#BABYMACHINE

by Cassandra Dee

  So yeah, Lance and I have no problem with sloppy seconds. I’ve tasted his seed, he’s eaten my creampies, it happens when there’s only one cunny involved.

  But I was fucking pissed at him now. Why the fuck was he bringing up Kathryn?

  “What the fuck is your problem, man?” I growled, grabbing my jacket. By now, we’d made our way off stage, giving Kacey sweet, lingering kisses as she wiped our cum from her body. She was getting changed and would meet us out back in fifteen, hopefully for some more sensual penetration. But for now, I wanted to speak with my brother in private.

  “Why are you bringing up Kathryn?” I ground out again, my hackles raised.

  The smug jerk was still tucking his shirt at him, ignoring the stares around us.

  “Kacey looks just like Kathryn, don’t you agree, brother?” he asked. “I mean, a real doppelganger, maybe she’s even left-handed like Kathryn.”

  I smoldered. Kathryn had been someone special to us. A girl we’d been dating, probably the only one we’d ever really loved. Lance and I had met her at summer camp, just the sweetest blonde thing, a nubile, loving, warm seventeen year-old. We’d spent the summer fucking illicitly in the woods, in our cabins, in the lake, anywhere where we could find some privacy, and some places which weren’t so private either.

  But it was what happened afterwards that haunted me.

  I’d been driving an old car, delivering some camp supplies, Kathryn in the front seat, when I’d lost control. We plunged off a bridge into a lake, and … fuck, this kills me still. I’d managed to get free of my seat belt and swim through the window on my side. Kathryn was struggling frantically with her seat belt, finally managing to unbuckle herself. She’d tried to open the passenger door, but it was stuck, and there was no way to open the window either, the electronics were on the fritz.

  As fast as I could, I’d swum over to her side of the car, trying to break her window with my arm, with my elbow, even kicking it, my heavy shoes pounding on the glass. But water is really dense, and my kicks had none of the force they would have had on land.

  I then gestured for Kathryn to try and swim over to my side, escaping through the window on my side, but she’d started to panic and must have run out of air. She breathed in, and immediately started bloating and choking, the sight a horrific memory to this day. Kathryn gasped underwater, holding her neck frantically as her head bobbed back and forth, and I’ll never forget the sight of our beautiful girl dying a slow, watery death.

  It breaks me up still. Lance hadn’t spoken to me for months, even after her death had been declared accidental. A distinct chill had come between us because I’d inordinately caused the death of the love of our life. We were two boys crushed, defeated, the spirit taken out of us.

  And so tragedy had struck at eighteen, and even seven years later, there were still remnants of intense grief. I’m not sure what drew me to Kacey. Maybe it was the blonde hair and shapely figure, but hell, there are tons of curvy blondes out there. There was something deeper about this … and we were on a collision course to hell.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Kacey

  “Hey, Ma,” I said on the phone. I still called home faithfully although I’ve done my best to hide where I’m from. After all, no customer wants to know that you’re from the ghetto in New Jersey, raised by a single mom in a hovel. Male clients want to pretend you’re an airline stewardess, someone sexy and mysterious who leads a glamorous life. In reality though, I was from an urban slum where gunshots rang out night after night.

  “Kacey,” said my mom, wheezing slightly. “How’s life in the big city treating you?”

  “It’s good, Ma,” I replied. I didn’t add that I’d barely come up with my rent money again. “How are you doing?” I asked.

  “Good, good,” coughed my mom. With a worried frown, I shook my head. My mom really wasn’t sounding healthy. A couple years ago, she came down with severe asthma, probably from working in that cardboard factory for the last fifteen years. I spent a good chunk of my earnings paying for her medication and inhalers because the company’s health care plan was so terrible.

  “How is your non-profit job?” asked my mom. I sighed. My white lies had grown to the point where I didn’t even know how to explain that I didn’t work at a non-profit, that I’d never worked at a non-profit, and actually danced in a club for cash instead. I mean, how do you tell your sick mom something like that?

