A Thousand Yesses (3 page)

Rodney
picked up a solid-looking hairbrush. “The hairbrush is also a classic
implement, similar to its cousin, the bath brush. Depending on the thickness
and density, hairbrushes and bath brushes can pack quite a sting. I like
hairbrushes for a variety of reasons. If your girl is good, you can use it to
brush her hair before she goes to sleep. And if she’s naughty, you can turn her
over your knee. They’re innocuous and safe for travel.” He whammed the brush
against his palm. He flinched and Maverick stifled a chuckle. That was one
serious brush, varnished and nearly an inch thick. Rodney’s eyes watered from
the impact and he bit his lip. Celia was trying her best not to laugh, but
Louanne ran from the room, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Yeoowch,”
Rodney said, panting a little. “Okay, yeah, that’s one helluva sting in that
sucker. I’d save that for something serious.” He placed it back on the counter,
trying to discreetly rub his stinging palm.

Maverick
turned back to the camera. “The most important thing to do is to test your
implements,” he said. “Most submissives are eager for a test run, and that will
help you to understand his or her tolerance level. Try your tools on your own
thigh or palm, keeping in mind that pain tolerance varies from person to
person. And as always, listeners, please play safe.”

Celia
stopped recording. “Hey, you two nailed it!” she said. Maverick nodded his
thanks, as Rodney was eyeing the implements.

“We
get to keep these?” he murmured.

“Yes,”
Celia said warily. “But we’ll need them for future videos, so hands off!”

He
picked up the flogger. “Relax, girl, I’ll replace them,” he said. He palmed the
flogger and Maverick nodded. He wasn’t going to use that one for any future
videos anyway. He kept the brush in his hand.

“You
two saw Louanne laughing at me, didn’t you?”

Celia’s
eyes widened, as Maverick nodded seriously. “Absolutely,” he said. “She thought
it was hysterical that you nailed yourself.
Go ahead
,
take the brush with you
. I would.”

Celia
snorted. “Of course you would.”

He
waved a finger at her. “Don’t egg me on, girl,” he said. “Not when I’ve got an
arsenal within arm’s reach. You may run, but you can’t hide.”

She
swallowed. “Don’t tempt me, big boy,” she said, and her voice was strangely
husky.

“Next
time, we demonstrate a real spanking,” Maverick said, changing the subject.
“You said you have models ready? Girls who can really take it?”

She
nodded. “Yep. All set. You said we’re doing positions and warm-ups next time,
right?” Her eyes gleamed, and he nodded.

“Yeah,”
he said. “And you think we’re ready to go on Tuesday? I should be able to make
it by six, so I – ”

His
phone rang, two double beeps that meant it was his mother. He picked it up and
lifted a finger for Celia to wait.

“Yeah,”
he said. He sighed as his mom continued on the other end of the line.
Another episode with his sister.
He looked up at Celia.
“Yeah, I’m on my way,” he said into the phone. She was looking at him, as he
was her ride home that night. She nodded.

“I’ll
go with you,” she whispered.

Oh,
thank God. She always had a way with his sister that made the situation easier.

“Quick,
Maverick,” his mom said, her voice strained and near tears on the other end.
“She’s going to hurt herself. I can’t get the bathroom door unlocked, and I
hear her breaking things in there.”

“On
my way,” he said. Without thinking, he grabbed Celia’s hand and pulled her with
him, waving to Rodney and Louanne over his shoulder as he jogged to the
doorway. He well knew what five minutes of an episode with his sister could
result in, and he was thankful Celia was going with him to whatever awaited
him.

“Marianna,”
Celia said calmly through the door. “Why don’t you come out and talk to Celia?”
she suggested softly. For a hardass, she could be really gentle when she wanted
to be, though Maverick rarely saw that side of her.

