Futile Resistance Ch. 04

While Aidan poured the drinks, French considered how much she'd tell him about her mother. No matter how much time went by, she still felt ashamed and embarrassed about anything that had to do with her mother. French knew, intellectually at least, that she and her mother were separate from one another and that what her mother did, then or now, had nothing to do with her. She had grown up and forged her own set of beliefs and values. Still, though, whenever she and her mother were together, she felt all of those old feelings well up and they both slid back into their old roles. Icy disdain on French's side; malicious teasing on her mother's.

She had never offered Aidan details about her upbringing; he knew only the basics. Aidan felt comfortable talking about his parents and brother and often did. He always spoke of them with affection, even when he was having a difference of opinion with one of them. Juxtaposed with his upbringing, hers would seem even more sordid.What will he think of me if I tell him everything? she thought.He might think that I'm just like her and I couldn't bear that...

Aidan came back with their brandy and handed her a snifter. Without a thought, French tossed hers back in one gulp.

"What are you doing?" Aidan asked, alarm edging his voice.

"Whoops," she answered, holding her glass up to the light as though she couldn't figure out why it was suddenly empty. "Umm, trying to muster up some Irish courage?"

"That won't work for you, you're not Irish, remember?" he said wryly. "Take it easy. Knowing you, you'll be passed out before you can tell me about this 'mother situation'."

"Can I have another if I promise to sip it slowly this time?" French appealed, buying time before she had to tell him the good, the bad and the ugly details of her life.

"OK. But only a little. And only if you sip it."

While he was pouring, French fidgeted on the couch, straightening and re-straightening throw pillows. Stacking and re-stacking magazines on the coffee table. When Aidan came back, she was fiddling with a painting on the wall.

"Does this look crooked to you? Because to me, it looks like the left side is much lower..."

"Nope. Looks fine to me," Aidan said matter-of-factly.

"I don't know," French hedged, "maybe I'd better go find a level and measure it just to be sure."

"Francoise Delauney, you're stalling."

"No, I'm not!" she said too quickly, "I mean, look, it really is crooked..."

Aidan took a step back and looked at the painting closely, then walked up to it and nudged it about a millimeter up on the left side.

"There," he said, brushing his hands together, "it's perfect. Now sit down and talk."

"Are you sure you really want to hear this? Because it's pretty boring..."

"It can't be that boring if whatever 'it' is has you acting so weird."

"I'm not acting weird! I can't believe you would say that, Aidan. How dare you?! And after I cooked you that nice meal!"

"Oh, believe me, you're acting very weird. So weird, that now you're trying to pick a fight," he said calmly.

Caught. Heaving a deep sigh of defeat, French flopped back into the sofa cushions and closed her eyes. After a few seconds she sat up again and made a big production out of taking the tiniest of tiny sips of her brandy, then looked at Aidan as if to say, "See, only a sip!" He rolled his eyes at her and she sighed again.

"OK, you asked for it. My mother is what my kids at school would call a 'MILF'. Do you know what a MILF is?"

"Mother I'd Like to Fuck," he supplied dryly.

"Where'd you learn that? Oh, never mind... Yeah, so she was, is, a MILF. She dresses like a tramp. Not cheaply mind you, but even the most expensive clothes, things that would look classy and elegant on someone else, look slutty on my mother because she buys everything a size too small and has even short skirts hemmed so they're even shorter. She always wore tight business suits with short skirts, low-cut blouses and indecently high heels for work. Hooker make-up. Even her hair's slutty, tousled all the time like she just rolled out of a man's bed. Let's not even get started on her leisure wear..." she trailed off with a snort.

"So, this is about the way she dresses?" Aidan asked, confused.

"No. Well, partly. You see, my mother didn't just dress the part. She was the real deal. I can't even count the number of lovers she had over the years, let alone name any of them. Well, one name I do know -- my father. And let me tell you, the fact that I know his name is a miracle, because if I know my mother, he wasn't the only man she was screwing when I was conceived." She paused to take a fortifying sip of brandy and looked at Aidan to gauge his reaction to what she'd said so far. He was listening intently, his face relaxed, as was the rest of his body.So far, so good, she thought.