  “It’s good,” I mumbled, shame-faced. I was glad she couldn’t see me, there were tears stinging my eyes.

  “Helping all those immigrants? President Obama has deported more people during his time in office than the past one hundred years combined,” she said, her voice sharpening for once.

  That’s the thing about my mom. She’s actually incredibly well-read and intelligent, she just never had a chance in life. She got pregnant with me when she was sixteen by some sailor who disappeared, and her life kinda went downhill after that. She wasn’t able to finish high school, and without any family to help her out, we lived on welfare when I was a kid. Finally, my mom was able to land a stable job at the cardboard factory, and the state moved us into the projects. It sounds sad, but I was never so happy as to live in the projects because we had an apartment of our own, a step up from the shelter housing we’d been staying in.

  “I know, Ma,” I said quietly. “The cases at the non-profit are really troublesome and sad.”

  “And Kacey, have you started those law school applications yet?” my mom chirped, sounding brighter. “You know Auntie Grace offered to proofread your essays for you, she was an English major at UCLA.”

  My throat tightened. My mom always wants the best for me, my current situation only underlining how far I’d fallen.

  “Not yet, Ma, but I will,” I choked out. I wouldn’t be going to law school for a long time, but was too ashamed to tell my mom. Little did she know that I’d dropped out of City College to focus on dancing. I needed the money, and it was too hard to go to school, study, take the LSAT and apply to law school all the while stripping at the Donkey Club.

  “Make sure you do, honey,” said my mom gently. “I hear law school applications have declined recently so this might be a good time to apply,” she continued. “You’re such a smart girl and we always stick together baby,” she reassured me. “I’ll find some way to help you pay for tuition, even if it means taking double shifts at the factory.”

  “No Ma, don’t worry about it, I think there are tuition waivers for people who commit to careers in public interest, so it’s okay,” I said firmly. No way was my Mom going to work one more day than necessary in that stupid paper factory. It was killing her already, and I wanted her to retire asap.

  “Well, keep your eye on the ball honey and you’ll get there,” she encouraged. “Are you still visiting next weekend?”

  I smacked my forehead. Oh right, I’d promised to make the trek out to Newark next weekend. Dammit, it was going to be Fourth of July and guys usually tipped well on long weekends. But it was her birthday and I’d already promised to go.

  “Yes, of course. Can’t wait Ma, see you then!” I said with fake cheer.

  “Okay honey, I have a special surprise. I want you to meet my doctor, he’s been so good to me with this allergy stuff,” she started to wheeze.

  Why would she want me to meet her doctor? I sighed. But I figured it was just easier to agree.

  “Yes Ma, I can take you to an appointment, happy to drive,” I said. “Just take care of yourself in the meantime, okay?” I asked anxiously. I felt sad that my mom was alone in small, shabby apartment. I resolved to bring some flowers, or something colorful and nice. After all, she’d raised me against the odds and it was the least I could do.

  But I could feel in my bones that something was off. And I only prayed that the doctor had good news for us … and not bad.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lance

  I impatiently fidgeted with my sleeve, calling out to my brother, “You ready ye
t?” As usual, Logan wasn’t even near ready. The dude likes to look good and takes his goddamn time getting pretty. Usually it wouldn’t matter, but today Patricia was at home, and she was eyeing me like a snake stalking a mouse.

  “Lance,” she said sweetly, her voice all poison. “Logan will be out soon. Why don’t you have a drink?”

  Seriously? We were driving my Lambo into Jersey, a flashy canary-yellow sports car that attracted the police like bees to honey, and she was telling me that I should drink before driving? This bitch was up to no good.

  “No thanks, I’ll just have some water,” I said coldly.

  If the girl at the club had been Kathryn’s identical twin, then Patricia was Kathryn’s polar opposite, in looks and demeanor. How could Logan stand living with her? It was beyond me.

