Gambler's Debt Ch. 00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I never, ever download porn - but when "I Wanna Buttfuck Your Daughter 10" came up on the recent uploads list, I couldn't resist. What a concept! Two of my favourite topics. Unfortunately, the porn was... well, it was awful, and there was nothing about daughters in it at all, which is part of the interest for me. I felt, instead, inspired to write this story. This is a long, non-erotic introduction; skip it if you're not into that, but I think it'll set up the characters nicely, in case you care.

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My parents divorced when I was very young. I think I was three or four at the time - I hardly remember it now, except for a few pieced-together but blessedly vague memories. Most of what I know about what happened came from my mother, and most of it made my father out to be a villain - a no-good deadbeat, a pathetic loser. My mother, of course, is not without her flaws; her overbearing parenting tactics and controlling personality left me, her only child, with a fairly tenuous sense of self-esteem.

Either way, it was my mother who raised me. I got birthday and Christmas cards from my father for the first few years, usually with a lottery ticket or a twenty inside. There were phone calls, but the frequency of them came in waves - I'd get a call a week for a month or two, and then nothing for another eight months. I was lucky if I saw him once or twice a year; but then, when I was thirteen, the visits stopped entirely.

When I was seventeen, my mother remarried. The guy's name was Sheldon, and he was some kind of catch. We'd lived in a two-bedroom apartment somewhere between the suburbs and downtown for all my life. Sheldon, on the other hand, made decent money and had a big house in a nice suburb. He commuted to work and my mother was finally able to quit her boring office job for a life of community work and luncheons.

Unfortunately, Sheldon had three other kids - all significantly younger than I was - and nobody had much time for a shy, introverted, awkward seventeen year old girl. I was stuck with babysitting duty most nights and all weekend, but even if I hadn't been, I wouldn't have been going to parties or hanging out with friends. I hadn't been very popular before the move, but now I was going to a snootier, more cliquey suburban highschool, and I was the "new kid" halfway through my senior year.

I have to admit, when my dad called me and asked to take me out for lunch on a Saturday afternoon, I was a bit skeptical. He'd made promises to see me before and had bailed at the last minute, so I wasn't expecting this time to be any different. But it was.

I'd been living in Sheldon's house with the brats for about four months at this point; it was May. I stood outside the house, letting the late-spring sun warm my face, and waited for him. He pulled up in a decent car - shiny, clean, maybe even new. One of those cars that doesn't look like a bubble. He leaned over and swung my door open. "Hop in, kiddo!"

When I got in, I was pretty excited, though incredibly nervous. I hadn't seen my father for years! But anything was better than wasting away in that big new house again.

"So, Nicole," he began, and I waited, expecting him to continue, but he didn't.

"Yeah, Dad?" I glanced over at him as he drove.

"Listen... um." A pause. "You like Thai food?"

I laughed a little bit. My mother absolutely hated Thai food - I'd never had it, but I knew that. She came home from a date quite sour once because the guy hadn't accepted no for an answer when it came to his choice of restaurant. I told him as much.

"Shit, I forgot. I don't remember much about your mom, to be honest. It was so long ago."

"I don't remember much about you, Dad," I replied.

He sighed. "I know, Nic. Can I... call you Nic? Nevermind. Listen, let's get Thai. You'll love it."

We made small talk as he drove the rest of the way across town. We wound up in a neighbourhood I'd hardly seen before - funky, all the buildings old and brightly coloured. He parked and we walked down the street to the restaurant together. The warmth of the sun seemed to lubricate our conversation. When we arrived at the tiny wooden door set between two shops, I gasped.

"This is it?! You've got to be kidding me!"

He grinned and pulled the door open. "Nope. It's great. Follow me."

We climbed a set of dimly lit stairs and walked down an unevenly floored hallway before arriving in a little room full of the scent of basil and chili. I inhaled deeply as I looked around. Cozy, tiny, with mismatched chairs and tables. We were greeted, given menus, and told to sit anywhere we liked.

I guess I was gazing around in shock and wonder, because he said, "Your Mom never take you anywhere like this?"

I shook my head. "Mostly Red Robin, Swiss Chalet, stuff like that."

He clucked his tongue. "There are so many great holes in the wall in this city. It's too bad I..."

He trailed off and I prompted him by asking, "What, Dad?"

"It's too bad I wasn't a bigger part of your life. Nic, I'm really sorry. I fucked up as a Dad, big time."

I said, "It's okay," even though it wasn't. I had really resented not having an escape from my mother. All of my friends with divorced parents got to see their Dads for weekends or summers, or even alternating weeks. I never saw mine at all.

"No, it's not okay. And I want to make it up to you." The waitress came to our table and he ordered for both of us. "One yellow curry, one pad thai, and one eggplant with basil." The waitress made some fuss about too much food for the two of us, but he grinned and said we'd finish it.

And we did. We sat there for two hours eating these big plates of vegetables and rice and noodles. It was delicious and I loved it, just like he thought I would. The conversation was great - I warmed up to him as if he'd never been gone. We had way more in common than I'd ever thought possible. He loved card games, just like me, and said he was something of a world-class poker player. I thought that was pretty cool.

I told him about my favourite books, and he'd read most of them already. He was a big fantasy nerd. He said he didn't read much anymore but if I'd lend him some books he'd try to catch up with me. I said I would.

We even looked alike. I'd always thought I looked like my mother - I have her petite frame, small waist and narrow hips, small breasts, and big eyes. But I have his colouring. The chestnut hair with a hint of red in it, the blue eyes. My mother's colouring is more ashy. I got my freckles from him, too. And the full, pouty lips. Mom's lips are thin and always in a frown. Well, maybe that's just her personality.

