Here/Now

by D. D. Lorenzo

  He spoke quietly and caressed the top of her hand with his thumb. Keeping enough distance to please the guard, Manny waited until his attention was on someone else before he spoke. He knew she was purposefully lying, but it would take gaining her confidence to find out why.

  Marisol watched his expression change as she was waiting. He grinned cruelly. She thought he resembled a shark, and it frightened her. When he began to speak his voice grated on her like jagged pieces of glass.

  “You would have done anything to save the woman? No you wouldn’t have, baby girl, I know you too well… and I also know about your history with Declan Sinclair. Let this be your warning; the next time you lie to me I’ll wipe my hands of you.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Manny,” she said, soft and slow. “I thought… I just didn’t know… it’s just Marchelle was driving that night, and…”

  He glared at her, effectively cutting her off mid-sentence.

  “Save it for your doctors, therapists, or the press—whoever you need to convince, chica. Do you think I’m a fool? You’re wasting my time by explaining the story you think I want to hear—or your twisted version of it.”

  Appearances were deceiving because, to the guard, it appeared he was holding her hand to comfort her. Manny knew how to deliver a subtle message, and he used this opportunity to convey his displeasure. He again squeezed her hand hard, hurting her. She’d had enough experience with her father to know not to cry out. His bicep strained against his shirt as he used the mildest form of discipline. He hoped she wouldn’t force him to use harsher methods.

  As soon as she was able, Marisol pulled her hand away from him.

  “What do you want from me?” she whispered.

  “You do nothing except what they tell you—at least, not until you hear from me, he directed. You will be a good girl. Perfect behavior, nothing less. I need time to sort out the mess you’ve created. I have the abagados looking at everything on the legal end. They are searching for… loopholes.”

  Now that he had her attention, he could relax—slightly. He wasn’t sure if she knew exactly what he was capable of when someone disobeyed his orders, but he was willing to bet she remembered what happened when someone displeased her father. Manny hoped he could control her. She was much too pretty to destroy. Reaching across the table he grabbed her hand again. He once again saw pain on her face. The delicate bones in her hand were much too fragile under his pressure.

  “The attorneys are good. They’ve given me several ideas of what to do on your behalf. They basically have informed me what this place can and cannot do. Your job is to behave while you’re here, do you hear me? Do exactly what you’re told. Be a model… patient.”

  He almost spat the last word, and when he pulled the hand he was holding once again, he saw her wince in pain. His clenched jaw gave her a good indication of how angry he was with her.

  “If your Papi were alive, he would want me to leave you here. To teach you a lesson.”

  Ah! A reaction!

  Invoking her father’s memory instantaneously made her scowl. On some level Manny liked her reaction. He could read the contempt she tried to hide. She didn’t like his authority, and as headstrong as she was she would never be a match for him. He liked the prospect of bending her strong will, or even breaking her if he so chose.

  Marisol bridled her response, choosing not to anger him further. He could be the key to her release. She couldn’t chance alienating him. She had been afraid of him, but reminded herself she was now a grown woman. She wasn’t afraid of anyone. The only reaction she tried to hide was when he spoke her father’s name. Wise choice! The memory did change her mood. Any memory of her father ate away at who she created, and what she’d become. She wouldn’t let ANYONE take it away from her.

  She was not Marianna Hernandez.

  She was Marisol Franzi.

  In that brief moment she reminded herself of the woman she had grown to be. She’d taken everything she learned from her father and put a feminine flavor to it. It made her a bitch—and she loved it! Manny thought she would be blindly obedient? Using him could be fun in so many ways. She wouldn’t jeopardize a chance to re-engineer Frankenstein’s monster! It would make her a fool—and that she would never be. He wanted to bring up her father? Her father’s influence on them both might just be their undoing—and it wouldn’t be pretty!

  In a move of quiet defiance, she returned his gaze with an equally harsh one. Her normal amount of sarcasm fell like acid rain. She may as well familiarize him with it.

  “Then, I suppose it is a good thing Papi isn’t alive to see this. Wouldn’t you agree?” She narrowed her eyes into corrosive slits.

  The battle of wills had begun.

  “Your impudence is showing, Mari,” he warned. “You should have more respect for the dead, especially your father.”

  “Are you here to help me Manny? If not, get the hell out.” She dismissed him as she pushed her chair back.

  He heard the disrespectful tone, and her insolence made him salivate at the unspoken challenge it held. He was about to remind her of her place, but the guard approached.

  “Visit’s over,” he said.

  Marisol pompously raised her eyebrows, thrilled she’d had the last word. She watched as he rose from his seat.

  He gave her credit for trying to posture herself, and proudly puckered his lips.

  “I’ll be back—Marianna.”

  She grinned like a Cheshire cat.

  He smugly adjusted his suit, smoothing his hands over the lapel and straightening his tie. He then gave her an equally boastful grin.

  “After all… I am your husband.”

  Now she was angry.

  Livid, in fact.