  But she was a beauty, I have to admit, if you like women with the air of Cruella de Ville. Sleek, sinuous black hair fell like a waterfall down her back, and her whip thin frame was dressed in the finest designer clothes, purchased courtesy of my brother. As far as I could tell, Patricia no longer worked. For a while, she’d had some PR job at a fashion company, but probably quit the minute she moved in with Logan. Now she spent her days doing … what exactly? I realized I had no idea.

  “So Patricia,” I said with a hint of menace in my voice. “Tell me about your job.” Let the bitch answer that one.

  “Oh job schmob,” she said, waving her hand airily. “Logan wants me to stay home for now and take care of the apartment,” she said. “Plus, I might be pregnant, you never know, so it’s not a good time for me to look for work,” she continued.

  I almost spat out the water. Trust Patricia to throw the grenade right back. Pregnant with my niece or nephew! Hell no! What the fuck was Logan thinking impregnating this bitch? My thoughts must have shown on my face because Patricia interceded.

  “Don’t look so excited Lance,” she said silkily. “He or she would be your blood as well.”

  True, but hopefully any child related to me wouldn’t be the spawn of this whore.

  Patricia is one area where Logan and I vehemently disagree. Again, my brother and I usually share girls, the stripper from last week being no exception. But he’d gone through some kind of dark period last year, probably ruminating over Kathryn’s death again, and Patricia had latched on when he was weak. She’d forced him to go to a shrink or something, and before I knew it, they were a couple and Patricia had moved in. Man, this bitch was manipulative.

  I hated her guts, and she knew it. The good thing was, she didn’t know that Logan had fucked another girl last week, one that looked like our lost love, and I wasn’t about to tell her. Hey, if your boyfriend steps out on you, that’d be grounds for breaking up, but with Patricia, she’d probably just use the chains of guilt to bind Logan even more tightly.

  My brother finally appeared, handsome and clean-shaven, dressed in a dark suit, no tie.

  “Ready brother?” I asked. He nodded, searching for his money clip and thrusting it into his pocket before grunting, “Your car or mine? We’re headed to Newark right?”

  I frowned. Newark? Was that where our dad wanted to meet for lunch? The hospital he worked at was in Newark, but he lived in Closter, a beautiful suburb of New Jersey. Why the fuck did he want us to meet him at work?

  I shrugged. “If we’re going to Newark, better take your car,” I said. The grey Tesla was less flashy than the yellow Lambo, although car aficionados would spot it immediately.

  “Bye Patty,” I said, using the nickname I knew she hated.

  “Take care,” she said, kissing Logan goodbye. I could see him stiffen as she neared, like watching a rattlesnake approach. But he managed to accept her kiss before grabbing his keys and punching the light for the elevator. My brother wasn’t happy in his relationship, that was obvious … and the Donkey Club was only the most recent proof.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Logan

  My brother and Patricia had been about to rip each other’s eyes out, I could tell when I entered the living room. Neither of them are the subtle type. Patricia was practically hissing, claws out, and my twin looked like he could pound concrete.

  I sighed. I’d gotten myself into this mess, and it was up to me to get myself out. But I didn’t want to think about it now. With all the confusion swirling in my head, from the girl at the Donkey Club to the images of Kathryn, I just wanted to live in peace for a while, focus on the lunch with Dad, enjoy a nice meal. He’d asked us to meet him at the hospital, which was weird, but I assumed we were just picking him up before going to a restaurant nearby.

  Unfortunately, when we called from the car, he instructed us to park and come in.

  “No need, we’re happy to circle until you’re ready,” said Lance, his eyebrows raised at the surrounding neighborhood. Newark General is in a seedy part of town, and I wasn’t comfortable parking my Tesla in a place like this, valet service or not.

  But with a big sigh, I gave in. What the hell, my dad was sixty-five, a busy, well-respected professional determined to work until his last day, and I might as well just say yes. We pulled into a public parking garage and the attendant’s eyes lit up when he saw my car. I sighed again.

  “Take care of her okay?” I asked, handing him my keys. If I was lucky, he’d just take it for a quick spin and not a full-out drag race.