"She had men in and out of our house for as long as I can remember. I was always getting to know a new 'uncle', who would pretend to like me. Children see straight through phonies, did you know that? Anyway, Maman used me shamelessly whenever she had a man over. She'd dress me up and trot me out as if I were a show pony and tell me to speak my flawless French and play my flute. Those were the only times she took any interest in my music... She would play the role of proud mother."

Laughing ruefully, she said, "Do you know that I'm an expert mixologist? I knew how to mix drinks by the time I was ten!"

At Aidan's look of disbelief, she said, "Oh, yeah, it's true. I was quite the little bartender. That was one of my 'talents'. Maman thought it was so cute to have me serve her and her lovers their drinks and hors d'oeuvres on a little tray."

"That's unbelievable," Aidan said. French's mouth tightened and Aidan could have sworn that he physically felt her withdrawing from him. He hurried on, "No, honey, I don't mean that I don't believe you, just that I can't believe a mother would shamelessly use her child that way..."

French gave an indelicate snort. "Yeah, me either. But it was what it was -- and that's only the beginning. I practically raised myself. Maman didn't have time for me. I was on my own as far as personal care was concerned; I learned to cook basic things -- I practically lived on mac-and-cheese, I learned how to run the washer and dryer and stuff like that. Got myself up and dressed for school without any help. I could count on one hand, with fingers left over, the number of my recitals she attended. She always had something - no make thatsomeone better to do. I quickly became OK with her not being around, because I'd begun to notice that she wasn't like the other moms and it was a mortifying realization."

She stopped talking again and stared into space. "I wanted what the other kids had so badly. I always felt like an outsider, especially on days at school when other moms volunteered in class or baked stuff for their kids' birthdays. I never once, in all my school history, brought in cupcakes to share with the class... Stupid thing to care about, huh?" she looked at Aidan sadly, then went on. "The older I got, though, the less I wanted her to be involved in my life. Boys had noticed her and they talked about her, about how she looked and what she wore and what they'd like to do to and with her. Some of them even asked me out, expecting that I'd be like her. Boy, were they disappointed..."

She paused, took another sip of brandy. "Once they realized I wasn't like her, they pretty much left me alone. I studied and practiced and counted the days and weeks until I could get out of that house for good. Just before my sixteenth birthday, something happened and, if I had had any doubts about her, they were dispelled that night. I found out exactly what my mother was."

French set her brandy snifter on the table and went to the fireplace. She poked at the orangey-red logs glowing on the grate and added another, positioning the logs so that they would flame up again. Standing up, she gazed into the fire, watching as it came back to life. She continued to stare at the flames as she began talking again.

"One of her men came to the house one night. Maman wasn't home; I assume she was on a 'date' with someone else. Anyway, even though I told him Maman wasn't home, the guy just walked into the house like he owned it and ordered me to fix him a drink. I asked him to leave; I was uncomfortable with him being there without Maman and he was already pretty drunk. He refused to go so I made him his drink. I left him sitting in the living room and went back to my room and shut the door. Huh," she said, expressionlessly, "that was a big mistake."

"I was lying across the bed, studying, when he barged into my room without knocking. He stood in the doorway, swaying back and forth, looking drunk and disheveled with his night-beard, blood-shot eyes and rumpled three-piece suit."

Aidan's eyes closed, as if by doing so he could ward off what he anticipated she was about to tell him next. He could picture the scene so vividly, could imagine what she, as a young girl, must have felt at being cornered in her bedroom by her mother's drunken lover.

"He asked me again where she was and I told him I didn't know, that it wasn't unusual for her to be gone from home until late. He was royally pissed and started calling her names and saying things about how he bought and sold people like her every day and that a man of his status shouldn't have to wait in line for his whore to fuck him. Then he apparently decided that hedidn't have to wait. He said the most vile, disgusting things to me, treated me as if I were nothing at all, while he undressed me with his eyes and wondered aloud if I was as good a lay as my mother. He came and sat on the bed next to me. I was frozen with shock. He reached out and touched my hair, told my how pretty he thought it was. He touched me gently at first, stroked my back, my buttocks, my legs. He spoke to me softly, telling me how pretty I was, much prettier than my mother. There was something sinister in the low, whispery tone of his voice. Creepy..." she shivered as though she were hearing the sound of that voice even as she stood safely in her own living room some twelve years later.

