Whenever we went into a store together—a supermarket or department store or a flea market, it didn't matter—he would pause outside of it and hunker down in front of me. "Now, you're my good girl and I know you already know how to behave correctly in there, but I just want to remind you that you are to stay right by my side, no wandering away. And you're not to touch anything. If you want something, you're to ask me for it, and I'll get it for you if I want you to have it. Yes, Daddy?"
"Yes, Daddy."
And he was great about doing what he'd said he do and not just in situations that meant he had to remember to punish me when we got home. He'd suggested we use flea markets and Goodwill types of places—which we wisely expanded to include garage and yard sales, too—to collect little movies, and by the end of the summer, we had amassed a pretty decent collection of them. He'd also started buying me little books—without me ever having said anything—so that he could read to me at bedtime. The Wind in the Willows and Stuart Little and Where the Wild Things Are and Winnie the Pooh books began to occupy a small bookshelf he'd put in the bedroom, just for me.
One of the ways he'd managed to make me feel incredibly loved was not what one would expect to trigger that feeling in me. I have a bad habit. It was one that he'd noticed before but hadn't gotten to the point of doing anything about. It wasn't overly bad for me or anyone else. Instead, it was a kind of insidious naughtiness, one that most Daddies would never have noticed, few would bother to comment on, and only one in a million would actually bother to threaten to do anything about it.
Especially in this case, because this situation was fraught with negative emotions and terrible insecurity. And yet he didn't hesitate to address it with me, even though it was quite likely to result in him holding me as I dissolved into a puddle of bodily fluids of varying sources.
I had been going to join him in the bedroom as he got out of his uniform and into civvies, walking into the bedroom behind him, saying, in a timid tone, "Is it okay if I come in here and talk to you while you get undressed?" Then, when he didn't immediately say, "Yes, of course," I immediately began to backtrack, verbally and physically.
"It's okay if you don't want me to. Sorry."
But not before he replied, in a manner that stopped me dead in my tracks as I tried to duck out of there as if I'd never been there at all. "I can see, little Miss Tahlia, that I'm going to have to paddle that particular naughty habit out of you," he drawled at me, low and deep as he turned to give me a jaundiced look.
"What? But…" was about all I could get out.
He crooked a finger at me, and I came over to him as if the paddling was imminent—slowly and reluctantly, knowing the fate of my backside was in those big hands of his.
When I got there, he hugged me tightly, saying, "You're not going to be punished. I just wanted to make you aware of a habit you have that drives me crazy."
He gaveth and tooketh away in the same sentence. It was nice that I wasn't going to be paddled, but I hated hearing that there was something I was utterly unaware of doing that he hated so much!
"What is it?" I asked, fearing the answer greatly.
Mane smiled at me, leaning over to kiss me gently. "I love you something fierce, little girl."
"I love you, too, Daddy."
"I know that, angel. And I'm not upset at you. I'm just mentioning it because it's something I'd like you to work on, and if a paddling will help, I'm certainly willing to deliver one."
I swallowed hard but didn't say anything. It seemed safer, somehow, at least until I learned what the transgression was.
"Sometimes, I worry that you don't really feel my love in here." He touched my breastbone.
"Why?"
"I don't think you're even aware of it, but you apologize to me all the time, when I want you to know—I want you to feel safe enough and secure enough in my love—that you know you don't have to do that." He lifted me onto his lap. "Like just now. I always want you around me. I would duct tape you to me, if I didn't think it would give you a rash. I love it when you come into our bedroom to talk to me, especially after I've been at work all day and you've been left home all by yourself, with no Daddy to look after you. I like reconnecting with you like that—me, talking about my day and, you, talking about yours. I like the intimacy of it, and it just feels right to me to keep my little one, who is prone to getting herself into trouble without adult supervision, in the same room with me."
He gave me a peck on each cheek. "You are never a bother and never a burden. You never could be either one of those things to me. You don't need to say that you're sorry for wanting to be with me. I like you shadowing me, knowing that you want to be with me."
I worried my lip and kept quiet.
"Like I said, I don't even think you're aware that you're doing it, really. It's automatic to you. But I'm going to try to bring it to your attention when it happens. Not to scold you or make you feel bad in any way. No, not at all. Just the opposite, in fact." He squeezed me again. "To help you feel good. I want you to feel secure in my love and in our life. I know that won't happen overnight; I do. But it's something I want you to work towards, because it hurts my heart when I hear you being so timid and apologetic about something that is exactly what you should need and want from your Daddy."
Mane began to rock us, just slightly, before he continued. "The only time you have to say 'sorry' is when you've done something wrong. And wanting to be with me, waking me up when you don't feel well, needing to cry or wanting a hug, you never need to apologize to me for any of those kinds of things, little love. They're what this very intimate relationship is made up of—needing and wanting very special, precious things from each other that I will only ever find with you, and you will only ever find with me."
Tears were streaming down my face by the time he said the last word, and he fell back with me in his arms, turning to hold me against the entire long length of him, literally the embodiment of my safety and security.
When I had calmed down, I looked up at him. "What you said was incredibly beautiful, Daddy."