  But when Lance and I showed up at Pulmonology Department, the receptionist directed us to the chapel on the second floor instead. “Your dad’s already there,” she said, her face giving nothing away.

  Oh god. Probably a child had died and my dad wanted us to attend the wake, out of respect. I hated kid’s funerals, they’re ten times more depressing than an adult one, and we’d been to a few in the past.

  My brother and I quietly made our way into the chapel and surprisingly, our dad was standing at the altar with a priest, no casket in sight.

  “Hey Dad,” I said, giving him a hug. “What’s all this? I thought we were going for lunch.”

  “How about McVittie’s?” threw in Lance.

  My dad laughed. He’s a handsome man, even at sixty-five, and it’s easy to tell we’re related. All three of us are tall and athletic, although my dad’s shrunk somewhat with age, his posture slightly stooped.

  “My boys are always thinking about food,” he chuckled jovially. “Pastor Vince, please meet my sons Logan and Lance, the non-stop eating machines of New Jersey.”

  It was true. Growing up my brother and I had consumed enormous amounts of food, forcing our chef to go grocery shopping every day, and cooking had been one of the first skills we’d learned. I could make a make a mean steak, and Lance’s specialty was barbecue, complete with collard greens and corn.

  But before we could confirm a lunch place, my dad spoke up.

  “Logan, Lance, I’ve asked you here to be best men at my wedding,” he announced.

  “What?” gawked Lance. I have to say that the expression on my face couldn’t have been any more flattering.

  “You’re right in time to meet your new stepmom,” he whispered as the wedding march began playing, gesturing us to stand aside.

  And like automatons, my brother and I took our place next to our father as the doors swung open … and there stood Kacey, from the Donkey Club.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Lance

  Holy shit! I was about to vomit. The girl we’d fucked last week was going to be our new stepmom? I felt physically ill, about to upchuck onto the chapel floor. Logan stiffened besides me, his face going pale, his expression unreadable.

  And Kacey looked just as thunderstruck, staring back at us, her big blue eyes wide and disbelieving. She was a vision in the palest pink, a whisper of chiffon that hugged her curvy figure, blonde hair swept up in some elaborate style. But wait, weren’t brides supposed to wear white?

  As the music continued, Kacey stepped forward in time with the beat, and that’s when I saw an older lady in a white dress behind her. Oh thank fuck. Our girl was only the maid of hono
r at this impromptu wedding and not the main course. I heaved a sigh of relief and could sense my brother starting to breathe again as well.

  Kacey moved down the aisle, not meeting our eyes, pretending that everything was okay. She smiled at my dad and nodded to him graciously. Obviously they’d met before, and she took a place to the left side of the minister, making room for the bride.

  My dad and my new stepmom, I guess I should call her, were completely oblivious to the silent drama that was playing out all around them. They only had eyes for each other, big happy smiles, and dreamy expressions. Hey, I was happy for my dad, even though we’d gotten off to a somewhat awkward start with somewhat awkward conclusions.

  The priest took us through the ceremony, and it was a little canned but still sweet. I’ve been to dozens of weddings, and they can be long and elaborate, but the beauty of a hospital ceremony is that it’s short, to the point, with a minimum of fuss but hitting all the high notes just the same. When we got to the “I do’s,” I thought my dad might cry, he was so happy.

  Finally, the groom was permitted to kiss the bride, and we broke out into a round of polite applause, our claps ringing in the chapel.

  As my dad looked up, he addressed my brother and I. “Boys, let me introduce you to Noreen, your new stepmom, and Kacey, your new sister.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Kacey

  I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I’d come home for the July fourth weekend as promised, and my mom couldn’t stop smiling, she wanted to share her secret. She’d gotten engaged to her pulmonologist, a doctor at Newark Gen and was getting married tomorrow in the hospital chapel.

  “But Ma,” I protested. “How long have you known this guy?” I asked. “Two months?”

  “Baby, we just met, but when you’re my age, you see a good guy and grab him if he’s available. I’m not like you, a pretty young thing. It’s not like there are men lining up at my doorstep asking for dates.”