"Hi, it's me," I heard pouted down the line.
"Ohhhh, great," I replied facetiously back to my daughter.
"What?" the little bitch croaked, although I immediately realized I couldn't fairly describe my daughter as little anymore.
"Nothing...nothing. What do you want anyway?"
"It's almost Christmas," my twenty-three year old daughter started.
So fucking what, I thought. Surely she doesn't think she can get any more blood out of her old man. "You're Jewish."
"Just part. Gram invited me to spend Christmas with her...in Miami."
"My mother invited you?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes daddy, my Grandmother! Mommy's going to France with Jean-Pierre for the holidays. I've got twelve days off with the weekends and the holidays so I thought I'd come down. I'm tired."
"Ha...ha. You're so funny."
"You're not planning on staying with me are you?"
"Nooo father!" she sneered. "I wouldn't want to disturb the great man...even if it is Christmas...a time when most families get together..."
I heard her whooshing intake of her breath twelve hundred miles away when I simply said, "Fuck off Patricia."
"What," she finally stammered.
"We're adults now. Can't we just cut the crap? I don't need this bullshit anymore. You're supposed to be a mature woman now...a doctor for Christ's sake."
The normal steel was back in her voice when she snapped back, "Well screw you too. I'm only calling because grams asked me to...she wanted her little boy told, poor baby."
"Patricia," I warned.
"The hell with you. Anyway I'll be at grams condo from the twenty-third until the third. You can spend the holidays in Cuba with your friend Fidel for all I care," she said as she slammed down the phone in my ear.
I was shaking as I tried to put the phone back in its cradle. She still had the ability to piss me off. Hardly without even trying. God, it's been almost ten fucking years since her mother walked out on me, I thought, taking Patty and my happiness with her.
"Hi mom," I said ominously when my mother answered he phone.
"Jimmy, how nice," she sang back at me. "Did you hear the good news? About Patricia coming down for the holidays?"
"She called me mom."
"Isn't it nice?"
"She should be taken out and shot. Or guillotined. Put her out of her misery."
"That's a terrible thing for a father to say. You've got to try honey," she begged.
"Did you hear the latest? About her chosen medical specialty?"
"She wants to be a surgeon," mom protested, "There's nothing wrong with that."
"YEAH! A bloody plastic surgeon! Nose jobs and tummy tucks for the rich and famous. Breast implants. Christ, knowing her she'll end up doing vaginal reconstructions. It's new, it's called Labiaplasty, apparently it creates aesthetically pleasing outer genital structures, rumor has it that it's all the rage in certain quarters."
"Jimmy!" mom said laughing.
"Or hymenoplasty...you can imagine what that does."
"There's no such thing!"
"There is. Twenty grand and you're a virgin again," I shouted.
"She may end up helping the poor, the needy; in Africa...people who've been in accidents, people with genetic disfigurements," mom protested. "She might even go to South America...to the Amazon...to where we've practiced," she said wistfully.
"The poor won't pay for the polo ponies, or the cashmere dresses, or the caviar and champagne," I said harshly.
"She's still young honey...maybe...oh, I just wish that awful woman hadn't got custody," she wailed.
The two of us were in one hundred percent agreement about my ex and the way she lived her life and raised my daughter. Only much of the blame my mother apportioned was now laid squarely on my doorstep for marrying her in the first place.
"Please Jimmy...if we try...you've got to talk to her...we're the only people in her world who have any sense at all. Any social responsibility."
"She hasn't said ten kind words to me since she was sixteen," I yelled, then quickly apologized, "sorry ma. She even gets us arguing."
"Still, I'm going to try, we'll have ten days," she insisted as she hung up. Mom was always ready to try, to give someone the benefit of the doubt, to help the poor, the needy, the...
I'd spent the first fifteen years of my life on a commune. Mom, the daughter of one of New York's richest Jewish families, had just finished her medical degree at Columbia when she discovered sex, marijuana, Buddhism and Marx the summer before her residency was to begin.
She ended up pregnant with yours truly on a farm commune in the hills of Tennessee. It was never clear who fathered me.
Reagan was President. Being rich was in. Taxes were cut. Conspicuous consumption was good! Trickle down and all that. Ma had become a hippie twenty years too late. She ended up doctoring to the hill country poor while living with her left wing friends on the commune.
