White Lady

by Bell, Jessica

  “You’re not freaking out on me, are you?” Kimi’s voice is slow, calm, soothing. I stop dead in the middle of my room, close my eyes, and take a long deep breath through my nose. All I want to do is talk. But I would sound ridiculous. And what if Dad came home? He’d hear me babbling and wonder what was going on. I don’t need that right now.

  Don’t.

  Need it.

  “I took two,” I say, and sit on the edge of my bed. A spring snaps and throbs through the mattress.

  “You what? Jesus.”

  “You said they were just caffeine!”

  Silence. Fuck fuck fuck fuck …

  “Kimi, please—”

  “If I’d told you they were uppers, you probably wouldn’t have taken them.”

  “Uppers? I’m on— What the fuck is an upper?”

  “Speed, Mia. You’re on speed.”

  Oh my God. I look out my window, as if the cops are gonna come charging in to arrest me at any second.

  Kimi laughs—deep, velvety. Suddenly I forget about the cops and think about kissing her.

  I blink. Hard. Whoa.

  Now I feel calm. But it only lasts a short moment. “Why did you want me to take speed?”

  “Was a test.”

  “Why?” I squeal, then slam my hand over my mouth. Why am I speaking so loudly?

  “Hey, Mia?”

  “What?”

  “You’re gonna be fine.”

  “Um … can you please just tell me what’s going on?”

  Kimi sighs; something muffles the receiver. I can hear tapping, and saliva swishing around Kimi’s mouth as if she’s sucking on a lollypop. My crotch tingles.

  Holy fuck, why am I so turned on and so freaked out at the same time?

  “Um. I needed to test you.”

  “Needed?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did I pass?” What am I talking about?

  “A-ha.”

  It starts to rain again. It patters on the windowpane like a sweet lullaby. I stare at my reflection in the glass and tip my head to the side. My mascara has smudged.

  Pretty.

  “Mia?” Kimi asks, her voice rising in tone a little. “I need your help with something. I need to you to help me fuck someone up. Can I trust you?”

  Chapter 18

  Sonia: Did I really say “lemme”?

  I have had three double bourbons on a school night. Nash has had five, and has almost finished his packet of Drum. He is rolling his last slither of tobacco now, grinning like an idiot. A handsome one, though. And an awkwardly charming one.

  I am a lucky woman.

  The street spins around me like a Google map virtual view, in a slow and beautiful cinematographic glide. No nausea, just a sluggish yet embraced lull in my tired and abused brain. It has been a long time since I felt the effects of alcohol, and it is absolutely splendid. I can still hold it down pretty well. Remarkable really. Even more remarkable that I think it is something to be proud of. But I am. Especially in front of Nash, who is still grinning like an idiot, lighting his cigarette, staring into the sky, exhaling his smoke as if a sacrifice to the moon. The man on the moon. I like to think of him as God——an optical illusion, something we wish to perceive.

  “What do you think of God?” I say with a few too many pauses between words. I mark the end of the question with a mouthful of bourbon. Or perhaps it is to prevent myself from vomiting more nonsense.

  “Not a bad guy.” Nash takes another drag. “Met him at the pub last weekend.” He exhales with a smirk. A short gust of wind shifts his cap, but he pulls it back down before it comes off.

  “Since when do you go and see live music?” I say.

  “I don’t.”

  I frown and draw my chin into my neck. A bubble of vomit rises up my throat, but I catch it just in time and swallow it back down with a wince.

  I squint at Nash, with my head tilted to the side. I feel sixteen again. The day I tried to act cool in front of him in Chemistry. I recited the periodic table from top to bottom, after looking at it for only two minutes. I saw Nash smile at me. I thought he was going to say something, but Ibrahim slapped him on the back and started whispering about getting high behind the shelter shed at lunch. I will never forget how much I wanted to be invited. I will also never forget how much I regret being invited the next day.

