Guardian Girl (The Chronicles of Staffordshire) (54 page)

Lena heard a hearty laugh come from the freaky supermodel. “And I masturbate to that poster, too, Wild Child!”

“Sweetie, you’re so horny you’d masturbate to a poster of Colonel Sanders.”

“Colonel who…?”

“Never mind. Let’s stay focused on
me
for a few minutes, okay Freaky? Look… Mrs. Hyde was right. The fucking Czech’s coach
did
say I can’t return service from the right. So all of that is true. It hurts to think about it because I’m such a frigging perfectionist, but it’s really nothing new. I mean, I’m still out there swinging… And it still feels good to have a ranking, even if I’m one notch above a black hole.

“But it's a damn good thing I have a real career to fall back on or I’d be in deep shit. The younger players are just too strong and too fast for me. I mean… I knew it was going to happen someday, but not this young! Hell, that freaking Yugoslavian kid took me apart last month and she just turned 16! I was
never
that good when I was 16! God, I hate that kid so much! She’s so fucking
cute
and so fucking
sweet
and… She just makes me want to puke! You watch, Freaky… That beautiful kid is going to win a couple of Grand Slams before she…”

Lenore yawned. Lena refocused.

“Anyhoo… I just don’t have the hunger anymore. I haven’t put in a solid, uninterrupted practice session in three weeks. I haven’t aced a single game or taken straight sets in over a year. I'm living off my rep and you know me, Freaky… That’s not how I roll.

“So I’m ready to move on. I’m ready to be a hot-shit attorney. I’m ready to find a man of my own who’ll fill my pussy with a big, fat cock and load up my sexy oven with a baby…”

Lenore indulged Lena’s need to purge. The Wild Child needed closure. Her wounds needed binding. Lenore brought Lena’s palm to her face and kissed it, saying everything she needed to with her touch. The Wild Child drew a long, cleansing breath and released a soothed exhale.

“The truth is I had a pretty good run with the racket, Freaky. I hit my stride when I was 15, I had my sweet ass up on 7 million walls by the time I turned 19, and I got as high as number four in the entire world before I became a mere mortal. And I made it through Paulson and Harvard with honors, even IF my fucking idiot supermodel roommate THREW HER FUCKING GPA!”

Lena propped up on her elbow, got right in Lenore’s face, and growled again. An embarrassed grin, then a peck on the lips, greeted Lena’s playful irritation. She settled her head back to Lenore’s chest. With a broad smile and lick of Lenore’s left nipple, Lena delivered a gleefully condescending jab.

“And the last time I checked our portfolios, I’m STILL worth $4million more than you, ya frigging hip-wiggler! So SUCK IT, Freaky!”

Lena got another giggle from her badly bent babe.

Lenore slipped her fingers between Lena’s shoulders and ran them up through the Wild Child’s long, dark strands. Lenore stroked Lena’s hair and laid kisses on her forehead. Smiling contentedly in the freaky supermodel’s arms, Lena sighed and closed her eyes, remembering the way her oh-so-Italian, teddy bear father sent her off to sleep each night. A kiss to her forehead, a few strokes of her hair, and a quiet chorus of, “Volare.”

Lena smiled as she relived the magical aromas of her father’s bake shop located just a couple of blocks down from the Johns Hopkins campus in Baltimore. She loved the way he always brought home the store’s sweet scents on his clothes each night. A freshly stuffed cannoli awaited Lena at the front door every night after four, exhausting hours of tennis practice. Her father always had a hand-made, chocolate iced, double-dutch chocolate mini-cake ready for her just in case she racked up a magical, twenty-ace streak during service practice. She usually got the present anyway, even if her service practice was only average.

Lena drooled a little on Lenore’s chest. “Mmmmm… Daddy
still
makes a damned fine cannoli, Freaky. We have to take Rory down to the shop sometime. Daddy would totally freak out if Rory St. Cloud walked in and ordered a case of Sardi’s cannoli’s to go…”

Lenore smiled and shook her head. “You were saying something about becoming a mortal, dear?”

