Back Talk (2 page)

She also kept the pills as part of a revenge fantasy she had going. One day she would take all those pills to Olympia and stash them in her father’s medicine cabinet, then she’d tip off the
National Inquirer
. Her father’s political career as a senator was squeaky clean except for his gay daughter and dead wife. Through the years, Hilton had come up with elaborate revenge scenarios as a payback for being made an orphan.

Hilton slipped into the bath and thought about the one and only adult conversation she and Gran had had about her mother.

Gran told her that her father, Percy, was a horrible prick who had 5

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killed the one beautiful thing in his life, her mother. Gran loved Hilton’s mother, Louise, like the daughter she’d never had. When Louise died at age twenty-eight, Gran snatched Hilton and told Percy if he had any ideas of fighting for custody, she’d cut him off without a penny. Percy was just beginning his political career and needed the money.

By the time Gran died, all Hilton remembered about her father was that day on the beach when they found her mother drowned.

Now, he viewed her as a political liability despite the fact that she retained the keys to the family fortune. Gran had cut him out of the will. This did little for any hope of reconciliation.

Hilton finished bathing and got dressed. When she came downstairs the party was in full swing. The stereo was blasting techno tunes and the living room had become a dance floor. Hilton scanned the crowd for Nat. She was nowhere to be found.

Someone touched her arm. It was Liz.

“She went for a ride with Sherry,” Liz said.

“Great.” Hilton made her way through the crowd to the kitchen for another beer. Liz followed her. Hilton offered perfunctory greetings to the women she knew. Most of them were Nat’s friends. She always thought of that Counting Crows song with the line, “I don’t know anyone at the party, but I’m always the host.”

“Are you all right with this?” Liz asked as Hilton poked around in the fridge for another beer, which was like a world tour of beers, all of them left from other parties. She chose two Red Stripes.

Tonight, they would go to Jamaica.

Hilton handed Liz a beer.

“Thanks.”

“All right with what?” Hilton asked. She took a sip of beer. It was ice cold. It had obviously been in there for a while.

“You know.”

“Isn’t this the tenth or eleventh time?”

“I lost count,” Liz replied.

Hilton watched Liz pick at the label on the beer bottle. It was a 6

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favorite tactic of hers to avoid eye contact when something uncomfortable came up. Liz was very protective of Hilton and if she had any brains she’d dump Nat and date Liz. She had met Liz in her computer programming class. She was a tall, dark-haired, long-legged beauty from Missouri. She had moved to Seattle to go to graduate school. Her longtime lover had dumped her rather abruptly upon their arrival and left her destitute. The lover owned the pocketbook. Hilton took her into her home. “Hilton’s home for wayward women,” Liz liked to joke. Gran had been adamant about philanthropy and Hilton had taken it to a more personal level. Liz had been there two years and was on the verge of graduating.

“The label’s painted on, so you’ll just have to talk to me face-to-face,” Hilton said, reaching out and lifting Liz’s chin. She had long, chestnut brown hair and the most amazing blue eyes. She was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a white blouse. She looked like the all-American college girl and Hilton couldn’t help wondering how she’d come to be part of this dysfunctional group.

“All right, it’s twelve. There was the plumber, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right. I had forgotten about the plumber. That’s why my tub doesn’t work and the toilet still runs.”

“Exactly.”

Jessie came up to them breathless. “Liz, I think I’ve found you the perfect girlfriend.”

“I can only imagine,” Hilton said, watching as mortification danced across Liz’s face.

“There’s no such thing,” Liz said.

“No, look, she’s sitting right over there on the couch,” Jessie said, pointing to a blond woman with a teddy bear sitting on her lap. Jessie was another one of Hilton’s roommates. She was a complete nymphomaniac and was instantly in love with anyone who went to bed with her. Jessie was cute. She had spiky, black hair, olive skin and sparkling green eyes. She spent a lot of time at the gym, mostly in search of prey, but had a nice body as an accidental consequence of going there five days a week. She had a job as the 7

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receptionist and towel girl. She was trying to get her phys ed degree so she could be a trainer. Unfortunately, studying was never a priority with Jessie so she often had to drop classes and then retake them.

