Stay Vertical

by Layla Wolfe

  Then the disaster with the scholarship board. It wasn’t so much that Tina thought Lytton had scammed them with his fake full-blood Native American status. It was more…she really had depended on it. She prided herself on being in love with a full-blood Apache Indian. She put corny dream catchers on their walls, she bought the expensive black pottery, she listened to that phony “native” chanting that was really done by white guys.

  Lytton had been so blinded by love that he hadn’t noticed all of Tina’s adulation was based upon the idea that he was a dyed-in-the-wool bow bender, a genuine dirt worshiper. But the second the committee found out his father was white, Tina went into a state of shock from which she never recovered. She kept saying, “I can’t believe this.”

  “Well, believe it,” he’d tried to tell her. “It’s a fucking inescapable fact.”

  But she kept walking around in a daze, withdrawing from him, acting as though she didn’t know him—like he was a stranger. Had their entire relationship been based on the idea he was a John Redcorn? Now it didn’t seem that he was hip or trendy enough, and Tina wanted nothing to do with him. She finally admitted that her feelings had changed, she no longer wanted marriage, and she was taking that job with NASA.

  That was another thing that set Lytton off, made him drop out of society, take Kino’s land, and plant marijuana. Now, though, as he hugged the curve around Lake Mormon, he felt ready to venture out into the world again. He wasn’t going to let his fucktard of a half-brother turn him into some twisted hermit. No, he was going to call his buddy Saul Goldblum at the Department of Health and schmooze him into fast-tracking his weed certification. There was supposed to be a “random” drawing of numbered balls bouncing around inside a machine to determine who was awarded the certification. It was a given that was all fixed, and Saul would be the guy to move his application along. Saul still thought Lytton was a full-blood Apache and Lytton had done nothing to dissuade him of this concept. He could get a special dispensation for that.

  Lytton was feeling fine and independent as he roared up the final approach to his gate. His happy bubble was shattered all to hell by the appearance of a strange cage in the lot inside the gate, some sort of square, four-door Honda.

  He assumed it was a new squeeze of Tobiah’s. The last one had bailed after catching him having cybersex on a riverbank with a busty woman carrying an enormous sword. Tobiah had tried to protest that it was only virtual sex, but she’d bailed anyway, even after finding out the busty woman was really Chad McFarlane of Bangor, Maine.

  Lytton chuckled as he went in the front door. He hadn’t given Tobiah any shit about Chad McFarlane in a long time. He hung his keys up on the hall tree and sauntered down the hallway. Yes, a woman sat at the breakfast bar having a cheerful conversation with Tobiah. Lytton knew from the elated expression on Tobiah’s face that he’d found a new flame.

  Lytton started saying, “Did you tell her about Chad—” He had to eat his next words, though, when the woman turned around, smiling broadly at him.

  June Shellmound.

  Lytton gulped, his throat suddenly dry as hell. “Tobiah,” he barely croaked.

  CHAPTER NINE

  JUNE

  I never wanted to seem like I was chasing anyone.

  Lytton’s reasons for not wanting to see me again were solid and legitimate. I knew it wasn’t me, it was him.

  But Ingrid had seriously smoked all the weed I’d gotten for her. She had actually had a few words of praise for it, rare coming from her. And Lytton’s next closest distributor was in Phoenix.

  I was really only halfway chagrined that Lytton wasn’t there, because I honestly did want that weed. Lytton must have told Tobiah that he’d “broken up” with me, or didn’t want to see me again or whatever, because Tobiah had said,

  “Come on in. But if Lytton gets home, you might have to leave.”

  That was fine, I guessed. I’d spent the past week reinventing myself. It started out being for Lytton’s eyes, but it wound up being a favor for myself. I was sick of the hippie dippy flowing outfits, the racer-backed shirts with the built-in bras, the Birkenstocks.

  First off, I’d gone into P & E to a high-end hairdresser. I reasoned I’d need a good cut for job interviews. I got sort of a modified layer, a Joan Jett meets Angela Gossow. It seemed to scream out for a cowboy hat, so while I was in the western store getting that, Emma pointed out some leathers that spoke to me. The jacket was killer, a soft brown calfskin with fringed back yoke and sleeves. Vaguely Native American-looking medallions decorated the front zipper. I couldn’t believe how much badder ass I felt wearing the hat and jacket, and I even bought the chaps.

