by McNay, Dan
This was unbearable. He had melted her reserve away. All she wanted, more than anything else was to let him tie her up again and do to her whatever he wanted. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. It scared her to death. How could she give herself away like that? It smelled like destruction. And she wanted it with all her soul. But she didn’t think she could do it again.
There had been a john in the French Quarter that was hotter than hell. Tall and blonde like a Viking and who had the sweetest smile. And rich. He didn’t really need to pay for it, but he was kinky. He liked to bite and draw blood. She let him and she cried and reveled in the pain, and the marks took forever to go away. And it went on and on and she didn’t know how to stop. She would dream about him at night and wait days on end for him to appear. And weep, and tell herself not to show up when he called. She was addicted to the pain. It was her fulfillment. It was the dark morass of everything she deserved to be punished for. She made up a scenario about how she would kill him and then kill herself with her little revolver in the hollowed-out book on top of the refrigerator. The gun she had never fired. There was still one mark on her neck that never went away. Then one day it was over. He disappeared. No word. No trace. He had just moved away or had died. She went to look for him and no one knew where he had gone or why.
With time, she slowly came back to her wits and recovered. But here it was all over again. She couldn’t stop wanting what he had done and would do again.
* * *
She saw Jack’s wife out in front of the diner with her finger in Jack’s face. Heated words. Not much for being an example for the community. Daydee hadn’t really spoken to the woman since she had fired Jack. It was probably just as well. She knew that she had been dropped from her social circles. And eventually the woman would have to get back at her one way or another.
* * *
Winston stopped by to tell her he couldn’t pay the plot off for a couple of weeks. She told him ok. His quizzical look said it all. He wanted to take her to church again, but she put him off.
* * *
Daydee was out riding the mower around the grounds, trying catch up on the grass getting high. It was a hot afternoon despite it being October and she had on just a t-shirt and jeans and a big straw sun bonnet that she had picked up from the thrift store. The t-shirt was soaked. Her face felt bruised from the grass and dust. The mowing seemed endless. A sedan entered the cemetery and drove over to the office. She rounded her circle to see who it might be. It looked like Jack’s wife and a couple of women she didn’t know. Diane waved and Daydee headed back over to the building. She stopped a few yards short so she wouldn’t get grass and dust on the ladies. They were dressed like they had just come from church. It was Saturday, so it was something else. She climbed off and walked toward them, feeling like a waddling duck.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said. “If anyone has a teenager looking, I have work.”
The women looked away.
“What can I do for you?”
“Well,” Diane said, finally eyeing her. “Given the circumstances, we would like to relinquish our family plots here.”
“Ok… Would you like to come into the office out of the sun?”
“No.”
“Well ladies, I will have to research your accounts. I will need to write down your information.”
“We’ll wait while you go get a notepad,” Diane said.
Daydee took off her gloves and went to the office. She brought back a steno pad and a pen and handed them to Jack’s wife.
“Please write down everyone’s name and address and phone and who they think bought the plot.”
Diane looked put out that she had to be the secretary.
“Can’t you write it down as we tell you?” another of the ladies asked.
“Afraid not.”
Diane wrote and passed the pad on.
“I’ll need any receipts you might have. And of course it’s impossible to refund anything if there are graves occupied. And I’ve noticed that some of the contracts have a clause that does not allow for refunds at all. You all understand this?”
“We’ve found buyers for the plots,” Diane said. “There will probably be others to approach you as well.”
“What… oh never mind. I take it, the ladies auxiliary has decided that I’m not a good person.”
“We didn’t come here to discuss anything like that with you.”
“You want your shower gift back as well?” Daydee asked her.
“I’m sorry,” was all she got.
They handed the pad back to her and all climbed into the car and left. Daydee went inside. She sat down to rest. This meant she would be snubbed in the stores. She suddenly felt very lonely, something she hadn’t felt in years. The sharecroppers were no one that she’d ever want to hang out with. Her father and Winston were off their rockers. Sarah was probably pissed at her.
She rubbed her stomach and somehow understood it was the hormones, but it still didn’t matter. She’d have the baby to keep her company and to keep her busy. Lonesome was going away forever pretty soon.
* * *
It was Saturday evening. Daydee was sitting on her front porch with a glass of ice tea. Almost dinner time but she had no inclination to go make something. The sun hadn’t gone down yet. But the crickets had started serenading each other. She was exhausted. There had been a service at the cemetery. The first opening and closing. She had plenty of time to screw up the opening. The second morning found her on the phone to Sean. No one answered, so she went back to finish it up herself. The closing was the big-time work. You can’t just leave a grave open for days. She would make it look better next week. The grass would have to be replanted.
Sarah pulled up at the curb.
“Have you eaten?” she yelled.
“No,” Daydee hollered back. They were teenagers now, yelling like kids to each other?
“I just have the best chicken in town,” Sarah said, getting out with bucket and bags in hand.
