― Katerina Stoykova-Klemer
I’m dreading confronting my landlady's seductive young daughter—almost as much as I’m dreading another Friday night alone.
I stop off at the liquor store and buy a bottle of Glenmorangie, a ten- year old malt whiskey. That ought to see me through the night.
When I pull into the drive, Nicky’s sun bathing on the lawn in a green bikini and drawing admiring looks from several male neighbours.
“Hey Brett—have a good day at school?”
“It was okay—and it’s Mr. Devine—remember?”
“Okay, Teach.” The seductive smile is back.
I put down my briefcase and lean back against the car.
“Rumour has it you’re planning a blowout tonight. Don’t do it, Nicky, or I’ll call the cops—I swear it.”
She props herself up on her elbow, eyes flashing. “Why would you do that? I thought you were cool.”
“Well, you’re wrong. I’m thirty years old and over the hill—can’t stand loud music.”
“We’ll keep it down.”
“Or underage drinking,” I add sternly.
“Why are you acting like a dick?”
“Because I am one,” I smile sweetly “—And don’t forget it.”
She gets up quickly and confronts me, pushing her breasts against me.
She stares up at me, tapping my chest with her finger. “I don’t take orders from you.”
I grab her wrist, wringing it tight, until she winces. “I don’t like getting the finger, or being poked with one—understand?”
Her chin’s quivering. She nods and I let go.
“Bastard!” She turns and pads barefoot up the porch stairs.
I’m shaking inside and have to force her bikini image out of my brain.
You can’t exorcise the flesh, my mind screams.
It’ll be a long night.
The rumoured rage fizzles out—Nicky’s nowhere to be seen and it starts to thunder and rain.
I like rainstorms, but tonight, I’m battling all my demons—add in emptiness and boredom.
I pour half a tumbler of Glenmorangie, adding three ice cubes. I play a Hall and Oates CD and try not to think about Meg—too much.
I lie on the bed trying to figure out where everything unraveled, but can’t.
I feel like I’m raving. Half in and half out of sleep—sipping scotch and getting off on the music.
Last thing I recall is Nicky in her green bikini—her brown eyes staring up, and me staring down…
“Nicky! What the hell’s going on, Brett?”
I wake out of a whiskey haze and see Emily in the doorway and glance over and see Nicky curled up naked beside me in the bed.
I’m too dazed to process. Emily’s got Nicky by the hair and is pulling her toward the door.
“I knew this was a risk—You’re outta here Brett—today. I never want to see your face again.”
“But Emily…”
Her back is to me. One arm shoots straight up. I get the salute.
Inside of an hour, everything I own is shoved into my Vette. I leave a check for the full month’s rent on the table.
I find out later she cashes it.