  “Where am I going to wear this, though?” Emma and I were sitting at an outdoor bistro sipping wine and eating flatbread. It never failed to amaze me what had become popular while I was gone. Kale was the new leafy green. Everything was flatbread this, flatbread that, although it was just pizza. I was wearing the leathers because I couldn’t resist it, but I really didn’t know where I could go with them. “Not to any interviews, that’s for sure. Most engineering companies are traditional as hell, and I’ll probably have to get a job in Flag.”

  “Wear them to Lytton’s,” suggested Emma.

  She was just irritating me now. “I told you. He doesn’t want to see me. Doesn’t want to have anything to do with Ford, and I guess I remind him of Ford.”

  Emma pouted. “But he wants you. And he’s hot.” Emma had stuck around the Cottonwood area after high school, winding up doing admin for the P & E City Hall, so she knew exactly who I was talking about when I told her the story of Ford’s half-brother busting down the doors at the Citadel. “If you’re going to stick around here and hang out with me, I want you to have a hot boyfriend.”

  Emma’s boyfriend Paul was an inspector for the Public Works Department. I was actually hoping to get a job with that department. Paul was not hot. He was the sort of little old lady who counted the yogurts in the crisper drawer yet made sure never to eat the last bite of anything to avoid having to walk three feet to put the empty container in the trash. I guess he made a good building inspector, being such an anal retentive, but he sure wasn’t hot.

  “I want me to have a hot boyfriend too, Emma.” I stretched with my arms over my head just to sashay the fringes around. “I really feel different in this ensemble. I do feel like a whole new person. Now if I could just start living a whole new life. Look what I gave up.”

  Emma wrinkled her nose. “A hole in the ground in Africa?”

  She referred to our toilet. Or maybe to the shower. I made a face. “I mean my entire existence, Emma. You wouldn’t believe what a culture shock it is coming back where all the cars zip around and everything is flashy and shiny. Loud, I’m used to. Africans are loud. But I’m not used to the order, the cleanliness, the—”

  “Sanitation? Look, June. You think you were just having culture shock when you jumped that hottie’s bones. I don’t think so. I think you were really going for what you wanted for the first time in your life! Being in Africa has changed you, sure. It’s made you bolder, more daring.”

  “More brutal,” I muttered, swallowing the last of the wine.

  “I think you should just drive back up to Lytton’s house and demand some more pot. And some more nookie.”

  “Nookie? Emma, where have you lived the past ten years? Africa?”

  “You’re changing the subject. Just drive on up there, get the lay of the land. He’ll let you in.”

  “Yeah, so I can run into the whores he’s got lying all around there. No, thanks. I’m not that desperate.” But I was. “There are plenty of pieces of smoking man candy hanging around Ford and Maddy’s house.”

  “Don’t they all have old ladies?”

  I thought. “Well. Yes, I think so. Turk doesn’t, but I think he hates me for running off with the guy who wanted to take over his business.”

  Emma giggled. “You slut.”

  “There’s a new guy, a Wild Man, but h
e does nothing for me. I’m telling you, Emma. I’ve never been as attracted to a man as I am to that half-breed. He’s just sucking up all my thoughts.”

  “Among other things. Listen, you have to see this through. If you don’t confront Lytton again, you’re always going to wonder. Did he just blow you off because he was full of hatred for his brother, and he associated you with him? I’m sure it was nothing personal. I’m sure he’d love to see you again, June.”

  “Yeah. So I can pass out on his bed again, make him sleep on his own couch.” That’s what had happened, because his associates Tobiah, Helium Head and Crybaby took up the other three bedrooms.

  But Emma’s words of encouragement got to me. I wanted to run my tongue over that velvety tribal tat that draped over his shoulder. When he wore that white wifebeater, the stylized eagle ink looked like the top carving in a much taller totem pole, but I’d never seen him shirtless. I had to see him shirtless. I was bold enough to take Emma up on her dare. “But I suppose you’re right. Ingrid does need some more of that excellent pot.”

