The Daddy Treatment

by Ava Sinclair

  “Is something wrong, Eli?”

  “No.” I click off the one of the troubling memory downloads I was viewing before Chance Brockman walked in. “And you’re right. I’m very fortunate. She’s got potential to be very receptive, provided there are no snags.”

  “Snags…that reminds me…” Chance sighs. “I need to apologize for that business with Mitzi.”

  I wave it off. “What’s done is done.”

  “I should have known better. I expected her to be on her best behavior, Eli. I thought she’d gotten past her jealousy, but it will take more work. She still needs proof that she’s not going to be eclipsed, still needs assurance that I love her enough to correct her.”

  I nod, understanding. Mitzi grew up as the oldest of eight children in a poor neighborhood. Her parents died young and her grandmother enlisted her to raise her younger siblings. She never had a real childhood or anything of her own. She couldn’t afford to leave home, and was so desperate to get away that she committed a crime hoping to end up in a short-term women’s unit. She didn’t realize the traffickers were in court the day of her sentence. Chance snagged her before they could and secured a contract for her rehabilitation. I don’t expect Mitzi will graduate from the program, however. Chance is smitten with her, and she with him. If she leaves, it will be as Mrs. Brockman, his forever little one.

  And Sugar? My intention was to save a life, to make hers better. It still is. One day, she may outgrow what I offer and move on. I can’t imagine I’ll be as fortunate as Chance. When I think on Sugar’s past, I wonder if I’ll be even be close.

  “I’m taking Mitzi to the playroom.” Chance looks at me. “She won’t repeat her earlier behavior. Will you be bringing Sugar?” He pauses. “She needs the socialization. It’s an important component.”

  “I know.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, seeking to stave off the headache threatening to form.

  “Wanting it to work won’t make it so,” my friend says kindly. “Bring her down. Any worries you are having about Sugar may be alleviated if she softens towards the others, towards what we’re offering here.”

  He’s right. Sugar has been introduced to the other women, but aside from the unfortunate incident with Mitzi has had no time to interact. I glance at my watch. She should be well-rested by now. I rise from my desk to fetch her down.

  When I reach her room, I find she’s already awake. Nora is there, laying out her clothing for the afternoon.

  “I’ll take over, Nurse Nora.”

  The older woman glances warily at me and walks over. “Are you sure?” She keeps her voice low. “Your ward seems out of sorts.”

  “She had a check-up this morning. And I’m sure.”

  Nora nods and leaves. As she does, I turn to see Sugar staring at me.

  “You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not in the room.”

  “That’s not what I was doing.” I stare at her, unable to help myself. She’s sitting on the bed, her hair tousled from sleep. Her complexion has improved in the short time she’s been here. She’s so damn pretty. I know what I did this morning made her ache with need; does she know that I ache every time I think of her? “How are you feeling?”

  “Numb.” She looks away, and I feel a stab of pain because I know she’s being honest. Worse, I know the numbness is an act of subconscious self-preservation from a woman still too guarded to feel.

  “May I sit down?” I nod to the edge of the bed.

  “What does it matter? Even if I say no, you have the power to sit down anyway.”

  “That’s true, Sugar. But I’m asking.”

  She regards me quietly then moves over, making room.

  “This place, Sugar… my place… is to help you. To transform you and the other women who find their way here.”

  “Transform.” She repeats the word, glancing towards the window before looking back at me. “Don’t you get tired of trying to change people?”

  I pause before answering. “Don’t you ever just get tired?”

  She drops her eyes. My question has struck a chord. She’s smart. She knows I see how hard she’s been working to erect a wall between herself and anyone who would get close to making her feel.

  “You think you understand me?” She looks up at me with hurt eyes.

  “I understand more than you realize.”

  “Why would you even bother?”

  “Maybe it’s the daddy in me, Sugar.”

  “Do you have children?” It’s the first time she’s asked me a personal question. It makes me smile a bit.

