Nympho

by Andrea Blackstone

  When Angela spotted me her face lit up with a phony smile. She shoved the spray back in the bag and headed in my direction. “Kissy, kissy,” she said, taking her index finger, kissing it, and then placing it on my face. Her sick idea of affection caused my face to wrinkle. “Aren’t you going to speak to your big sister?” she asked.

  “Hi,” I replied dryly.

  “You haven’t been up for more than ten minutes and forty three seconds. I can tell by the sound of your voice. Ever since you were a little tot it would get that scratchy sound in it. It sort of reminded me of someone running nails across a chalkboard. It fits your appearance though. I see nothing major has changed about Leslie.”

  From that point on, my sister never shut her fat mouth. She hadn’t changed either. She was just like the Energizer Bunny—her trap kept going and going and going, something like diarrhea of the mouth.

  “One of mom’s friends spotted your marriage announcement in some local D.C. paper then gave her a call. After that, she read it. You made the paper, okay, so now you’re a little above average. Mom and I have a running bet. I said your wedding was running two thousand five hundred dollars and fifty-six cents, or lower. Am I right? At this rate, by the time you’re sixty you will just scrape the roof of the poverty level,” Angela chuckled.

  Six pieces of luggage were being hauled in while she talked. A nanny carrying a small dog in a cage came in, followed by who I assumed were her three children. Behind them were her hairdresser and chef, piling in my crib. I was speechless to say the least.

  “Is this a makeshift shelter, or is this where you really live?” she asked haughtily. “Do you rent or own?” she asked, looking around.

  “Own,” I answered with brevity.

  “I see you didn’t spring for the quality carpet. My toddler won’t be crawling on this steel wool pad. She’s used to hardwood floors—even linoleum won’t do. Where’s the love, in the room? Could you treat your guest with a little hospitality and pay the cab drivers?”

  I shot her a look. Her presence wasn’t going to work. She wasn’t invited. They weren’t invited. “I don’t want her here,” I whispered to Tanya.

  “Don’t worry about it. Be the bigger person. I’ll pay the driver,” Tanya whispered back. She disappeared to find her purse. Moments later she flew out the door to pay two cabs. When the door opened the two older kids nearly knocked Tanya down. They ran outside, but the toddler stayed in the house, trying to keep up with his loquacious mother.

  Angela found the bathroom and peeked inside of it. “Change the toilet seat. That thing has got to go! I don’t want to leave here with pimples on my butt,” she complained to the nanny. “A home you can see from the street spells c-h-e-a-p. Maybe it’s time for a career change. You know, something with a 401K, and actually pays you enough not to live like a pauper.” She waved her designer watch in my face, just to tantalize me.

  “I have a 401K, Angela.”

  “And what is it that you do again?”

  “I’m a teacher, Angela,” I said dryly.

  “Oh, right. I guess you do have a point. I’m sure this is the best you can do. I’m a television host on the highest rated morning show in L.A.” She nodded her head up and down with affirmation. “You should be incredibly grateful. I didn’t imagine that you were doing even this well. Your abode is cute . . . for you. I imagine it keeps you good and humble.”

  Angela sauntered past me into the kitchen. “Do you have soy milk, dear? The baby needs it so she’ll have strong bones and teeth when she grows up. We don’t want a snaggle-toothed child like you were. Beauty solutions start early. Where’s your nearest Fresh Fields? We only eat organic foods. We’re a health conscious family. Living in L.A. forces you to keep up with your peers unlike the D.C. hogs who I see roaming around in your zip code. It’s all about sensible eating. I don’t understand why these porkers can’t stay committed to losing weight. Then again, they’ll never be on TV for anything prestigious, so they don’t have to worry about how huge the camera would make them look.”

  “I do drink soy milk, but I’m out of it right now, Angela. Had I known you were coming, I would’ve had a room full of the shit,” I snapped, ignoring her bragging tirade about her big time job. My patience was beginning to wear thin, especially since I truly was recovering from losing a great deal of blood.

  “While I was on the plane I jotted down a few small things I’ll need for me and my family. It’s not much. Bottled water—where’s your bottled water? I don’t drink a drop from the faucet.” Before I could mange to reply she began opening cabinets. “No substitutions. It must be Perrier or nothing at all. Unlike your body, my body knows the difference. Well, a trip to the store will be necessary anyway. I can wait since I’m not hard to please. I try not to be a pest whenever I’m a houseguest.”

  “Says who?” I mumbled under my breath.

  “Here’s a list of our visiting requirements, in order of importance.” She handed them to me. Angela: A CD player with earphones so I can play my relaxation tapes while I put cucumbers on my eyes in the evenings before retiring. And of course, low lighting. Two satin pillow cases so my hair will stay nice and fresh. The nanny should use my own sheets, pillowcases, and towels. During meal time, the chef should use my own pots. Please remove your own items and get them out of the way.