Then, after I'd left for University, she went and spent three years deep in the Amazon jungle ministering to the native tribes. She worked out of a small Catholic school and mission that tried to serve a ten thousand square mile area deep in the rainforest. Since then she'd been bouncing back and forth between Miami and the jungle.
Meanwhile I, a young premed student at Harvard in Boston, unfortunately met Miss Rebecca Marie Cooperman, a dazzling young coed studying fine arts at Bryn Mawr. I fell in love. What a fucking jerk. My brain was in my dick!
And I really had no excuse. Shit, growing up like I did, on a commune, with the ever present nudity and free sex, I wasn't some innocent university freshman smelling his first cunt. I'd lost my virginity at fourteen and had sampled enough women that even Becky Cooperman and her perfect tits shouldn't have turned my head.
Just another roll in the hay. Except we two, who had diametrically different views on virtually everything, smashed passionately together in a rutting dance of lust and love. Before either of us knew what was happening we were in love, then married, and then finally parents of beautiful Patricia Ellie Scouries before either of us had hit twenty-one.
My wife's parents, upper class gits, didn't take to their new son-in-law, even though I was a 'Harvard' boy. And my mom hated everything about them.
Rebecca and I spent the next twelve years trying to change each other. An impossible task as it turned out.
When Patty was thirteen her mom finally decided I'd never change. So she went home to her parents and their million dollar apartment on Central Park in New York and their summer home in the Hampton's. And then she dedicated herself into turning her daughter into a carbon copy of herself. A stuck up rich bitch!
Every second weekend after the breakup I'd attempted to reverse some of the worst of her mother's lessons. Perhaps it wasn't fair to a young teenager. Maybe I wasn't a perfect father in those days. But when you love someone so much its hard not to try to save her from banality, and greed, and stupidity and.....
And even at thirteen or fourteen there was no doubt, my daughter was smart. In fact a near genius. It petrified me that she was destined to become nothing more than a smart shopper...a boutique beauty...an upper class twit...
She had the ability to do so much more.
"I don't want to come here any more."
"Weekends...or in the summer...or at Thanksgiving or Easter."
"What are you talking about?" I asked my sixteen year old daughter. It had been a difficult two and a half years for both of us since she'd left with her mom.
"You don't think like us...like mommy and me. Or grampa Cooperman. You're so..." she trailed off, her nose in the air, her teenage disdain for me clear.
"Well little girl, like it or lump it, you're stuck. Your mom and I have a court ordered deal. Somebody's got to try and knock a little sense into your fat head."
"Why? Just because I like nice things," she yelled. "Wake up daddy, we live in America. We're almost in the twenty-first century. I'm missing my riding lessons because of this."
My palm was within six inches of Patty's cheek before I finally brought it under control.
"Hit me daddy, c'mon, hit me," she screamed, spittle flying from her mouth..
"Look at you...you're dressed like a slut," I yelled back, a fury I'd felt building for over two years boiling close to the surface. "I should have put you over my knee and given you a thrashing years ago."
"God, I thought all you hippy do-gooders didn't believe in hitting anybody," she sneered.
"Go to your room," I ordered.
"Fuck you...you're probably not even my father anyway." For just a second I saw a regret for her words reflected in her eyes, but then the coldness descended again and she added, "I not coming here anymore."
"We'll see...maybe we do need a break...let me talk to your mom...you're going to university soon anyway," I answered wearily as another piece of my heart broke.
"No," she insisted, and sensing she'd won she stuck in the knife a final time, "I'll tell them you touched me...my breasts...that you looked at me when I was showering... that I'm afraid you're going"
SPLATTTT. Patty bounced backward from the blow. Lay stunned on the floor as blood started to trickle from her nose.
"GET OUT! NOWWWW!" I screamed as I lifted her and marched her towards the door. "If you're so fucking smart then go and find your goddam father." I threw her purse and overnight bag out the door after her. And then proceeded to get drunk.
A month later I packed up and moved to Miami. Then went to Brazil and spent two years doctoring among the backcountry natives with my mother. I didn't see or hear from my daughter again for over two years. Fuck her! Yet she never left my dreams.