  “No, Sugar. In my world, having a child would require a wife and I’m not married. But a man doesn’t have to be a husband or a biological father to have paternal desires. It’s innate for me, and I consider it a privilege to shower a woman like you with the father’s love she was denied.”

  I have her attention. Sugar is looking up at me, listening.

  “This is an unfair society,” I continue. “The government favors the wealthy, Sugar. It makes it easy for those who can afford the foundation of family to have it and casts off those who struggle just to survive. People sometimes resort to crime to enter the system, thinking it’s the only way to get regular meals, routine.” I pause. “Even boundaries. We have women who have done just that. They do not understand how corrupt the system is, that once they enter it they become commodities. The paper you signed saved your life, Sugar. It kept you from falling into the hands of traffickers. It found you a home as long as you need it, and a chance to experience all the love of a happy childhood.”

  “You make it sound like I chose to be here. I didn’t.”

  “I understand that, Sugar. But even if it was on a subconscious level, is it possible that you — like some of the others here—wanted limits, even if they were the cold limits of incarceration? Could it be that you wanted security, even if it was within prison walls? We don’t always know why we do risky things. I think you wanted limits, you wanted security. But I want to give you the best of that, not the worst.”

  “And the sex? The touching? The…” Her voice trails off. “That woman…Mitzi.”

  “Ah, yes. Mitzi.” I nod. “Some women come to crave what we offer here on a physical level. If a woman has the capacity, the inclination…if that’s what she wants. If her daddy wants it…”

  “Her daddy?”

  “The women here think of their guardians as daddies.”

  I stand. I can see her digesting what I’ve said. I don’t want to overload her with too much to think about. I want to give her enough.

  “Nora has picked out a pretty outfit. Do you like it?”

  She eyes me. “The clothes are silly. Why do you dress us like little girls?”

  “To remind you that it’s okay to have a childhood, even as an adult. Come on now. Let’s get dressed.”

  I fetch the clothes, pleased when I turn back to see that she’s risen from the bed. She keeps her gaze on the floor as I remove her gown, and I don’t let mine linger as I dress her. I let Sugar put on her stockings. As she does, I walk to the dresser and pick up the necklace I gave her.

  “How do you know I don’t have a husband or boyfriend?” she asks.

  I smile as I turn back. “Because, young lady, if you had someone who loved you then you’d never have robbed that store.”

  She turns so I can put on the necklace. When I do, her fingers stray to the locket. She looks down. I find myself holding my breath. “I had a daddy once.” Sugar is staring at the locket. “He gave me a necklace, too, I think.” She lets go of the locket and looks up at me. “He left me.”

  I take her face in my hand. “I won’t. I promise.”

  Her lips part. She’s looking up at me as if she wants to say something. I want to hold her, to feel the softness I sense has seeped into her body, a softness that’s starting to melt the tension. But it’s not time. She’s right. I am in charge, but she has more control than she realizes. I want Sugar. I want her with every fiber of my being. But I
won’t take her until she begs me to.

  Chapter 10

  Sugar

  I’m a fighter. I’ve been fighting all my life. That’s what people in my social class do, especially the women. My fighting spirit has been my source of pride, but only now am I forced to admit that Eli is right.

  It’s exhausting. I’m exhausted.

  I told myself I wouldn’t submit, but I find myself submitting anyway. I submit to good food and naps and bedtimes and baths, telling myself I have no choice. But the truth is, these things are pleasant and restful and restorative and it feels good to give in.

  Before the exam, I was given a placebo, a sugar pill. I could be angry that Eli fooled me, but in truth I fooled myself. It felt good to be touched, to be made to feel. I submitted, because it felt good to submit.

  He’s taking me to a playdate. He tells me this as if taking a grown woman to a playdate with other women living as little girls is normal and healthy. I tell myself it isn’t. I remind myself that none of this is normal or healthy. But if it’s not healthy, then why do I keep stealing glances in his direction. Why does my body tingle when I think of his long fingers brushing my swollen clit? Why are my fresh cotton panties already soaked at the thought?

