Pupil: Inspired By a True Story

by Zoey Long

  “Such formality. We’re family now. Please call me Amanda.”

  “So we are. Amanda. Hello, Madison.” I flash Madison my most winning smile. She’s not having it.

  “Yes, I’m a fighter. I fight MMA jiujitsu. Mixed martial arts. It means that the fighters are—”

  “Will you please excuse me?” Madison stands straight up from the table and heads a bit sloppily to the ladies room. I really want to follow her, but then they’ll definitely know something’s up. I’d rather keep that quiet for now.

  “So, how did you two meet?” I ask politely. I ask the waitress to bring an assortment of appetizers and a bottle of champagne to celebrate.

  By the time Madison returns to the table, I’ve learned where they’re from in New Jersey and that Amanda teaches art at a public high school, while Madison is a painter who goes to NYU and works at a preschool during the school year (hot). We’re about to toast to our new family.

  Madison sits down, flustered.

  “Mom, most of my stuff is already packed to go home. We’re supposed to head back next week.”

  No one is paying attention to her. A glass of champagne is waiting for her at her seat. I raise my champagne glass and say:

  “Here’s to life, love, and the pursuit of happiness, whatever form it takes.” I’m really laying it on thick. Dad and Amanda are loving it.

  “Hear, hear!” Dad booms.

  “Thank you, Derrick. What a sweet gesture. What was that, Madison?” Amanda asks.

  “My stuff. What’s happening over the summer? I’m supposed to go home. Are they moving in with us?”

  She sounds horrified.

  “No, dear. We’re not going home. We have no room at our place! You know that. Frank has plenty of room at his apartment on Seventy-Second. We’re moving into his place for the summer. After that, well, you’ll go back to school and we’ll live there together full-time.”

  This is getting good. A new sister to torment all summer long. One I’ve already screwed six ways from Sunday.

  “You’ll love it, Madison,” Dad says. “We’ve got plenty of bedrooms, a rooftop pool, a home gym, a chef, and there’s plenty of space for the four of us. We won’t be penned in, trust me.”

  “The… four of us?” She looks up at the waitress as she gulps down the last of her drink. “Can I get another of these, please?”

  She gets a third martini. You know what they say. I like to have a martini, two at the very most. Three I’m under the table, four I’m under a Bourse. I crack me up. Guess we can’t bang anymore now that we’re siblings. Time for some fun.

  “Hey, Dad, did I tell you that Madison goes to my gym? She does yoga. We met a few days ago; that’s why she’s so surprised to see me. Isn’t that funny?”

  Madison shoots me a look that could incinerate me. She might throw that drink in my face.

  “Isn’t life amusing sometimes? That must have been confusing for you, then. Did you get along with my son? I hope so. Considering that you’ve suddenly found yourself family.”

  Dad is laying the charm on thick. He’s leaning in Madison’s direction, hand on the table, flashing the smile he usually reserves for spots on Wake Up, New York. Madison nods and gives a half-smile. She’s started on the Tuscan kale salad with pine nuts and a lime vinaigrette.

  “Madison, where are your manners?” her mother says, laughing. “She must be burned out from working at that preschool and finishing her end-of-the-year painting project. Don’t worry, plenty of time to relax and reset this summer. She’s studying expressionism.”

  “Abstract expressionism,” Madison corrects, swallowing.

  “Isn’t that when you throw a bunch of shit at the canvas and hope for the best?” I jeer with a wink, shaking my glass for a refill on my seven and seven.

  Chapter 8: Madison

  He’s going to torment me all summer. I thought there’d be a whole state between me and Derrick Bourse by now. Bourse. Of all the jiujitsu fighters to have a one-night (morning?) stand with, I had to choose the son of a famous entrepreneur. The owners of the second-largest art museum in the city. All that arrogance and millions of dollars to back it up. My new brother. Ugh, this is so gross. Unbelievable.

  The next morning my boxes are picked up from my apartment and taken to the Bourse penthouse on Seventy-Second and Fifth. If I were still working at Madison Ave Preschool, I’d have like a four-block walk to work. Which is way better than taking the 6 train. I follow my boxes in a car that’s paid for by Mr. Bourse. The building is unsurprisingly a high-rise with a doorman wearing a full uniform and white gloves.