“No!”
shouted Marianna from the other side of the door. There was a crash and a bang,
and Maverick’s mom jumped. She was a petite, older woman, fragile with graying
hair, and Maverick noted that the events of the past few months had aged her
even more. It wasn’t fair. His mom was supposed to spend her time knitting and
gossiping with her friends over coffee, not wrangling her daughter out of the
bathroom. Dottie was no match for Marianna’s strength, and though Marianna had
never assaulted her, Maverick knew that her latest episodes had grown
increasingly violent.

Celia
sighed and turned to Maverick’s mom.

“What
did you say set her off, Dottie?” Celia asked.

Dottie
sighed. “She saw a picture of her dad,” she said, and her voice caught. “She
asked where Dad was, and I told her what I always tell her. That he’s in heaven
now, but she said I was lying and she locked herself in the bathroom. I used to
have the key on my key ring,” she said, as her voice dropped to a whisper and
she looked up at Maverick. “But I can’t find my keys,” she finished sheepishly.

He
groaned. He wouldn’t lecture her, even though he wanted to. She was always
losing shit, and it put her in a precarious situation, like now. He’d even
installed a key rack, and bought her a thing for her keys that beeped when you
clapped your hands, but still, her keys were always missing. He knew better and
kept a spare for the house and her car on his own ring now, but he didn’t have
one for the bathroom.

Maverick
motioned for Celia to move to the side. They’d agreed to let her try first, as
Celia could often coax Marianna into listening before Maverick came in with
guns blazing. His methods weren’t as gentle.

He
pounded on the door. His sister needed a gentle touch, but sometimes, she
needed to be told what the hell to do. “Marianna,” he said, his deep voice
reverberating around the room. He could hear her stilling on the other side of
the door. “It’s Maverick. Open the door
now.
I’m not putting up with
this. You’ve got Mom scared, and you’re being mean to Celia, and I won’t allow
it.”

Celia
and Dottie watched him with wide eyes. He sighed. His baby sister had always
been hard to manage, but she loved him. She’d always listened to him, even when
she wouldn’t do what her dad or mom told her to do. But there were only so many
times he could come to the rescue for his mom, and since his dad died, Marianna
had grown increasingly belligerent.

“What
did Doctor Mason say?” he asked, low enough for Marianna not to hear through
the door.

Dottie
sighed, wringing her hands. “You know what Dr. Mason says,” she whispered. “He
says she’d be better in a group home, with care. But I can’t do that,
Maverick.”

Mason
nodded. He wouldn’t get into it now with her. “I meant about these episodes,”
he said.

Dottie
shook her head. “He says to talk to her, and coax her through it,” she said.
“To keep reminding her that Dad is gone, but then distract and remind her of
the happy memories. He says watch her signs, and if she’s getting angry, to
distract.” She sighed. “I must’ve missed the signs. I was looking for my keys.
And then... I think I fell asleep.”

Celia
put her hand on Dottie’s arm. “It’s not your fault,” she said quietly.

Maverick
wasn’t sure he agreed, but he also didn’t think it was time for him to be
lecturing his mom.

Maverick
turned back to the door. “Marianna,” he said sternly through the door. “I’m
giving you to the count of ten to open the door. If you don’t, I’m going to
break it down. And then you’re in big trouble with me. Do you understand?” He
had to stay calm, and in control, even if he was pissed off. And he was. This
shit was out of control.

Celia
watched him and nodded encouragingly. Good girl, that little vixen. She knew
how he had to be stern with her. If he had to, he would take away Marianna’s
computer privileges and make her go to bed early. She loved playing checkers
with him and he wouldn’t play with her if she got into trouble. He’d send her
to her room. Dottie couldn’t enforce consequences, as Marianna would just
circumvent her anyway, but Marianna respected Maverick.

He
crossed his arms across his chest. “One,” he said. No movement on the other
side of the door. “Two,” he counted. He continued to count loudly and slowly,
until he got to eight. He was prepared to break the door down. One shove of his
massive shoulder, and he’d splinter the door. He groaned. He had not planned on
having to fix the door during his free time this week. “Nine,” he said, his
voice raising. Dottie and Celia took a step back from the door.

