The VIP (18+ Only) [COMPLETED] [Winner of a Wattys 2014 Instant Addiction Award]

8: In Which She Puts on a Show for Some Horses

At sixteen, he was still baby-faced, with pouty, dark pink lips and not a hair on his jaw. After trying bottle after bottle of hair-growth creams, he’d finally given up on growing a beard and/or moustache. It didn’t help that he was nearly over six feet and broad-shouldered. It was kind of a contradiction.

“OK, OK,” I conceded, reining in my laughter. “Did you phone me to confess your sins, or just to receive praise for engaging in idiotic, manly activity?”

“No,” he sombrely replied. “Promise you won’t freak out, O.”

“I won’t freak out,” I instantly complied, bracing myself because of his swift change of tone. Calvin was never serious with me.

He sighed heavily, as if he were truly unwilling to spill. “Natalya might have called Mom. From rehab, she says.”

I didn’t know exactly what I was expecting but this wasn’t it. My estranged doped-up, ex-model birth mother coming up in conversation after so very many years was the last thing I expected.

“Fee? You there?” My brother’s voice was heavy with concern.

I nodded, although he couldn’t see me. “How? How do you know?”

“Well, Mom had to fly in to speak to my fucking ass of a principal,” he replied without asking me what I meant. He just knew. “Her phone rang and she answered. She was pissed enough to accidentally let me know who it was. Natalya said some pretty dumb shit.”

“Like what?” I didn’t even bother to scold him for his colourful language. It wasn’t important right then.

“Like how much she wants to see you and tell you how sorry she is for everything,” Calvin said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “She says she won’t give up until she gets what she wants. What a Looney Toon.”

I couldn’t help the wry smile that tugged at my lips. Calvin had been too young to know much about my birth mother, except for the fact that she had stripped for Playboy, defiled a minor, and given up all rights to be my parent the day she dumped me on my father’s doorstep. Out of solidarity, Calvin hated her almost as much as I once had. I had long ago let go of my eagerness to please her then let go of my resulting hatred of her. Now, I only felt a dull twinge of misery whenever I thought of her and that was only thanks to Rory, who was my mother in every sense of the word. I suddenly felt the strong urge to hear her lilting English accent.

“Ophelia?” There was that tone in Calvin’s voice again; the one that made it clear that he hated being the bearer of bad news.

“I’m good, Cal.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to see her.” Ever, my subconscious mind tacked on. “It won’t be good for me.”

“I know. Mom knows,” Cal said softly, although he absolutely didn’t; they didn’t. He was just saying that because he loved me and he thought that that was what I needed to hear.

No one really understood what kind of a number Natalya had done on me. Hearing my “mother” complain that I’d ruined her body, or that I was dragging her down and screwing her life up, wasn’t something I’d ever really forgotten. Oh, she’d never said those things to my face – intentionally – but she did get shitfaced and spew all kinds of things. Drunken minds speak sober thoughts – wasn’t that the saying?

She’d never really wanted me and had probably tried her hardest to make sure I never found out – but I did, and it stung. It stung so much that, as a kid, I’d tried to do everything possible to make her want me whenever she dared to show up. If it hadn’t been for Rory, I would probably still be waiting by the door for Natalya to take me shopping.