by Lisa Cach
She hesitated and he saw uncertainty in her eyes. He waited, knowing that she needed a moment to understand that she was truly free, even if she chose to pretend otherwise.
“Grab the post,” he told her.
A ghost of a wicked smile touched her lips and then, slowly, as if taunting him, she did as bid.
It lasted longer than it had on the tail of the car, and he put his hands to good use, making sure she got where she needed to go. Her soft moans were his guide and his reward. When they were finished, he untied the scarf from her thighs and handed it to her as she stood up straight, her skirt covering her again.
She looked blankly at the mangled scarf in her hands. “Do I get my panties back?”
Feeling sheepish, he pulled them from his pocket and gave them to her.
“Thanks.” Still she didn’t move.
“Grace, are you okay?”
She looked up at him, the frown between her brows again. Her hair was a mussed mess, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were swollen from kissing. She didn’t seem to see him, her vision turned to some inner landscape. “I want …”
“Yes? You want?”
“I want …” She turned and looked out the open garage doors at the white glare of sunlight.
“What do you want, Grace?” He’d get it for her, whatever it was. He’d hand-wash her in a tub of warm water. He’d take her to Paris. He’d carry her to her bedroom, sing her to sleep, anything.
“I really, really want a bacon cheeseburger. Can you get one for me?” she asked, as uncertain as if asking him to bring her a bar of gold.
He laughed. “Is that all?”
She shook her head, her expression deadly serious. “With french fries. And a chocolate shake.”
“I can do that.”
She put her hand on his arm. “And, Declan?”
“Yes?”
“Get extra bacon. Lots of extra bacon.”
“Okay.”
She left him then, walking stiff-legged out into the sunlight while holding her panties and scarf in one hand. He followed from a distance, and then stopped to watch from the corner of the house as Andrew came out to greet her. The tall man seemed flustered by Grace’s somnambulist manner, his questions met by murmurs. As if sensing his enemy, he turned and saw Declan.
Declan held two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute to the doctor. “You’re losing her already,” Declan said under his breath. “You wanted a fight, so I’m giving you one. And I don’t intend to lose.”
CHAPTER
21
Research Notes
August 6
Author has clearly gone mad. Starvation diet, extreme exercise routine, and Draconian beauty regime of last two months have exhausted Author of all willpower, self-control, common sense, modesty, restraint.
Ability to obey instructions of Sophia is gone. Control of eating, gone—along with change from semivegetarianism to an unhealthy obsession with cured meats, especially bacon. Exercise routine is gone through with only the barest motions, angering trainer. Author unable to care about trainer’s anger, and in a weak moment made rude comment about trainer’s lack of ass.
While Author had originally suspected that focusing entire self on becoming beautiful would lead to mental disorder, Author did not predict the form such derangement would take. Author is now obsessed with sex with the despised male, Declan.
Has shallow focus on appearances harmed Author’s self-worth to sufficient degree to make Author seek out sex as substitute for self-esteem? This explanation would fit Author’s earlier theories.
However.
Author is unaware of any dip in feeling of self-worth. While aware of slight increase in being judgmental re: the appearance of others as Author becomes more focused on own appearance, Author’s judgments of herself seem to have improved with increase in own attractiveness.
State of Author’s emotions regarding the male is unknown, and at present point may be unknowable. Sexual fever must die back before order can be made from internal chaos. Author is in constant anticipation of next sexual encounter, subsuming all emotion and thought in lust.
August 7
Said male came upon Author in far reaches of garden, and engaged in sexual encounter. Second sexual encounter in D.’s bedroom. Third encounter in Author’s bathroom.
August 8
Garden. Garage.
August 9
Author’s bedroom. Under piano.
August 10
Author notes that Dr. Andrew is becoming more attentive and protective, and prone to questioning Author about activities and company she keeps. Dr. seems concerned about Author’s mental status.
Friend Cat also lately concerned re: mental status.
Mother calling more often, asking more questions, and deeply distressed re: weight loss. Author cannot recall informing mother of weight loss. Suspects Cat has been talking to mother behind her back. Also possible that Cat and Dr. are in contact and scheming.
Note: Possible development of paranoid thinking.
Simple solution is to leave phone turned off.
On bright side, Dr. held Author’s hand, a major step forward. For moment, Author thought Dr. might muster courage to kiss her, but the despised male appeared and put the kibosh on that.
Sand dunes.
August 11
Author’s period has arrived. Author thanks Trojan for making effective product.
Lack of restraint re: food, exercise has not improved. Five pounds regained. PMS was possibly responsible, but Author recognizes fixation on bacon played its part.
Author unwilling to give up bacon.
As food frenzy and weight gain are contrary to deal worked out with Sophia, Author recognizes she is in danger of losing the $20,000 offered to her in payment for obedience to S.’s instruction.
Author still unwilling to give up bacon.
Alternatives:
Give up $20,000.
Gain control of eating (somehow).
Convince S. to drop diet and exercise from plan.