"He pushed me onto my back and started touching my breasts through my blouse. He was breathing hard and getting aroused, his touches became bolder and rougher. He put his hand around my throat and squeezed, told me that since my mother liked it rough, I probably would, too. The situation had quickly gone beyond my ability to control." She smirked, "That is, if I had ever been in control to begin with. I knew what was going to happen and there was no way for me to stop it. I was terrified."

Aidan didn't want to hear any more, couldn't stand to listen.

"Honey, no. Stop," he interrupted. "You don't have to do this."

"But I do, Aidan. It's who I am..." she said desolately, tonelessly.

"No, it's not! That guy was a sick pervert and your mother... Yourmother..." his voice broke as he struggled to find the right words.

"It's OK, Aidan. Nothing really happened that night. Well, not what you think, anyway; my virginity was left intact," she said with another bitter smile. "The guy sat there beside me with his hand wrapped around my throat and told me to take off my blouse and bra. I was scared, so I did it. He touched my nipples, squeezed them so hard it brought tears to my eyes. He was disgusting, drunk and slobbering all over himself and slurring his speech. He opened his pants with one hand and pulled out his penis. He stroked it as he continued to punish my nipples. To me it looked huge. Hard, red and angry-looking..."

"I was crying and begging him to stop. I began to panic and fought him as though my life depended on it. I pushed him away and tried to get up, but my thrashings only seemed to excite him more. He forced me down and straddled me. Told me play time was over and not to move. The 'or else' was implied and I was disinclined to find out what he would do if I angered him. He sucked on my nipples ruthlessly, bit them so brutally hard that I couldn't help but scream. He laughed at me and then put his hand around my neck and squeezed again, told me to shut up; he watched the fear build in me as he choked me so hard I couldn't breathe. I thought I was going to die while he brought himself off. He sat on top of me, stroking himself as I struggled to breathe, saying things I'd never heard before, things that made me feel dirty, degraded and worthless. He came after what seemed like an eternity and it went all over... My chest, my face, my hair... I was covered in it. He let me go then, stood up like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, adjusted his clothes and left my room. I heard him walk into the living room to get his keys and he left the house."

"I lay there feeling violated and scared, gasping for breath. I finally got up, took a shower and scrubbed his filth off of me," she said emotionlessly. Aidan was worried about her. She didn't seem to register the horror of any of what she was telling him. She relayed the incident almost as though it had happened to someone else.

"I waited up until Maman came home and I told her what had happened. She didn't exactly have the reaction I had wanted her to have." French said dolefully. With a sneer in her voice she continued,

"She didn't take me in her arms, soothe me and tell me that everything was going to be OK. Nooo, not my mother. Instead, she said that she was sorry it had happened the way it had, but that I had to learn about what was between men and women some time, and the sooner the better. Then, she went over to a little antique snuffbox that sat on the mantelpiece and took off the lid. She took something out of it and turned around to face me. She was beaming with pride as she held out two crisp hundred dollar bills. She said, 'Well, well,bébé, looks like I've got a little competition. You earned double what he usually pays; he must have liked you,chére.' "

Aidan's heart broke.

Finally, she turned away from the fire to look at him.

"Again, I was frozen with shock. I'd had no idea that she took money from all those men. I knew she slept with them and that she accepted gifts from time to time, but I never knew she took money for what she did. It took me a moment to put all the pieces together."

"She must have seen the wheels turning in my head as I made sense of it. She asked me where I thought my clothes came from, how I thought we could afford to live in the neighborhood we lived in, where did I think the money came from to pay for my flute and my music lessons... I was speechless. My mother was a whore. A prostitute. A high-priced, very selective one, to be sure, but a prostitute is still a prostitute, right?"