A near genius, Patty was halfway through medical school when I returned from the Amazon. Our only contact during that time had been a bi weekly letter I religiously composed and sent her. She never wrote back. And she'd changed her last name from Scouries to Cooperman while I'd been away.
I'd opened a small medical clinic in Miami when I'd returned from Brazil and both my mother and I tried to deliver basic medical services to the poor immigrant community, both legal and illegal, a community whose members increasingly were going without health care while living in the richest country in the world.
Jobs in South Florida's economy increasingly came without even rudimentary health coverage for its workers.
And during these last four years there had been some tentative attempts at contact between my daughter and I, most orchestrated by my mother who'd never totally lost contact with her only grandchild.
Patty had even slowly shown some grudging respect for the woman in whose medical footsteps she was walking. My mom was too tough to let Patty get away with anything but even when they argued Patty always saw the love behind the words.
With Patty and me it was tougher. It seemed as though each of us wanted to inflict as much damage to the other as we could. Lash out first seemed to be both our mottos. There was a volatility to our rare encounters that I think frightened us both.
We celebrated both Christmas and Hanukkah in our family, although neither mom nor I had ever been particularly religious. Christmas we'd inherited from the Cooperman's and so I found myself sitting across the dinner table from my girl in mom's condo on the twenty-fifth.
Patty gave me a beautiful cashmere sweater as a gift; she got a simple native wood carving from me. We were both trying to control ourselves in front of my mom.
It was weird, watching her sitting across from me, this monster of pettiness, of conspicuous consumption, because in so many ways she was hard not to like.
She'd turned into a beautiful woman. Taller than either her mom or grandma, her five ten, broad shouldered body was softened by the flowing, silky black hair that cascaded down her back almost to her bum. Although her height and black hair had been inherited from me, her twinkling bright eyes had come directly from her always smiling grandma.
Her firm, full breasts were all her mothers and they stood proudly even while braless under the black, silk cocktail dress that adorned her curves. There was a sleek new sexiness to my daughter that I'd never registered before.
Her long, creamy smooth legs were just highlighted even more by the black silk that rose provocatively up her thighs as she sat on the couch facing me after we'd eaten. She was wearing white lace panties. Casually made sure I saw them. As my cock trembled in anticipation under my pants I became aware for the first time just how arousing my little girl had become.
The three of us had a relatively enjoyable evening, Patty's grandma intervening and refereeing when either of us threatened to cross the line into outright hostility. Looking back, I'm pretty sure that Patty's next question to me that night had been orchestrated between the women before I'd arrived. For my mom it had just been another step forward in her campaign to reunite father and daughter.
For Patty it must have been much more complicated.
"Will you take me out on your boat?" she asked as the evening drew to a close.
"Oh, that's a wonderful idea," mom enthused as I fumed silently.
"Tomorrow?" Patty asked in an insistent tone.
Of course I finally acquiesced to the two women's desire.
"Seeing you don't seem to want to talk, I think I'll just tan. Is that okay with you?" she shouted angrily after we'd been underway for fifteen minutes, slicing outward and away from the marina.
"I'm so sorry sweetie. I'm just not up on the latest from Gucci. Or the polo results. Or Paris Hilton's latest lover. I know, I know, I should have read the gossip and fashion magazines when I heard you were coming."
"Fuck you," she said as she undid her bikini top and threw it down on the bench beside her.
"I'm a goddam doctor."
"Graduated from fucking Harvard."
"At the top of my goddam class."
"Youngest graduate in twenty years."
"Accepted as a resident in New York's best hospital," she yelled over the hum of the motor, ticking off each point with another extended finger.
"And where was my father through all this? His feelings are hurt because his daughter doesn't want to save the world. He's mad because his hard working daughter enjoys, yes enjoys daddy, some of the good things in life. Once in a while she likes going to a show on Broadway, or likes to have a dinner at a fine restaurant with friends."
I couldn't help but notice her heaving breasts as she vented her anger. They stood proudly, high, firm pointed cones that were only highlighted by her height and strong, wide shoulders. Capped by puffy, dark pink areolas and thick, almost impossibly long nipples.