  “Miss Dale, I assume?” He smiles at me. “Your belongings are already in the penthouse. Welcome. Take the elevator straight to the thirty-fourth floor.”

  This is possibly the biggest apartment I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s certainly the biggest I’ve seen in New York, at least from the inside. I have no idea how many rooms are in this property, but if I have to live with Derrick, at least I can put some serious space between us.

  “You can choose from any of these bedrooms,” Derrick says. Of course he’s there to greet me, and he’s insisting on giving me a small tour.

  Each bedroom has its own color scheme. I see one with plum walls and cream linens, one with charcoal walls, one with buttercream walls, each with a king-sized bed.

  “But, let me know which bedroom you pick, will ya?”

  He moves close to me, looking me up and down, cornering me next to what I bet is a real Picasso on the wall. Yes, definitely a real Picasso.

  “Derrick. We’re… okay, this is a seriously messed-up situation we’re in right now. My head is still spinning. We can’t… I never thought I’d see you again.”

  “Honey, I certainly didn’t think we’d be family six hours after you were coming all over my dick.”

  I blush. This is so absurd. The newlyweds have gone out for the day, so Derrick and I have the place all to ourselves.

  “I can’t believe you’re a Bourse. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “When was I supposed to do that, exactly? When your legs were wrapped around my waist against the lockers or when you were laid out over the bench with your pussy in my face? And why would I? It’s not like you wear a sign around your neck with your last name on it.”

  I flush in more places than my face. I let myself lock eyes with him. I want him to kiss me again. I want him to pick me up right here and now, walk me right past Picasso’s Cubism period into the closest bedroom and throw me down onto the king-sized bed. I want him to rip my pants off and take me right now. No! I can’t do that again. We can’t do that ever again.

  Derrick leans in for a kiss. I tense up, not knowing what I’ll do next.

  “No! Stop it.” I turn my cheek away.

  “I was going for the light switch, relax, hon.”

  He clicks the light off behind my head and takes out his phone. I’m mortified.

  “Listen, I have some people coming over in about an hour. You should put on a bathing suit. You’ve got one of those, don’t you? I’m sure you do. Make it a bikini if you’re taking requests. I’m kidding. Seriously, though, you’re gonna want to get in this pool. Meet you up there in fifteen minutes? Sis?” He winks.

  “Do not call me that.”

  I turn and go into the closest bedroom, where one of my suitcases has been placed. How did I get here? The bed is massive, with a downy cream-colored bedspread that looks like it’s made of marzipan. Charcoal walls, higher ceilings than would ever be necessary, exposed beams, a small chandelier above the bed with a wrought-iron bed frame. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of Manhattan, sheer curtains with gold tie-backs. It looks like a catalog. I pick up one of the gold tie-backs and flip a gold piece between my fingers. I see that it’s engraved with a cursive B. How ridiculous.

  I turn and jump, landing head first on my massive new bed. If my mother is going to go insane and uproot her entire life and mine along wi
th it, I might as well enjoy this while it lasts.

  My bare feet slap against the cool floors in the marble hall. It seems to go on endlessly as I try to find the elevator to the rooftop pool. I’ve chosen a navy bikini with white polka dots under my simple cover-up. He’s already seen me totally naked. What’s the difference?

  When I get to the roof, it’s unreal. Thirty-four stories high above Manhattan. I can see the Empire State Building from up here. The June air blows cooler on the roof, but it’s still perfect for a swim. There’s a huge patio peppered with white lounge chairs surrounding the rectangular pool. Derrick is standing by the wet bar, surrounded by women in bikinis much more revealing than mine. Some aren’t even wearing tops. I guess these are the friends he was expecting. They’re drinking margaritas and hanging on him. A few other people are swimming in the pool. I suddenly feel very out of place. I will be damned if I start competing for his attention.

  “Derrick, remember your birthday last year, when Kelly and I gave you an early present?” A buxom blonde throws her head back and laughs.