“What’s with the bear?” Hilton asked.

“She’s her constant companion. Her first lover gave it to her and the bear’s been with her ever since.”

“Where’s the girlfriend?” Liz asked.

“Oh, long gone, but if you talk nice to the bear you’re in like Flynn,” Jessie said.

“Let me guess, the bear’s name is Amelia Bearheart,” Liz said.

She finished her beer. Hilton noticed she’d still managed to scrape off part of the painted label. She put the bottle down and was digging white paint from underneath her fingernail.

“How’d you know? See, you’re halfway there,” Jessie said, obviously impressed with Liz’s ability to name bears.

“The bear’s got a flight jacket on and goggles,” Hilton said, having reached the same conclusion.

“Why aren’t you going after her?” Liz asked.

“I want her friend, the tall blonde over there,” Jessie replied.

“Oh, so I’m supposed to entertain the freak with the bear while you cruise her friend,” Liz said snidely.

“Well, I mean, it would help. Couldn’t you just go and talk to her?”

“No.” Liz left to get another beer.

“What’s up with her? The woman looks nice.”

“I gotta go,” Hilton said.

“Where are you going?” Jessie asked.

“To check on Shannon. I’ll be back and then I’ll talk to the freak while you line up your next conquest.”

“Really?”

“What are friends for.”

Jessie smiled and disappeared back into the crowd.

Hilton went out back to discover that Shannon had gotten out 8

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and was playing ball with a woman she had never seen before. She must not have closed the door tight. Shannon was pretty good at nudging the door open if there was half a chance she might be successful at escaping. She always stayed in the yard but she seemed to do it as a protest that she’d been left behind. Shannon came romping up to her.

“Is she your dog?” the woman asked.

“Yes, and she’s supposed to be in the cottage taking a nap right now,” Hilton said. Shannon rolled over as if to apologize. Hilton sat on the grass next to her and rubbed her soft white belly.

“Oh, so she’s a fugitive. Hi, my name’s Emily. I’m your new neighbor. Jessie invited me over but it was a little too crowded inside, so I thought I might get some air.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Hilton.”

“You’re the pickle heiress.”

“I love that introduction. Jessie told you that.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve never met a pickle heiress before.”

“Am I everything you imagined?”

“That and more,” Emily said coyly.

Hilton smiled. The woman was obviously flirting with her, and for once Hilton didn’t mind. Emily had dyed pink hair and was wearing cutoffs and a man’s undershirt with no bra. Both her nipples were pierced and she had nice, small round breasts. She was nothing Hilton would normally date.

“So are you from here?” Hilton asked politely. She sat down on the porch steps next to her. She’d rather talk to a punk rocker than a woman with a teddy bear as a constant companion. Jessie would get over it.

“No, I just moved here from Vancouver. I’m going to school.”

“What for?” Hilton took the last swig of her beer and wished she’d grabbed another one on the way out. Emily was also out of beer, she noticed.

“I don’t know yet. I’m still doing basic courses right now. I must’ve changed majors five times now. It’s hard trying to decide 9

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what you want to do with your life. I’ll probably just get a bache-lor’s in liberal arts and then slave away in a coffee shop somewhere.”

Hilton laughed. “Hey, do you want to get another beer?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve got a private stash in the cottage. We could avoid the crowd.”

“Great,” Emily said. She followed Hilton and Shannon back to the cottage. Emily sat on the bed because the only two chairs in the place were old cracked leather wingbacks where Hilton stacked her records.

Hilton watched to see if having to sit on the bed made Emily uncomfortable. Obviously not, she thought as Emily kicked her shoes off, fluffed up one of the big pillows at the headboard and looked around inquisitively.

“My, you’re quite the collector,” Emily said, taking the Corona beer that Hilton offered her.

“Got any requests?” Hilton asked, kneeling in front of the record player.

Emily put her forefinger to her lips and appeared to be lost in a quick search of her mental files. Hilton waited, wondering what she’d come up with. She seldom met anyone whose musical tastes even bordered on eclectic. Most people, even Nat, simply chose the latest tunes, which meant Hilton had to resort to CDs to fulfill the request. She preferred records. She liked the scratchy sounds and the feel of the vinyl as she put them on the player.

