fulfill them.
She had been sixteen when she’d first rebelled at clothing selected by a media consultant, and wanted to choose her own classes and her own books and movies. Sixteen, before she had realized that her entire life was scripted, right down to the friends she was allowed to make. When she told him she wanted more freedom, she reasoned with him that he could hardly expect less from her. They had the same strength of will. He would not allow anyone to control him neither would she.
He told her freedom had a price. She proved to him she could adjust to public school, and without a look backward returned the car she’d received on her birthday. She thought he would eventually relent, not wanting his daughter to be seen flipping burgers after school.
Instead, he upped the ante and taught her that the rules for the wealthy and powerful really were different. To her mother’s credit, she had never hinted that her sudden firing from an administrative job she’d held for several years might have been arranged to put financial pressure on both of them. Her mother had stoically looked for a new job for four months and kept her calm when she’d discovered the tires on the car slashed a second time. Then the car had simply disappeared two days after the insurance lapsed. Reyna had had to help her hysterical mother into bed, and she had been badly frightened when she answered the phone.
Her father had asked if she was tired of freedom yet. He even managed to make it sound as if his call was a coincidence.
She was his daughter, and her mind worked like his. In ten seconds she tallied the coincidences to his account and she’d said yes, she was tired of freedom. Like him, she knew how to wait.
At sixteen, her youth and her mother’s frailty had worked to his advantage. At twenty-three, standing in her kitchen, it was a piece of paper that trapped her. For years she would not forgive herself for her instinctive reaction a reaction that made her completely his daughter, as hateful and selfish as he was. Mother, how could you do this to me?
He was still talking, but she didn’t have to listen to know what he was saying. Her transcript had appeared from the file. He glanced down as if to confirm something, but she knew he had no need to refresh his memory. “Your journalism degree is finished. You will be getting a double master’s political science and governmental affairs, just as I did. Journalism won’t do you any good later on.”
He put the transcript back and pulled out a photograph in its place. “You’ll also be living alone. Scandalous liaisons are a barrier, too. You’ll thank me, later, when the press puts its microscope on you.”
God, Kimberly. The photograph was of the two of them walking on campus. She had suspected him of hiring someone to keep an eye on her, but the confirmation of it made her skin crawl.
Kimberly’s future was nothing to him. She had so many strikes against her lesbian, middle-class, black, female and liberal. In her father’s world, only straight wealthy white male conservatives had any power. And few of them had more than he did at this point.
“She’s a nice-looking piece, but my daughter is not a biological error.” He exchanged the photograph for a neatly typed list of names that he set down on the table and pushed toward her as he had the medical report. Surnames that read like a political Who’s Who tied her stomach in knots. “This is a list of acceptable escorts. A few are even the same color she is, if that is what you have a penchant for. But you won’t marry one of them. We’ll choose someone suitable.”
He must have been planning this moment for years, she thought, waiting to have some hold on her, some way to make her into his asset instead of a political liability he couldn’t control.
“No,” Reyna said steadily. “This isn’t going to work.”
Grip Putnam’s voice found its way into millions of homes. He delivered the truth
She had been sixteen when she’d first rebelled at clothing selected by a media consultant, and wanted to choose her own classes and her own books and movies. Sixteen, before she had realized that her entire life was scripted, right down to the friends she was allowed to make. When she told him she wanted more freedom, she reasoned with him that he could hardly expect less from her. They had the same strength of will. He would not allow anyone to control him neither would she.
He told her freedom had a price. She proved to him she could adjust to public school, and without a look backward returned the car she’d received on her birthday. She thought he would eventually relent, not wanting his daughter to be seen flipping burgers after school.
Instead, he upped the ante and taught her that the rules for the wealthy and powerful really were different. To her mother’s credit, she had never hinted that her sudden firing from an administrative job she’d held for several years might have been arranged to put financial pressure on both of them. Her mother had stoically looked for a new job for four months and kept her calm when she’d discovered the tires on the car slashed a second time. Then the car had simply disappeared two days after the insurance lapsed. Reyna had had to help her hysterical mother into bed, and she had been badly frightened when she answered the phone.
Her father had asked if she was tired of freedom yet. He even managed to make it sound as if his call was a coincidence.
She was his daughter, and her mind worked like his. In ten seconds she tallied the coincidences to his account and she’d said yes, she was tired of freedom. Like him, she knew how to wait.
At sixteen, her youth and her mother’s frailty had worked to his advantage. At twenty-three, standing in her kitchen, it was a piece of paper that trapped her. For years she would not forgive herself for her instinctive reaction a reaction that made her completely his daughter, as hateful and selfish as he was. Mother, how could you do this to me?
He was still talking, but she didn’t have to listen to know what he was saying. Her transcript had appeared from the file. He glanced down as if to confirm something, but she knew he had no need to refresh his memory. “Your journalism degree is finished. You will be getting a double master’s political science and governmental affairs, just as I did. Journalism won’t do you any good later on.”
He put the transcript back and pulled out a photograph in its place. “You’ll also be living alone. Scandalous liaisons are a barrier, too. You’ll thank me, later, when the press puts its microscope on you.”
God, Kimberly. The photograph was of the two of them walking on campus. She had suspected him of hiring someone to keep an eye on her, but the confirmation of it made her skin crawl.
Kimberly’s future was nothing to him. She had so many strikes against her lesbian, middle-class, black, female and liberal. In her father’s world, only straight wealthy white male conservatives had any power. And few of them had more than he did at this point.
“She’s a nice-looking piece, but my daughter is not a biological error.” He exchanged the photograph for a neatly typed list of names that he set down on the table and pushed toward her as he had the medical report. Surnames that read like a political Who’s Who tied her stomach in knots. “This is a list of acceptable escorts. A few are even the same color she is, if that is what you have a penchant for. But you won’t marry one of them. We’ll choose someone suitable.”
He must have been planning this moment for years, she thought, waiting to have some hold on her, some way to make her into his asset instead of a political liability he couldn’t control.
“No,” Reyna said steadily. “This isn’t going to work.”
Grip Putnam’s voice found its way into millions of homes. He delivered the truth
Similar Books