  “Yeah, when you two got in the pool naked, dragged me in there with you and we fucked until the sun came up. I remember. I poured a whole bottle of champagne on your tits. Cleanup crew was pissed.”

  I look to the ground.

  “Hey, sis!” he calls to me. His friends snap to look in my direction.

  “Guys, this is my brand-spanking-new sister, Madison.”

  My God, he’s enjoying every second of this, isn’t he? Jerk.

  “What the hell? Man, you don’t have a sister,” a ripped guy yells from the pool. He has a woman who looks like a living pinup doll hoisted onto his shoulders.

  “Yep, I do. Old Frank went ahead and got married without telling anyone. Just found out today. This is my stepsister, Madison Dale. She’s a painter.”

  The pool guy and the pinup start laughing uncontrollably.

  “Oh, that’s rich. Holy shit. No disrespect to you, sweetheart, but if Derrick hasn’t made a move on you already, he certainly will.”

  “Nothing like that,” Derrick says. “We’re family now.” There’s that grin again.

  I turn to go inside. I can hear them talking about me as I leave.

  “She’s so hot, man. You’re not really related. Not actually. You should hit that. Did you see that ass?”

  “That’s gross,” the pinup says. “And stop checking out his sister.”

  More girls get topless and jump in the pool. I’m sure it’s heated. I need to get a job. If this is what Wednesday afternoons look like in Derrick Bourse’s world, I am not doing this all summer.

  I take a walk around the block. I know the neighborhood. It’s right near the school I work in. I pass countless Upper East Side privileged types. Women with strollers and huge diamond rings, nannies with strollers and no diamond rings, middle-aged ladies lunching with Louis Vuitton purses on the backs of their chairs. I stop outside a store called Paint Me. It’s one of those places that little kids go to for birthday parties; you know, where they get a vase and paint it whatever colors they want and then they glaze it for you? It seems less complicated than tutoring, and at least it’s art related. Sort of.

  “Excuse me,” I ask the front desk, “are you looking for summer help?”

  The guy who turns around to help me has blond hair, kind blue eyes and two-day scruff on his face. He’s a skinny hipster type in tight grey jeans. Small wire-frame glasses. He smiles at me. Cute.

  “Yeah… uh… we are, actually. Do you have any retail experience? A resume?”

  Damn it. Of course I don’t have a resume on me.

  “Not on me, sorry. But, I’m a painter. I teach at Madison Ave Preschool, and it’s closing up for the summer. I just moved to this neighborhood. I can email you my resume…”

  “Actually, hardly anyone comes in here looking for work. I was about to put a help wanted sign up, but… how many days are you looking to work?” Big smile. “I’m Noel.” I shake his hand and he has a nice grip. No ring on his finger.

  Okay. This guy is obviously attracted to me. Even so, this is nuts. I’ve never gotten a job on the spot before. In my experience in this city, you have to have a resume, six years of administrative experience, a head shot, two interviews and a blood sample before they’ll even consider hiring you on a temporary basis. Maybe some of that Bourse luck is rubbing off on me already?

  “I’m Madison.”

  “Hey, Madison. Welcome to Paint Me. This job is pretty simple. Four days a week, you’d be working at my side, helping to run the front desk and stock shelves with ceramics. You wouldn’t be doing your own painting or studying or anything like that.”

  “Oh, I know!” It’s not like I’m applying to work in a museum. How ironic.

  “Unless you have a desire to paint a coffee cup or a plate or something. We get fifty percent off merchandise. I paint too. Hey, maybe we could collaborate.” He smiles.

  “Then there are the birthday parties.” He sighs. “Those get a little nuts. You say you teach preschool, so that would probably be pretty easy for you. I can sure use the extra help.”

  Noel seems so sweet. He quotes me an hourly rate, and just like that, I have a job.

  Chapter 9: Derrick

  Damn, this chick has a hot mouth. I’m guiding her down onto my cock with her wet blond hair wrapped once around my fist. We’re both still wet from the pool but I don’t care. I lie down on my bedspread and let her straddle me. Her pink bikini bottoms are still on, but her hard nipples graze my chest. My hands palm her ass and I sneak my fingers into her bathing suit. She’s shaved and wet.