  “For my husband who will be joining us later: A fifth of whisky, a fifth of vodka (Grey Goose or Belvedere will do) and three bottles of Merlot, in the event he is not successful in finding a liquor store. He’s out right now looking and refuses to go to a treatment center, and that’s just the way it is. Children: Organic chicken strips, soy milk, and Fig Newtons. No candy please. For my dog Miss Lady: Since I’m sure you don’t own a set of china, one of your best bowls will be needed for her meals. She eats at the kitchen table to ensure her blood glucose levels are controlled. No table scraps! Lastly, my list ends with a note to myself to ask Leslie where I can hook up my fax machine and PDA.

  “Um, Angela. You may want to remember your sister needs rest. She’s coming along, but she does need to take it easy,” Tanya said diplomatically.

  Angela ignored her comment. “Tell me, Leslie, who is this mystery man anyway? Can he afford to take care of the one he thinks he loves? I want his name, and I want his personal address. I know you better than anyone, and I need to have a talk with the future head of this household. Oh, never mind. I forgot that I’m going back to my old high school to see if I can have a press conference,” she joked. “But really, these hands need help! Where’s the nearest upscale day spa?”

  I ignored her and walked to the window. That’s when I noticed one of her children alternating between kicking my car bumper and trying to pull it off.

  “I want a smoothie! I want a smoothie!” yelled the little girl.

  The boy crawled underneath the car in the dirt and began pulling on the pipes. I yelled out of the window for them to stop. I was two seconds away from cussing their spoiled asses out, but I was interrupted.

  “They’re just children. Don’t be so mean, Auntie Leslie,” Angela told me, sitting down on the couch. Her hairdresser began fixing her hair and set up a curling stove in my living room. Once the man had curled only one piece, vain Angela was already tugging at it and patting her hair.

  “I wouldn’t have some hair disaster on my big day. I need to test this hairdo out now while I have time to change my mind if it’s not to my liking. Come here,” she said. I walked toward her. “Bend down. I’m getting my hair done. I can’t reach like that.” I bent down. Angela began running her hands through my hair. She was obviously checking for tracks or extensions. “Wig, InstaWeave, what? You never had hair. You know it doesn’t grow. I could cut my hair off three times, let it grow back, and you still wouldn’t have much to pinch!”

  “I let it grow out, Angela,” I snapped, standing upright.

  “Doesn’t the way you look just make you want to run and hide? This is the skin you want, soft and smooth. I feel lik
e I can say this because you’re my sister. Splotches are not cute. Since you obviously weren’t using a personal trainer, I can assume you’ll be retouching your wedding photos to do something with those thunder thighs of yours. Maybe he can lighten you up while he’s at it. Our maid of honor wants you to look your best. I mean, a photographer can’t work miracles, but a little hope is in store for you. At least you appear to be one step above Aunt Jemima.”

  I felt Innocence preparing to break Leslie out of her polite shell. In fact, she was getting warmed up.

  “What do you think this is, the Live Like a Star show? Who are you to come in my home and take over? This is not funny. Cool it, you L.A. faker! That is my maid of honor standing over there, and you will not be setting foot anywhere around me on my big day.”

  Angela rose to her feet and looked into my eyes. The hairdresser tapped her on the small of her back and she sat back down. The hairdresser took a section and resumed curling her locks.

  “Where is your compassion? Where is your ability to be a hostess?” she asked. She just kept going and going, just like that Energizer bunny.

  It was like a bad reality show. I couldn’t stomach my sister’s antics any longer. I don’t know where the idea came from, but I put my cramps aside, walked down to my basement, grabbed a steel pail, filled it with water, and let Innocence work her magic. I reentered the living room and stood about two inches from her face.

  “I said shut uuuup! You’re such an annoying, self-absorbed bitch!”

  “How dare you talk to your big sister this way, Leslie.” She patted her hair, feeling the freshly made curls.

  I pushed the hairdresser out of the way and dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on her head.

  “My hair! My hair! It’s ruined,” she screamed. Angela was so angry her knees, shoulders, and entire body began to shake. She parted her hair like a curtain and moved her long locks out of her face. “My Manolo Blanicks! Do you know how much these shoes cost? They’re ruined!” she said, kicking out one of her feet to survey the damage to her expensive shoes. Angela’s toddler was startled and crawled over to her. She began tugging on Angela, begging to be picked up. Angela was too consumed with her ruined hair and shoes to care.

  “I listened to your mouth run for the last thirty minutes straight while I’m in pain. I will get some rest, and I will get rid of you. I will seal your children’s mouths and hands with duct tape and tie your dog’s legs together and feed him table scraps if you don’t take you, your little rat on a leash, and your wanna be entourage out of here within five minutes flat! Try me—I am not that little wimp you used to pick on when we were kids. It’s a new day and a damn new Leslie! I came out of the same hole you did. It would seem you could treat me right, if only for one damned day. I hated you when we were growing up, and I hate you now! You picked on me then and you’re picking on me now! You always treated me like a farmhand. This is no contest!” I screamed at Angela.

  “Well, what a malicious pack of lies,” she replied, rising to her feet. “And you’re scaring my baby,” she said.

  The little boy was screaming at the top of his lungs. By this time, he was blowing snot bubbles with his nose. The noise was making me even crankier than I was before.