“Ten,”
he said. “I’m coming in.” He took a step back, but before he could break the
door, he heard a click, and the door was pulled open.

Marianna
stood in front of him. She was small, of medium build, and her hair was askew,
knotted in the back and haphazardly framing her pale, wan face. Her eyes were
sunken in, like she hadn’t slept properly in days. When she was happy, her face
looked childlike, but when she was angry, she got the look of a dangerous,
rabid animal. She had the angry expression now, as she glared at him.

“You’re
mean,” she said furiously, waving a finger at him, but he ignored her protest
as he grabbed her firmly by the arm and marched her into the living room.

“Call
me anything you want, honey, but you’re not
gonna
treat Mom that way,” he said casually, but firmly. “I had to come over here
when I was out with my friends because of your antics. You think it’s okay for
a grown girl like you to behave this way?” He was lecturing, and he knew it,
but she needed to know he meant business. He couldn’t allow her to behave this
way, especially when it was just his mom home. He pointed for her to sit on the
worn brown sofa in the tiny living room. She sat with a scowl, pulling down the
thin afghan from the back of the couch and draping it over her lap. She curled
up in the corner, her look infuriated and angry.

Marianna
was nineteen, and had been in and out of treatment facilities for a variety of
years. She was on medication, and went with regularity to a day program for
disabled adults. It was high time she moved out and into the assisted living
program the state provided, however Maverick’s dad hadn’t wanted to hear of it.
But things had to change, and soon. Maverick knew he couldn’t be there full
time, and his mom simply couldn’t handle her.

Marianna’s
lip trembled. “Are you mad at me, Maverick?”

Maverick
sighed heavily as he sat down across from her. “I’m not happy with you,” he
said sternly. Marianna’s face fell, and his conscience pricked him, but he
couldn’t spoil her and she had to know behavior like that was dangerous.

His
voice softened. “Honey, you could hurt yourself,” he began. “Or Mom. I know you
don’t want to do that. But you’re not allowed to lock that door. If you fell,
or had a seizure, how would Mom or I help you?” Marianna’s lower lip trembled,
as he continued. “And yes, you
are
in trouble,” he said sternly. She
needed to understand. He had to make an impression. He crossed his arms on his
chest, and his voice grew low and scolding. “You’re going to bed early tonight,
and no computer privileges.”

Marianna
scowled. “You can’t do that!”

He
scowled back. “I can and will.”

She
started to stand, and he merely pointed a merciless finger back to the sofa.
“Sit,” he commanded. She crumpled and flopped on the sofa. He could feel his
mom pleading silently with him. She didn’t like when he was stern with
Marianna, but where had her leniency gotten them? It was high time Marianna was
held accountable. She well knew what she was doing, and he gave her more credit
than his mom did.

Marianna
frowned. “For how long?” she asked quietly.

“For
the rest of the week,” he stated.

Her
eyes widened and flashed at him. “No way, Maverick!” she shouted, and to his
surprise, he heard Celia pipe up.

“I
think he’s being easy on you,” she said sternly. All eyes went to her. Her eyes
were heated and serious, faint splotches of color on each cheek. “A big girl
like you, scaring your poor mother and disobeying her?
Your
brother having to come home and help your mom?
You could’ve gotten hurt,
and Maverick’s right to give you a consequence.”

Marianna
sat back and the anger dissipated. She sighed. “But she said he was gone,” she
said in a whisper. Maverick felt his chest tighten, the air difficult to
breathe, as he felt the crinkle of sadness in his mother’s hitched breath. He
wanted to pull Marianna into one of those hugs that engulfed her, taking her frail
body in his arms and hugging away her sadness, and he would. But he knew she
had to mourn the loss of their dad in her own way, which would be different,
and painful, but unique. And he couldn’t let her off the hook. He had to
enforce what he’d said.