“Sorry. Anyhoo… I guess what I was trying to say is this… For a baker’s daughter from Ball-mer I’ve had a pretty nice life. I really can’t complain, even if I’ll never, ever be on the cover of SI again. So I guess what I’m
really
trying to say is this… Mrs. Hyde really didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. She just made me feel like shit when she said it.”

Lenore laughed nervously, not recalling every word of her mind-bending trip, but getting Lena’s point. Lena loved her. For reasons Lenore would never understand, Lena forgave her. The Wild Child would never abandon her, no matter how crystalline her psyche.

“Lena, I promise you… Somehow… Someday… I will kill Mrs. Hyde.”

“As long as you don’t kill my gorgeous Freaky Baby in the process, I am
totally
fine with that, Lenore.”

“Thank you, Lena. Thank you for staying with me when I go mad. I still do not know why you do it. I do not know why you stay with me when I am such a sick woman. If I were you… I would…” Lenore sniffed. “I would leave me.”

Lena gave Lenore a quick kiss to a tit and patted her on the shoulder. “Stay here for a minute, Freaky. Don’t move.”

Lena climbed off the bed and moved around the apartment, turning off lights, checking locks, and closing doors. She returned to the bed, switched off the light on the nightstand, and cuddled into Lenore’s side. Lena grabbed Lenore’s wrist and kissed the still-attached cuff. She turned her head and craned her neck to kiss Lenore’s cheek, pulling up the covers and closing her eyes for the night. Sighing contentedly, Lena reassured Lenore of her worth in the world.

“Do you really want to know why I stay with you, Lenore?”

Lenore’s eyes filled. “Yes, Lena… I need to know. I meant what I said. I would… I would leave me.”

“I stay with you, Lenore, because I know I will
never
meet another person who loves me as completely and unconditionally as you do. When I’m in your arms I feel like a superhero. When I’m not in your arms, I feel like a zero. And besides… You may be a sicko, but after how I behaved tonight that makes two of us. So let’s be sickos together for eternity squared, okay?”

“Eternity squared…” Lenore mulled. The math geek smiled. “I like that.”

“I thought you would, ya fucking GPA-thrower.”

“Lena…”

“Yes, Freaky Baby?”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you so much, too, Lenore.”

Lena did a quick glance at their cuffed wrists and ankles and shook her head.

“Ya know what, Freaky…?”

“What, Wild Child?”

“Just keep the goddamned cuffs out on the nightstand. We’re staying shackled together for life.”

Thirty Six

April 4, 1988

Dear Diary,

Get ready for some rambling, ‘coz I’m a mess again.

Yes, I said, ‘again.’ Stop snickering, you pulpy pain in the patookis.

You say you want to know when I’m NOT a mess, eh? Ha, ha. VERY FUNNY, Diary! Don’t quit your day job.

I tried to write everything down and make some kind of sense out of my totally fucked up life, but I tore it up and threw it away. I sounded like a bad imitation of Edgar Allen Poe after a cocaine bender.

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

“Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten beatings of beauteous Lenore,

“While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a slapping,

“As of someone hatefully punching, pounding at Lenore’s asshole door.

“’Tis some Psychotic Tennis Pro,’ I muttered, ‘pounding at Lenore’s asshole door —

“Not only this, and plenty fucking more.”

So here I go again. Let’s see how long I can hold out before going Victorian on you.

I know I’ve called myself a ‘major mess,’ a ‘horrific mess,’ a ‘hot mess,’ and a ‘messity-mess-mess-mess’ before, Diary. This time is different. This time I’m so messed up I feel like a sexaholic Humpty Dumpty. I have no idea how to put my sweet, little, nymphomaniac head back together again. I can't even keep a simple thought straight most days. The other day I objected in open court and opposing counsel hadn’t even opened his sweet, sexy mouth.

(Note to self. Jack Flannery is seriously hot and seriously single. Gotta line up some kissy-face time with Barrister Studly. Have Trina schedule drinks at McGaffigan’s. Make it happen.)