  He looks over at me, a small smile playing on his full lips. I feel myself flush, hoping the padded bodice of the lavender dress I wearing hides my hardening nipples. Does he know? I feel like my control is slipping away. I’m ashamed. I’m ashamed, because it feels good.

  I hear the sound of laughter as we head down the hallway on the ground floor of the manor. We enter a beautiful room with butter yellow walls and floor-to-ceiling windows facing distant rolling hills. Against another wall is a bank of shelves holding all manner of toys and games and books. In the corner, several young women are splayed out on the floor watching an adaptation of Black Beauty. One holds a plush toy horse against her chest. At a table, I see Mitzi holding court with several others who are coloring with her.

  It’s now that I notice the differences in their dress. Mitzi is arrayed as she was the first time I saw her. She’s in a flouncy party dress, this time paired with glittery high-top sneakers and tights printed with stars. But other women, while all appearing to be in their twenties to early thirties, are dressed differently. A tall, auburn-haired woman lays on a sofa ignoring the television. She’s dressed in ripped jeans and a t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of a rock band. She taps her foot in time to music she’s listening to through the earbuds she’s wearing.

  “That’s Chelsey. She’s sixteen.” The sound of the voice catches my attention and I turn to see Penelope at my side. I’d been so busy looking around that I didn’t even notice Eli leave. I feel a pang of hurt. Penelope takes my hand. “Would you like a snack?” As we head to the table, she begins to answer the question I haven’t even asked.

  “When we come to The Manor, we are all dressed the same. Like five-year-olds.” She smiles. “Then as we settle into enjoying being taken care of, it helps us decide what part of our childhood we want to relive, or maybe experience. Chelsey was sent to a work house. She never got to date. She never got to enjoy her teen years. Her daddy buys her all her favorite music. He’s taking her to a concert next week.”

  “We get to leave?” I ask with more enthusiasm than I intend. We’ve reached the table holding refreshments. A maid walks in, adding a plate of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies to a selection that includes brownies, colorful cupcakes arranged on a stand. There’s also a chocolate fountain I can’t stop staring at. At the base is a platter laid out with fruit, marshmallows, and pretzels for dipping.

  “There’s only milk to drink, I’m afraid,” Penelope says. “It’s kind of ironic that we get so many sweets on playdate day but no soda or lemonade. The daddies frown on it.”

  I listen as I pick up two chocolate chip cookies and put them on a plate decorated with a print of Peter Rabbit. The cookies are warm and pliable, the kind of cookies I fancy my mother would have made if she’d cared enough to bake cookies.

  “As for your question, women do leave. After we’ve settled, our daddies sometimes take us places. Some outgrow their daddies once they’ve gotten the security of a good childhood. Some of us find that all we need is right here, emotionally and physically. We go from daddy’s little one to daddy’s little wife. And some…” Penelope falters. “In rare cases, it’s not a good match. Those women just leave.”

  “And go where?”

  “Another placement.” Penelope pours me a glass of milk. She studies me as she hands it over. “How are things? You can talk to me. Or we can go play after snack time.” She gestures to a table in the corner. We walk over and sit down.

  I don’t want to talk about my experience. Penelope seems kind, but I’m more comfortable getting information than giving it. So I ignore her question and ask one of my own.

  “Why are we here?”

  “To be given a second chance. To be healed.” She’s parroting the standard line.

  “How are we chosen?”

  “I’ve never really asked, Sugar. They look for women they believe will be receptive. They look for sad, lost little girls.”

  “We aren’t little girls.”

  “Aren’t we?” She smiles. “The hurts we cling to the hardest, the ones that shape us… they are the hurts that form when we’re young. Sometimes the only way to overcome them is to go back. Fix them at the root.” She grows quiet for a moment. “Do you like Eli?”

