Maybe Baby Lite

by ANDREA SMITH

  “I don’t think so, Laurie,” I answer firmly.

  “Well, now what?” she asks, throwing her arms up, totally exasperated with my ignorance and my unwillingness to follow.

  “Hey, not to worry,” I respond lightly. "My house is four blocks from here. I'll go on home. Just tell your mom I didn’t feel well and left Vanessa’s party early and went home when she picks you up tonight.”

  “But it’s your mom’s DATE night,” she whines, emphatically. “My mom will bust my ass if she finds out.”

  “That’s too bad,” I reply. “I just know that my mom wouldn't appreciate my going with you and this group and getting involved in that kind of stuff.”

  “Oh really?” she snickers, not attempting to hide her amusement. “Let me know how that works out for you, Tylar,” she snaps. She turns on her heel and walks out with Vanessa. I can’t believe that Laurie just put me in this position. What's happened to her?

  Once I reach our house, I unlock the front door and quietly let myself in. It's only 8:30 in the evening; not even dark yet. I notice the dining room is dark. I can see that the dinner dishes are still on the table, left exactly as they were when Mom and her boyfriend finished dinner. I step into the kitchen and switch the lights on. An empty bottle of wine is on the counter. It looks like Mom cooked her infamous roasted veal with baby red potatoes and spinach salad. All the candles are snuffed out.

  I go ahead and fill the kitchen sink with soapy water. I can kill some time downstairs by doing the dishes. Hopefully it will also serve to soften the blow when Mom finds out I came home.

  By the time I finish it's shortly after 9 p.m. I decide to watch some television in the den off of the kitchen. I turn on the television and catch the end of a movie. By 10 p.m. I really need to pee and go to bed. There's no getting around it. Hopefully, mom and her boyfriend are now asleep. I haven’t heard them upstairs. I make my way quietly up the thickly carpeted stairs.

  I go into my room, careful to be quiet, discarding my jean skirt and halter-top, putting on my favorite silk plum shorts and matching camisole pajama set. I really need to wash all of the make-up off of my face so that Mom doesn’t see it in the morning, but my first priority is to pee. I pad quietly down the hall, past the closed door to my mom’s room. All quiet so far.

  I go into the bathroom, softly closing the door behind me and switching on the light. Deciding that it's just too gross not to flush the toilet even though it might wake Mom I do it. I go over to the sink and wash my hands. As I'm lathering up with soap to scrub my face, the bathroom door opens abruptly. It's Mom, dressed only in a red corset and panties. She slips into the bathroom, closing the door behind her softly. She is livid.

  “What the hell are you doing home?” she whispers loudly. “Why aren’t you with Laurie?”

  “I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I just didn’t feel well and I left the Video Palace to walk home.”

  “Does Mona know you did this?”

  “Yeah,” I lie, “she wanted to drive me but I told her I needed the air.” I can tell that Mom doesn’t believe me. She glares at me.

  “Look,” I say, “I’m sorry. I can fill you in on it tomorrow. I'm just getting ready to go to bed.”

  “Forget all of that, just get down to your room now and get to bed,” she hisses.

  I’m not about to argue with her. She's definitely pissed. As I pass her open bedroom door I hear a man’s voice call out.

  “Maggie, what the hell's going on out there?”

  “Nothing sugar,” she croons, “just my sissy coming home earlier than expected.”

  “Well get your tight little ass back to bed,” he orders. “Or have Sissy come in and join us."

  A look of pure hatred crosses my mom’s face in that moment. I scurry down the hallway, shutting my door and climbing swiftly beneath my covers. Within a few minutes, I can hear Mom’s bed squeaking in the familiar rhythm, followed by her moans, and skin slapping skin. I drift to sleep much later, having blocked out the noises from the next room by putting my stereo headset on.

  I’m not sure how much later it is when I abruptly awaken to the presence of someone else in my room. My first thought is that Mom is ready to lay into me because her date had gotten angry and left. I realize that's not the case when I feel someone kneel down on the bed beside me and breathe whiskey-laden breath into my face. It’s Mom’s boyfriend. I don’t even know his name. He’s new.