  “And you know how she gets when she’s out of something she needs. Do it, June! Just take a nice drive up there. I’d say I’d come with you, but I don’t think you want me hanging around.”

  “No, I do not.” I was gaining confidence. What was the worst that could happen? Lytton would ignore me. Okay, something worse could happen. I could walk in on him receiving a hella blowjob from one of those sluts whose faces looked like a box of melted crayons. Yes, that would be worse. He would glance at me as though I were a flattened worm on the sidewalk, and he’d go back to fucking that whore’s mouth with his long, juicy cock, and—

  “So you’re doing it?”

  “I’m doing it. And I’m going to kill you if this turns out badly.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you.”

  So that’s how I came to be sitting in Lytton’s kitchen chatting up Tobiah. I liked Tobiah, I really did. He was the epitome of the purple nurple and swirlie recipient who played trumpet in the marching band. I liked the juxtaposition of such a nerdy gaywad being in charge of a massive weed plantation. I felt him on many different levels. I, too, wanted to be a former dipwad who suddenly started being cool. And it didn’t get much cooler than running a pot farm.

  After discussing Doctor Who for awhile—I had been out of the loop for many years without even the South African cable TV channel up in the desert—Toby broke out the Eminence Front and we toked a bowl. It was a sativa that gave us a “head buzz.” We laughed unnecessarily long about a Henry Winkler cameo as an OBGYN on Parks and Recreation. Now that I had all three hundred channels of real TV over at Madison’s McMansion, I was utilizing it to the fullest. I had nothing better to do, when not playing with Fidelia.

  Once we calmed down, it was Tobiah who steered the conversation around to Lytton.

  He chewed a handful of caramel popcorn and spoke with his mouth full. His bloodshot eyes brimmed blearily and he smiled goofily. “You know, June, I’ve never seen our man Lytton so concerned over the health of a…” He stopped himself, embarrassed, and swallowed loudly.

  “You can say it, Toby. A slut.”

  “Well. I was going to say ‘slave,’ but ‘slut’ works just as well.”

  It was my turn to be shocked and embarrassed. Slaves? In what way was that woman I had seen a slave? Maybe Lytton was creepier than I ever imagined. “Uh, slave? What does that mean?”

  Tobiah tossed his head casually. “Oh, you know. Slave. Some people call them ‘subs,’ I guess. Submissives. You know. Bondage, dominance. Sado, masochism.” He shrugged.

  Yes, it was starting to sink in. I had thought when Lytton tied my hands behind my back that he was experienced with knots because, well, marijuana farmers needed to tie lots of knots. I’d never imagined it was an actual way of life for him.

  I wasn’t against it. I’d played some pretty tame and mild bondage games before. I suppose what mattered was the degree to which he got into it. “Does he walk around wearing those latex harnesses?”

  “Oh, God, no. He doesn’t wear those rubber executioner’s hoods with the zippers. But he does…get…” Toby’s voice always rose in pitch when he became nervous, like now. “Into it.”

  “You mean dominant. He likes to dominate, I presume. I can’t see him being submissive.”

  “Right. Dominant. So you might want to run now if you get claustrophobic or if you resent being, ah, dominated.”

  I hadn’t minded the experience at all. In fact, it was kind of sexy to be seemingly helpless while he slapped my tits. It stung and aroused me, sent arrows of lust directly into my inner pussy, and it helped that I knew he wasn’t truly a nasty man. But he sure played one to the hilt. The key was that by seeming to be submissive, I actually was more in control of the scene than Lytton. The more he seemed to have the upper hand, in reality, I did. Because my reaction controlled his. Every time I cried out like a helpless little girl, it stimulated him, made him harder, made him crave me more.

  Wasn’t that every woman’s power? To have a man so stimulated and excited by her that he couldn’t control his own orgasm? Lytton had flooded my mouth with his delicious come not because I was a great cocksucker. He’d been pushed over the edge by the way my tits bounced when he slapped them. It was empowering to see him go all weak and lop-sided, deranged with lust just because my hands were bound, and my boobs slapped.

  “Well, it’s a moot point anyway, Tobiah. After Lytton had the big blow-out with Ford in the lawyer’s office, he sent me away. He wants nothing to do with me, I’m sure because I’m related by marriage to the brother he now hates.”