  “Did he ask you to ask me? Is that why you’re talking to me? To get information?” My tone is more harshly paranoid than I intend. I instantly feel guilty. I’ve always prided myself on intuition, and Penelope doesn’t seem as calculating as I’m making her out to be. I sigh. “I’m sorry.” It’s rare for me to apologize, but she doesn’t seem angry.

  “Don’t mention it. I wasn’t happy when I came here. I thought I’d just bide my time. Ride it out. But I grew to love it. I grew to love the Colonel. But if I hadn’t, he’d have let me go. In a way, he’ll have to. We’re moving out in two weeks.” She smiles. “I’ll have to start dressing like a lady instead of a little one. I’m starting classes. At the university.”

  “The university?” I stare at her, shocked. It’s nearly unheard of for women from our class to go on to higher education, not since it became a privilege only for the wealthy.

  “It’s what I want. If I’d have wanted something else, he’d see I got it. It’s what the daddies here do. They raise us, and are available the rest of our lives. Even for the women who leave, they can always call for advice or encouragement. They make a lifetime commitment to be our daddies as long as we need them, Sugar.”

  My eyes are stinging. It takes a moment to realize what I feel are tears. I feel the pressure of a sob building in my chest, but not a sob of sadness. It’s the welling up of nostalgia for something I’ve never experienced. I look away, and as I do I feel a warm hand close over mine.

  “It’s okay. It seemed too good to be true for me as well, at least at first. It’s a fairytale, Sugar. We’re among the chosen ones. Our daddies are the best because they picked us.” She stands and a smile lights up her face. “Come on now. Let’s play.”

  Chapter 11

  Eli

  I don’t see Sugar until late the next morning when Nora escorts her to my office. She comes in clutching Sandy, her stuffed cat. When I ask her why she has it, she shyly tells me that Penelope has invited her to the suite she shares with her guardian, Colonel Bingham.

  “She wanted me to bring a plushy.” She takes a seat in the chair I gesture to on the other side of my desk. “It’s silly.”

  I lean back in my chair. “Silly. Poor choice of words, young lady. I prefer whimsical.”

  “I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman carrying a stuffed cat to a play date. I think that qualifies as silly.”

  Sugar turns her attention back to the orange cat. She doesn’t know I came into her room last night to check on her. She doesn’t know I saw how she
was hugging the cat to her chest. She doesn’t know that I stood there, my feelings of love and protection so overwhelming it was all I could do not to pick her up and cradle her in my arms. I know my needs are not like those of other men. But with the right woman, they are intense. Sugar feels like the right woman, but I have no way of knowing if she will outgrow me.

  “So what did you do yesterday?”

  She hesitates before answering, her eyes straying to the framed pictures and degrees on the wall.

  “What kind of doctor are you?”

  “A psychologist.”

  “But in the exam room…”

  “I’m capable of examining you inside and out, young lady.”

  She flushes. “You were a soldier?” Her focus is on a picture of me in uniform.

  “I was. The military recruited me.”

  “You were a fighter?”

  “I was with a psychological warfare unit. Covert stuff.” I lean forward, putting my forearms on the desk. “But I asked you a question, Sugar, and as usual you’ve deflected. Don’t think I don’t notice.”

  She shrugs. “I hung out with the others. Ate sugary snacks.”

  “Made friends?”

  “Obviously, if my stuffed cat and I have been invited to Penelope’s.” She eyes me warily. “Am I being analyzed?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “No. I was just curious about your day.”

  “Why did you leave me?” She seems embarrassed suddenly, as if she blurted out the question without meaning to.

  I rise from my chair and walk over to put my finger under her chin, tipping it upward until she has to look at me. “I didn’t leave you. I’ll never leave you so long as you have needs I can meet. If you don’t see me, I’m always close by.”

  “I don’t have any needs.”

  I lean over her. “I’m a lenient man, Sugar. But I don’t tolerate fibbing. Do you know what happens to little girls who lie?” Her eyes widen as I continue. “I put them over my knee, flip up their pretty dresses, yank down their panties, and spank their bottoms until they tell the truth. Is that what I need to do to you?”