  My eyes widen in horror. I try to scream. He anticipates my reaction clamping a meaty hand across my mouth tightly.

  “Now, now, little sister,” he says thickly. His breath smells like something rotting in a trashcan. “No need for you to start making a fuss, you hear? I just want to spend a little time with you now.” I struggle against him with all of my strength. He does not move his hand from across my mouth. He's strong, pinning my upper body down with his forearm and elbow. His free hand lifts the sheet that's covering my lower extremities, leaving my bare legs up to my silk plum shorts exposed to his lecherous gaze. In the dark, I can only see that he has a thin face. His hair is light, maybe blond or reddish blond. It looks stringy. The rest of his features are indistinguishable with no light in the room with the exception of moonlight sifting through the blinds.

  "Oooh, that’s nice.” He pulls my silk shorts down viewing my private area. “I see little sissy has some hair on her pussy.”

  I feel like I'm going to suffocate. I squirm and thrash my best while trying to bite his hand.

  “Oh shit! You little bitch,” he snarls as I manage to draw blood from his hand with my teeth. I pull my legs up far enough to slam into his chest as he is leaning over me. His fist slams into my face full force. I see stars. My body falls back. I'm disoriented; I can’t move. I'm on the cusp of unconsciousness.

  I feel his fingers reach into my into my silk shorts ripping them off of me with one swift motion. I'm paralyzed in fear. I pray to pass out. His rough fingers move to my private area savagely pressing his fingers within the folds, pinching the center so that I jump as if an electrical volt has shocked me.

  "That's a clit; yours seems to be working just fine. Your big sister likes it when I lick her clit. Do you want to see how that feels?”

  I'm frozen with fear; unable to move. Where the hell is my mom? I close my eyes, deciding to play possum. I feel warm, moist lips on my private area; his tongue slithers in and out of my crack, twirling and circling the area. He puts one of his fingers up inside of me; it hurts. He is running it in and out, in and out. His fingernail scratches me. I whimper in pain. He mistakes it for pleasure.

  “I see you like it when I finger fuck you, little sissy,” he laughs. “This makes your big sister hoot and holler. I’m guessing you ain’t had this done before.”

  I'm sick and nauseated. I can only guess what horrible thing he is planning next. It’s not long before I figure it out. He takes one of my hands and wraps it around his erection.

  “Squeeze this gently,” he instructs. “This is what a cock feels like, little sissy. Your big sister likes the feel of this cock in her pussy. How about you? I’m betting you’re a bit tighter than your sister,” he mocks. I nearly vomit all over him, I'm sick with fright. From somewhere in the depths of my being, I find the strength and power to draw my knee up with all of the force I can muster and plant it firmly into his crotch and abdomen.

  “Holy fucking son-of-a-bitch!” he screams, rolling out of my bed, onto the floor of my room. I find my voice and scream bloody murder.

  “Mom! Mom!” I scream hysterically, “Help me!”

  Mom rushes in, screeching at him.

  “You fucking son-of-a-bitch! What'd you do to my girl?” The man on the floor isn't capable of speaking coherently, still writhing in pain. I think I hear him vomit.

  “She's not part of our deal, you mother-fucker! This is going to cost you an extra hundred.”

  CHAPTER 9

  I sprang up in my bed, beads of sweat covering my forehead. My heart raced in my chest; I hea
ved for air; scrambling to get my bearings. I realized I was no longer the 13-year-old and this wasn't my old room at home. I was safe from all of that. I was in my room at my cottage. The familiar hum of my window air conditioner was soothing. This was the first horrible dream I'd had since the hospital. I wanted to be done with them. This nightmare had left me more anxious than the other. It was different. I wasn't the observer in this one; I was a full participant. It was more like a re-living of a situation I didn't remember.

  I climbed from my bed and went into the kitchenette. The clock on the microwave read 5:48 a.m. No point going back to bed. I made myself a light breakfast and set about getting dressed for the day. I located my empty laundry bag and dumped the contents of my dirty clothes basket into it, cinching it closed. I needed to leave a note for Ray who would be stopping by early, according to Trey.

