John Locke: The Love You Crave

“You smell,” she says.

“I know.” To Callie I say, “Can I shower in your guest bedroom?”

“Of course,” she says.

I enter the guest bedroom and pause to look at a group of items lined up on the dresser.

“What’s all this?” I call to Callie.

“Oops,” she says from the living room. Then adds, “When you called, Gwen and I were about to have a sex marathon. We set some things out we planned to use.”

“Really?” I say.

She and Gwen enter the room.

The three of us look at the items on the dresser. There’s a scarf, a vibrator, lipstick, a deck of cards, a condom, three bullets, and a bird cage.

Callie gives Gwen a look I can’t decipher.

Gwen shrugs.

I study the items another minute, then say. “It makes sense.”

Callie says, “It does?”

“Except for one item,” I say.

Callie laughs. “The birdcage?”

“Nope.”

She looks surprised. “No? Then what?”

“The condom.”

Callie frowns at Gwen, then says, “But you understand the birdcage.”

“I do.”

“And the bullets?” she says.

“What about them?”

“They make sense to you?”

“Of course.”

“But not the condom.”

“Not the condom.”

She shrugs, looks at Gwen again. Says, “He doesn’t understand the condom.”

Gwen says, “Go figure.”

I look at the items again.

“Ah!” I say.

“Ah?”

“The condom goes on the vibrator!”

They look at each other.

“Go take your shower,” Callie says.

Two Weeks Earlier… Maybe Taylor.

Maybe Taylor crosses the street and enters the park without attracting attention. No surprise there, she rarely attracts attention, though she’s above average cute. Her body has slimmed down this year, thanks to her strict diet and four-hour-a-day exercise regimen. Still, if she’s being honest-and she usually is-a couple pounds of teenage belly fat continues to cling to her five-five frame as tenaciously as puke on a drunk’s beard.

Maybe entered the world a natural blond, but age has darkened her hair to the point that now, at age twenty, it matches mission brown on the wood stain color chart at Harvey’s Hardware, Jacksonville, Florida.

Maybe wants to be prettier, but lacks the angular face and high cheekbones common to classic beauties. Her eyes are nice, she always gets compliments on those. People seem to be drawn to blue-eyed girls, even when there’s nothing else particularly special about them. Maybe’s breasts would be picture perfect…if they didn’t fan out in opposite directions. But they do, and it embarrasses her when boys do a double-take, like they weren’t expecting her nipples to be practically under her arm pits. No one looks better in a bra than Maybe. But when the bra comes off, the breasts fly wide right and left, like a field goal kicker with the yips.

Like the rest of Maybe’s physical package, things could be much worse. A flat-chest, for example, would be ten times worse. Still, there’s no single feature she’s exceptionally proud of.

Wait…

Her ass is nice.

She wouldn’t change her ass. Not that she goes out of her way to stare at it, but it must be pretty special, or the boys who’ve seen it wouldn’t make such a fuss. Not that she’s shown it to many boys.

She hasn’t.

Anyway, it’s not Maybe’s ass that’s caused her problems. It’s the other private place. And that part has had a huge effect on her. How huge? It’s basically turned her into a mental patient.

Maybe walks to the area of the park where giant rocks protrude from a hill, and climbs to a spot from which she can see all around her. When she’s confident no one can hear her conversation, she presses a button on her phone. When the man answers, she says, “Hi Daddy, it’s Maybe.”

“Hi, honey,” he says.

She pauses a moment, then says, “You stopped disguising your voice!”

“Do you like my real voice?”

“Yes! Thank you! But it’s been a year. Why now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not so much.”

“I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Maybe pauses a minute to process this revelation. Then says, “I’ve been bad, Daddy.”

“Tell me.”

“I kissed a boy.”

The man on the other end of the phone pauses.

She adds, “I kissed a boy and I liked it.”

Maybe smiles, knowing he understands what she’s really done.

The man says, “Where is he now?”

“His place.”

“Did you leave any evidence?”

“Of course not, Daddy.”

“How did you meet him?”

“In the parking lot outside a sports bar.”

“Any cameras?”

“No.”

“How’d you get to his place?”

“I drove.”

“Where’d you leave your car?”

“I drove to a shopping center two miles from his house. Then I got my bike out of the trunk, attached the front tire to it, and rode it to his place. When I got close, I called and told him to open his garage door. When he did, I rode right in. Then he closed the door. You’ll be so proud of me!”

“Tell me why.”

“I wore a ball cap and put my hair in a pony tail. Put an extra shirt in my bike pack. Didn’t eat anything, or drink anything, and didn’t even go inside the house.”

“Did you let him touch you?”

“Just my boobs. He pushed me back against his car and started messing around and when he started trying to pull my pants down I reached in the back pocket, took the syringe, and stuck him.”

“And you pushed the poison into him?”

“Yup. At first his head went straight up, and his chin looked like it was going to hit the ceiling! He knocked my hand off the syringe, but the poison was already in him. He couldn’t reach the syringe, so I stepped out of the way and watched him dance.”

“Which way did he fall?”

Maybe frowns. “You don’t believe me.”

“Of course I do.”

She pauses, then says, “He fell forward, face first, onto his car.”

“And was he dead?”

“Not yet. His legs shook awhile, and he couldn’t get a full breath. Then he couldn’t get a half breath. Then he couldn’t get a breath at all.”

The man pauses before saying, “Did you happen to take a souvenir?”

“Of course not, Daddy! What, do you think I’m stupid?”

“You’re far from stupid, Baby.”

“Call me Maybe.”

He sighs. “I don’t like the name you’ve chosen, and I don’t like what it represents.”

“Until I decide how far I’m willing to go, I’m Maybe.”

“I understand that. But I don’t like it.”

“But you like me, don’t you, Daddy?”

“I love you.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“I love you deeply,” he says.

“I’m glad.”

“And you?”

“What?” Maybe asks.

“Do you love me?”

“No.”

He remains quiet, obviously disappointed.

Then Maybe says, “But I want to.”

She tries to imagine the expression on his face, but has nothing to go on but the sound of his voice. After a few moments he says, “How are things going with Dr. Scott?”

“I don’t want to talk about that. It’s embarrassing.”

“You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

“You already know. You’re the one who’s paying him to see me. You probably get updates after each visit.”

“It’s not the same as asking you about it.”

“I don’t like to talk about it.”

He pauses again. “I understand. So. Are you ready for a real assignment?”

Maybe’s face lights up. “Yes! Absolutely!”

“I want you to…kiss…a college professor. Can you do that?”

“Of course, Daddy.”