As we were getting ready to leave - he paid, and left a big tip on the table, which I loved because my mother never did, at least not before Sheldon - he got this serious look on his face. "Nic, listen. I have something to say."

I nodded and steeled myself for a deep meaningful conversation.

"I've been a shitty father and I want to make it up to you. I'm doing really well now, and I finally feel like I can be the Dad I've always wanted to be. Let's hang out some more, that is - if you want to -" he looked to me for encouragement and I smiled and nodded in reply "- and I really want to be a part of your life from now on. I just bought a place near here, a really great old house. It's a hell of a fixer-upper but I want to have it livable by the summer. And-"

He paused again but I wanted him to go on so badly! I thought he might be gearing up to ask me to live with him, so I blurted out, "Daddy, I hate it at Sheldon's so much. All I ever do is babysit and get ignored. I hate it!"

He let out this big sigh of relief. "So you might want to live with me, then?"

"Oh, yeah! I think that'd be great!"

He grinned and got up and grabbed me and hugged me. "Awesome! Oh, I'm so glad! Let's see how things go, but - hey - do you want to see the house? It's empty but I've got the keys."

Of course I did. We grabbed our things and left the restaurant, down the hall and down the stairs. I headed for the car but he grabbed my arm and hooked it in his. "It's a beautiful day. Let's walk."

The house was about ten blocks away. The whole walk was beautiful. Old houses with character, and trees so big they arced over the street like we were in some beautiful tunnel. It was so different from Sheldon's house in the suburbs.

The house was brick and wood, old and definitely in need of a coat of paint, but cute. It looked pretty small from the outside, though it had two floors, and there were big trees in the front yard. He swung open the gate - it creaked - and we made our way down the walk, which was surrounded by fallen leaves from last autumn, decomposing.

The front door was heavy wood with glass in it. We entered the house and he turned on the lights. The place was full only of the echoes of our footsteps. There was a big living room with a bay window, a staircase, a bathroom with peeling wallpaper. There was a small bedroom on the bottom floor which Dad said would be a study. At the very back of the first floor was this great, big, beautiful kitchen looking out on to a back yard - and there was a swing hanging from a branch of the tree out the window! He pointed it out to me and, smiling, said "For you."

Upstairs there were three more bedrooms - a big one and two smaller ones. There wasn't a bathroom - he said that was pretty standard in old houses, to only have one - but the whole place had these big old windows with wooden frames and hardwood floors. The room that I liked most looked out on to the front yard, shielded by the branches of the trees, and had a bench built in to the window. "For reading your books," Dad said.

Needless to say, I fell in love with the house, and we immediately began throwing around fantasies of how to renovate it. New wallpaper and paint, refinished floors, a chandelier in the front hall (my idea).

When he drove me home, it was nearly dinner time. I was exhilarated and my cheeks were red from being outside. I felt incredible.

Dad and I kept having our Saturday lunches every week until school let out in June. After lunch we'd always go to the house and I'd get to see how much renovation work he'd gotten done - he was doing it alone - and give him more ideas. He almost got rid of the old push-button light switches! I told him better.

At my high school graduation, he was there, cheering the loudest for me. Sheldon and my mom and the kids were there, too, but they didn't sit with Dad. They must have known he was there after his one-man cheering section when I got my diploma.

My birthday, June 2nd, was never a big deal. I didn't make a fuss about it, and I didn't even remind Dad about it. Mom took me out for dinner on the day of - it was a Thursday - but the following Saturday when Dad picked me up, my real birthday celebration began.

First, he took me to some fancy, swishy restaurant where they pulled my chair out for me and everything. He bought me a drink, too - even though I was only eighteen, not old enough to drink. He chose well; it was sweet and tasted more like juice than anything else. I'd hardly had any alcohol before. After lunch, he took me back to the house, blindfolded me, and took me upstairs to my bedroom.

A four-poster bed, Victorian night tables, brocade curtains. I squealed when I saw it. There was even an antique desk and a beautifully upholstered chair. It was perfect, beautiful! I threw my arms around his neck, embracing him tightly. He rubbed my hair and asked, "So, when you gonna move in?"

I squealed again. "Are you ready?" He nodded, and I rain down the hall - his bedroom was furnished, too, and even the guest room. Downstairs, the living room had these big old velvet couches in it, and the kitchen was clean and had a fridge and a gas stove inside.

Needless to say, for once in my life, I wasn't shy when dealing with my mother - Dad drove me home to pick up my things that very afternoon, and I simply told her I was moving in with him, end of story.

"Nicole!" I could hear her screaming after me as I threw my clothes into a duffel bag I had left over from basketball, years ago. "Nicole, you're making a mistake! That man is a deadbeat!"

"Nuh uh!" I yelled back. "He's got a beautiful house and a car and he takes me out for lunch every week."

Her voice was shrill now. "Well, does he have a job? Does he?"

I huffed and grabbed my things and ignored her. Dad was waiting outside with the trunk open. I tossed my stuff in there - it was mostly books - and we got in the car as my mother screamed after us, "Dale, don't you dare take my daughter! I know what you're up to!"

I stuck my head out the window and yelled back, "I'm eighteen now and I can do whatever I want. Oh - and fuck you!"

As we drove away I felt dizzy with liberation. I'd never, ever talked back to my mother like that - she always had me browbeaten and cowering. Dad was cheering and high-fiving me as he sped away from that big, suburban house, and I grinned. I felt on top of the world.