She plopped it all down on the little table. Pulling a bottle of rum from her purse, she showed the label off and added it to the meal.
“There’s iced tea in the fridge,” Daydee told her. “You mind bringing the pitcher out. I can’t move. We are very tired.”
Sarah returned with another glass and the glass pitcher. They ate and Sarah convinced her to have a touch of the rum in her tea.
“So,” Sarah said, as they threw the remains into the empty paper bag. “I went to talk to Edward.”
“God.”
“So the bottom line is that I told him I would kill him if he touched you.”
“Sarah, stop.”
“How about I kill you if you touch him?”
“Please. I can’t deal with this. He seems ok. People change. You did.”
“Dee, you don’t have to be with me. But there are other decent men around. The guy who owns the Beacon. How about him?”
“He’s married, remember? He was at the doctor’s office with his wife. I know what you want,” Daydee told her. “I will try to be the best friend I can be.”
“Oh fuck you.”
“Your friend came to see me,” Daydee said.
“What?”
“From Effingham.”
“What?” Sarah said.
“She smelled me or something. She snooped.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Have some more rum,” Daydee told her. “Don’t fight with her. You need to be the center of your universe, not me. I can’t promise you anything. I know it doesn’t feel good.”
“What do you know, you stupid whore,” Sarah said. “When was the last time you really felt anything for anybody?”
Daydee couldn’t answer her. Sarah got up and walked off to her car and left.
* * *
She was awake at two in the morning, feeling miserable and achy and alone again. If she went out to her father in the middle of the night, would he even recognize her? It would be t
oo scary. She wandered around the house and thought of having a drink and cigarette and talked herself out of both. There was nothing on television. She ended up out in the garage plunking away at the old piano there. It sounded terrible. Like she was hurting it. Finally, returning to bed, she tossed and turned for what seemed like eternity. The sun would never come up.
The next night she let herself fantasize about him.
* * *
Edward was coming out of the diner one morning as she was driving to the hardware store. She pulled to the curb next to him and rolled down the window. He leaned toward her like they were teenagers.
“Tonight at six? I’ll pick you up?” he asked.
“Sure.”
It was as if the last two weeks hadn’t happened. Maybe he wouldn’t eat her up.
Chapter thirteen
They had a quiet dinner. They flirted. He talked about a court case. They were going to go dancing. That was the plan.
Daydee wanted to tell him about being afraid of him, but just couldn’t bring herself to do it. You can’t confess to the enemy. They did make it to the club where a band was playing, although she was feeling tired. He agreed to just a short visit. The dance floor began to make her woozy. His chest against her and his gentle hand on the small of her back. He nuzzled her neck. She was hotter than she could ever remember. The room was swirling.
“Let’s get out of here,” she told him.
Then she was spirited away to the car and taken to his house. It was all so quick and dreamlike. She was naked on the bed and on fire. He still wasn’t hard. Everything he did was perfect. And she came and he brought out the silk neckerchiefs and they repeated the ritual from the last time. Then she was undone and they dozed. Sometime during the night, he awoke her and made love to her again with his mouth and she came again and then she passed out.
It was very late in the morning when she awoke. The sun was high outside. She was hung-over and unsteady and cold. She looked for her clothes but couldn’t find them, so she borrowed one of his shirts and went out to look for him. He was stretched out by the pool with coffee and the Paris newspaper. There wasn’t ever much to it. Usually only five or ten pages.
“You finally got up,” he said.
“I don’t feel so good.”
“It was a wonderful night.”
“Yeah,” she said.
She started to pour herself some coffee and he handed her a glass of orange juice. She drank it and it seemed to help. Now she didn’t want the coffee.
“Where are my clothes?”
“You really need them? I like you naked.”
“It’s hard to try to go anywhere naked, love.”
“Take the day off. I’m just going to hang around here.”
“I need to get some stuff done.”
She stood up but grew dizzy. She sat back down.
“What’s wrong with me?”
“You should go back to bed for a bit. Get some more sleep. You catching the flu or something?”
She tried to stand again but had to grab the table to steady herself. He was up and beside her.
“Come on,” he said softly.
She hung on to him and he helped her back to the bedroom and back to bed.
“Man, am I fucked up.”
He unbuttoned the shirt. She feebly protested.
“Edward, I’m not up for it.”
Then he was on top of her. She didn’t have the strength to push him away or get away from him. This was turning her on even though she didn’t want to be. Why was this happening? He was as hard as a rock. He was inside. He had promised not to. She tried to hit him, but her arms were lead and all she could do was squirm.
“Edward, stop!” She was crying, but she was far away and it came out like a whimper.
He just went on and on forever and then he came. He was off her as quickly as he had gotten on.
“I’m sorry, baby. I couldn’t help myself.”
“You promised.”
“It will be all right.”
He tucked her in.
“Sleep a little. I’ll call the doctor.”