  Who in the hell did he think he was, dictating what she would or would not do? He was her equal. She didn’t depend on him, husband or not! He didn’t own the little girl he once knew; the same girl he’d married simply to get her into the States. She barely contacted him anymore. They rarely spoke. She hadn’t sought his help, or his advice, for quite some time. She never leaned on him as her husband! It was supposed to be in name only. The only thing their marriage was good for was to achieve what they both wanted. She wanted a way to quickly get into the United States; his was to have an excuse to discourage women from wanting anything more from him than a casual relationship. Why did he even make the smart ass statement about being her husband?! To frighten her? Intimidate her? Did he think she would obey him—his direction… his orders?!! Why did he feel obligated to watch every aspect of her life, like she were a bug under a microscope?! No! No, dammit!! Those days were long gone. She didn’t want him, or need him!

  The only benefit of allowing Manny to remain in her life at all, was that he had very influential friends… and his friends had excellent connections. She would have divorced him when she became a citizen in her own right, if not for the power of his acquaintances.

  Taking a few moments to calculate the purpose of Manny’s game, she relaxed. The possibility that, perhaps, he could serve a purpose—her purpose—was appealing. She was determined it would never be the other way around!

  Manny was not a man influenced easily. She’d spent years in his company. It was a game for her to sense what he was thinking, or feeling, then gauge the accuracy of her observations. She knew as much about him, as he did about her. She’d watched him grow into a powerful position within her father’s organization—into the man he now was. He watched over her because of some misguided sense of loyalty to her father. She observed his superior attitude—while he thought he observed her. She only let people see what she wanted them to see, and he would learn it soon enough. She’d played the game much longer than he had.

  She smiled smugly as she thought of Manny’s infantile effort to watch her. In this one, crucial area she believed she was superior to her husband—observation! She’d spent much of her time observing people to see how she could manipulate them. Manny might think himself an expert,
but she was her father’s daughter. Of course Manny exploited those he could control, but so did she. In fact, they both emulated this characteristic of her Papi. Carlos was a Master, and they’d watched him devise plans and adopt personas to get exactly what he wanted. They both shared other talents in the art of manipulation, as well. Where Manny used physical strength, she used sex. The idea of sexually exploiting Manny suddenly brought a smile to her face.

  As she contemplated her life at the Clifton T. Perkins Hospital, she knew she needed to get out through whatever means were available to her. The lawyer who came with Mr. Dietz to see her was worthless, and Manny said he was talking to his lawyers. His most certainly were higher caliber than Mr. Dietz and his friend, so it was imperative she get in his good graces to have access to them. She’d convinced herself this forced seclusion was temporary, because the entirety of believing she might be here for a long stay depressed her. Frankly, life here was beneath her. She at least belonged in a more luxurious facility. She despised every moment she spent here, and she especially hated therapy.

  The courts required she participate in therapy as part of her stay. They were so easily swayed it was laughable. How she could make them believe she was repentant, even sorrowful, was a joke. Her therapist was an idiot. He said she was mentally ill, and she dismissed him as just another asshole with an opinion. Wasn’t there an American saying about something like this? If she had a dime for each time someone said she was crazy, she could buy this damn hospital! Of course, then she would burn it down! There was nothing wrong with her! All they wanted was to collect their pitiful State paychecks! The difference between crazy and calculating, in her opinion, was that “calculating” was a survival technique. Maneuvering peons was part of her personality—and her pleasure. She considered it a very useful skill. Defiantly, she raised her chin and appreciated her… uniqueness.

  Marisol Franzi was FULL of personality! If they didn’t understand it, they could go to hell!

  As she tallied the number of men she’d recently encountered, she weighed their ignorance. Her attorney was more empathetic when she played the poor, misunderstood girl. It encouraged her to sharpen her skills on other men. Her therapist appreciatively commented on her progress, especially when Marisol would lean into him, giving him a better view which found him leering at her breasts. The guard, too, was easily manipulated. A quick, but accidental, hand movement to his crotch was followed by a false apology. She sniggered as she thought of them eating from the palm of her hand. She considered them the way a spider considers a fly that’s tangled in its web before it paralyzes them. Her venom was one of feigned complacency. Confident of her strategy she continued to spend free time concocting plans of exploitation and revenge.

  Of all the men she’d had contact with recently, Manny was definitely the most attractive, and playing with him could be fun. She’d forgotten exactly how sexy he was until today. He was muscular and had a very handsome face. His eyes were beautifully shaped and their gray color was striking for a Latino man. He was too big for the chairs in the visiting area, and as he shifted several times she wondered if his hands and feet were an indication of another appendage’s size. Even now the speculation had an effect on her, and she found herself aroused. Her under exercised libido begged for release, and she rubbed herself to ease the ache.

  Her father noticed Manny’s looks as well. She was little more than a child when he arrived with Carlos, but they both noticed how the older girls tried to get his attention. Carlos introduced him as “his adopted son,” but she overheard her father talking about the “new kid” with one of his men. He said he hand-picked Manny. From that day on, Carlos treated him just like his other children—especially when it came to discipline. Her father expected no less than complete obedience, and a reprimand from him was torture and what was left showcased various bruises. He believed they were merely reminders of questioned loyalty, and he believed disobedience was exactly the same thing.

