Page 92 of Kiwi Gold
Laila’s color was high, her glorious waves of copper-dark hair practically sparking fire, her golden eyes glowing like something in a fantasy movie, all of her looking like an Arabian princess in that dressing gown. If she raised her arms, I’d half expect blue flames to be shooting from her fingertips. Instead, she raised her chin and said, “I think we should all go to my flat.”
“What, and wake the girls?” Drake asked.
“No,” she said, “because I do want to get back to them, and it’ll force you to keep your voice down and not do whatever it is you’ve been doing with Lachlan. Did you have afight?”
“No,” I said. “We had a treadmill battle. He lost, but then, he’s getting old. So he found another way to fight. A dirty way.” Obviously not as under control as I’d like to be.
“I’m not too old to deal to you,” Drake told me, his lips barely moving.
In answer, Laila grabbed his hand, pulled him through the door, slammed it behind him, and said, “Come on. My flat. The girls are probably awake right now. Probably crying, hearing their Grandad shouting.”
Which was how we ended up walking through the flat single file, first Laila, her back straight as a soldier’s, if any soldier had ever had hair like that, then her dad, and finally me. Out the back door and into Laila’s place, to be met by Long John, who didn’t seem to care much about atmosphere, because he did his usual bounding around ecstatically, begging for pats. Laila shut the door to the girls’ room and shut Long John in with them—miraculously, despite the shouting, theywerestill asleep—and led us past the pink-and-black-and-white bath, past the ugly yellow kitchen, past the scarred, battered table and into her studio, where she flipped on the light and we were greeted by oversized photos of babies dressed like insects, babies dressed like angels, naked babies, and babies popping up out of watering cans. The last place you’d choose for any kind of serious talk, because those babies were, as always, both ridiculous and distracting.
I’d thought it was a silly job, at the beginning, but after that scene with Trevor, not to mention that hospital visit, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe your best times—or even your worst—were worth memorializing, or maybe it was just that babies mattered to their parents. My mum may have been tired to a soul-wearying, foot-dragging level when I’d been a kid, and she’d definitely been stressed past bearing, but I’d never had any doubt that she wanted all of us. Maybe you also did those photos so your kids would know the same thing, later, when they were stinging under the injustice of some parental edict, or when their mum had lost her temper. Knowing you’re loved gives you a foundation, possibly.
Laila said, “The girls aren’t as likely to hear us in here. Sit down, and let’s talk. And, no, Baba, you’re not allowed to hit Lachlan.”
“I’m notallowed?”he said, not sitting down, though he’d lowered his voice to a dull roar, at least. “When did you start allowing me to do things?”
“When you started losing control,” she said. “I know you love me. I know you love the girls. I know you want to protect us. But—please. Let’s talk. Otherwise, you’ll be hurting both your families, because that’s what Lachlan’s sisters are, really, aren’t they? You can say all you like about sperm donors and anonymous contributions, but it wasn’t anonymous, and it means only one thing in Islam, and you know it. They’re your children, and we’d better get this sorted before the next batch turns up in … in Oklahoma.”
“Oklahoma?” For some reason, I kept wanting to laugh. I wasn’t one bit under control, it seemed.
“It’s next to Texas,” she informed me.
“Yes,” I said. “I know. I’ve worked there.”
“So has Dad,” she said. “Which would be one reason you two need to work this out. You’re never going to be able to avoid each other. Not professionally, and not personally. Never.”
Drake had stopped listening, it seemed. He also hadn’t sat down yet. He’d picked up a stack of stapled papers that was lying on the baby-posing table and started leafing through them even as Laila talked. Now, he held up one of them and said, “What’s this?” as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
I noticed a couple of things. First, the photo at the top, which was a man’s hands threaded through a woman’s, holding them down against rumpled white sheets. Only one time you did that, and it happened to be one of my favorites. If I’d had any doubt, though, there was the headline, printed big and black.
Getting Off: 5 Types of Orgasms and How to Get There
And the smaller headlines below as well.
Your Clit and You.
The Elusive Vaginal Orgasm.
And finally,What About the Anal Orgasm?
And that was just Page One.
Well, that wasn’t something you saw every day. She reallydidwant to experiment.
After marriage,I reminded myself.After marriage.Pity the reminding wasn’t working.
Laila, as usual, surprised me. She didn’t turn red, or stammer, or apologize. Instead, she said, “What do you imagine it is? Seems pretty self-explanatory to me.”
“You’re doing this?” Drake demanded. He had a set of papers in each hand now, and was shaking them. “All this? With yourdaughtersin the house?”
The second one had diagrams, I noticed.8 Positions Guaranteed to Make Her Come,that one was called.
Bloodyhell.I’d left for five days. We’d still barely kissed each other!
She surprised me again, because she laughed. Drake looked even more dangerous, but she stepped into him, put her arms around him, and gave a cuddle to the least cuddly man in the world, then stood back and said, “It’s not evil, Baba. It’s sex. And I wouldn’t tell you this unless Lachlan were here, but I don’t want him to get the wrong idea, so … it’s also for somebody else. Somebody with less experience than me, which you wouldn’t think was possible, but there you are, the world’s a strange place, and education is beautiful. And if I’ve learned some things for myself, finding all this? That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Didn’t the Prophet say, ‘Do not engage in sexual intercourse with your wife like a hen; rather, firstly engage in foreplay with her and flirt with her and then make love to her’? Didn’t he tell men it was their duty to satisfy their wives? The problem is, not every man knows how to do it. Not every mancaresthat he does it. What am I meant to do about that, if I don’t even know what’s possible? I don’t want to go through the rest of my life like this. If I marry again, I want to … I want to feel beautiful. I want to feel desired. I want to feel loved, and petted, and … andsatisfied.Isn’t that my right, if I’m willing to give everything I have to satisfy my husband, too?”