  Hi Ray!

  Trey phoned me last night and generally filled me in as to my revised duties starting next week. He asked that for today I sit tight since my new assignment doesn’t start until next Monday. I’ll get with you sometime over the weekend and you can fill me in on the details. Heading over to the Belle to do laundry before the machines are all taken. After that, I’ll just hang out and try to stay out of everyone’s way.

  Talk to you later!

  Tylar

  This would put his mind to rest, at least for now. I taped it on the front door and gathered up my purse, phone, laundry bag, and the last of the carrots for Derringer.

  I walked quietly down the path to the stables, relieved to see that no one had yet reported in for work. I couldn’t pass the barn without visiting Derringer. I walked over to his stall and rubbed my hand gently up and down his beautiful black muzzle.

  “Here you go, handsome,” I crooned, offering him the carrots; he ate them from my palm happily. I continued rubbing his neck until he finished. He nuzzled my hand for more.

  “Sorry, handsome,” I said. “I don’t have any more carrots but how about if I come back tonight for another visit? Would you like that, huh?” His massive black head bobbed up and down as if confirming our date. I left the barn and made my way to the laundry room, which was next door to the banquet hall over at the Belle. Staff was allowed to use the washers and dryers for free. I separated my colors and delicates. I got the washers loaded; I'd about an hour before the wash cycles were completed. I was curious to see the stables at the Belle so I headed that way.

  The stables and paddock area at the Belle were much larger than those over at the Sinclair estate. The Belle boarded a lot of horses that were not owned by the Sinclair family. This track held races for quarter horses, paints, and appaloosas. No thoroughbred racing was done there. The straight track was turf instead of dirt. I was glad because turf was much safer for the horses than a dirt track.

  I strolled through the paddock area to see some of the horses that would be competing in this weekend’s race. I found a preliminary line-up sheet posted on the bulletin board for the eight races that were scheduled for the Kick-Off Stakes on Saturday evening. This marked the official opening of race season for Le Vie Belle track. I glanced through the line-up and saw that between Sinclair Stables and the Belle, the Sinclair's had a horse competing in each of the eight races. Ariel, Socrates, Witches’ Streak, and Runaway Jessie were entered from Sinclair Stables; Eyewear, Hail to Patsy, Junebug, and Jezebel were entrants from Le Vie Belle.

  As I continued scanning, I noticed Jezebel didn’t have a jockey assigned. I was unfamiliar with Jezebel but the sheet listed Andy Graham as her trainer. I'd seen Andy around with Jenna. Maybe it was time to pull in a favor from Jenna; the trashy underwear was small compensation for my stint in the hospital.

  I went back over to the laundry and transferred my clothes from the washer to the dryer. I got my phone out and called Jenna.

  “Hey Ty! How are you doing girl?” she asked almost too cheerfully.

  I decided to work the guilt; she owed me not only for the near-death experience, but that awful slut underwear from Fred-X of Follywood had added insult to injury.

  “Cut the shit, Jenna,” I replied dryly.

  I heard a gasp at the other end of the phone. Before she could utter another word, I got to the point.

  “Look, you’re friends or whatever with Andy Graham, Jezebel’s trainer, right?”

  “Yeah, so?” she countered.

  “So, this is how you're going to make it up to me for missing a whole week’s pay.”

  “Go on,” she replied, piqued.

  “I noticed that there wasn’t a jockey listed for tomorrow evening’s fourth race for Jezebel. What’s the story?”

  “All I know is that Andy’s ex-girlfriend was the jockey and once they broke up she told him to go flip shit. As of yesterday he believed they'd have to scratch Jezebel from the race because she won't reconsider. It’s no big deal; the horse is a long shot. Andy’s only worried the Sinclair's will be pissed because he didn’t have a back-up plan.”

  “He does now,” I said. “Jenna, you call your friend, Andy. Tell him he has his jockey for Saturday night.”

  “Who?” Jenna asked.

  “Me!”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” she exclaimed. “Tylar, you're not a jockey. Besides, don’t you have to be certified or something?”

