by Avery Aster
“Red is my favorite color. It goes with my look.” Tabitha laughed. She happened to be the only redhead in her class, let alone the only girl rich enough to furnish a complete wardrobe from Yves Saint Laurent. “Why do you read those crummy gossip rags? You know our folks told us not to pay the press any attention.” Since her parents announced their trial separation a few weeks before, she’d stopped looking at the tabloids.
“They also told us not to smoke.” Lex’s face sobered as she shoved a Swedish fish in her mouth. She chewed the candy, swallowed, and announced, “There’s an article in here titled, ‘High Society Marriages Headed for Ruin’.”
“I bet my parents are featured.” Tabitha didn’t have to ask. She took the page from Lex’s sticky hands and glanced at the exposé. It shed light on America’s most prominent family—hers. Considered fierce academics, the Brillfords remained regular art patrons and noble philanthropists. With five generations celebrated in their community, they were the town’s toast and invited to all social events, but not in recent weeks. No, they’d become outcasts. “This is why my parents have been fighting all summer.”
She’d heard her parents’ hoarse voices ringing through their eight-thousand-square-foot residence pretty much night and day.
“When my parents argue, Dad sleeps in the guest room. Yours?”
“Daddy moved his stuff into the east wing.” Tabitha frowned. Countess Irma, Taddy’s mother, had remained in the west quarters.
Lex shifted on the bed. “I saw it mentions why your mom spent time in the hospital. Didn’t you wonder?”
“Yes, but Daddy wouldn’t tell me.” Tabitha focused on the article, reading closely and hanging on every word. “Says here, after one knock-down, drag-out fight, my mom flew headfirst over a spiral staircase with a pair of shears in her hands. That’s when the NYPD arrived.” Tabitha recalled the incident where Irma had lost her little finger after a botched effort to cut her husband’s penis off.
“Why didn’t your dad press charges?”
“Daddy knows better.” Jesus. I can’t believe this is in the paper about my parents.
“Keep reading,” Lex bossed.
“Says the fight started after Daddy filled her lingerie chest with South American killer insects, whoa!”
“Killer bugs?”
”Do they exist?” she asked Lex, hoping this wasn’t true. However, she remembered her mother being in the hospital, so it made perfect sense.
Her friend rolled her eyes. “If you’d come to biology class, you’d learn from Mr. Kauffman there are many insect species known to harm animals—and humans. They live in South America. So, what brought on the bug attack?”
“Mom tried to run his ass over with her car.”
“When?”
“While Daddy was jogging alongside the West Side Highway.”
“Get outta here!” Lex shouted.
“Her car flew off Pier 92.” In horror, Tabitha held up the paper showing Lex the photo of Irma’s Rolls-Royce being pulled out of the Hudson River. “They’re going to kill each other.” She threw the paper in the trashcan next to her desk. “This started when my daddy ordered that test.”
“What test?” Lex asked as she switched her attention to Marie Claire. Lex’s own family life equated to heavy metal groupie Hell, but she escaped into the glossy fashion magazine pictures. Her favorite designer, Donna Karan, lived in their building.
“The parent test.”
“Don’t you mean the paternity test?” Lex popped another candy and continued with a mouthful, “Explains my mom’s call with yours a few days ago. She blabbed on and on about some test results.”
“Right.” Tabitha wished Lex would ease up on the candy. The boys in class already tormented her over her weight. It seemed the more they teased, the more Lex ate. “You better quit with the sugar. Birdie will lock the fridge again.” Lex’s mother believed starvation preserved one’s figure.
“Tabitha Adelaide.” Knocking and a voice came from her bedroom door’s other side.
“One sec.” She extinguished the cigarette in Lex’s grape soda can.
Lex scrambled and threw everything under the bed. In her jersey knit sweats with honey-blonde hair pulled back by a headband, Lex knew the drill. She ran for the window and climbed out onto the fire escape. Sticking her head back in, she whispered, “Call me after dinner. Mom passes out by eight. She mentioned some gibberish about having a serious talk about school tonight.”
“Where’s Eddie singing this week?”
