Sellevision (23 page)

Then he retrieved a head shot from his filing cabinet, a black-and-white photograph in which he was wearing a suit and tie, smiling into the camera. Although the picture was more than two years old, Max felt he still pretty much looked the same, except that the new, unemployed Max no longer needed to wear a tie. It also showed that he could be lit professionally with good results.

He sat at the computer and wrote a quick note to accompany the pictures. Nice talking with you, look forward to hearing from you, really excited, blah, blah blah. He printed out the letter using the Epson Stylus he had purchased from Sellevision last year when it was featured as a Today’s Super Value ($81.66 in three easy payments of $27.22).

Reading the letter over for spelling errors and/or idiotic comments, Max felt satisfied enough to stick the letter, the head shot, and the three Polaroids into a manila envelope.

Grabbing his keys, wallet, and bomber jacket, Max headed out of the condo, care package in hand.

“G

ee, Nikki, you don’t have to do that, I can do it myself later on,” John told the girl.

She set the yellow plastic laundry basket onto the table beside the washing machine. “Really, Mr. Smythe, it’s no problem at all. I want to help,” she said as she placed a load of whites in the machine.

He leaned against the dryer, noticing the care that she took while placing the garments into the Kenmore. Unlike Peggy Jean, who wore Playtex gloves when she did the laundry, always complaining about pee stains.

“Are these yours?” she asked coyly, taking a pair of John’s Calvin Klein boxer briefs in her hands, dangling them in front of her by the waistband.

“How embarrassing,” he said, turning slightly red in the face.

She let them fall into the washing machine and smiled, closing the lid and pressing the start button. “Oops,” she said. “I forgot the soap.”

He pointed to a family-size jug of Tide on the floor next to the machine.

She slowly bent over and picked it up. He could see no pantyline beneath her tight jeans. And this could only mean one thing.

Upstairs in the kitchen, the two sat at the table, each with a Diet Pepsi. “So when you dropped Peggy Jean off this morning, did they say how long she’ll have to stay?” she asked.

God, the girl had beautiful lips; full and perfectly shaped. “Uh, the doctor said she’d be there at least thirty days,” he told her, wondering what flavor her lip-gloss was. Peach? Maybe strawberry?

“That’s such a long time. And this is such a big house. Please don’t be afraid to ask me for help, whenever you need it.” Nikki looked into his eyes. “Your eyes are a beautiful brown,” she told him.

He blinked. “Peggy Jean keeps telling me to get blue contacts. She thinks they’d go better with my hair color.”

Nikki tilted her head slightly down, allowing a few stands of her long hair to fall against her cheeks. “Well, she’s wrong.” Nikki rose from the table and rinsed her glass in the sink before placing it in the dishwasher.

John trembled slightly, as if from a chill.

Then she walked behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. “You’re so tense. Your shoulders are like rocks,” she said as she began to massage. “My father stores all his tension in his shoulders, too,” she said kneading his muscles between her fingers with expert skill.

He moaned softly, and she applied more pressure.

“This must be so hard for your sons. What have you told them? Are they okay?”

He sighed. “Oh, they’ll be fine. They’re good kids. God, you’re good at this.”

She began softly pounding on either side of his spine with her fists. “See? Already you’re relaxing.” Then she ran her hands gently across his back; over his shoulder blades, across his deltoids and down to his lower back just above his buttocks. “You have such a strong back. You must go to a gym,” she said in a soft, breathy voice.

“I try to keep in shape,” he said, his mouth suddenly very dry.

“My father never does anything to stay in shape,” she said. Then Nikki leaned her face next to his ear, placing her lips so close he could almost feel them. “You know,” she whispered, “this would be a lot easier if you were lying down.”

I

mmediately after making love, Eliot announced, “I’m hungry.” Bebe laughed. “My God, the male of the species is so primal and need-driven.”

He gave her his hurt puppy look. “
What?
”

She lay back on the bed in mock despair. “You mean you’d rather eat cold pizza than bask in the afterglow of love with
moi?
”

Eliot had forgotten about the pizza that was in the refrigerator from the night before. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and leapt from the bed.

Bebe smiled and looked at the clock on the nightstand: 4:30 P.M. She’d have to be at work in an hour and a half to prepare for her Sunday night Dazzling Diamonelle show. She lay back and watched the shadow of a tree outside the window play against the ceiling. What funny thing had she and Eliot done that she could talk about tonight? Of course she would absolutely love to talk about the burly judge who brought plussize Victoria’s Secret nighties into Eliot’s dry-cleaning shop all the time. But that probably wasn’t such a good idea, in case she ever appeared before him.

She heard the microwave beep, and a moment later Eliot was standing naked before her, eating mushroom pizza off a paper towel decorated with puppies and kittens. Her little dog was between his legs, looking straight up.

“Want a bite?” he asked as he chewed.

Bebe burst out laughing. “Now I know what I’m going to talk about tonight.”

He grinned, cheeks plumped out with pizza. “Gote ewe air,” he said, then after swallowing, “
Don’t you dare
.” He had learned that nothing he said or did was off limits when Bebe went on the air. Just last week, the entire country learned that he couldn’t pee unless the faucet was running. He finished the pizza except for the crust, which he automatically handed to her. For some reason, the crust was Bebe’s favorite part and he always saved it for her.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you—guess who called me last night?” he asked.

Pepper jumped up on the bed and Bebe scratched behind his ears. “What a good boy,
yes
.” she looked up at Eliot. “Who?”

“My mother,” he said, slipping into a pair of boxer shorts.

“Your mother? Your mother’s dead.” Pepper licked her hand.

Eliot pulled his head through a T-shirt. “I mean my biological mother, the one I never knew.”

Pepper jumped off the bed and Bebe sat up, pulling the covers over her breasts. “Eliot, you were adopted?”