  “Jenna, I’ve jockeyed, don’t worry about my credentials. Worst case scenario is even if Jezebel finishes last, I still get the $75 jockey fee which only recoups a small portion of the money I lost because of your stupid stunt last week.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” she hesitated.

  “Look, let Andy know that I’m within the weight requirement. If he wants to see me practice with Jezebel today have him call me. I want you to call me back one way or another.”

  “Oh, all right,” she finally agreed.

  I was still in the laundry room folding up my clean laundry when my cell phone rang. It was Jenna.

  “Andy said to be at the practice track around two this afternoon. He'll spend no more than an hour with you to see if you and Jezebel can clock some decent times on the quarter. Then he'll decide whether you ride or he scratches her. Best I could do."

  “Good enough, Jenna.”

  Two o’clock couldn't come fast enough for me. I'd taken my laundry back to the cottage then walked to the market. I bought fresh carrots for Derringer. I planned to keep my date with him later. I went to my cabin and sorted through the small trunk in my bedroom. I pulled several ribbons, a couple of trophies, and some news clippings off the top of the pile. I located a pair of nylon riding pants, patent leather riding boots, safety vest, and my cap and goggles. It had been awhile, but everything was still in good shape. At 108 pounds, everything would fit me just fine. I placed it all into my backpack and made the trek back over to the racetrack.

  I spotted Andy in the infield with Jezebel, a three-year-old bay. I'd only been around Andy a few times this summer. He was a personable guy, a little green as a trainer, but that worked to my advantage. We spent an hour going through the paces. It didn’t take long for me to build a rapport with Jezebel. Andy explained her racing history along with her strengths and weaknesses. He handed me a DVD of her races last season to review.

  Andy explained that in the Kick-Off Stakes Saturday, a bonus race was scheduled about 45 minutes after the last race concluded. This was a special incentive purse that Sinclair Stables had put up for $75,000. Each winner of the eight previous races would contend for the purse in the bonus race. The jockeys would get a 20% cut of the purse instead of the usual 10%. The purse in the other races was only $10,000 each. If Jezebel won the fourth race, I'd get my $75 riding fee, plus 10% of the purse, or $1,000. If Jezebel went on to win the bonus race—that would be $15,000 in my pocket!

  Andy and I worked with Jezebel for another hour, timing her sprints. She was consistently clocking in at 30 to 33 seconds. I let Andy know that I'd work with her again in the morning after I had a chance to review the DVD. He agreed. I'd not been back at m
y cottage for more than an hour when Ray was tapping at my door.

  “Hi Ray,” I smiled opening the door for him.

  “How ya feeling, Ty?” he asked, concerned. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to stop by. I know Trey will be pissed when he calls later.”

  Then don’t tell him,” I said with a grin. “I’ve been fine. Got my laundry caught up today, cleaned the cottage, and took a walk. Just kind of, hung out, ya know?”

  “So you know that you start Monday at the Belle, right?”

  “Yeah, so I've been told.”

  “Now that’s just a temporary assignment Ty,” he explained.

  “I know Ray. Don’t worry about it. I can survive for a couple of weeks over there. Who do I report to and when?”

  “Report at 9 a.m. to Mrs. Johnson over in the main office. She'll give you the rundown okay?”

  “Sure enough, Ray,” I replied pleasantly.

  “Okay, I won’t keep you then. You take it easy ya’hear?”

  “You got it. Bye Ray,”

  I kept my promise to Derringer, taking some carrots to him at the stables. As I passed Jenna’s cottage, her usual Friday evening lingerie show was in full display on the clothesline on her porch. I could hear some music blasting inside from her stereo. Distracted, I hadn’t noticed someone closing in behind me on the path. Suddenly from behind, a body lunged at me.

  “Gotcha!”

  I nearly had a coronary right then and there. Instinct took over. I whirled around, my right arm rigid and extended and landed my fist across his broad chest.

  “Ummph,” Luke moaned as I knocked the wind out of him.

  “Holy shit, Luke!” I yelled, “What were you thinking coming up on me like that?”