“How about Van Morrison’s ‘Brown-Eyed Girl,’ Patsy Cline’s

‘Three Cigarettes’ and maybe a little Bob Marley, ‘No Woman No Cry.’”

“Music lover, eh?”

“Avid,” she said, sitting up on the bed and crossing her legs. She took a sip of beer.

Maybe tonight wasn’t going to be so bad after all, Hilton thought as she put on Emily’s first request.

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They spent the next four hours listening to songs and drinking beer. They had ordered pizza and now Hilton was looking in the fridge for more beer. “I could go foraging in the house,” she offered, not relishing the idea.

“No, stay here. I think I’ve exceeded my daily limit anyway. You might disappear into the crowded void of your house party and I’ll never see again.”

Hilton laughed. For the first time in weeks she felt relaxed. She looked over at Shannon, who was sleeping peacefully in the corner. “So what’s next?” Hilton asked innocently.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” Emily said.

Before Hilton had time to protest, Emily had taken Hilton’s face in her hands and kissed her ardently. Emily’s soft lips brushed against hers and her tongue was doing the most amazing things.

Hilton wasn’t certain she would have protested anyway. What little resolve she may have had died away as Emily pulled up her T-shirt and kissed her stomach. Emily ran her tongue just under the waistband of Hilton’s shorts. She tugged at the button and looked up at Hilton.

“Please,” Hilton said, feeling a shiver run through her.

Emily undid the button and zipper and pulled her shorts off.

She ran her finger down the center of Hilton’s underwear and parted her lips gently. Hilton moaned. Emily pulled her underwear off. Hilton thought of Nat for three seconds as Emily took her in her mouth, inserting her tongue and sort of fucking her. Hilton didn’t know if her thought of Natalie was guilt or revenge.

When Emily rolled her over and took her from behind she had completely forgotten about Nat. Hilton arched up to meet Emily’s fingers. Emily had taken off her shirt and Hilton could feel her breasts as they met her back. They rocked against each other.

“Is this good?” Emily asked as she ground against her.

“Fabulous,” Hilton said. She couldn’t hold herself a moment longer. Her orgasm shot through her like a lightning storm coursing through her veins. She gasped and lay still for a moment. She could feel her own jagged breath in unison with Emily’s.

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“That was nice,” Emily said, rolling off her and scooping her up in her arms.

“Very nice,” Hilton murmured, her face buried between Emily’s soft breasts. She licked the beads of sweat that lay there.

Emily pulled off her shorts and rolled Hilton on her back. She slid her thigh between Hilton’s leg. Hilton could feel her wetness.

“Come here.” She pulled Emily on top of her. Hilton tugged at Emily’s nipple rings. Emily leaned in toward her and Hilton sucked her nipple and the nipple ring. She could feel Emily shudder. “You like?”

“Oh, yes,” Emily said, offering up her other breast. She kept rocking toward Hilton with her breasts while Hilton nipped and suckled them. Hilton cupped her hand between Emily’s leg and thrust her fingers inside. Emily moaned and then ground against Hilton’s hand. “Oh, just like that.”

Hilton thought there was nothing quite so erotic as watching a cute girl move against you as you ran your hand across her breasts.

Hilton knew it would be the wee hours of the morning before Emily would leave.

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Early Saturday morning, Anne Counterman sat frowning at her computer screen. She was attempting to create an interactive Web site for her radio program, “Back Talk.” She swore that they, being management, had given her the lamest person they could find to be her Webmaster. “Web-make-a-mess-master is more like it,” she grumbled.

She moved in disgust away from her site and began perusing the sites of the other radio programs that existed under the con-glomerate of Argonaut Airways. She came to a site for one of the smaller FM stations. It was marvelous.

“Now, that’s more like it,” she said. She clicked on her speakerphone and called Ed Marcy, her program director. He also put in a few hours on Saturday mornings in the peace and quiet of a place almost vacant except for the FM stations who had young jocks spinning tunes and advertisements. They didn’t require the research and the phone power that the talk shows needed. The 13