"Yeah, that's why this perfect princess is going to use her god given abilities to do tummy tucks, and nose jobs, and probably even labiaplasty's for her stupid rich friends who tramp around the city like whores."
"Half the people on the planet don't have even rudimentary health care and Miss Harvard's going to be a liposuction expert. A botox inserter," I scoffed.
"Shut up and drive the boat you prick," she yelled back. "Where are we going anyway?"
"Who cares?" I asked as I slowed the boat.
"What're those anyway?" she asked pointing at the Stiltsville houses that seemed to be standing on top of the water a mile across the bay.
"Can we tie up at one," she asked after I'd explained the history of this ocean village.
After we'd docked at one of the deserted houses Patty rose from her seat and dove into the turquoise waters of the Gulf Stream. Then she simply stripped the wet panties from her loins when she finally emerged dripping from the sea. Her dark, long, thick, rich pubic pelt was a perfectly trimmed triangle that drew my eyes towards her sex.
"You're not going to swim?" she asked as she sat on the gunwale of the boat, watching me as I sipped a cold beer. Her knees were immodestly spread, making the inner pinkness of her sex visible through her fur.
"Later. Did you put on sun screen?" I asked. "You'll burn," I warned when she shook her head no.
"I forgot to bring it."
"You're as pale as a ghost."
"That's because I work so hard," she answered with a wry grin.
"I've got some," I offered, not wanting to rejoin our argument, then jumped down into the cabin and quickly reemerged with a tube of Hawaiian Tropic. "Here."
"You do it," she ordered as she stretched sinuously, then turned and offered her back as she slowly toweled dry her hair.
"At least you're in shape," I grudgingly admitted as my fingers worked the lotion into her back and down across her well shaped thighs and calves. Her ass was firm and high.
"Fucking dressage or something to do with horses," I said as I gave her a light slap on her left butt.
"Screw you daddy," she complained with a smile, then turned and presented her breasts and sex to me.
"You turned out pretty good looking too," I said as my eyes slid up and down her curves.
"Genetics...with mom and gram I was fated to be pretty," she answered, almost a tone of complaint in her voice.
"Better than being ugly my dear," I replied, my sun screen coated hands moving now over her high, firm breasts.
"And I got your hair," she added as shook her hair, making her silky black curls dance over her shoulders and down over her breasts.
"You're prettier than both of them," I added, my eyes traveling up and down her sinuous curves, then gently moved the soft hair away from her breasts.
"Did you just give me a compliment? James Scouries finally said something nice to his only child. "
"Look who's talking. And for a girl with such a supposedly brilliant memory you seem to have conveniently forgotten your first thirteen years of life. "
"I remember daddy, I was so happy when I was young... before you and mommy started to argue," she said softly. Even as I argued with her I couldn't help but notice that her nipples were like hard pebbles under my caressing fingers. That I suddenly yearned to take them between my lips. "Your hands are soft...gentle," she added watching them as they descended across her stomach.
"Christ, at least you haven't shaved every hair off your body like all your panty-less celebrity friends seem to be doing these days," I added, trying to clear the image of me sucking my daughter's nipples out of my mind.
She laughed as she arched her body against my fingers and said, "I guarantee you won't see my pubes displayed on the internet."
"Do you have a boyfriend?" I asked, one of the first civil questions I'd asked her in ten years.
"Too many," she sighed. "I think I also inherited my sex drive from you and grandma," she added ruefully.
"What's that mean?" I groused, ready to be angry again.
"Mom refers to gram as 'that naked old hippy who can't keep her legs together'," Patty said with a grin.
"That bitch," I muttered.
"And she has some choice words about you too," my daughter added, laughing now. "She claims it's my Scouries blood that's turned me into such a slut. That you were never able to keep your zipper up."
"I thought you'd decided I wasn't your father?" I asked, still hurt from her long ago accusation.
"Oh, you're my daddy," she admitted, "even if you are a horny and mean old man."
"Your mother doesn't have a brain in her head. Christ, she calls you a slut?"
"I like it...sex...a lot," she said abruptly, a wistful tone in her voice. "It's your fault anyway," she said accusingly.
"Uh huh. It was weird...I was fifteen, sixteen...I discovered sex...men."
"I know," she said angrily. "But then I started to want you."