I lower my face until my nose is positioned in front of hers. I draw in her sweet breath and my thigh muscles harden. Goddamn. Another few seconds here, and I’ll throw her down and have my way with her—which is crazy. I need to get through this conversation and seek out company of the feminine kind. A hole… Any hole will do. All those months without sex has warped my brain; that’s all it is. I push my feet into the floor of the bar and straighten. She blinks, then glances about the bar, and her lips part. "Where is everybody?"
"They left."
"They left?"
"I needed to have a conversation with you."
"So, what? You bought the bar and ordered everyone to leave?" she scoffs.
"I know the person who owns the building. I called in a favor.”
"Of course you did." She shakes her head. "I can’t believe I didn’t notice the space emptying out." She glances about the space again, then pauses. "And the bartender. Did you have anything to do with him leaving, as well?"
"He recommended you for a role you were scant qualified or equipped to handle. He was no friend."
"You’re right. He was more of an acquaintance, but I’m sure he had my best interests at heart."
"I have your best interests at heart."
She tosses her head. "Actually, you have only your best interests at heart. It’s why you marched in here and ordered me to accept the job."
"I only want to help you." I hold up my hands. "But if you want to refuse the chance to keep your mother in that care home, that’s your prerogative."
11
Penny
"I’m so sorry, Ma, I thought I’d find a way to keep you here but I’m at my wit's end. I could have accepted that assho— Uh, Abby’s brother’s offer, but he’s such a bast— Uh, unpleasant man, that I didn’t think it was right to give him the chance to manipulate me. And he would have. If I’d gone to work for him, he’d use it to his advantage. I know that. And you know I’d have done such a good job for him. Working as an assistant to a hot-shot CEO is probably the only thing I haven’t tried. And I have a feeling I’d be good at it. After all, the only thing I’m good at is typing, and I’m organized—mostly—and given my last two, no, three career options"—If you include my attempt at becoming a submissive—"didn’t work out, I’m kind of up against it." I drag the comb through her greying locks. I’m seated behind her at the tiny dresser in her room at the care home.
Last night, Knight insisted on dropping me home. I was so taken aback by first, his announcement that he had the bar emptied so he could talk to me un-interrupted, then, he all but accused me of putting my interests before that of my mother. After which, he stayed silent all the way to my place. Now, he knows where I live, but that’s the least of my worries. This morning, I woke up early and came to see my mother at the care home.
I have another twenty-four hours until her time here runs out, and I’m no closer to finding a way to pay the fees for the next month. Maybe Knight was right. If I weren't so prideful, I’d have accepted Knight’s offer. I hunch my shoulders.
I did look into selling my body. I checked out the website where I heard women could strip and make money, and promptly clicked out of it. No way, do I have the courage to pose naked in front of a camera. As for going through with using my body for sex… I’m not sure where to start. I suppose, I could look for another place like the 7A Club, but the thought of anyone else’s hands on me made me so nervous, I began to feel sick to my stomach. I shut my computer and pulled the covers over my head at two a.m. this morning.
I barely managed to get a few hours of sleep before coming to meet my mother. It helps to talk to her. She doesn’t respond, but saying my issues aloud makes them feel lighter. The sound of my voice always seemed to soothe her. She also loves her hair being smoothed out. I place the comb down on the bed, then twist her hair up into a bun and pin it.
"There, that looks good, eh?" I glance up at her reflection in the mirror.
“Thank you, dear,” she smiles at me. There’s a twinkle in her eyes, and she seems so like the mother I once knew.
Then her forehead wrinkles. “You look so much like my daughter. What did you say your name was again?”
My nose stings. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. I will not cry. I will not. “It’s Penny,” I manage to choke out. “My name’s, Penny.”
“That’s my daughter’s name. What a coincidence.” She laughs. “I must tell her the next time I see her. I’d tip you for your help, but I don’t have money. I’ll have to ask my daughter when she comes by.” Her lips turn down.
“It’s okay; don’t worry. You don’t need to tip me.”
She's silent for several minutes before her forehead furrows and she laughs. “Of course I don’t need to tip you. You’re my daughter, silly girl.”
“Mom!” I burst out. “Mom, you recognize me?”
“Of course I recognize you. I’m so happy you’re visiting us. Eric should be home very soon—” Her gaze grows vacant. She stares through me, and I know I’ve lost her.
I don’t know if it’s worse when she doesn't recognize me at all or when she's coherent for a little while, then forgets who I am. And she thinks my father's alive. Not an unusual occurrence.
On a good day, she’s coherent enough for us to have a normal conversation. There have even been a few days when she’s been her cheerful self throughout the entire visit, though those days have been dwindling, of late. She grows more withdrawn and confused as the day wears on, which is why I prefer to come in the early part of the day to see her. How much longer will I be able to do that? How long can I keep pretending that the mother I knew isn't all but gone in flesh.
The ball of emotion in my throat grows bigger. I swallow around it and scan her features—pale cheeks, thin lips, hollows under her eyes. Vestiges of her beauty cling to her features, and if I stare hard enough, I can still see the animated mother who’d drive me home from school, play the piano in the mornings so I’d always wake up to the sound of one of her favorite sonatas, hold my father’s hand and mine when they took me to my first opera as a birthday surprise… She gave up so much for my happiness, even turned her life upside down to move to another country, just to be close to me in London. And how do I repay her? By not even making it as an actress. Not being able to pay for her to remain in the home she’s grown to love.
"I’m such a selfish daughter." I swallow down the tears that threaten to overwhelm. "I’m so sorry, Ma, I wasn’t able to help. I’m sorry I was too self-involved to realize the true state of your health. But I promise, we’ll find a way. I’ll take you home. It’s a flat I share with Mira, but you can have my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch and—"
A knock on the door has me glancing toward it.
The manager of the place, Sunita, stands there. There’s a grim look on her face, and her lips are pinched. Oh, god, I thought I had another twenty-four hours before having this conversation, but there’s no putting it off. I place the comb on the dresser, then bend and kiss my Mom’s cheek. "Let’s get you into bed, shall we?"