Aidan sat quietly, knowing that her question was rhetorical. He didn't respond because he knew that anything he said would sound trite and contrived. He was horrified. He ached for her, wanted more than anything to erase all of the hurt she had endured. He watched her as she stood facing him, looking at him, but not seeing him. Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. He wanted to go to her and comfort her, but held back sensing that she needed to have her say.

"I lashed out at her, got right in her face and called her a whore. She slapped me then. Over and over, knocking my head back and forth as she struck me. She told me I was complicit in what she did because she did it for me. She told me I was guilty, too. She screamed at me, telling me that I was no better than her, that I was more like her than I realized, that what had happened that night proved it."

Her voice trailed off as she tried to compose herself. Her shoulders heaved as she took a few deep breaths. With an effort, she continued talking.

"I stood there and let her hit me, let her attack me in every way she knew how. I stood there and it was like something in me clicked off. I numbed out and couldn't feel or hear a thing... I guess she must have been waiting for me to respond to something she said, because the next thing I knew, she was pulling my hair, yanking my head all around and her face was right next to mine as she screamed at me that it was my fault, everything was my fault. She cursed my father, cursed the day I was born. Told me I was ungrateful and didn't deserve the breath I drew. She told me that she should have aborted me..." Her voice broke.

Aidan stood up from his seat on the couch, determined to stop her from reliving the awful scene from her childhood. With a sharp motion of her hand, French stopped him from approaching her, gestured for him to sit again.

She pressed on. "She had hoped that by keeping me, she could also keep my father. She'd planned to trap him into marriage. He was rich and well-connected and she wanted a piece of that. But her plan backfired. He set her up in the house I grew up in and gave her money each month, but told her he never wanted to lay eyes on either of us again. Ever. By then, it was too late for her to get rid of me. She told me she hated me, Aidan, she said that every day of her life since I was born, she looked at me and hated me for ruining her life."

"I think she had enough decency to feel remorseful for all the things she'd said to me. But, she never apologized, because, she meant every word of it. Probably, the only thing she was sorry about was finally having said it. We avoided seeing and talking to one another for awhile after that. I turned sixteen shortly thereafter and was able to start teaching private flute lessons at the elementary school. I stayed away from home as much as possible and I never took anything else from Maman. I stayed under her roof, because I had no choice, but I bought everything I needed and could afford to buy with the money I made teaching. If I couldn't pay for it myself, I went without."

"In her typical self-absorbed way, she didn't notice that I hadn't asked her for anything for awhile. When she figured it out, we had another ugly confrontation. I think she hated it that, even at my young age, I was self-reliant in a way she never had been and never could be. She did her best to tear me down; all the hatred she had for me came pouring out. This time was different, though. I had developed a pretty strong dislike for her, too. When she hit me, I hit her back and told her that she'd better never lay a hand on me again and walked away."

French's eyes focused suddenly on Aidan as she finished her story.

"I felt utter contempt for her. We managed to get through my last year of high school without any more problems. I did my own thing, she did hers, though she did stop doing her 'thing' at home. I graduated and spent the entire summer at a music festival in Colorado, then went straight to college. Thank God for scholarships... I haven't lived under my mother's roof full time since the day I graduated and never willingly took a cent from her since I was sixteen. When I couldn't find anywhere else to go on school holidays, I went back there. I had learned by then how to protect myself, physically and emotionally, so she never really got to me anymore, even though she tried. She purposely taunted me, telling me that I could fool myself into thinking that going to college would give me a better life, but that the truth would eventually out. She always said that I would see that I was nothing more than my mother's daughter - a chip off the old block. I refused to be goaded into a response and I could see that my self-control nearly killed her."

"I knew she was still whoring, but I just refused to acknowledge it, or her, for that matter. Until a few years ago that worked, then she started calling me, telling me she missed me and wanted to see more of me. She apologized to me for being a bad mother, told me she was sorry she had hurt me and that she had never meant any of the things she had said. She told me how proud she was of who I'd become. Idiot that I am, I fell for it hook, line and sinker. I was such a fool... A grown woman and I still wanted my mommy," she sneered.