The room spun around and she thought she might throw up, but she passed out.
* * *
When she woke up again it was evening. The sun was setting outside. She was groggy and sore all over. It seemed a big effort to just sit up in bed. She was dressed in a fluffy see-through baby doll nightie. She couldn’t remember putting it on. Was it something Edward had given her? All she remembered was his love-making that morning. She hoped the baby was all right. Her crotch was tender. She couldn’t remember it hurting that much or them going at it too long.
She made an effort to get her feet over the side and on to the floor. The wood was cold. The evening air was cool. The thing she had on offered no warmth whatsoever. She started shivering. She tried to pull the bedspread off to wrap herself in but it was too big and heavy for her to manage it. She could hear the television somewhere in the house. She tried calling his name, but couldn’t muster much of a voice. She stood, rather shakily, and went to find him.
She had chills. He was sitting on the large sofa in his living room watching a football game. He was snorting a line of cocaine on the coffee table in front of him. She went in to him.
“Edward,” she said weakly.
“You’re awake.”
“I’m freezing. Is there a robe or something I can put on?”
“Come and sit next to me. I’ll warm you up.”
“Seriously.”
He got up. “Sit. You still don’t look too good. I’ll find you something.”
He came back with large shawl. It was fancy and looked like a Mexican senora wrap, but at least it was warm. He put his hand over her hard nipple for a second. She pushed him away and he laughed.
“I’ll make some tea.”
She sank back into the couch and gazed at the television. The game was just noise. She felt like she was dying. She couldn’t ever remember having the flu this badly. Maybe he would call a doctor for her or take her to the hospital.
He came back with the tea.
“Maybe you should take me to the hospital,” she said.
“Have some tea and we’ll go. You’ve not had any liquid since this morning. I don’t want you passing out in the car.” He held the cup for her and tried to help her drink. She shoved it away, making it fall from his hand and spill on the carpet. The cup didn’t break.
“You are fucking drugging me!”
“You’re sick,” he said. “I think I’ll just take you back to bed.”
She shoved him away and got to her feet. She’d find her clothes in the bedroom and get out of here. He grabbed her wrist.
“Please,” she said.
He pulled her to him and she couldn’t seem to resist him, though she wanted to. He kissed her and stroked her forehead. She was sweaty. He parted the shawl that she held over her bosom and began caressing her breasts.
“Edward, please.”
His hand was on her crotch. She had no panties on. He was massaging her gently there. It ached.
“Stop!”
He put his arm around her and walked her back to the bedroom. He pushed her down on the bed, and she was hitting him, but it had no effect. She was too weak. He tied her wrists to the headboard. He blindfolded her. She kicked at him. Then there was something else he was putting around her ankles. Metal. Her feet were shackled!
“God damn you! Let me go!”
“I’ll leave you to think about things. We’ll talk in the morning.”
And he left her there.
* * *
She slept badly. Every time she turned she was reminded of where she was. There were several times during the night that she would awaken, suddenly sit upright, sure that he was in the room. But he wasn’t. Another bout with his body would make her try to injure him in some way. It was probably the reason he wasn’t here sleeping. In the early morning hours she just fell asleep, exhausted, and didn’t wake agai
n until the sunlight was in the windows. She felt better. He was sitting nearby reading the morning paper. She pulled herself up to sitting. She slid her knees up and felt the shackles under the covers. She was still in the baby doll outfit.
“So what’s the idea?” she asked rather feebly.
“You’re awake. Good.”
He got up and brought a bed tray with plates covered to keep them warm. And coffee and orange juice. She shuddered involuntarily when he sat it before her and brushed her arm.
“I thought it was a good idea to feed you. You haven’t eaten in a day and a half.”
“Why should I take any of this? You’ve been drugging me.”
“Because you’re hungry?”
He was right. She couldn’t stop herself. She was ravenous.
“There’s nothing in any of it, so don’t worry,” he said.
“I’m getting out of here.”
“Relax. The circumstances might grow on you.”
“You’re nuts. This is kidnapping.”
“You came of your own free will. Nobody is knocking on my door looking for you. The sheriff is on my payroll.”
She ate and tried to think about a way out.
“I’ve got business today. So I thought I’d leave you here to let it all sink in. It could be very cushy here for you if you were willing to accommodate me a little. You could have anything you wanted. Your child will get the best of everything.”
“What makes you think I want to be forced?”
“But you want it in some way or you wouldn’t have allowed me to get this far.”
“You drugged me at dinner.”
“Perhaps I should have done your wrists too? Maybe stuck something up your ass?”
Daydee said nothing. She couldn’t look at him. She would cry and beg if she opened her mouth. She was still achy and sore and hungover.
“Good. Well, I’ll be home by five. We can talk more then. The housekeeper will be here at ten. You can hide from her or you can let her make you lunch. She will wait on you hand and foot, except for driving you anywhere or getting you out the gate. She doesn’t have keys.”