  “Lies my ass! Out—every last one of you—out!” I hollered, pointing at the door. “And as far as me dumping cold water on your head, Miss Angela, you should be thanking me—I started to boil it first!”

  The bitch ignored me and continued wailing over her wet state. Tanya disappeared with a carton of eggs from my fridge. I guess egg hurling was her specialty. She held the carton steady as I hurled each one at my sister and her entourage. I hit the baby with one egg by accident. The nanny picked him up. He continued blowing those snot bubbles, looking over her shoulder at me. He waved his little arm in my direction like he wanted to hit me. They all scurried around faster, suddenly feeling an urgency to run toward the door and vacate my premises. As a result, Angela left her luggage, fax machine, and everything she’d lugged in behind. I slammed the door, leaving them to sit on the curb and wait on a cab that she or they would pay for.

  Tanya and I fell out laughing like devilish teenagers. Obviously, we stole the horns from my sister from hell and enjoyed tormenting her. Although my sister blew my cover, Tanya never said anything about my telling her that everyone in my family was dead. After all, I had just lost my baby, or so she thought. She knew my emotions were fragile. There was no need to point out that I’d lied my ass off. It should’ve been obvious why I had stretched the truth a few millimeters.

  If people wondered why I couldn’t tell the truth they could’ve easily understood why Leslie became crazy Innocence, the attention whore, in light of my circumstances. My sister had always been the kind of person who could make someone break into jail. Unfortunately, I tore a few pages from Angela’s book and proved to follow in her magnificent footsteps . . . in all of my filthy, devious, and psychotic glory.

  18

  Two Of A Kind

  The heat was on, two days before my wedding. In dealing with my sister, I found my strength in wielding my blackmailing power. I excused Tanya by convincing her it would be best if she’d run a long list of miscellaneous errands. Plus, my strength was coming back good enough for me to tend to unfinished business that involved Rico.

  After I powered on Rico’s phone and examined it, I discovered all zeros were under the number section of Rico’s phone book. No photos, no real contacts. The smart ass had removed his SIM Card where all of the info was stored. His ass let me believe I hit gold, but the phone I managed to grab was a mere decoy. As a result, I had to step up the plan to take extra precautions by dropping an identical spiel to what I told Rico in someone else’s ear—the police chief.

  I stripped someone’s ability to be rigid and judgmental by giving them something scandalous to think about. I was in the frame of mind to get obstinate and indulge in tripping—of all people—at the police chief’s expense. A free pass to be rotten had been dropped in my hand because I held an edited DVD of his men running a train on me. Of course I knew what to show and what to keep to myself. By my account each of the men were having a good time, at my expense. In fact, that part was true. As far as they knew, they were breaking the law by raping a citizen who didn’t want to be treated like a piece of meat. I was taking a chance, but just because I was didn’t mean I’d turn out to be the biggest loser.

  All of Angela’s talk about working in the media gave me a twisted, creative idea. I dressed conservatively, like a reporter on a mission to get a news story. I parked and went inside, insisting that I needed to see the chief about an important matter. He should’ve known a hot potato was about to drop in his lap . . . but he didn’t.

  “What’s your name? Is Chief Morgan expecting you?” the receptionist asked.

  “Of course he is.” I flashed the phony press pass I made by cutting out a square and affixing it on a chain.

  I walked right past her, and she called after me with that typical D.C. government attitude. I waved, thanked her, and ran down the hall. I knew she was paging security so I hurried my steps. I read the name on the door and busted through it like I owned the place. Saliva dripped from the corner of Chief Morgan’s mouth, and a white powder donut sat on his desk on a paper towel. His stomach looked like a huge balloon as it moved up and down when he snored. The chief needed to be on a hunger strike, but he was obviously a steak and potatoes type of man, definitely not among the most fit.

  “Chief Morgan!” I called sternly.

  The chief’s snoring ceased, and he looked all around him stunned—as if he were trying to figure out who had called his name. I awakened him while he was napping, reared back in his chair.

  Before he could gather his faculties and respond, I ambushed him. “Sorry to interrupt your midday nap, but I’m itching to know one thing. How can you say you want to clean up your city, when those on the city’s payroll are a part of the problem, not the solution? I think hard working ta
xpayers would like to know about the corruption that is plaguing the city of taxation without representation. You have two choices—underestimate me having the guts to send this to every media outlet by the end of the day, or talk about how you can make this go away by convincing me to forget what really happened. Can you really stand the negative publicity? How much do you really want to keep your job?”

  “Do I know you?” he asked, trying to focus his eyes in a rush. “What are you talking about?” he asked, wiping drool from the left corner of his mouth.

  “Maybe so, maybe not. Either way, you’re in for a surprise or two. Do you have some time for a little drama? I know your constituents are always crying and hollering about something, but this is a legitimate concern. I know you’re a wise person.” I whipped out a portable DVD player and hooked it up. “Let me enlighten you and show you why I’m here and what my visit is all about,” I explained.

  Tension rose as we watched the DVD exposing the ugliness of his policeman. I watched the chief sigh and lean forward with shock. He looked as if a one hundred and twenty mile per hour wind had swept him up just as rising flood waters were closing in—clearly devastated as he watched what happened.