White Lady (12 page)

“They’re not my real parents,” Kimi mumbles.

“What?” I stand in the middle of the room, wondering where to sit, afraid I might stain something with my inferiority.

“I’m adopted.” Kimi sits up, crosses her legs under her sparkly butt, and flings her arms in the air. “Can’t you tell?” She laughs, but I don’t get the joke.

I chuckle, not sure whether to feel pity or pleasure towards Kimi resenting good fortune. “Does your mum dress you too, then?”

Kimi glares at me, clearly not impressed by my sarcasm.

“Sorry.” I drop my bag and flats on the floor and look at my toes. I need to cut my nails. “I’m all out,” I say, and look up again.

“Already?”

I shrug, trying not to blink a hundred times a second, trying not think about pissing all over Kimi’s fluffy white carpet. I need the loo.
Badly
. “I took the last two before I came.” I glance at Kimi to see if she freaks out.
I
am kinda freaking out. What if something happens to me after taking two pills at once? My limbs already feel floaty.

Kimi smiles as if she’s got a secret. “Chill out. You should see the look on your face.” She bursts out laughing again.

I swallow, walk to Kimi’s state-of-the-art dresser, open the top drawer to see what’s in it. These drugs make me do weird shit. I would never even think to pry like this normally. And I’m doing it so casually, without a care. And I don’t care. I just “am.” Like my existence is a gift to the world. And whatever I do in it is inconsequential.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Kimi says.

I click my tongue. “Getting to know you.”

Kimi jumps up, pushes in front of me, and flicks the drawer closed with her knuckles before I see beyond the abundant collection of nail polish arranged perfectly by shade. The drawer rolls and snaps shut.

“Nothing in there that’s gonna help you, chickie.”

“Chickie?” I laugh. “Who
are
you?”

“No one is how they seem.”

I raise my eyebrows and let out a big breath. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“I do,” Kimi says.

I narrow my eyes at her. Her sly smile is so slanted, I’m amazed her mouth isn’t sliding off her face.

“So, let me get this straight. You’re just using me to sort out this stupid revenge thing you’re going on about. And you think getting me addicted to speed is going to keep me in your company and eating out of your hand?” I laugh—actually, I think it’s more of a cackle—trying to ignore the pulsating in my temples and the sweat accumulating on my top lip. “As if.”

Kimi shrugs. “Well, it worked, didn’t it? You’re here trying to score.”

“Can I just ask you one more time?” I say. “Why me? I mean, why not miss-piss-my-pants-in-Ping-Pong, who never learned to say no?”

Kimi looks at the ceiling, dramatizing her reaction with a contorted mouth and a scratch of her head. “You seemed, uh, let’s see … more vulnerable?”

I knew it. Great. So it’s obvious to everyone. “I’m not vulnerable,” I say. Seriously? I don’t even believe that myself, so why would she?

“Not anymore. You’ve got the drugs to thank for that.”

“You’re a fucking bitch.” I don’t know why that just came out of my mouth, but a sense of power is surging through me that makes me think of vampire poison flushing through my veins.

“So are you.”

Why is Kimi acting so calm? Does she really think she’s all that?

I crane my neck and drop my jaw. “
You
manipulated
me
. How does that make me a bitch?

“You can’t remember a thing, can you, Mia?”

“Remember a fucking thing of what?” I wipe the sweat from my lip with the top of my wrist and cross my arms in one smooth transition.

“That day you burned my clothes in PE.”

I suck my tongue to the roof of my mouth.

That was … her?

“Shit.” My arms fall to my sides and Kimi inches closer, practically blocking me into a corner.

“Yeah. Shit.”

“Uh … you looked so different then.”

Kimi scoffs, shrugs, pulls out another little Ziploc bag of pills from her bra. She holds it out for me between two fingers. “So did you.”

I look at the pills, feeling like my eyes are crossing to gain focus. I contemplate turning them down, getting out of this little grave Kimi seems to be digging for me. I’m not myself. I know this.