  Toby’s voice was as high as a cartoon chipmunk. He looked at something over my shoulder. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. I’m sure he wants plenty to do with you. Make up your mind right now, because—”

  “Did you tell her about Chad—”

  Lytton stood in the kitchen doorway, tall, rangy, beautiful. Still breathing heavily with the exhilaration of the ride up the mountain, he was just stripping off his black leather jacket. Now he froze, his shiny black hair tousled, staring at me with disbelief. “Tobiah,” he whispered.

  Tobiah leaped to his feet. “Right! June, Chad McFarlane was a guy I met on an online role playing game. Only I thought he was Dolores, Amazon warrior woman, with incredible manga bazongas.”

  However, we couldn’t keep talking about Tobiah’s date forever, and eventually Lytton and I were left to stare vacantly at each other while Tobiah feebly explained,

  “June here just stopped by to get some more Eminence. Don’t worry, I accounted for it in the MJ Freeway program. I found a loophole so our buddy Saul won’t notice the stuff we give away as missing.” He feebly told me, “We’re buddies with the inspector, but at the rate Lytton gives it away, I had to find a way to account for it.”

  I said, just as feebly, “Oh, you don’t have to give it to me, Toby. I brought cash.”

  Tobiah rambled on, something about me being a volunteer in Africa and not having much money, and the whole time Lytton and I stared wide-eyed at each other, unblinking.

  “…and, you know, we’re the big-time weed growers, we can afford to—”

  Lytton made his move. In two long strides he had closed the gap between us, reaching a hand out for me to take. Of course I took it straightaway, his big, manly hand enclosing mine. Now he was slightly smiling, the corners of his luscious mouth turning up.

  “Come.”

  He dragged me toward the back door, then paused as if remembering something. Leaving me there, he squeaked back into the kitchen. “Toby, I’m going to need you for a job. Let me explain it later.” He vanished for ten seconds, reappearing as he stuffed something in the back pocket of his 501s.

  Still grinning, he held the back screen door open like a prom date. I finally had to take my eyes off his in order to watch the steps leading down from the back sunroom. The roly-poly cherub-faced guy they called Crybaby was heading toward the house from the greenhouses. He tip
ped an imaginary cap at Lytton.

  “I’m going home now, boss.”

  “Did you put the thermostat on auto?”

  “Yeah. And I fixed that duct with duct tape, but left the roll out in case we need it again.”

  “Wow,” I remarked, as we continued down the path. “A duct that was fixed with duct tape. I thought Crybaby lived here with you?”

  “No. Lives with his brother down in Happy Jack.”

  I frowned. “But you have four bedrooms. Toby and Helium Head live with you, right? Is one a guest room?”

  “Ah, not really. Listen, here’s my grow room. It’s got a fresh, super-oxygenated atmosphere. Thought you might like to see it.”

  The high-ceilinged greenhouse was about the size of half a football field. Indeed, the air was so oxygenated I went immediately lightheaded, and had to take deep, slow breaths to erase the tiny bubbles from in front of my eyes. Once I got used to it, wandering down the aisles between the towering, fluffy plants had the effect of hiking through the humid jungle. Fans and heaters kept everything circulating in such a predictable, soothing way. I was soon lulled into a sense of security.

  But I really wanted to talk about “us” with Lytton. I didn’t want to just discuss water pump timers and duct fans. At the end of an aisle, the raised platform that held hundreds of labeled plants had an open area, waiting for more plants to be moved. Plastic sheeting covered the wooden stage here and I perched on the edge. Lytton, still smiling, sat next to me. He even took my hand.

  I said, “Lytton, I don’t want you to think of Ford and Madison when you think about me. I truly barely know them. I grew up mostly with my friend Emma, living at her house. I don’t want you thinking I’m going to tell any of your secrets to them. They are my legal, or blood family, but that doesn’t mean I have to run blabbing every detail of your life to them. I’m separate, my own person. I want to have my own separate life too. Once I get a job and back on my own two feet, I’ll get my own place. I want you to know I felt a very strong connection with you, and I don’t want that ruined because Madison happens to be my sister.”