Stone Cold Fox (9)

That’s what Mother would do. Not me.

Yes, I could see this through with Gale. No problem. I couldn’t back down from such a challenge, especially when I was so confident that I would be the victor. Sure, Collin could play both sides, but for how long until he had to choose? And what did Gale have to offer him, really? Of course he would choose me. I didn’t want to underestimate her, but it was difficult considering her lovely lot in life. What hardships did she have to overcome? What skills did she have to hone? What senses did she have to sharpen? The list had to be short based on her sheltered upbringing alone, with little stake in anything of consequence beyond her obsession with Collin, and while I commended her active attempt to throw me off course, welcomed it even, she would never actually succeed.

The most fun games are the ones you already know you’re going to win.

And winning this game would be to the benefit of all three of us, if I was really being honest. So, yes, I would be doing this for myself, to scratch a dubious itch, but also for Collin, since he wouldn’t be able to cut her off himself, and even for Gale! After I was done with her, she would finally be set free to find some equally bland billionaire bozo who might actually want to bone her. Putting it that way, my behavior was positively saintly.

All of us were outside the Irish bar now, bidding adieu for the evening, exchanging half-hearted hugs and nice-to-meet-yous and let’s-do-this-again-soons, and I made it a point to pop a swift kiss on Gale’s ruddy cheek before Collin and I took off for the evening.

A physical mark on my target. She winced, the poor dear.

Then one of Collin’s arms was raised in the air, hailing a taxi for us, and the other was wrapped possessively around my tiny waist. I glanced over my shoulder at Gale once more with a knowing grin, inviting the bitch to do her worst.





RICHARD


   ATLANTA, GEORGIA



I AM REBECCA but I know that isn’t true. Mother tells me that most people are a sucker for destiny. I don’t know exactly what she means, but I pretend I do so she likes me. All I know is that’s why my name is Rebecca, hers is Rosemary and we live with a man named Richard. She tells me once that her real name begins with the letter B. It makes me want to ask her more questions about who she is, who we are, but I know better than to upset Mother.

She makes me call her Mommy in front of other people, but I’m not allowed to call her that when we’re alone. It makes me nervous because if I mess up, I know that she won’t talk to me for hours. Sometimes days. I hate when Mother is mad at me, so I make extra sure to think about where I am and who we’re with before I call out for her. I always want her attention, so I try not to do anything that will make her take it away from me. I just want her to like me.

Richard’s house has white bricks, a black door and a swimming pool. It seems to always be hot in Atlanta, even in the fall. Richard teaches me how to swim and it’s my favorite thing. Mother watches us, saying nothing. I like how it feels being underwater. Like The Little Mermaid.

I sing down there.

I’m quiet at the surface.

The pool water feels like a warm bath from the heat. Richard wears bright blue swim trunks that stop just above his knees. He usually takes the steps to go into the pool, but sometimes he’ll jump in with me if I ask nicely. We hold hands and count to three.

“Rosie, come in the pool with us!” Richard shouts to Mother. She’s in a black bikini with black sunglasses and bright red lips. Her pretty lips, like a bright bow, are even prettier when she smiles, but she never smiles with her teeth. Maybe because then she’d be too pretty, too shiny for anyone to be around her, and I always want to be around her. Richard does, too. Even though she always says no about the pool, Richard always asks anyway. “Come on, Rosie! Please?” She shakes her head and smiles at him. He’ll ask her again. Beg her. Mother knows this and enjoys it because she says it’s exactly how it should be.

Mother tells me that Richard is the ideal man for us right now. She needs a rest and he’s easy. Richard’s a very tall person with weak shoulders. That’s what Mother calls them. She says his chin is weak, too. His eyes, nose and mouth are all bunched in the middle of his face with the ends of each falling down like a melted candle. His cheeks droop, too. He’s not handsome, but he has a good voice. Deep, but kind. He has the voice of a handsome man. He hangs my report card on the refrigerator like he’s proud of me. Mother laughs about it.

“How could he be proud of you? He doesn’t even know you. I’m the only one you need to worry about. Make me proud of you.”

Maybe Richard could get to know me, I think.

And I don’t think I could make Mother do anything.



* * *



? ? ?

WE GO TO Mass on Sundays at Christ the King with Richard’s mother, Lois. She likes me and tells me to call her Grandma. She says Richard is lucky to have a new wife with such an adorable little girl. She tells the people at church that I’m her granddaughter and I like when we shake hands with them. We say peace be with you. Lois always dresses up for church and wears a colorful scarf, either around her neck or over her hair. We pick her up from assisted living on the way to Mass, but we never go inside her place. She meets us at Richard’s Cadillac and he always opens the door for her. She sits in the front seat and I can tell Mother doesn’t like that, but she allows it. Grandma Lois is Richard’s only family, except for us now. Mother and Grandma Lois never say much to each other, unless it’s about me.