Jane Doe(64)

“Sure. My ex had them. They were great.”

He’s talking about Meg. She got them for herself as a graduation present after college. I filled her prescriptions and brought her take-out food for three days after the surgery. “You wish you were still with her, don’t you?”

“No. I told you she was crazy. I’m just saying I think you’d look great with implants too.”

“Well, I could never afford them, so this is a stupid conversation.” I flop back on the couch and pout.

“Maybe I could help you out someday.”

“You’d pay for surgery?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. I mean, they’d kind of belong to me, wouldn’t they? A nice new toy.”

“Whatever. Mine are fine the way they are.” He’s doing his best to undermine my confidence, so I pretend to seethe.

I wonder how many times he’s had this conversation with women. I wonder if he looked at Meg’s breast implants and saw a woman who’d already done the work for him. A two-for-one special: big boobs and body image issues!

I tried to talk Meg out of the implants, but not because I think there’s anything wrong with them. Any advantage we can get in this world we should take. My objection was that I don’t trust surgeons. Too many of them are like me. It’s a wonderful profession for our kind. So much power and no fear about making mistakes. Great on that end of the scalpel, not always so great for the person on the table.

Still, I helped her through the recovery, and I’ll probably get surgery myself when I get older and my breasts start to lose their shape. I can’t let such useful tools get rusty. It’s fascinating how helpless men are in the face of them.

“You know I think you’re beautiful, baby,” Steven murmurs into my ear.

“Do you?”

“Of course. You’re my girl.”

“What’s your favorite thing about me?”

“You’re sweet. And hot. You’re a nice Christian girl. And my family likes you.”

I turn eagerly to face him. “Do they really like me? Because I like them so much.”

“My dad keeps telling me not to let you get away.”

“Aw! He’s so sweet. Do you think . . . if we . . . you know . . . if we ever got married . . . do you think I could call him Dad?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think he’d really like that. And so would I.”

“It’d be so nice to have a real family, Steven.”

“It would make me happy to give that to you. A real home. A good dad.”

“And Rhonda too. She’s just so sweet.”

He stiffens immediately and my pulse quickens. In the thrill of the hunt, I’d forgotten about his weird interaction with Rhonda. And this is the perfect time to press for details. Steven’s words are running together, draping over themselves. He’s drunker than I’ve ever seen him. I’ll take every advantage I can. I’m not sure what wound Rhonda inflicted, but it’s festering, and I want to poke at it.

“You know,” I say breezily, “I was thinking I could get Rhonda’s number from you and maybe we could have tea or something. Get to know each other better. A girls’ day out.”

“No.”

“But if we really might get married someday—”

“No. I don’t want you around her. She’s a bad influence.”

“Rhonda?” I crease my whole face up in confusion. “What are you talking about? She’s your stepmom.”

“She’s a whore.”

Good Lord, this again? We’re everywhere. “Steven, she’s nice. You shouldn’t be so mean about her. She seems like a good wife and—”

He cuts me off with a loud snort. “She’s a gold-digging slut! That’s what she is.”

“I don’t understand. Did she cheat on your dad or something?”

“Yes.”

“What?” I fail to keep the trill of delight from my voice, but he doesn’t seem to hear it.

He growls deep in his throat. “Yeah. Everyone thinks she’s such a perfect wife, but, believe me, she’s a cheating whore.”

“Wow. And . . . and your dad took her back?”

He shrugs. “They never broke up. My dad doesn’t know anything about it.”

Well. This is getting very interesting. “But, Steven . . . if your dad doesn’t know, how could you know?”

His lips spread in a sneering, self-satisfied grin. “How do you think?”

Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Delight shivers through my nerves at the possibility, but I pretend I don’t understand. I shake my head, making sure I look upset. I’m worried for the family. Maybe a little scared.

Steven’s grin fades. He takes a swig from the bottle and stares at the far wall for a minute before speaking. “Never mind.”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

His eyelids dip in a slow blink. His head wobbles on his neck. “It was me,” he slurs.

“What was you?”

“She cheated with me.”

“What?” I gasp, hoping he’s too drunk to hear the breathless glee in that word. It happened. It really happened, and I want to clap my hands and squeal.

I watch his mouth flash back to that proud sneer for a moment. “She begged me for it.”