  My face is hot, the tips of my fingers cold, my palms and feet sweaty. I fling my head back and look into the sky—the stars are hidden behind a thick mass of grey cloud illuminated by the city’s glow.

  “I said God. Do you believe in him?” I look back down and clear my throat.

  Nash squashes his top lip to his nose in thought, takes another sip of his drink using the hand that is holding the cigarette.

  “Actually, do not answer that. Lemme ask you another question.” Wow. Was that a slur? Did I really just say lemme?

  Nash taps his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. It’s the first time the wind hasn’t blown the ash away.

  Nash looks into my eyes; the streetlights reflect off them like travelling souls. I count the seconds of silence in my head and divide it by pi—just for fun.

  “What would you say if I said I was serious about the Gold Coast?” I soften and lower my voice, trying not to sound drunk. “It is their last year of school; they can look after themselves.”

  Nash smiles and gets the waiter’s attention. He asks for the bill.

  “What are you doing?” I say. Why does he keep ignoring me? Are we leaving? I was just beginning to relax. I need this. I have needed it for a long, long time. I am not done. Need another drink, but I do not have the energy to protest. I look at my hands, all four of them, blurring into each other.

  Nash smirks at me, lifts his pelvis, pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, slams it on the table like a deck of cards.

  I laugh and down the remainder of my drink. I close my eyes and sigh.

  School. Right. Forgot for a moment. That was nice.

  The waiter arrives with the bill. Nash pays, shoves my hand away when I try to pay my share. Nash stands, holds out his hand to help me out of my seat. I put my hand in his. He pulls lightly, and I float to my feet. I fall into him, the top of my head on his chest, supporting the weight of my body. Both arms hang limp by my side. Nash kisses the top of my head and breathes into my hair like it’s a secret.

  We stand, joined brain to heart. In silence.

  “Can I please stay with you tonight?” I whisper.

  Nash flicks his cigarette onto the road, levers me into a standing position, and takes my hand. He leads me towards his car.

  For a very brief moment, I wonder what it would feel like to stab him.

  Chapter 19

  Nash: She’s her mother’s daughter.

  The bourbon just hit me. Great example I am. For my daughter. Drunk driver. Smoker. Pizza-eater. All hidden behind the mask of a Physical Education teacher. Crikey. I got a lot going for me, don’t I? I promise myself I won’t do it again. But I reckon I will. It’s just the nature of being human, I s’pose. The single-dad status could also be my downfall. But the calming effect of the alcohol makes me feel like my life is great. In this moment. Nothing to worry about. At least not until the morning.

  By the time I roll into my driveway, Sonia is fast asleep, clutching a bottle of water to her chest. Her face is squashed against the passenger window, mouth open wide, a cone-shaped mist painting the glass like the voice of a ghost. I turn off the ignition. The car rumbles to a halt.

  I admire Sonia’s beauty in the after-hush of the engine growl. Her eyelids flutter. The tiny creases at the corners of her eyes are haunting; I can’t figure out whether they’re from too much smiling or crying.

  Sonia opens her eyes and wipes drool from the corner of her mouth with the top of her wrist. She makes a strange noise—a combination of a squeak and groan—and jolts upright.

  “Where are we?”

  “My house.”

  “Why?”

&
nbsp; “You wanted to come.”

  Sonia gawks at me as if I’m talking rubbish, then rolls her window down and sniffs at the grassy post-rain air with her eyes closed. She stretches her arms as far as they can go before colliding with the windscreen, and relaxes into her seat again.

  “Right,” Sonia swallows as if her throat hurts, then frowns. “Where were we tonight?”

  I laugh. “Dexter’s.”

  “Oh! Right.” She swivels around and looks at the backseat. “Why are we sitting in the car?”

  “Just got here.”

  “Oh.” Sonia laughs under her breath. “I’ll shut up now.” She grabs her handbag from between her feet, opens the passenger door, and steps out. She clutches at the door handle as if it’s the only thing protecting her forehead from the ground.

  I get out of the car too. We shut our doors simultaneously, and the sheet metal clunk echoes through the street.