These drugs. These drugs, they’re bad for me. But it’s so
cool
. This feeling. Of control. I feel alive and free and floaty, and I love and hate everyone at the same time. Maybe I don’t even know which feeling is which. Maybe it’s indifference. But I don’t care. And I don’t care about my weight so much, either. And I’ve already lost two kilos. Maybe this is what they call freedom. But I’m not stupid. I know they’re beginning to screw with my head. I mean. Fuck. I spat in Dad’s face. I would never have even considered doing that if I wasn’t high. I didn’t even think about it; I just did it. Like a reflex. I know I should stop taking these. I
know
. I will stop. Just one more round, and then I will stop.

I promise. It’s an honest-to-God promise.

I snatch them out of Kimi’s hand and put them in my pocket, hoping I don’t regret this.

Kimi grins. “Would be nice if you could contribute a little cash for—”

“I’m trying to figure out why I’m okay with you manipulating me,” I say, turn ninety degrees to face the dresser mirror, and wipe a small smudge of black from my right cheek. On top of the dresser is a picture of Kimi and some older guy. Really dark-skinned. The guy looks familiar, but
who
isn’t quite registering. It’s probably her adopted father.

Kimi puts her hands around my waist from behind and rests her chin on my shoulder. We look into each other’s reflected eyes in the mirror.

“I’m not manipulating you,” she says. “It’s a simple case of I scratch your back and you scratch mine. And there’s more to you. I’m curious. You’re interesting.” Kimi lowers the tone in her voice to a featheriness that reeks of sexual innuendo.

I purse my lips and turn around to face her. Kimi pushes her boney pelvis against my robust hip, hooks my hair behind my ears, and whispers, “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

My stomach tightens and tingles travel down to my crotch. Kimi’s lips move closer to mine; she smells like white musk. Saliva accumulates under my tongue, but all I can think about is Mick being here too. If he was, I wouldn’t pull away.

Just before Kimi’s lips touch mine, I swivel my head to the right. I can’t do this. I want to try it. But I can’t. It just feels wrong. Kimi steps backwards and gives me room to move away from the dresser and stares at the floor with her arms crossed.

I grab my bag, hook it over my shoulder, and pick up my flats.

“You really should tell me what it is you need me to do.” I say, and stand by the door. “You can’t bait me with speed forever, man. At some point I’m not gonna want it.”

“I don’t need to tell you anything. You can easily help me on the spur of the moment. It’s not as if I need you to plan a murder. I just want you to—” Kimi holds her forehead like she has a headache. “You’re just going do something in a place I can’t be seen. That’s all.”

“That’s all? This is stupid. Why can’t you just tell me?”

“I’m trying to protect you. If I tell you, you might be liable.”

“Liable? For what?” This doesn’t sound good.

Kimi flicks her head towards the door. “I think you should go now.”

“Why?” Is she serious?

“You just should. My foster father doesn’t know you’re here, and he’ll be up here to check on me any minute.”

“But—”

“You got what you came for, didn’t you?”

She shuffles me to the front door. “Sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Kimi smiles as if she’s a little embarrassed. Maybe she’s really in trouble and genuinely needs my help. Maybe I’m being too suspicious. Maybe I’m just a clueless idiot.

I open my mouth to say “okay,” but Kimi closes the door on me before I can even utter the “O.”

I stare at the chrome knocker, imagining the taste of musk in Kimi’s mouth. I’ve never been attracted to a girl before, and I wonder if it’s the influence of the speed or the effects of being “needed” for something, even if I am being totally taken advantage of.

I turn around and walk out through the front gate, wondering where I’m going to go that’s not home, when I think …
foster
father? She said she was adopted when I arrived. Is she full of total shit, or what?

I feel inside my back pocket. The twenty-dollar bill Dad gave me for food is gone. Did Kimi pickpocket me? I backtrack through the events in her bedroom, trying to pinpoint the exact moment she grabbed it, and I suddenly realize where I’ve seen that dark-skinned guy before.

He was in that footy photo with Dad.

The one I smashed against the wall.

Chapter 31

Celeste: No more Botox.

I pop three Xanax and swallow them without any water. My throat stings as I breathe in the metallic air of Karter’s office, and I clutch his door handle in an attempt to stop my hand from shaking. Karter’s secretary, Freda, hovers behind me, whispering for me to reconsider interrupting him right now: He’s
very
busy.

And we all know what that means, don’t we?