  I close my eyes and see polka dots and that sweet smile. Where did Madison run off to? I would have liked to get her in the pool. Run my fingers through her hair. Snap off that bikini top and get those tits in my mouth. Then I imagine it’s Madison straddling me with her mouth on me, that it’s her pussy on my fingers. I know she’d deep-throat me just as deeply as this girl is doing, then I’d throw her on her back and taste her until she begged me to stop.

  “Ooh, you gonna come, baby?”

  I was close. I open my eyes. Blondie is still working me and her pussy is getting wetter. I start rubbing her clit and pumping her a little with my fingers. She loves it.

  “Oh, God, Derrick. You’re so hot. Yes, please. Yes.”

  I lie back and close my eyes, and all I see are those big brown eyes looking up at me again.

  Chapter 10: Derrick

  “We deserve a proper honeymoon.”

  At breakfast the next morning we’re all sitting around the kitchen table. Rocco, our chef, has prepared asparagus-and-goat-cheese frittatas. French press coffee. Fruit platter. I’ve already fought two guys this morning. Madison wasn’t there. I feel good.

  Dad takes his new wife’s hand. She has a new haircut and coloring job. Her skin is glowing from a facial. There’s at least two carats on her finger. Maybe more.

  “We’re going to Paris in the morning. I’ve got some meetings lined up to plan for the fall collection.”

  Madison is wearing glasses today. That’s hot. Never seen those before. Black rims, a little thick. She looks like a naughty librarian and she’s wearing a little fucking sundress with lemons on it. She looks delectable. Her hair is piled on top of her head and I don’t even think she’s wearing a bra. She should have a pencil in her hair, for fuck’s sake. Are you kidding me right now?

  “That’s great, Mom. You haven’t been to Europe since I was a kid.”

  “How long will the honeymoon be? How long will my little sister and I be left to our own devices?”

  Madison furrows her brow and looks at me disapprovingly. It’s almost like she really is my little sister. Except not, because right now I want to clear this breakfast table one-handed and throw her down on top of it and spread her legs apart.

  “We will be there until the end of August.”

  I think I can hear Madison spit-take her orange j
uice.

  “The whole summer? That’s some honeymoon. Just Paris? It’s so easy to get around to other cities once you’re there.” I’m enjoying this.

  “Maybe we’ll take the Chunnel to London, Berlin—it’s a little hot for Italy right now, but whatever my lady wants.”

  I haven’t seen my dad this happy since he married Jenny, the twenty-three-year-old actress who had three cats. She got her MFA (which Dad paid for) and ran off with one of her professors. At least Amanda has a job.

  “You two will be fine without us, won’t you?” Amanda offers. “You seem to be getting along just fine.”

  “I think we’ll manage.” I smile.

  “What do you think, Mad?”

  “Sure, whatever. I got a job, so I’ll be out of the house some.”

  So that’s where she went yesterday.

  “Where are you working, dear? I hope you paint this summer too. There’s plenty of room for you to have your own painting studio if you wanted it. Your easel and paints are all here.”

  “I’m just working a retail job. It’s at one of those ceramic stores, the kind where you can choose one off the shelf and paint it…”

  “Paint Me?” I ask. “I know that place. It’s around the block from us and it’s always lousy with little kids.”

  I’d rather gouge out my eyes with a spoon.

  “Yeah, that’s it. The manager is this really sweet guy who is also a painter and he hired me right on the spot. Isn’t that weird? Three or four days a week for a few hours, nothing too intense.”

  He wants to bang her. I get it.

  “Why the hell do you want to work there?” I tease her.

  “Derrick, do you even work? I know you don’t need to, but what are your plans for the fall? Do you even have a long-term plan?” she snaps at me. I like that.

  “Derrick is finishing up his business degree next year. NYU, just like you. He has enough credits that he’ll be done in a year if he applies himself.”

  Ah, man, I was saving that gem of information for a time where she was really pissed at me.