His cheeks flushed red. "Thank you. Are you okay? You know I just want you to always know how loved you are and how proud I am of you."
"I know, Daddy, I know. You show me all the time, even when you don't say it, and even if you don't think I do or I don't exactly act like I do, I do."
But the most surprising thing to me about our relationship was utterly simplistic and entirely free and went against everything I believed in as a little. Everything. I. Believed. In. And it was hard for me to even recognize that it was something I liked, because it really shouldn't have been.
It was the simple power of a very simple word.
"No."
And he used it all the time with me, for big things and small, and I quickly learned that trying to talk him out of it was a delicate matter and that I never really knew how far I could go with whining.
That was a particularly painful lesson to learn.
No, I couldn't have candy after just having had dessert.
No, even if I couldn't sleep, I had to rest quietly in bed during my afternoon nap time.
No, Daddy would not take me to see Deadpool 2.
No, I couldn't not go to yoga, unless I was sick.
I thought I had gamed the system there, because I then, immediately, wholeheartedly, agreed that I was sick. Big, big, big mistake. Even bigger than the whining one.
Mane came to stand in front of me and tipped my chin up to him, using his other hand to feel my forehead. "What's sick, babygirl?" he asked, all concerned about me.
"Uhh, my stomach. Tummy's not feelin' well, Daddy. So, no yoga for me." I tried not to sound too happy about it.
"You're absolutely right," he agreed. "C'mon. Let's get you tucked up in bed, instead."
What—bed? Who said anything about bed? "B-but Daddy! We were gonna go to the flea markets an' see if we could fin' some more movies for me—us!"
"I know, angel, but you're not feeling w
ell enough for yoga. You've got a tummy ache, and I need to make sure that you're not coming down with something. Maybe an enema would help," he said, corralling me into the bedroom.
I stopped short at the word "enema", but he didn't, carrying me along with him to his bed. He turned the sheets down and guided me under them, then got the baby bag, where I remembered with horror the enormous vat of Vaseline lived, as well as a brand spanking new rectal thermometer!
It was a miracle, I swear! I threw back the covers and tried to get out of bed. "I'm feelin' all better now, Daddy. It was a-a false alarm. I'll just get my stuff an' you can take me to yoga."
Mane parked himself in front of me, so I couldn't get around him. "I don't think so, little miss."
Man, I hated that tone! It made my little white lie about my stomach ache become a reality as butterflies began dive bombing each other in there.
"You said you had a stomach ache, and the only time I've ever seen one get better that fast was when the tummy ache-ee was fibbing to try to get out of something." He cupped my chin in his hand. "Is that what's happening here, Tahlia?"
I burst into tears, and he held me, of course, sitting down on the bed and cuddling me. "I din't wanna go to yoga, Daddy," I sobbed.
"Why, sweetie?"
I shook my head while rubbing my hands over my eyes. "I dunno. I just don'. I wanna stay here, with you."
"Well, that's very nice to hear, doll, and you know I always want to be with you, too. But you know how I feel about you just ditching things because you don't want to do them. We've paid ahead for that class, and you only go once a week. And yoga is very good for you."
"Yes, Daddy."
He checked his watch. "But. You'd be late by now, anyway. So, you're going to get your temperature taken, just because I'm a cautious Daddy, then you're going to get a good, hard paddling with your brand-new paddle for fibbing to your Daddy. After which, you're going to be put to bed for the night."
The paddling was going to be bad enough. I'd seen that thing when he'd bought it and put it in my nightstand drawer. It was going to be worse than my hairbrush! But then to be put to bed—it was only six now! I'd be in bed for the rest of the night at seven! None of it bore thinking of!
My Daddy didn't relent at all, though—not one inch. He did exactly what he said he would, unfortunately for me.
But how could I explain any of all of that to Bette? So, I took the coward's way out, taking a sip of my whisky and saying, "I don't think I can. It's either something that turns you on desperately, or it doesn't."
"That's a cop out, and you know it."
I raised my glass in salute to her. "Fuck, yes. So, sue me."
Chapter 9
Surprisingly, it took me till nearly the end of the year, just before my Christmas vacation, to get myself into real, serious trouble with my Daddy. Who'da thought it would take so long? Things were working out so well between us, too.
By then, I had, for all intents and purposes, moved in with him. I still had three months on my lease, and there were still some things over at my place, but the majority of my stuff had been moved into his house. It was a slow, casual process. I just started bringing loads over whenever I went back to his place after staying at mine for any length of time, and he was the one who was encouraging me to do so. The two drawers I'd had originally had expanded into four, and finally, my whole dresser was there. It didn't match with his, but neither of us cared. All we cared about was being together.
On the Friday before Christmas break, which was abnormally long this year because of how Christmas and New Year's Day fell, we were predicted to have a Nor' Easter—a good, old fashioned New England blizzard. High winds, snow accumulations of over an inch an hour and, essentially, no visibility. There was black ice everywhere, and the plows were having a hard time keeping up with the sheer volume of snow that was falling.