  Everyone feared Carlos. He abused his wife and children. No one escaped his tyranny, especially not Manny. He was brutalized even more than she and her siblings. Carlos’ nickname was “General”, and he groomed his family like soldiers. He was very effective at suppressing his victims’ personalities. The tactics were meant to develop compliance and submission, no matter the physical cost. At home he received very little opposition; her siblings were easy to beat into submission. There were only two who frustrated him—she and Manny. They had strong constitutions and held their own.

  As she and Manny grew up and became stronger, the methods with which Carlos secured their submission also evolved. Carlos epitomized the word “control”. He measured his effectiveness through perfect obedience. He also was greedy. He protected his assets. Marisol and her sisters were considered his property, and she knew that one day they would be used for his gain. Manny was trained for all sorts of illegal activities which would benefit her father. Small crimes were first. Petty theft, delivery of a package, beating another child—all these things Carlos ordered of him. If Manny didn’t comply with orders, Carlos would have no use for him. Being an asset was better than death, and through it all she and Manny developed an unspoken, common bond.

  When her father died, she danced for joy—DANCED! Manny assumed the position of leadership. No one dared question or rebel against him because he’d been designated as Carlos successor several years before he died. He was the youngest person to ever take a lead position in a drug cartel. He was just twenty-one.

  Marisol was fourteen.

  As the new leader, the fate of her family rested in his hands. He honored Carlos’ memory by assuming responsibility for all of their needs. He assumed liability, protection and commitment for them all—especially Mari. He tried to act aloof when around her, but she knew he liked her. She saw the way he fought with himself when he was around her—and she also saw the hard evidence which betrayed him. It only enticed her more. Other than her father, she’d never met a man who wasn’t affected by her blatant sex appeal. When Manny rose to power things began to relax—and she began to go a little wild.

  Manny wasn’t like her father at all. Where Carlos would lose his temper with her, Manny was passive aggressive. No one spoke of Carlos’ atrocities, but everyone talked about Manny’s quiet control. She’d done some stupid things right after her father died, and when Manny was made aware of them, he wouldn’t speak to her other than to say he was disappointed. He ignored her. Completely. When he imposed his silence it only intrigued her and made her work harder on her charm. What did bother her was that he also ignored any of her needs, and cut her off from the rest of the family. He knew what would have the most impact with her; money, clothes, and make-up were her breaking points. She learned very quickly how to make him happy. She became an expert in public obedience and private gratification.

  No one else would dare challenge Manny—who was now known as Manuel. Only Mari was still allowed the privilege of calling him Manny. She became an expert in studying him, because she planned to use his power. He didn’t admit he was attracted to her, but she was attracted to him. He became even more determined to challenge himself physically. His beautiful body grew strong from relentless workouts as he grew into his new role. His biceps strained his clothes, his taut stomach perfectly filled his pants, which she stared at constantly. He was a beautiful man. Countless women began to vie for his attention while he gained the respect of the men. Manny’s confidence grew.

  Today reminded her she didn’t care for his attitude. He was cold. She knew he wouldn’t be helping her if he didn’t have a personal agenda concerning her. Why not? Her father did!

  Though he never told them, Carlos had planned to marry his daughters to men who would benefit the cartel. They were to be sold to the highest bidder, so to speak. He had goals and plans. They would be married to the men he chose. She’d overheard his plans and she felt like she had swallowed poison. She never told her sisters, especially her twin. The news would have sent them into
hysterics, not to mention she would have revealed her talent for spying.

  Her twin, Marchelle, was terrified of their father. Even mentioning him made her tremble. She hid whenever he came near. She had a good reason. They’d suffered one of his special methods of discipline. Even though they were little, he gave them no mercy. He placed their hands onto the hot surface of a fiery stove. Their crime was touching things on his desk without permission. After that day Marisol took to spying to monitor his every move, and Marchelle found every hiding place in their home. She hated the bastard!

  She was twelve when she learned of his plan for the girls. She ran it over and over in her mind, and one night everything became clear; if Papi thought she was good enough to sell her to a man for sex, she could use sex to get what she wanted!

  It was so obvious that she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before. Her father was a dreadful parent, but he was a brilliant businessman. If Papi believed his daughters pretty enough to whore out then it must be true!

  Having a will as strong as her father’s, she refused to be used as a pawn. She watched, listened and learned, undiscovered. Spying in the shadows of her father’s business meetings, she learned to become as resourceful as his soldiers. Devising a plan to secure her freedom, she learned patience, and as days and weeks turned into months, she deduced there was only one obstacle in her way.

  Carlos!

  She was determined to be successful. She had to be to survive. Sufferance had been beaten into her until it became one of her strengths, but she knew exactly what to do. Her father always drank when he conducted his meetings. She would wait until he was incapacitated—and then she would get rid of him! Once or twice a week was the norm. Then her destiny would be, quite literally, in her own, two hands.