Playground (10 page)

son I was with her was to make you happy!”

My heart falls out of my chest. Is he right? Is this all my fault?

My head swims.

Outside, half-naked girls climb out of the pool, grabbing

brightly colored cotton towels and laughing.

Inside, my father continues his diatribe. His words swirl around

my head and push into my eardrums like cold small knives.

“You’re just like your mother!”

I can hear what he’s saying to me. His words are clear and un-

compromising. By betraying him I am relegated to the lowest

rank. I am my mother, a whining girlfriend, a useless whore, and

as replaceable as the girls by the pool.

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J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R

He grabs a book off the shelf and hands it to me.

“I want you to stay in this room and memorize the definition

of loyalty and under no circumstances will you come out until

you can recite exactly what loyalty means! Do I make myself

clear? Loyalty!” Dad yells into my ears and then storms out.

Hands shaking, I look up the meaning of loyalty in Webster’s

dictionary: the quality or state or an instance of being loyal; faith-

fulness or faithful adherence to a person, government, cause, or

duty. The lesson had been delivered. A lesson reinforced often dur-

ing my childhood: faithful adherence to a person, my father, no

matter what.

As a child it never occurs to me that he might be disloyal.

I collapse onto the bed and sob because I thought Pamela

loved me, but she betrayed me. She was not loyal.

I wake up unsure of where I am. I look over and see the alarm

clock and wooden box of cigarettes on the dresser. I’m still in room

six at the Mansion.

There’s a knock on the door, so I hide underneath the sheets,

not wanting to wake up. The knocking continues. I throw the

sheets back, get out of bed, and open the door. My father is there

holding two tennis rackets, a smile splitting his face.

“I thought we could play some tennis,” he says.

“I’m not up yet,” I answer, still groggy.

“Well, get those lazy buns up. It’s gorgeous out,” he says ener-

getically. “I’ll even give you a couple games to start.”

“I don’t need a couple games to beat you,” I say, still mad at

him for last night and unsure of what to expect.

“You’re right. Just do me a favor and don’t embarrass me too

much,” he giggles.

I start to give in, my face hinting at a smile.

“I’ll meet you out there in five but you better hurry before I get

too warmed up,” he chuckles.

I close the door and throw on a plaid tennis skirt, a white Polo

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Playground

collared shirt, and red visor, knowing this outfit will definitely gain

Dad’s approval.

I jet down the pathway to the tennis courts, where we rally

back and forth.

“Listen, about Pamela, the truth is I’m actually relieved. I’ve

been trying to get rid of that cunt and she never took a hint. Some-

times there are women who are such a pain in the ass you can’t get

rid of them; no matter how hard you try, they just won’t leave. You

have to understand one thing: I date a lot of women and some of

them may send you messages just so they can get to me. Pamela

has major problems, so please just do me a favor and let me han-

dle my own personal business.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“We have to stick together,” he emphasizes.

I slam a straight shot down the line, leaving him in the dust.

Summer is over and my sister retreats into my mother’s arms.

Savannah is terrified by my father’s temper and finds safety by

Mom’s side. My father views her fear as an act of disloyalty and

continues to abrade her whenever given the opportunity. Mean-

while, he spoils me, making me feel special and important, like one

of the guys.

The relationship between Mom and me becomes more antago-

nistic. She overhears from some of the parents around Beverly

Hills that Savannah and I have been living at the Mansion. When

we deny it, Mom doesn’t believe us.

We’re in the kitchen as Mom paces back and forth. She’s furious.

“Why do you kids lie to me?” she asks. “Is this where you’ve

been all summer? At the Mansion?”

“No,” we lie.

“Sneaking behind my back?” she yells.

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J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R

“We’ve been at Dad’s beach house,” I tell her.

“Your father is completely out of line, putting you kids in the

middle! Damn him!” she yells. “You’re both grounded!”

Savannah and I retreat into our bedrooms and sit in silence,

afraid Dad will get mad if he finds out. I call him to give him the

heads-up and let him know what Mom is up to.

“Good work, Jennifer. You are a loyal daughter,” he praises

me, telling me not to worry because his lawyer will take care of

everything.

Mom visits her attorney, explaining how Dad is ignoring the

court order that clearly states that we are not allowed on the Man-

sion premises. He is taking us there against her will. The lawyer in-

sists little can be done unless there is proof of us on the property.

There is no proof. No one will come forward and she is not al-

lowed on the grounds.

We are silent as Mom returns home depressed and tries to ap-

peal to my father, calling him while we listen quietly from the den.

I can tell from her face that he’s mocking her from the other

end of the phone line, denying taking us to the Mansion, trying to

convince her that she is paranoid. His words, his wealth, and his

power are very intimidating. I imagine Mom hears Dad’s satisfac-

tion in slowly stealing her children away.

