She lay there; she didn't say anything.

I banged her hip with my knee. "Why aren't you miserable?"

She turned her head so she was lying on the pillow facing me. "Because it worked. I didn't get to keep Shawn but I got everything else. I got what I wanted, why would I be miserable?"

I was propped up on an arm, looking down at her. I tried to fathom her admission. I couldn't. I got out of bed.

"Are you going to throw me out?" She was looking up at me with real fear in her eyes.

When I came down for breakfast the next morning the first thing I noticed was the tension, then if occurred to me how foreign it felt — there has never been any real tension in the house before, ever. But there was now: she was ramrod straight with it, her movements were jerky. She looked like she hadn't slept.

I nibbled at the toast and drank the coffee; she was busy at the counter, busy being busy. "Do you ever wonder what would have happened to you if we didn't have Shawn?"

She didn't turn around. "All the time."

"What?"

"It would have gone like it did for Marsha. Worse probably — she was always smarter than me."

"You've totally used me, haven't you?"

She didn't want to say it but she had to. "Yes."

I stood up and dropped a crust on the plate. "That's sick, you know... totally sick."

But is it? I wasn't a half mile into my drive to work when I knew it wasn't, it was smart: poor, bland, without talent, incapable of making friends, why not become a parasite? At least then there was a chance. Anyway, I've probably always sort of known it and never really cared. My house is in order, my bank account is balanced, my business is taking off — I never expected to get this far. So I was used? Big deal. I've used others.

And there was something else, something that was still coursing through my body: that feeling of power I had when I was pulling her hair, bending her; that affliction of pain; that sexual jolt; that sight of her lewdly twisted into total vulnerability, total submission.

The moment I got to work Nancy called to apologize for last night: she was too prepossessed with studies, too tired, too out of it to be with people. Helen had torn a strip off her as soon as I left. "Meet for lunch?"

She was grinning as I approached the table. "Hi dad."

I flinched as I was sitting down. "Really?"

"Do you mind?"

"Isn't there something a little illegal about that? It feels wrong — like calling a private a general."

"Feels totally right to me."

I shrugged, unsure of myself. "OK."

She smiled. "Thanks."

We ordered and the moment the guy left I asked, "So, have you moved in? Is it official?"

She smiled wanly. "Is it official? To who? I can't think of anyone who would care."

"I care."

"Ya, you care and Gloria cares, she's let me leave half my stuff in my room." She reached out and squeezed my hand. "Is it official?" She thought for a moment. "Ya, I think it is. I think she totally wants me. She says she does, she acts like she does and I love the plans she has for me."

"And the lesbian thing?"

"The sex... I'm just loving that..."

"No, not the sex, the orientation. Are you a lesbian?"

She shrugged. "Doubt it but I'm into her so maybe it's a moot point. Anyway, I'm not going there, I'm her girl, that's what we both want and I'm not going to think about it beyond that."

That sounded a bit silly but this wasn't the time to offer up any dissent. "How did you meet, anyway? I've been wondering?"

"On a bus. She sat down beside me and started talking to me... started talking and touching me like I was an old friend — kind of weird, but she's weird. We went for a coffee at her stop. She asked me if I'd like to go to her place for a snack, at least that's what I thought she said." She laughed. "What she actually said was 'would I like to go to my place for a snog' and she started that the moment the door closed. I fought her off for a bit at first, it shocked me but you don't push Helen away. And anyway, I liked it, liked that she wanted to kiss me, feel me — no one else ever has. I just let her take me. It was great. She kept telling me how beautiful I am; how she loved my tits and my taste — she was pretty thorough. I was there a couple of hours and on the way home I was bursting with excitement: I had a whole new way of looking at life. Am I a lesbian?" She said this the moment the guy was putting a plate in front of her. She didn't notice. "I don't even know what that means." She saw him now and hesitated until he moved away. "I'd guess that I'm not a sexual lesbian but I'm pretty sure I'm a social one. I'm far more comfortable with girls than guys and I can do the sex, I have no problem with that — can't get enough of it, really. There is a pretty big debt there but it's filling up fast. Actually, I'm finally feeling like a woman — it's pretty neat." She absently nibbled at some food. "Am I a lesbian?" she said again, as if the question was stuck in her head. "I've never really thought about it." She looked at me with a grin. "My first act, other than getting laid, was to go out and get a dad. Would a real lesbian do that?"

We were both in a great mood after lunch and didn't want to part so I ignored work and she skipped her classes and we went for a long walk, aimlessly, chatting most of the time with her holding onto my arm, actually leaning on me so it was hard to walk. But it felt great. I have never been a confidante before and certainly never had one. If this was parenting I was into it.

She talked a lot about her past, nothing in detail, just flitting from memory to memory, nothing traumatic, all of it sort of off-hand as if by speaking about it she was filing it away in an archive, kind of like commenting while looking at old pictures: 'this was Aunt Bertie at the beach' — when you turn the page you know you have the pic but the thought is immediately gone.

