Page 99 of Kiwi Gold
“No,” he said. “I told you. As many as it takes. And which position?”
I blinked at him. “Pardon?”
“That article. The one I’m about to copy. Which position?”
Could I really discuss this? It seemed I could, because I said, “Realizing that I don’t know which one will feel best …”
“No worries,” he said. “We’ll try them all. But it would help if you told me which looked best to you, so I can make sure we get to it.”
I said it fast. “The one with my legs over your shoulders, then.” And put my hands over my face. “This is worse than in the car, because you’re looking at me. Also the one where I’m on my hands and knees on the bed and you’re standing behind me. And the one where …” I had to take a breath.
“You’ve studied, eh.” His eyes were hot now. “Tell me.”
“If I’m on top,” I said, “and you hold a …”
“Ah,” he said, a long, low exhalation. “A vibrator. The sucking kind, maybe.”
Is there anything more embarrassing thanwatchingyourself blush? I said, “I know I said I didn’t like that position, but if I had that … maybe. If you could … help me. But I don’t have one.”
“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?” he said. “Never mind. I’ll take care of it.”
“I could still have a … a bit of my period. On Saturday night,” I felt compelled to point out.
He smiled. Slow, and hot, and dirty. “And I still won’t care.”
* * *
Breathe,I told myself now, picking up the poor innocent sleeping baby, who didn’t deserve to have all this sexual tension swirling around him. “We’ll pose him on the bed next,” I told Oriana. The tiny bed that his legs and arms would sprawl off of, in a comical look that some boy-parents loved. After that, I’d swaddle him, and we’d put him on a nest of soft brown fabric inside a bowl shaped like a star and made of wood, with his head propped on his folded hands, and we’d be done. He was one of the easy ones, fortunately, given my slightly distracted state.
An hour later, and the smiling parents were out the door, the mum saying, “I love them. I can’t wait to see the final versions,” and the baby, whom she’d just fed, asleep again. Oriana went to open the door to the flat, and I said, “Hang on a tick, will you?” When she did, I pulled out the things I’d stuck into the file box under the changing table and handed them over. “Here you are. Reading material.” I tried to make it brisk, and not like I was providing inappropriately sexualized material to my under-18 employee.
“Oh!” she said, and looked through them quickly. Her color was high by the time she looked up again, but all she said was, “Thank you. I’ll just … put them in my purse.”
“Probably wise,” I agreed, and thought,If I get a complaint from the Human Rights Commission, it’ll be my own fault.
My good intentions were immediately torpedoed when she said, “Can I ask you again, though, if I have questions?”
I wanted to laugh. I really did need to share this with Lachlan. A thought that caused anotherfrissonof nerves, or desire, or some combination of both to run up my spine. I said, “Of course,” digging myself in deeper, and didn’t say,If I know the answer.Maybe I would, by the time she asked. It was possible.
Could you have a satisfying love affair, or romance, or whatever this was, a functional, low-drama family life,anda reasonably profitable career, such that you didn’t have to go to your father, who was unfortunately entangled with both love affair and bizarre family life, and beg for help? So far, the most I’d ever managed was two out of three. Possibly one and a half out of three, considering my bank balance. I was working on it, though, right?
One step at a time.
44
WRINKLES
Laila
Our date didn’t go exactly the way I’d imagined.
Did I prepare for it? Well, yeh, I did. To begin with, I did the thing I’d never done before. I confided.
Not in my dad, if that’s what you’re thinking. That wasn’t happening. In Poppy. I rang her on Thursday afternoon and asked, “Could I come see you for a few minutes tonight? Not for long. I only need a little time.” I hoped. I couldn’t think how else to find out everything I needed to know, and that was the truth. An online literature search could only take you so far.
“Of course,” she said immediately. “Come for dinner. Perfect excuse for a takeaway, because I’m knackered. Why do I never remember what pregnancy’s actually like? That amnesia you get has heaps to answer for. I’ll ask Matiu to collect something on the way home from the hospital.”
“If you’re sure,” I said. “I do need to … to talk to you alone. But—wait. Are you at a hard point in the book?” Poppy wrote and illustrated children’s books, and could get, as she put it, “A bit obsessed at times. Forgetting the difference between night and day and so forth.”