August 12
Author is outraged by medical establishment and media. In preparing arguments for Sophia re: diet, Author searched medical literature regarding weight and all-cause mortality. For nonsmokers, overweight and obese people have lower risks for premature death than normal weight or skinny people. Skinny people are at highest risk for premature death in all age ranges. Author feeling bitter re: self-restraint for past two months, and unnecessary guilt for past decade.
Also, benefit of exercise beyond minimal amounts (30 min. walking daily, tops) is not clearly established and may in fact be harmful. Author thinks personal trainer should be arrested for assault.
Author has been told for past five years to lose weight for her health, and now finds that she was less likely to die when she was heavier. Confirms Author’s suspicion that all “it’s for your health” comments are a crock.
Author additionally annoyed to discover that according to research the “most attractive” body mass index for women is 21 (admittedly less than Author’s BMI, even postdiet), but that attractiveness drops off much more sharply below 21 than it does above 21
Not only is thinner not healthier, it also apparently is less attractive than plumpness.
Author furious, and in search of bacon.
August 13
Trainer and nutritionist fired.
Sophia claims Author’s sheaf of research printouts were immaterial to decision. Of greater import was Author’s recent inexplicable improvement in bombshell sexiness. S. claims Author is exuding sexuality, as if sex constantly on Author’s mind.
S. likely aware of sexual relationship between Author and despised male (nothing gets past her), but is making show of saying nothing.
August 15
Author’s bedroom. Bedroom. Bedroom.
August 16
Dr. Andrew noticed Author’s changed eating habits and slight weight gain, and expressed concern. Dr. repeated supposed longev
ity benefits of CRON. Author was tempted to wave research papers under Dr.’s nose, but thought better of it, as Dr. being so sweet otherwise. He brought flowers, held Author’s hand during walk in garden, and talked about hopes for future: wife, kids, volunteer work for Doctors Without Borders. Again, Dr. almost kissed Author, but obviously gun shy after first disastrous kiss.
Author in dilemma over Dr.
Author very fond of Dr., Author enjoys talking with Dr., and Author finds Dr. physically attractive in gentle way. Author also still tempted to side with Dr. re: Steinbeck cricket, and admires Dr.’s altruism. However, Author strongly feeling guilt of secret sexual relationship with enemy of Dr.
Author unwilling (unable?) to give up secret sexual relationship.
Author unwilling to give up potential for long-term relationship with Dr.
Author can only conclude that diet/exercise/beauty lead to nymphomania, which leads to unsavory, dishonest, sluttish behavior.
Is above considered evidence of decline in Author’s sense of self-worth?
Author wonders if attempt should be made to turn sexual hunger from despised male to Dr. All problems solved, if successful.
August 17
Garden. Garden. Garden.
Author obviously has no self-control, no self-respect. Despised male has uttered no word of affection for Author beyond moans and grunts of pleasure. Why does Author continue with him when Dr. is available? Is sexual relationship with despised male interfering with Author’s ability to bond with superior male?
Author growing deeply confused over what she wants. At beginning of summer, answer was obvious: write dissertation, get boyfriend. Summer is almost over, and no writing on dissertation has occurred. One intelligent, ideal male is courting her with long-term thoughts. One cretinous lout is banging her (revolting phrase unfortunately apt in circumstances), but never mentions the future. Cretinous lout does show surprising flashes of insight, humor, and protectiveness, though.
Or is Author only seeing some good in the despised male in order to feel better about her continuing sexual relationship?
Sexual relationship clearly messing with head. Confusion abounding.
At beginning of summer, Author was firm in her beliefs regarding validity of her studies and point of view regarding pursuit of beauty and the damage it does to women. Now, Author reveling in own appearance.
Question: Has Author gained confidence with improved appearance?
Answer: Author likes looking better and not being self-conscious about body. Assumes that strangers think better of her now than they did a month ago, and that makes her more comfortable around them.
But.
Author is noticing the weight of other women more than used to. What looked normal before now looks a little porky.
Are fat and body image the real issue, though? Or is it that Author expects world to hold itself to whatever standards she sets for herself, whether standards are being heavy or thin, a rational or emotional thinker, one who lives by feminist or traditional values? Author views the world through lens of her own experience, and judges accordingly.
How grossly unfair.
Maybe what is right and wrong is more fluid than Author thought. As situation changes, so do judgments. Morals, too, to some degree, given what Author has done with D. Author adapts both thinking and behavior to her circumstances.
Ironically, Author notes that values being dependent upon surrounding culture and circumstance is basic tenet of Women’s Studies. Apparently Author did not learn as much as she thought in her classes, if truth of said tenet is only now hitting home.
Author doesn’t deserve Ph.D.
Stupid Author.
(Author notes additional evidence of decreasing self-esteem.)
If above is true, then how can Author ever form a clear idea of how to live her life? How can she move forward on a path with conviction, when she knows that it is the present environment forming her views as much as either innate or previously learned values? And what trouble might she get herself into, if she has no firm convictions to guide her?