Instead of trying to understand Mom’s hopeless attempts to

keep us from the Mansion, I rebel against her. I listen to the part of

myself that doesn’t want my magical kingdom to be taken away.

Months pass. Savannah is reluctant to see my father at all. Al-

though I want to be with my sister, I find myself bored and iso-

lated at Mom’s.

Mom is so exhausted when she returns home from work that

after she’s done tending to my sister’s needs there is little room left

for me. When she sees me, something in her blood runs cold and

the way she speaks to me makes me feel sick and sad; not for what

she says but for the way she says it. She and I are always fighting.

We argue about how she talks to me, doesn’t talk to me, small

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Playground

things, big things. There is no middle ground, no matter how hard

we try. There is a huge void inside me, a void that is full when I am

around Dad and all the excitement that comes with him.

Savannah stays home with Mom while I spend all my free time

with my father.

I love being Daddy’s Little Girl, his favorite.

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Five

After the remodeling, Dad’s house becomes a mini Mansion.

It’s 1983, and by now I’m in my early teens. Dad and I still have

our rooms at the Mansion. However, Hef ’s leftovers seem to mi-

grate over every weekend. You can feel sex in the air—it’s every-

where. He loves the high-life filled with gorgeous people and

perfect bodies. No in-betweens. Many of the women are models

who want to be Playmates as they busy themselves poolside by

posing and kissing ass.

People come in and out of Dad’s newly remodeled house in a

hysterical frenzy. Everyone’s in a good mood. The stereo blasts

constantly and the fridge is always stocked with food and drinks.

Nude magazines are piled over every surface in the house.

Dad drops thousands of dollars on the women he dates. He pays

J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R

for their maintenance. Most of the girls have either white bandages

covering their nose or chin, or tight wraps around their breasts.

Our guest bathrooms are stocked with glass containers of damp

gauze pads, iodine, hydrogen peroxide, tape, and six-inch Q-tips.

Our home is now a hospital specializing in Playmate potential.

Carmela is run ragged serving cocktails to Dad’s topless girl-

friends by the pool.

Dad struts around naked.

It’s the times. It’s just the way things are.

Dad looks like a king on a throne as he lies back on a lounge

chair, a cigar in his mouth.

He leans in and whispers, “Check out her bikini.”

My head turns. Dad has taught me well: I can differentiate be-

tween girls who are really attractive and those who are just okay. I

know exactly what to look for: tight ass, flat stomach, light eyes, full

lips, soft skin, and tan but not overbaked. As for breasts, I’ve be-

come an expert: too big, big enough, too small, saggy, firm, perky,

soft.

Critiquing girls with Dad is so much fun.

“She’s really pretty, don’t you think?” I comment.

“A little cottage cheese on the thighs,” he replies.

The girls jump up and down to “It’s Raining Men” while Dad

prances around pushing them into the pool without regard. Dad

elbows me when one of the girls’ tops flies off. I laugh, finally

knowing what it’s like to be the son he never had.

One of the girls stops him.

“What’s up, sexy Daddy?” she asks. “It’s my birthday. Aren’t

you going to take me shopping for my birthday?” She pulls play-

fully at the strings of her bikini.

“Of course I am,” he says. “As long as you’re going to shake that

sexy ass for me.”

Dad smiles and pulls me aside.

“Jen, I have something for you. Come with me upstairs.”

I follow him to his room, passing more girls along the way.

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Playground

“Where are you going?” Dad asks some blonde who appears

ready to leave.

“I have to go to work,” she explains.

“No, stay with me,” he whines.

“Sweetie, you know I’d love to stay but I have to go shake my

ass and make two grand. Unless you can pay me?”

“Never mind, go to work.” Dad waves her off and mumbles

“stripper” as we walk down the hallway.

He makes a quick stop in his bathroom. I stand there and

watch as he points his penis down and urine shoots into the toilet.

When he is done, he shakes it, walks into his bedroom, and reaches

for something underneath his bed.

He hands me a gift-wrapped box.

“I had this made for you and I forgot all about it until just now.

I hope you like it.”

I open the box to find a Michael Jackson–style red leather

jacket with suede fringes on the ends.

“Thanks, Dad. I’ve been wanting this jacket!”

I hug him as one of the hookers walks in, slightly surprised to

see him naked and hugging me.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I’m giving my daughter a gift. Is that all right with you, dear?”

he snaps. “She’s off the payroll.”

“Oh, I just wanted to give you a little something, if you know

what I mean. I miss it,” the girl whines, bending at the waist, shoot-

ing him a “fuck me” pose.

“Can’t you see I’m having a moment with my daughter?” he says.

“Well, I’ll be down the hall whenever you’re ready, Daddy.”

The girl bats her lashes and walks out.

At night, Dad asks one of his girlfriends to check in on me. He

likes to make sure I’m okay. He knows I get lonely.

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