I flick Freda away like she’s filth.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and exhale as I twist the handle and swing the door open. Karter’s head is down, a tuft of hair reaching for the ceiling, red pen in hand, scribbling with abandon on what seems to be some sort of report. A woman in a black leather skirt is sitting cross-legged on his sofa, buttoning up her white blouse. She winks, smirks, grabs her leather jacket off the armrest, and shrugs it on.

“Darling,” Karter says, still scribbling. He doesn’t look up. “As you can see, I’m slightly busy at the moment. Make an appointment with Freda. I think I have a cancellation this afternoon that I can slot you into.”

Sofa Woman stands, licks her lips, and says, “Ich hätte meine Muschi lieber dir überlassen.”

Freda gasps.

Karter stops scribbling, looks up, and smiles at me. Little does he know that I learned German in high school and can pretty much figure out what she said. Repulsed, but slightly flattered by her lesbian advance, I scoff at Sofa Woman as she brushes against my shoulder on the way out.

“Very well.” Karter nods at Freda hovering behind me in the doorway. “Freda, you may leave Celeste here with me. It’s fine.”

“Yes sir.” Freda nods and closes the door.

I run my tongue along my teeth and hug my handbag to my chest. The room smells like a barber shop. Was he shaving in here? Oh … her pubic hair. What a laugh! He did that to me before our very first sexual encounter at the Hilton in Melbourne. He hit on me at the bar. I was supposed to meet Ibrahim for a drink. But his stupid wife decided to get arrested that night, and he didn’t want to risk being seen in public.

“What is it you want?” Karter laughs. “Change your mind about the Botox?”

“I wouldn’t let you stick me with another syringe if my life depended on it,” I snap.

Karter caps his pen and aligns it next to a pile of papers. He cups his hands together and rests them in front of him. “I see. What is it you want then, dear?”

“A divorce.”

Karter scoffs, props up his feet on the corner of his desk, and runs his fingers through his hair. “That might be difficult at this point in time. I have a lot on my plate.”

“I’ll take care of it.” My voice quivers as I force myself to relax my limbs before I snap in half. “I’ll have my lawyer send you the documents. From today, you will communicate with me through my lawyer only. I’ll have him send you all the necessary documents to—”

Karter sits upright and smacks his hands on the desk. “Back up a minute. You can’t just—”

“Of course I can.” I snicker. “And don’t worry. It will be done quietly. The press won’t hear a peep of it until your grant is awarded.”

Karter clears his throat. “And what, may I ask, did I do to deserve your discretion?”

“Nothing. It’s what you
will
do. And if you don’t do it, you know exactly who I can ask to pay you a visit.” Ibrahim and I have stayed in touch.

“I see.” Karter laughs again as he gets out of his seat, walks around his desk, and sits on its front edge. “How much is this going to cost me?” He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes like he’s trying to read my mind.

I swallow, hold my breath, and let it all blurt out. “I want a million dollars, a ticket to Australia—for as soon as possible—and for you to never,
ever
, contact me again.”

Karter nods and stands. He holds his fingers to his lips in thought. What a parody.

“I’ll give you two million if you remain at my beck and call until the spotlight fades.”

“I refuse to stay.”

“Then I suppose I misjudged your needs.”

Now he’s getting cocky. “What do you mean by that?”

“We had an unspoken agreement, did we not?”

I clench my teeth. I knew threatening him with Ibrahim wasn’t going to work. He has his own connections that could do Ibrahim and his family just as much damage. I can’t even imagine Ibrahim being any sort of saviour anyway. He loves his stupid wife too much. But I have just the thing to counteract it.

“Wasn’t I your so-called shield of protection? From your less-than-favourable past? Isn’t there something you wish to keep from your imbecile of an ex-husband? Not to mention the fact that such news, I imagine, would be absolutely devastating to your daughter.”

I step closer to Karter with more conviction than I’ve ever had in my life. I lean forwards and curl my top lip. Those Xanax might be kicking in already. Or maybe it’s the 400ml of vodka I downed before leaving the house.

“I’ve already told them.” I sneer. “And something else you might like to keep in mind. I know
all
about the Dexfenfluramine you smuggled into the country. I suggest, if you want to retain your reputation as a good Samaritan, you will do as I ask.”

Karter sits behind his desk again and picks up his phone. He stares at me with his finger holding down the hook. Why is he even bothering to think about this? He knows his career would blow up in one big mushroom cloud if this information got out.