  “I’ve got a question.” I scratch my beard. “Why don’t you ever invite me over?”

  Sonia shrugs and rummages through her handbag. She pulls out an army knife, stares at it, drops it back in, then finds her lipstick. She twists the deep-red-velvet balm through the top of the tube, dabs it on her bottom lip, and then rubs it against her top one. She contorts her mouth to the left as if she were dislodging something from her teeth with her tongue, drops the lipstick back in the bag, and fixes a glare on me as she snaps it shut.

  “Perhaps it is … dangerous.” Sonia laughs with unease.

  “Dangerous.” I repeat, lowering my chin. “But he’s gone.”

  “It’s not that. Mick and I are really messy. You might trip over something, hit your head on the edge of my coffee table, and die.” Sonia winks. Her thong scrapes on the concrete.

  “Well, clean it. Mia and I are coming over for dinner.”

  “ Mia and you? When? I am not sure that is a—”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  We stare at each other, from opposite sides of the car, across the hood. Heat radiates from it like midday sun from a wet road. Sonia purses her lips. “Well. We can make it work, I imagine. But you must tell Mia that Mick will be there. If you leave it to the last minute, all hell will break loose. You know they—”

  “I know. I know.” I clench and release my jaw.

  “Okay. I am just—”

  “You told Mick?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not sure what I am worried about, really. He will probably just gyrate his hips, make orgasmic sound effects, and—”

  I stare at Sonia, expecting her to continue. She stares back. We both laugh. I’m not sure if it’s nervousness or genuine jest. It’s been months since we’ve been in the sack together. Not purposefully. Time flies by without even realizing it. Especially with teenage kids.

  I move to Sonia’s side of the car and put my arm around her shoulders. I kiss her softly on the nose. With Sonia’s head on my shoulder we walk to my front door. Her hair smells like apricots.

  As we approach my porch, I notice a heavy thumping and muttering, and fast footsteps on a hard surface, as if someone’s doing aerobics. But we have carpet. It doesn’t sound like feet on carpet.

  I open the door and we step inside. Sonia gasps and brings a hand to her mouth to stunt a laugh. Mia is jogging on the kitchen counter with her arms stretched out from her sides, reciting the lyrics of “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane.

  “One pill makes you larger

  And one pill makes you small

  And the ones that Mother gives you

  Don’t do anything at all

  Go ask Alice

  When she’s ten feet tall

  And if you go chasing rabbits

  And you know you’re going to fall…”

  I don’t like to swear. I really don’t. But what the fuck? Mia smiles, not at all put off by us, as she continues to jog and chant the lyrics as if they were pumping her full of air.

  “What’s going on?” I say, closing the front door behind me with my foot.

  “Tell ’em a hookah-smoking caterpillar

  Has given you the call to

  Call Alice

  When she was just small…”

  I frown and smirk at the same time, rub my hand over my beard, then put my hands in my pockets. I don’t know what to do with them. My little-boy instincts make me want to point and squeal. And then I realize this is my daughter. Acting crazy. On my kitchen counter. Singing song lyrics that are more than forty years old.

  Sonia looks at me with a huge grin, glances at Mia and back at me again. She points in the direction of my bedroom with her thumb. “I will just—”

  I laugh under my breath as Sonia tiptoes out of the room.

  But Mia is still jogging. She’s going to make herself pass out if I don’t get her to stop.

  “Mia, get down.”

  “I’m not finished.” She puffs.

  “With what?”

  “Working out. Burning calories. Getting thin, man!” Mia emphasizes thin as if trying to dislodge a parasite from her tongue.

  “At two a.m.?”

  “I think the question you’re looking for, Dad, is ‘On the kitchen counter?’”

  “That too.”

  Mia laughs, breathes, laughs, breathes, laughs, and starts to slow down.

  “I’ve been going for about an hour anyway.” She sniffs.

  “An hour?” I say, with a bit too much shock in my voice.