“What’s today’s date?” Lex asked.
“August eleventh.”
“Dad is in Finland. Tomorrow, his band goes off to Norway.” Eddie Easton’s Headbanger Glam Metal Show toured as the longest-running concert to come from one studio album in music history. On his fifth year, he’d come home to see Lex and Birdie—twice. Lex slammed the window shut and, in her bare feet, climbed the fire escape to her own apartment.
“Coming.” Tabitha sprayed air freshener, hit the ceiling fan and lit a vanilla scented candle. After unlocking the door, she jumped on the bed and shouted, “Come in.” She turned to see Mr. Constance, her family’s butler, who’d lived with them for as long as she could remember.
“Your parents request your presence in the study.” He wiped his eyes when he stepped into her room and picked her jeans off the floor.
“Are you crying?” she asked and set her Seventeen magazine down. Mr. Constance was never seen upset, at least not in front of her. “You okay?” Tabitha reached out to give him a hug.
He shook his head to reassure her. “Go see your folks, right this instant.”
“Yes, sir.” Lately, she’d grown to hate any interaction with her family. That month, they’d officially gone cuckoo, similar to Lex’s mother, Birdie, and they didn’t make much sense. Her mother had hit the gin, and in return, her father had hit his wife.
At her parents’ request, she came off the landing on the second floor and walked into the study. Her mother sat on the sofa, unable to make eye contact with her. Weirdo.
“Tabitha Adelaide take a seat.” Her father greeted her with an unrecognizable, icy expression from the room’s far side.
She stepped closer and tried to forget the article she’d read upstairs. “Hey, Daddy. Hi, Mommy.” Tabitha sat opposite her mother on the sofa in a comfy chair. The blue fabric warmed her bare legs. She used to sit in the same place as a little girl when her father rehearsed his lectures. “You wanted to see me?”
“Honey, your father has decided—”
“We!!! We decided,” he corrected her mother.
“Your father and I think it would be best if you…attend boarding school this fall while we sort things out at home.”
“Where?”
“The Avon Porter Academy,” her father replied.
“It’s in Cheshire, Connecticut,” her mother reassured her as if she’d come visit on the weekends. Could Irma make the trip? Lately, the woman couldn’t wash the previous day’s makeup off her face, let alone navigate herself down one city’s block.
“Why?” Tabitha searched her mother’s eyes for cause. “I didn’t do anything wrong…” She observed the frown, which had set onto her dad’s face weeks before, deepen.
Lost in a trance, Countess Irma stared at the silk fringes on the rug. Her mother held the tumbler she’d sipped booze in up to her thin lips and emptied the remains down her throat.
“Daddy?” Fear twisted inside her and demanded a reason. “I’m your girl. You promised you’d never send me away to school.”
“You’ll leave in a week.”
“For how long?” Her world felt destroyed.
Her parents ignored the question, and she realized they meant for good. “The Easton’s are sending Lex this fall. You two will attend school together.” His voice became a gnat in her ear. “Go into the kitchen and help Mr. Constance with dinner.”
Barely able to stand, she bit the inside of her cheek to still her lips from a scream. S
he ran from the room and slammed the heavy door behind her. Tabitha put her ear against the entrance and listened as she always did.
“You could still act as if she’s your daughter,” her mother cried.
“She’s not.” His voice sounded weird. Tabitha never heard these words come from him.
What are they talking about?
“You can still love her, Joseph.”
“Our daughter is from your affair. I always knew you and Birdie Easton shared a lot in common—pill-popping and booze. Who knew you both fucked the same—”
“I don’t want you listening.” Mr. Constance came up behind Tabitha and pulled her away from the doorway. “Come, help me with supper.”
Tabitha caught on quick to toughen up to what life threw her way. When her parents never came to visit her at boarding school, she didn’t get upset. No, she knew she wasn’t wanted. She’d gone through her entire childhood and never heard “I love you.”
Nor did Tabitha become shocked when she spent Christmas and Easter with Mrs. Pringle, her gym teacher. And she wasn’t discouraged at eighteen when her Aunt Muffie came to her graduation and told her the college trust fund she’d counted on for Columbia University was empty.