It was cathartic, I knew she wanted to get it out and it was OK by me, except for one niggling detail: where did her Aunt Gloria fit into the picture, she never once mentioned her even though Gloria had been in her life from the beginning, peripherally at first, but always there. So when we stopped for a much needed coffee jolt I asked her.

After a long silence when we just drank our coffee, glad of the quiet she said, "I think I treated Gloria like mum did. She was just there. When I had to move in with you guys it didn't worry me, I wasn't afraid or anything but even though it was a pretty big step up in the world — that trailer was pretty awful and those guys who came over were real sleezebags, every one of them, but I never felt welcome at your place... I adjusted fast enough, I never had a problem with it, but the place seemed kind of empty. She wasn't reluctant, I'm not saying that... she was kind to me and thoughtful, all those things, but distant, too. We never connected... I didn't connect with you, either, but I liked it when you were around. She just reminded me of mum and it was always a bit of a downer." She looked up at me and grimaced. "But I guess it was a bit of a dower for you, too and for her, you weren't exactly living a loving life... then I showed up."

She hadn't got it all out when we left the coffee shop; she kept on talking. "I used to listen for you to go to her room," she said as we started down the street again. "You didn't go very often and you were never in there very long. And you always left. You never stayed. I used to imagine what you did in there and the way you did it. I'd masturbate some of those times — I needed something to get me going. You were kind of hot and that was the kind of sex that was supposed to be... sort of the ideal... the husband and wife and because our bodies are so much alike, Gloria's and mine, I tried to relate to her, tried to imagine how it was feeling to her." She grinned. "I had some really great cums imagining you... you know, sticking it in me. As I got older I even got a bit jealous of her... I got to thinking I could have done a better job than she was doing — I could get you to cum more often and stay a lot longer — I imagined that..."

"OK, OK." It was like she was talking about people I didn't know — she could get carried away with her naive enthusiasm.

"Well, jeez, I was on the the other side of the hall... it was the only sex I knew anything about... other than what my mother was doing, which was disgusting — I tried to hide from that, erase it from my mind. I thought you two were kind of hot until I was having sex with Helen and I realized how shitty it must have been to go to her so seldom, to be in there so little time — you never stayed. Helen has asked me about it... we've had fun thinking about it... you were only ever in there for like 20 minutes... what could you get done in 20 minutes? I mean, you must have been pretty much ready before you even went in... it takes us a lot longer than 20 minute... it takes us..."

"OK, OK..."

"No, I want to talk about this. What did you do in there?"

"That's none of your business."

"Of course it's none of my business but I want to know. It can't be good. You never stayed. And what warning did Gloria have that you were coming? None, I bet. You'd be horny, you'd want to get off, you go in there, stick it in her then leave, am I right? That's your version of sex? Then the next day you'd hook-up with your lover, a woman you don't even like, a married woman at that, and you'd make love to her — not have sex with her, make love to her, do all of it to her, all the stuff you don't do to Gloria. Seems odd, doesn't it?"

"I don't see her any more. That was a mistake."

She looked up at me skeptically. "Liar."

"You said you'd drop me if I kept it up. I don't want that to happen and I don't like feeling guilty. It was a mistake. I stopped it."

She grinned. "Helen's said she's had sex with about 40 women," she giggled. "40! She wanted to settle down... I guess she did. A nice, young impressionable thing like me is right up her ally. I'm not sure what I want but I know I don't want to be like my mum and I don't want to be a Gloria. I don't think I want sex to be much of a factor in my life. I like it but I don't let myself think about it."

"Bullshit. You've been talking about sex non-stop ever since you started having it with Helen... or when I became aware of Helen in your life."

She snickered, "I know." She was quiet for a moment when she seemed to almost hang from my arm. "Have you ever had anyone you can really talk to? Someone you can tell your secrets to?"

I didn't have to think. "No."

"I haven't either... until you... and I think because of you I'm opening up a lot more to Helen. It's kind of liberating letting things out... and the other thing it does is pull you in closer, I noticed that right at the beginning when I told you how I was feeling about Helen. That's when I started feeling closer to you, and you started feeling closer to me. It was neat. I want it... the dad stuff... it's really important to me... I want to get as close to you as I can... it's kind of sexual in a way — I'm thinking a lot of girls feel that way about their fathers... they want it but they don't, too... a kind of harmless dilemma until they get it wrong. Wonder how often that happens? Probably more than you'd think."

"And this coming from a girl who doesn't think about sex."

"Oh, I think about sex, alright, I just try not to think about it. So what does happen in that room when you go in?"

I was feeling about the same way she was about opening up. It is liberating. "You've got it about right."

"You're already flat-out horny when you go in?"

She didn't need my answer.

"So Gloria, what? Rolls over and let's you?"

She didn't need my answer to that, either.

"Does she?" She insisted.

"Pretty much."

"Pretty much?"

"Yes."

"And then you leave." She shut up for awhile which would have been a relief had she not left me with my guilt. "I'm trying to imagine how much I'd like that and the phrase 'not one fucking bit" comes to mind. I don't think I've ever heard anything quite so fucking selfish. I guess you think you're collecting on your husband's rights, is that it?"