He nodded his head. “Yeah, when I was a month old.”

She couldn’t believe he hadn’t told her. “Why didn’t you ever mention this to me?”

He shrugged. “It just never seemed important. I mean, I don’t really even think about it much. I don’t
feel
adopted.” He licked some tomato sauce off his thumb.

She thought this made sense. “So what did she say? Why did she call?”

“She said she’d always wondered what happened to me, that she never really got over giving me up, and that it had taken her all these years to find me. It was weird. She’s a stranger to me.”

“Well, did she tell you anything about her? Do you have brothers and sisters? What about your father?”

“Shit!” he cried and hopped on one foot. “Bebe, what the hell do you need this roulette wheel for? And why’d you put it on the floor?

Bebe rolled her eyes. “Eliot, I told you—it’s an investment. It’s from the original Sands Hotel in Las Vegas. Someday, it’ll be worth a lot. I just haven’t found a place to put it yet.”

He rubbed his big toe and frowned.

“Anyway, tell me more about your mother. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“She didn’t mention brothers or sisters, but she did mention my father.” He pressed on his toenail and a small amount of blood appeared at the edge of the nail.

She looked at him, waiting for him to say more.

“She said they were living in Brooklyn at the time. He was with the NYPD. Imagine, I’m the son of a cop.” He limped into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. “Haven’t you got any Band-Aids?”

She froze. A chill went through her entire body; her arms sprouted goose bumps. “Eliot, what’s your biological mother’s name?”

“Never mind, I found them,” he said, walking back into the room with the box. He handed it to her. “Here, can you open one of these? You’ve got fingernails.”

“What was your mother’s name, Eliot?” Bebe asked again.

“Rosalind,” he said as he walked over to the chair and picked up his jeans.

Bebe thought she was going to pass out. She closed her eyes and placed her hands over her ears to make sure her head didn’t fall off her shoulders. And then it hit her in waves. The heaving came before the actual tears, but soon enough the tears came.

She sobbed into her hands and he ran over to the bed. “Bebe, what is it, what’s the matter, what?” There was panic in his voice. He’d never seen her like this, ever.

She was able to control the sobs enough to ask him, “Don’t you see?” But then the sobs took her over again.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she pushed it away. “Bebe, what’s going on? What did I say?” He scolded himself for snapping at her about the roulette wheel.

“Eliot.” She looked up at him. “
Rose
is short for Rosalind. That’s my mother’s name,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows:
So what?

“My parents lived in Brooklyn before I was born. My father was a
cop
.” She inhaled. “And they gave their first baby, a boy, up for adoption.”

His mouth fell open. He blinked once.

sixteen

“Y
es. Mr. Smythe, yes, yes,
oh God!
” Nikki cried, as John pounded into her from behind, drops of sweat falling from his forehead onto her back. “Oh, I’ve been such a naughty little girl, punish me.
Harder, harder!
”

John thrust into her, groaning loudly, like an animal, his fingers pressed tightly into her buttocks. “Oh, Nikki, I’m getting close, I’m getting so close,” he cried out, eyes rolling back in his head.

Just then she pulled away from him and he fell out of her. She turned over on her back. “On my face, Mr. Smythe, all over my face—just not in my hair.”

When it was all over, Nikki asked for a tissue. John brought her a box of pink ones from the bathroom.

“How long did you say your wife’s going to be in the hospital?” she asked.

He smiled wickedly at her. “Thirty days and
thirty nights
.”

Nikki crawled under the covers. “Let’s take a little nap.”

He climbed into bed next to her, wrapped his large arms around her small, perfect body. She closed her eyes.

“Mmmmm, you’re so warm.”

“It’s all my hair,” he said. “It’s like insulation.”

Nikki ran her fingers through the hair along his arm. “My father’s smooth all over, like a porpoise. It really grosses me out.”

He nibbled her earlobe. “You never, you know,
did
anything with your father, did you, Nikki?” he asked.

“Just once,” she said. “When I was fourteen.”

John opened his eyes in alarm. “Your father raped you when you were fourteen?”

Nikki laughed. “I’d hardly call it rape. I was curious so I climbed into the shower with him one morning.”

He stuck his tongue in her ear. “You’re such a bad girl, Nikki.”

She giggled. “That tickles.” Then she got philosophical, gazing at the curtain rod. “I’m the Fashion Café generation, you know? I mean I just believe that if something feels good and it’s not hurting anybody, you should just go for it!”

Oh yes
, he thought,
you little treat
.

“We’re all gonna die eventually, so why not have some fun?” Then she turned to him. “Hey, you don’t have any handcuffs, do you? I know a good trick.”

He brought his mouth to her small breast, sucking on the nipple until it stiffened.

“I’m not really seventeen,” she said.

He moaned.

“I’m sixteen.
Almost
.”

He moaned harder. His mouth moved hungrily along her neck. “I don’t care if you’re twelve. If I can have thirty days with you, it’s worth rotting on death row for the rest of my life.”

John ran his fingers across Nikki’s tight, flat stomach. “Jesus, you don’t have a single stretch mark. Peggy Jean is covered with them. It’s repulsive.”

Nikki tensed. “I swear, I will never have stretch marks. I’d kill myself first. If I want to have a baby someday, I’ll just hire some surrogate cow.”

John flicked her navel ring with his tongue. “Kids just get in the way.”

She reached down between his legs. “Hey, what’s this, Mr. Smythe? Already?”

“
Yo, Dad!
” Ricky called out, bounding up the stairs.

“
Shit
,” John said. “Quick Nikki, hide in the closet or get under the bed.”

But it was too late. Ricky threw open the door. “Can we order pizza tonight since Mom’s—oh, hi Nikki, how’s it going?”

She shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”