Birdie gave her centerfold contacts for Playboy. At eighteen, Tabitha became Playmate of the Year. She secured a spokemodel gig for a push-up bra and soon realized two things. One, women should never push up anything. And two, bunny ears didn’t look good on her. Tabitha preferred to be behind the scenes, where she could retain more control over what the press would write instead of being just another pretty-faced model. This insight motivated her during her junior year in college to create Brill, Inc., her own public relations firm, and specialize in all things glamorous. She did whatever was required to make it in New York City. With no shame, driven by determination, she wouldn’t be defeated by her parents’ wrongdoings.
Her walls remained up.
Tabitha grew tough and was deemed unscrupulous by her actions to get ahead. Some identified her as a bitch. Those who worked at her media company called her Miss Taddy Brill.
Good Morning, Warner Truman
Present Day, December 20th
Tribeca, New York City
If Paris was called the ‘City of Romance’ and Shanghai was coined the ‘Pearl of the Orient’ then Manhattan was the ‘Metropolis for Singles’. Twenty-eight percent, to be exact, of the Big Apple was indeed unhitched. In the metro area, men had over thirty-five thousand restaurants to take their woman to on a date. And if they hadn’t met her yet, they could at any of the city’s thirty-eight thousand bars. Warner Truman knew this already. However, that winter, he’d done his best to remain single and sleep alone.
Or so he thought….
Warner rolled over, burying his not-yet-awake face into the nape of an unfamiliar bleached blonde. Her processed hair crunched harshly against his skin. He cupped her lackluster breasts with his hands and pulled her close. I love tits.
Nevertheless, these breasts he wouldn’t enjoy sucking on. They weren’t a handful. He didn’t deem it childish to nip on a full set. Some men might, but not him. It was indeed a sex act and not a weakness if a man wanted to lay his head against a woman’s cleavage and be coddled. The symmetry a full set possessed against his six-foot-five frame he found exhilarating.
That morning, his erection went against his mind and found its way between her ass-crack. She backed up, welcoming his girth. Pre-cum lubed a slip, ready for penetration. The California king bed became—still.
“Morning, Warniee,” a soft voice whispered in an unsuccessful attempt to be cute. Instead, it brought him to a more awakened and much annoyed state.
He opened his eyes wide to see one of his brother’s many lovers. Shit. “Kayden, why are you in my bed?” Warner lifted his hands and placed a pillow between them. The last thing he remembered involved taking a sleeping pill and going to bed—alone. He drew the white sheet over his cock.
“Last night, Suz, Cari, and I kicked off the holidays a little earlier than usual.”
“Where?”
“We partied at The Bang-Bang Club with your brother. There wasn’t any room for me in his bed.” She rolled over, cooed in his face, and poked her pink nail over the bridge of his nose. “Your bedroom door popped open, so in the middle of the night, I came to cuddle with you.”
“Aren’t you sweet?” He tried not to yell. “Haven’t we talked about you barging in uninvited and crawling in bed with me?” I’m going to start locking my bedroom door.
“Yes. Remind me again why we’re not an item?” Determined to land herself a billionaire prior to her twenty-first birthday, Kayden made it clear to Warner on several occasions her goal in life was to marry him. She made a beeline for it at every opportunity.
“Kayden, do you have a job?”
“No.”
“Did you finish school as we talked about?”
“Nope.”
“Are you still living with your parents?”
She grabbed at his chin and replied, “Come over sometime. Mom and I will take turns feeding you.”
He pulled back. “To answer your question on why we’re not dating—until you’re out on your own, finished with your education, and in your career, we can’t.” She’d also have to stop sleeping with his brother. At thirty-three, he felt mature by comparison. Was he a hypocrite? Warner’s first lover had taken him under similar circumstances. With nothing to offer except his cock, heart, and hard work in tow, she’d accepted him with open arms. That felt like another lifetime ago. Warner’s needs at this point in life were different. And nothing about Kayden embodied hard work.