Maybe it doesn’t matter how a woman lives her life. She could be a bombshell sex kitten or a spinster with a pile of books, moldering in an ivory tower. One has the same worth as the other, and could be as right for Author as the other, depending on the circumstances.
What is Author supposed to be or supposed to become? “Grace Cavanaugh the Women’s Studies Ph.D. candidate” may have just been an illusion created to match existing circumstances.
Maybe there is no unique, eternal “Grace” inside Author, a Grace who was meant to have a specific future, and who, no matter what the surroundings, would have grown up to believe the same things. Maybe there’s no unique, eternal person inside anyone.
Present existential crisis is further proof that pursuing bombshell beauty is harmful to women.
August 18
Despised male busy working on MG for historic auto race. Sophia very distressed at any mention of race but refuses to discuss beyond mumbling words like “dangerous” and “foolish.” Author beginning to worry about race and risk to despised male.
Why does Author care what happens to said male? Again, sexual relationship clearly messing with head.
Also, Author has been thinking.
If it doesn’t matter in which direction she moves—bombshell or academic, low achiever or high achiever, Democrat or Republican or League of Flying Spaghetti Monster—or even if she moves at all, what does she do? She needs to do something with her life, or else why live it?
So, what does Author want to do?
What does Author want, period?
August 18½
Bedroom. Shower.
Sex still good, but Author noted decreased happiness postsexual encounter. While orgasm was reached, still there was … disappointment. Author waiting for words of affection from despised male, words that did not come.
Author knows better than to expect them. So why does she want them?
August 19
Author taking ballroom dance lessons.
Gardens off-limits for sex, as workers preparing for gala costume party in four days. Theme: A Long Ago Night in an Enchanted Forest. Sophia to wear green velvet dress from portrait in den. Author to wear vintage strapless black-sequined gown.
Author must immediately halt intake of bacon if gown is to fit.
(But Author still unwilling to give up bacon.)
August 20
Author has been thinking again.
In deepest heart of hearts, Author wants only one thing. The same thing everyone wants. The same thing everyone has always wanted.
Author wants to be loved.
Best chances of rewarding long-term relationship are with Dr. Andrew. But sexual relationship is interfering with bonding.
Therefore:
Sexual relationship with despised male must end.
CHAPTER
22
The Duesenberg rolled down the eighteenth fairway of Pebble Beach Golf Links with Darlene at the wheel, Lali riding shotgun and laughing as she waved to strangers like a homecoming princess on a float, and Grace and Sophia in the backseat, wearing enormous hats fit for a garden party with the queen. They were bringing the car to be displayed in the Concours d’Elegance.
Despite her hat, Grace wasn’t feeling festive. She’d been avoiding Declan for two days, ever since she’d realized that if she wanted a real relationship with someone—like Andrew—she had to end the affair with Declan.
She didn’t know if she was strong enough to do it. She didn’t know how to do it. How did you break up with someone you weren’t really “with” to begin with?
She knew what would happen. Declan would accuse her of thinking too much: she was having fun, so where was the problem? Then she’d feel like a freak for spelling out her cost-benefits analysis of continuing to have sex with him: the risk versus reward; the profit and loss; the return on investment. And she’d agree that that was all too analytical.
But it hurt too much to admit the real reason they had to stop.
She was falling for him.
Her heart beat faster whenever he approached, and her face lit up when they greeted each other. She laughed too much at his jokes and slipped his name into conversations with Sophia, Lali, her mother … anyone.
Her heart’s defenses against him were falling, one by one. If she didn’t save herself now, she would be emotionally obliterated when Declan abandoned her. And that day would come, she constantly reminded herself. He’d said nothing to make her think it wouldn’t, that he’d changed, that he was becoming attached to her.
There were moments where Grace thought maybe… . Moments when she’d catch him watching her from across the room, a soft half smile on his lips. Or when he’d catch her mood before she spoke, and ask if all was well, a crease of concern between his brows. Most of all, though, it was the moments after sex that got her, when he’d cradle her in his arms and dot her with tender kisses … but never, ever utter a word of what was in his heart. Each time, her hoping heart was disappointed. Each time, the pain of that disappointment grew more crushing.
Sophia had warned that sleeping with Declan would demand too much of her. What had started as a plot to heal her own heart by stomping on Declan’s had degenerated into frantically trying to protect herself, while he remained as impervious as ever.
She only had a couple of weeks left in Pebble Beach, and then she’d head back to Seattle. Declan was probably counting on that to end their affair for them. Only it wouldn’t. She would still be hoping to hear from him, hoping he’d come visit her, hoping there was a future with him.
The only way to save herself, and have closure, was to end the affair herself. Then, in the weeks that remained to her, she would try to lay the foundation of a long-term relationship with Andrew. It was the obvious, logical, intelligent path to follow.
The thought brought a sinking heaviness to her soul.
She heaved a sigh, miserable despite the beauty of the morning and the luxury of the Duesenberg. To either side of their route down the emerald grass stood white stanchions with catenaries of plastic chain drooping between them, cordoning off the classic cars from the mass of people who would soon be packing the fairway.