For the first time in my life I’m seeing an honest-to-God therapist, not just the sports shrink. I didn’t tell the doc about everything I did to Lenore. Not specifically, anyway. And I couldn’t bring myself to tell him I whacked around my female lover. If I told him I beat my international supermodel roommate half way to death he’d probably have to report it to someone. Then Lenore and I would be kaput. Over. Goners. Our careers and our life together would be over. And forget about telling him all about my “Psycho 16.” I haven't even told Lenore about that one. Psycho 16 would earn me a lifetime subscription to the ‘Shrink of the Month Club.’

But I had to at least tell him I lost my temper with someone I love. I kept it vague and fluffy. So now he’s working on helping me with anger management issues.

Now THAT is funny! Trying to make “Tantrum Girl” all sweet and cuddly! HA! Good luck, buddy! You’d have a better chance at making Reagan and Gorby snuggle buddies.

So it looks like I’ll need to self-diagnose some of this stuff. It looks like you’re going to be my therapist, Diary. How’s that for fun, eh? A sicko giving herself therapy through the pages of her diary?

So where do I start? How about I start with some good news? Hmmm… Good news…? Whither the good news…?

Well, this is good news! I’m still totally in love with Lenore! No question. My Freaky Baby is still alive inside Lenore’s head. Freaky Baby is still my superhero of love. She seems like she’s back to earth and she’s still TOTALLY hot! Those eyes. That megawatt smile. That HUGE heart. That totally scrumptious body!

(Yep. Gianni Sardi’s baby girl still gets naked every night with a freaky supermodel. Not too shabby.)

Okay. That’s the good news. Now here’s the bad news. Now that I know about Mrs. Hyde, I walk around doubting myself all the time. Mrs. Hyde came out of Lenore a leeetle too easily. I’m walking on eggshells, worrying about every stupid little thing possibly setting her off. I really shouldn’t worry about it, because she’s not that fragile, but I do.

Every time I remember how easy it was for Dr. De La Fuente to turn into Mrs. Hyde it makes me slow down a step. I don’t think Mrs. Hyde will ever pay us another visit, but the lingering beat of her ‘Tell-Tale Heart' gnaws at me. Thankfully, my fear of Mrs. Hyde becomes a little less rebarbative with each passing each day.

(Yeah, I did it! I used a big word! Yet more proof I went to HAH-vahd. So sue me, you lame-brained ledger!)

Just in case, though, I checked in with my girlfriends over at the NRA and picked up a carry permit for the DSM-III.

(Not THAT ‘NRA,’ silly. I’m talking about the ‘Nymphomaniac Recovery Agency.’)

Lenore can tell I’m still afraid of Mrs. Hyde. Even though she has no memory of what she did, she’s going out of her way to show me just how much she loves me and how devoted she is to making sure the Missus never drops by for another visit. I don't think Freaky Baby ever kissed and hugged me and held me quite as often, or for no good reason, as she has since Mrs. Hyde made her Broadway debut.

As far as Lenore is concerned, she thinks she’s totally back to normal, no therapy needed. She thinks her ‘superior intellect' and my love are all it will take to keep Mrs. Hyde locked away. She dumped all the contractions from her speech and she’s back to wearing her totally normal (for a frigging supermodel, that is), ultra-sexy, WAY-expensive, Shalamar rags.

Mercifully, my super-hottie sweetie still has the leather in the wardrobe, but she only takes it out for sexy time with me, not the street.

(Another note to self. My GOD that woman’s smokin’ body and bronze coloring were custom made for black leather and stripper shoes! Mee-OW!)

So for Lenore, it’s like nothing ever happened. In fact, Lenore doesn’t seem to remember anything of what she said to me, not even the stuff she first remembered right after it happened. It’s like her mind is a total blank slate about the whole incident. She remembers that ‘something’ happened, and she believes me when I tell her that she begged me to beat her by saying all kinds of hurtful stuff to me, but that’s it.

Thank God she doesn’t remember the beating. It would scare the hell out of her.

But I remember it. Every time I look at Lenore’s beautiful ass and the lingering bruise on her lower back I remember every blow. For my benefit she tries to hide the fact that she’s still in pain every day, especially in her shoulders. But I see her wince every time she picks up a bag with her left arm. She even has trouble cuddling me with her left arm because it still hurts so much.