“Warner, you’re ridiculous.” Kayden rested her face against the pillow, making it obvious she wasn’t leaving.
Naked, he stood. Kayden whistled and then panted animal noises as Warner went into the bathroom. “Please, let yourself out. And soon,” he said over his shoulder as he closed and locked the door. He stepped into the spa shower.
All too accustomed to female stalkers, strangers crowding his bed, and women after his many fortunes, Warner wasn’t merely one of the many well-to-do chaps on Wall Street. Next to Carlos Slim Helú and Bill Gates, he was the third richest man on the planet.
What was his secret sauce to have accrued sixty-five billion? Flipping roach-infested flophouses and transforming three-star motels into five-diamond spa destinations fit for a king. Only there wasn’t a queen to share these castles. He’d lost her years before. And this year’s attempt to remarry had backfired.
He scratched his head and twisted the water spigot to run hot. Warner lathered with a lavender shower gel, accepting his Truman Enterprises day ahead. He reflected on the great love from his past.
At seventeen, Warner had fallen for his next-door neighbor, Jacqueline Chambers. In her early thirties, divorced, and an experienced lover, she took his virginity one summer afternoon. He’d come over to help replace the shutters on her bed-and-breakfast after a storm. July’s humidity came over Newport like a wet blanket, and he came over her in similar fashion. Warner fucked her clumsily since he didn’t really know how to make love—yet. Afterward, he rested next to her and they talked for hours. Warner enjoyed their intimate conversations as much as the sex.
Jacqueline offered to coach him. An eager student, Warner mastered listening to a woman’s needs, giving in to her greatest desires, and bringing her to orgasm over and over again. “Women should always climax first,” Jacqueline pointed out. She made him go days without release—intense torture for a seventeen-year-old boy.
Warner tried a few stunts he’d seen in popular adult films, which his classmates guaranteed would please the insatiable cougar. He spat in her mouth and alluded to a blowjob. She slapped him across the face, denying him oral pleasure. The next night, he pulled her hair while kissing her on neck. She turned around and kicked him in the nuts. On another night, he grabbed her jaw hard and tapped her cheek with his dick in an attempt to fuck her mouth. She punched him a
nd instructed, “You will treat me with respect at all times.” Warner didn’t get it. However, he soon learned.
He teased Jacqueline in ways and places he’d merely dreamt. His dick hardened at the thought of being inside her again. Warner spent weeks eating her out, fingering her asshole, and talking verbally to her in a way she’d enjoyed—with high opinion. When Warner displayed his new suave ways to Jacqueline, she praised and rewarded him with another night of sex.
The second time they made love, he threw her against the bedroom wall and responded to her erotic rhythm. Warner spread her legs wide and demanded she hold on to the window frame for dear life.
At first, she laughed in a seductive way and didn’t take his intentions seriously. What could this boy do? Plenty, it seemed. Much more than she ever thought possible.
“You’re going to love this.” Confident even as a young man, he applied every technique she’d taught him. He cupped her breasts and pushed her backside into his front. She fit perfectly against his chest. His nipples became sensitive feeling her hair against his chest. In return, Warner pinched her clit in a respectful yet hard way, which weakened her ability to stand. Massaging her pussy, he rubbed her into a frenzy. Heat building, her entire body squirmed for release from his embrace as he penetrated deep inside her.
She bucked.
She screamed.
She loved it.
“I’m coming.” Jacqueline’s voice squealed. “Warner, yes, like that.”
She tightened around his cock, milking him. She orgasmed.
“We’re just getting started.” Using her wetness, he lubed her backside, spreading her ass apart with his fingers. He slid his dick in. It was tighter than he expected. The pressure alone could cause him to ejaculate. His dick pounded her ass.
Jacqueline creamed a second time.
This went on for what felt to be hours to young Warner. No sleep. No food. No water. He could’ve lasted for several days.
The euphoric smell from her sex drove him insane. He plowed his cock and balls deep—bottomless inside her. Warner pounded her hard through another orgasm, her nails digging into the windowsill’s white paint.