  “I guess. I can stop.” Mia levers herself to the ground and squats, balances herself on all fours, and breathes heavily, like she’s about to give birth.

  I look at my toes, embarrassed—for myself, for her—especially for her. Should I go over to her? Rub her back? Bring her some water? Say something? I dunno what. I’m not good at this stuff. I even get a bit queasy when I see a bloody tampon in the loo bin. I’m a guy. Cut me some slack.

  “Do you … need anything?” I say, unsure whether I’m s’posed to speak or just let her be.

  She shakes her head. Her fringe flicks sweat across her face.

  I turn to leave, then turn to face Mia again, step forwards, change my mind, return to my original position. Crikey! I really don’t know what the “right” thing to do is. I want to ask her what the hell is going on. She’s as high as a bloody kite. Of course she is. But maybe the confrontation can wait until tomorrow. I s’pose that would be the fairest.

  “Dad. Just go to bed.”

  See? I nod. “Okay. You’re okay?”

  “Yes.” Mia groans as if in pain, but I choose to believe it’s just annoyance. If I think too much about the stress she’s put her body through, I might not be able to resist my overprotective instincts and will rush her to the emergency room. And that would be “embarrassing.” So I hold back. She looks like she will be fine after a good sleep. I hope.

  “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning?”

  Mia nods at the floor, still squatting, and flicks me away like an insect. I leave, shaking my head. I told Sonia something was up. Something is up. But is the something simply a newfound enthusiasm to get in shape? Could I be reading too much into it?

  I open my bedroom door, and Sonia is already under the covers, wearing one of my footy T-shirts, scrunching the doona up to her chest with a cheeky grin on her face.

  “What was all that about?” she says, as if performing in a pantomime.

  I kick off my shoes, undo my belt, and pull down my jeans. I fold them and put them in my drawer where all my jeans go. The shoes I leave in the center of the room, one upside down, the other right-side up. I can handle not putting them outside for one night.

  “She’s trying to lose weight,” I say. I reckon saying it out loud helps me believe it more.

  “That looked like a lot more than trying to lose weight.”

  I cringe. I don’t want to hear it. I get into bed with my T-shirt still on. I pull Sonia close. She rubs her thigh against my erection.

  “I think she needs
a boyfriend,” Sonia whispers, and bites my ear.

  I laugh and pull the doona over our heads. “You’re the one who needs a boyfriend.”

  “I thought I already had one.”

  I cup Sonia’s left breast in my right hand. “But weren’t we just—”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Good. ’Cause I’m getting tired of being the teacher’s pet.” I wink and slip my hand between Sonia’s legs.

  Sonia’s eyes roll into the back of her head, and she whispers in a really low voice, “Fuck me like I’m dead.”

  For a split second I want to pull away, but my dick is so hard I ignore my instinct that she’s thinking of Ibrahim.

  I enter her and she says it again. And again and again, a little more softly each time, until we both come.

  After a few moments of catching my breath, I bring it up.

  “You’ve never said that before.”

  “Said what?” she says.

  “What you said. About being dead.”

  “Dead? Who’s dead?”

  I laugh nervously. “Are you messing with me?”

  “No. Why would I mess with you? What are you talking about?”

  “You said, uh—” I clear my throat. “Fuck me like I’m dead,”

  Sonia glares at me.

  “More than once,” I add.

  Her jaw drops, and a tear escapes the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry. I— I don’t remember.”

  Chapter 20

  Mia: I may look like a cow, but you can go eat shit if you think you can put me in a field and bark at me.

  Having pulled an all-nighter, I get to school early. I felt totally cool when I left the house, still energetic—less so—but motivated for the day.

  But the comedown.

  Man. It’s just hit me.

  Feels as if I’ve been injected with the entire world’s lack of enthusiasm. My head is full of bees. Buzzing. In slow motion. As if trying to hypnotize me.

  Mah he-eh-eh-eh-ed

  Is full of beeeeez, yeah.