As we'd already had a bad year for that kind of thing and were staring at another four months yet of snowstorms, and we were only scheduled for a half day, the powers that be decided not to cancel school instead of using another snow day out of our limited number of them. Of course, they'd cancelled it for four inches—which was, essentially nothing in the Northeast—a week ago, but what do I know?
Mane was at work because of a drill they were having that ended that morning. He called me early on, saying he was coming home and not to go anywhere till he got there, so that he could drive me in.
"You don't have to do that, Daddy."
"I know that, my darling girl. But I want to. My car's bigger, heavier, and has better traction than your tiny little cracker box. I'll feel better driving you myself. I don't want you out on those roads."
"But it's going to take you a while to get here, and then you have to bring me in. I could just drive in and be there in a half hour or so." I only lived a few miles from school, but I'd be creeping. He was right about my cracker box. It had zero traction in this stuff. I always just white-knuckled it into and back from school all winter. Never had a problem before.
Of course, that wasn't going to hold, because now I had him to be all, you know, annoyingly right. Not to mention authoritative.
"You will park your cute little bottom on the couch and wait for me. The kids'll wait."
No, they really wouldn't, actually. Left alone, the inmates would at least attempt to run the asylum. If I wasn't there, they'd have to scramble—on a day when lots of teachers probably wouldn't bother to come in—to get someone to babysit my first class.
I waited for him—I did—while it got later and later. To the point where, even if I started out at that very moment, I would still be a bit late.
And if there was one thing I didn't hold with—and there wasn't much that I did, really—it was lateness, in anyone else, but especially in myself.
So, I got into my car—which I had long since brushed off, but I had to do so again because of the rapid accumulation—and began to creep down the road. Usually, living near the school was an advantage. I could leave later than anyone else and still be on time. But, also because of that, there were no highways involved in my route. Highways were always the first—and the best—plowed roads around in a storm, plus, the sheer volume of cars using them kept them relatively clear. Residential areas, not so much.
I was one of only a few cars on the road, and there were none around me when I hit a patch of black ice near one of the salt marshes. I'd been driving in snow all my life. When I began to skid, I turned into it, like I knew I should have, which meant I ended up well off the road, buried nose first in a snow bank. Which was, I decided, once I stopped moving, better than having ended up in the water that also surrounded me.
The first thing I did, of course, was call my Daddy.
"Babygirl, I'm at your place. Where are you?" he asked, and I could tell he had me on speaker.
"Daddy, you're gonna be really mad at me, but I'm fine."
Probably not the best way to preface the conversation, on second thought.
"Tahlia. Tell me where you are." I'd only ever heard him use that voice with his men when he wasn't happy with them.
"I'm—I'm off the road. Kinda at the beginning of—or in—the Route 9 salt flats, but there's so much snow around that I'm kinda buried."
"Are you all right? Are you injured?" He went from Lt. Commander to Daddy in a split second. The concern that was rife in his voice was almost enough to bring me to tears.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Good. Then stay put. I'll come find you. In the meantime, can you reach the emergency stash in the back? The blankets'll at least keep you warm."
"Uh…" I could have, if it hadn't been a casualty of me needing space in my tiny car to bring stuff over to his place. I think it was in my spare bedroom, being absolutely no help to me whatsoever at the moment.
"Uh, what?"
I scrunched my whole body up before I said it, as if I could deflect his inevitably disappointed tone. "It's at home. I took it out."
There
was a pause, but not as long a one as I had anticipated, although that did not mean he wasn't pissed. He still sounded very reassuring and loving, but he didn't fool me. I was in deep, deep trouble. "All right. You need to turn the car off, if you haven't already. You don't know if the tailpipe is blocked or not."
"It's off."
"Leave the lights on for an hour or so—they'll help me find you. In the meantime, you're going to be cold, but I'm going to blister your fanny for you when I get you home, so that'll warm you up. Think about that while you stay the hell put until I get to you, which was what you were supposed to do in the first place. Don't get out of that car unless you see a cop or me coming to rescue you. Do you understand, Tahlia?"
My "Yes, Sir" was soft and contrite.
"I love you, babygirl. I'll get there as fast as I safely can."
And then he was gone.
But he—along with a tow truck owned by a friend of his—arrived about forty-five minutes later, and I was freezing. It's not usually terribly cold when it snows, but this storm was an exception. Either that, or I was becoming more sensitive to the cold. He shoveled his way through the snow to the driver's side door and leaned in. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked anxiously, running his hands all over me.
"Yes, Daddy."
Then he bundled me into his heavy winter coat and helped me to his car, where he'd left his heater blasting warm air. It felt like Heaven.
Mane buckled me in, and I could tell he was not happy. He even went so far as to put his warm, thick mittens on my hands. "Don't you even think about moving so much as an inch. I'll be right back."
He went and talked to his friend, arranging to have my car brought to his garage and looked over. Then he came back and slid into the driver's seat, and, of course, the first thing he did was turn to me. "Are you feeling any warmer? I'll get going so the heater will kick in even hotter." Then he reached over and grabbed my ridiculously large gloved hand. I slipped mine out of it and clasped his as we crept down the road.
Daddy! Page 10