whisper, loving the way his name feels when I say
it. I wish I could say it more. Calling him Master feels contrived and awkward.
Silly.
I yank out a Fendi belt and slip
it around my waist.
Perfect .
I am an actress, and this is a role I’m playing. I can be
this girl. I can be the girl who wears fancy things and graces his presence
like I’m some elegant socialite.
With an armful of things that cost more than what my father
makes in one year, I head over to the closet and carefully unload. A small
ledge below a mirror will house the cosmetics he provided.
I’m not a girl who normally wears much makeup, but I know my
way around a makeup kit, especially for special occasions.
As soon as everything is properly stowed, I fold up the
boxes and bags and tuck them all into one another. I assume he’ll want all of
this back when he’s done with me.
I am an actress. This is my part. These are my costumes.
It’s that simple.
***
My check engine light comes on halfway through my commute
home and a burning odor wafts through my air vents. I’m not sure why Waverly
got the shiny new Jetta, and I got stuck with the family’s old Chrysler, but I figured
this was going to happen one of these days.
I buzz past a green sign that tells me Whispering Hills is
twenty-three miles from here. My palms sweat against the steering wheel as my
mind dithers. If I pull over and call my father to get me, he’ll wonder where I
got my phone. If I drive with this light on and something goes wrong
mechanically, I’m not sure my father will pay to fix or replace my car. Money’s
tight at home. I heard him saying so the other night to Mom.
But without a car, I won’t have a way to get to Salt Lake
City, and I’ll lose my position with Dane.
Wisps of pale smoke escape the front of my hoot and graze
over my windshield.
I can’t win. Ever.
I smack my hazard light buttons and pull over to a nearby
rest stop. One nickel, two dimes and a penny are all I see in my cup holder, so
I climb out and begin feeling around between seat cushions and under floor mats
until I find two more quarters.
There’s a payphone inside. I’ll use that to call Dad and go
from there. I still haven’t quite figured out how to tell him I have a cell
phone for work. I’ll get around to it, but I’m not ready yet. If he takes it
away, I’m not sure how I’ll explain to Dane that I won’t be reachable 24/7 like
he requires.
Shit .
My toes pinch as I walk, reminding me that I’m still wearing
the Christian Louboutin heels I’d slipped into per Dane’s request earlier. I
changed into a little black dress by some designer I couldn’t pronounce and
pranced around in these bad boys the rest of the afternoon. Before I left, I
changed back into my old outfit but forgot to switch shoes.
Hopefully, no one at home will notice. I doubt any of them
have ever heard of red-bottomed shoes, and I can always say they’re from Target.
No one will question me because the truth would seem more preposterous than a
lie.
I slip some coins into the phone and dial my dad’s number.
“Mark Miller,” he answers halfway through the first ring.
For someone so anti-cell phones, he’s got that thing glued to his hand most of
the time.
“Dad, it’s me,” I say.
“Bellamy?”
“Yeah, I’m calling you from a pay phone.” I press my
forehead against my balled up fist. “My check engine light came on, so I pulled
over.”
Muffled voices come through the other end like my father has
covered up the phone and is talking to someone else.
“I’m here with Cortland, and he says his uncle has a towing
business. I’ll send Cortland out to pick you up, and someone will come for the
car later tonight.”
A sick twist of relief and dread swirl in my belly.
Also, why are they
together right now ?!
“Great,” I say. “I’m at the Sierra Valley rest stop, about
twenty miles outside of town.”
“He’s leaving now, sweetie. Sit tight.”
TEN
DANE
it. I wish I could say it more. Calling him Master feels contrived and awkward.
Silly.
I yank out a Fendi belt and slip
it around my waist.
Perfect .
I am an actress, and this is a role I’m playing. I can be
this girl. I can be the girl who wears fancy things and graces his presence
like I’m some elegant socialite.
With an armful of things that cost more than what my father
makes in one year, I head over to the closet and carefully unload. A small
ledge below a mirror will house the cosmetics he provided.
I’m not a girl who normally wears much makeup, but I know my
way around a makeup kit, especially for special occasions.
As soon as everything is properly stowed, I fold up the
boxes and bags and tuck them all into one another. I assume he’ll want all of
this back when he’s done with me.
I am an actress. This is my part. These are my costumes.
It’s that simple.
***
My check engine light comes on halfway through my commute
home and a burning odor wafts through my air vents. I’m not sure why Waverly
got the shiny new Jetta, and I got stuck with the family’s old Chrysler, but I figured
this was going to happen one of these days.
I buzz past a green sign that tells me Whispering Hills is
twenty-three miles from here. My palms sweat against the steering wheel as my
mind dithers. If I pull over and call my father to get me, he’ll wonder where I
got my phone. If I drive with this light on and something goes wrong
mechanically, I’m not sure my father will pay to fix or replace my car. Money’s
tight at home. I heard him saying so the other night to Mom.
But without a car, I won’t have a way to get to Salt Lake
City, and I’ll lose my position with Dane.
Wisps of pale smoke escape the front of my hoot and graze
over my windshield.
I can’t win. Ever.
I smack my hazard light buttons and pull over to a nearby
rest stop. One nickel, two dimes and a penny are all I see in my cup holder, so
I climb out and begin feeling around between seat cushions and under floor mats
until I find two more quarters.
There’s a payphone inside. I’ll use that to call Dad and go
from there. I still haven’t quite figured out how to tell him I have a cell
phone for work. I’ll get around to it, but I’m not ready yet. If he takes it
away, I’m not sure how I’ll explain to Dane that I won’t be reachable 24/7 like
he requires.
Shit .
My toes pinch as I walk, reminding me that I’m still wearing
the Christian Louboutin heels I’d slipped into per Dane’s request earlier. I
changed into a little black dress by some designer I couldn’t pronounce and
pranced around in these bad boys the rest of the afternoon. Before I left, I
changed back into my old outfit but forgot to switch shoes.
Hopefully, no one at home will notice. I doubt any of them
have ever heard of red-bottomed shoes, and I can always say they’re from Target.
No one will question me because the truth would seem more preposterous than a
lie.
I slip some coins into the phone and dial my dad’s number.
“Mark Miller,” he answers halfway through the first ring.
For someone so anti-cell phones, he’s got that thing glued to his hand most of
the time.
“Dad, it’s me,” I say.
“Bellamy?”
“Yeah, I’m calling you from a pay phone.” I press my
forehead against my balled up fist. “My check engine light came on, so I pulled
over.”
Muffled voices come through the other end like my father has
covered up the phone and is talking to someone else.
“I’m here with Cortland, and he says his uncle has a towing
business. I’ll send Cortland out to pick you up, and someone will come for the
car later tonight.”
A sick twist of relief and dread swirl in my belly.
Also, why are they
together right now ?!
“Great,” I say. “I’m at the Sierra Valley rest stop, about
twenty miles outside of town.”
“He’s leaving now, sweetie. Sit tight.”
TEN
DANE
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