I didn't bite.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"No."

"Then what are you thinking? You go in there, you stick it in her, you cum, you leave. No wonder there's so many lesbians. If I did something like that with Helen I'd get my ass handed to me. Why does she let you get away with it? Guilt? Because she made you get her pregnant? Is that it? I bet it is. And I bet you know it is and you're playing on it. You do, don't you?"

We were walking along a small park. I wanted out of this. I was working out how far away the car was when she pulled me over to a bench and sat down pulling me down with her. She leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. She said nothing. We sat like that for a long time then she sprang to her feet. "There, that was about 20 minutes. Did you enjoy it? I didn't. You're a prick."

"I'm starting to try harder now," I said meekly. "I'm trying to do more things with her."

"Like what? Watching her do the dishes?"

I let that pass. "We're going to a party on Friday night." I often got invited to parties by associates I worked with, I never accepted. I surprised myself, I did this time.

This shocked her. "You don't do parties, you never go to parties."

"We're going Friday. It's something... it's a start."

"And a finish?"

"What?"

"Using your wife as a cunt. Are you finished with that? I can't imagine anything worse."

"It's not all my fault, you think it is, but it isn't."

"Are you done with that?" she repeated. Her expression was icy.

"I hate talking to you about this stuff. I always feel worse."

"Imagine how she feels... I can't and I can't imagine how Helen's going to feel about this."

"Oh fuck... come on... don't tell her, OK, please. Just don't."

"If you go, you stay all night. OK? From now on. Promise me that and I won't tell her."

"What makes you think she wants me to stay?"

"Ah... well, maybe because on demand she's on her back for you... opening her legs to you and letting you in? Just saying." She grabbed my arm and started walking. We were passing an elderly lady when she put an exclamation point to it all. "Fuck, what a douche you are."

I wondered what old ladies had to put up with these days.

At about 6:30 Friday they bounded in with bags, bubbling over, more or less manhandling Gloria upstairs... to get her dressed for the party. They were up there for over an hour and by the sounds of it — mainly from Helen's shrieking laughter, they were having a ball.

When they came down Gloria looked not only like a different person, but a different kind of person. She has always been spare and conservative; she seldom wears make-up and always dresses to be inconspicuous. Comparatively now, she was painted up and dressed like a hooker, I mean the impact couldn't have been more dramatic. My jaw must have been dropping because she said, "Too much?"

"No, no," I protested, "you look great and different."

"Not underneath," Helen butted in. "You've never bought her any underwear. I wouldn't be caught dead in her stuff."

I gave her a dirty look then decided to get out of there: the odds were against me, the place was too volatile.

We were back early. We hadn't spoken a word in the car, I didn't know what to say and it seemed she didn't either. It was a chore, the whole damn night was a chore — I had fun, it was great to see some of the people I work with socially, but she looked about as out of place as I felt; she never seemed engaged with anyone — I thought people tried but she's a pretty closed book.

And it got awkward in the house. What was I going to do? I wanted just to just go up and go to bed but I knew I had better hang around and see what might happen. I capped a beer I had been longing for all night and flopped in a chair in the living room. If she wanted to talk, I was there. If she didn't, I'd go to bed.

I was just swallowing the last of the beer when she came in. "Can you get me another?"

She got it then sat down on the couch across from me. "They all like you, all the people I talked to. They like you, respect you — I guess a lot of them depend on you."

Her words just hung there.

"And the girls love you, obviously. Both of them." She was looking at her shoes. "I've let you down, Mike, I'm holding you back. I was dead weight there tonight. People paid attention to me only because I was with you."

I've never heard her admit anything like this and I didn't want to let her off the hook. "So what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know. I wish I did."

"Talk to Helen. She's good at that kind of thing. Let her help you."

She didn't react; my advice felt like it landed on deaf ears. I looked over at her. She did look nice tonight, sexy nice. I could never remember a time when I could have said that. At one point I had looked over at her and had a double take. She is trim, she has always been trim, all the Menendez women are... were trim... a nice trim ass... a sexy cleavage between nice full breasts. Pity, I remember thinking. What a waste.

We were strangers in a darkened room for as long as it took me to finish the beer then I got up and went and got another, and when I got back I was surprised that she was still there, still in the same place.

"We have to build a relationship, Gloria and it can't be like the old one. We have to start to invest in each other and in our future, otherwise we won't have one."

I sat down. She was still looking at the floor. "I want you to start dressing like you did tonight, lots of cleavage and tits and tight pants, you can look sexy, I want you to — that will help get you out of yourself. And you must know some people, why are they never invited here for dinner? Ask them over once in awhile... for dinner. Why not? I don't care who they are. And what about plays and theatre — culture stuff? We never go. We should. You're in charge, I'll help where I can but you're in charge. You're going to have to make it interesting. Do you know anything about porn?" I assumed she didn't so I didn't wait for a response, which probably wasn't going to come anyway. "Neither do I. Research it, let's get into it a little, see what it does to us. And your food, be more daring with it. What else? Kink, I don't know anything about it — find out, lets see if we can have a pulse together."