Chapter 14
Quiet wrapped itself around me like a blanket, or a bag. A body bag. My heart pounded in my ears and at my temples. My breath grew shallow. A single chain of thought wrapped itself around my head and refused to let go.
Liar. He’s a liar. I am the child of liars. I’m the lie they tell themselves…
I was going to be sick. I somehow made it to the sink in time to retch into the steel bowl instead of on the floor or my dress. My nose and throat burned. I turned on the tap to wash away the mess. My tongue tasted sour, like scotch and bile. I rinsed my mouth and drank down handful after handful of clear, cold water.
Within minutes, my stomach felt better. The room had stopped spinning. I dried my face with a paper towel and went to lie on the futon. My father wouldn’t like that I was messing up the fabric, but fuck him. He promised he wouldn’t send me away.
Staring up at the crisscrossing of beams and pipes, so familiar I could conjure them from memory, I thought about the hours I’d spent naked and aroused in this very spot. Opening myself up. Laying myself bare. I had assumed my father was willing to do the same. I was wrong. I was wrong about everything, including his love for me. As soon as he finished his painting, he was going to give me up. Like a used T-shirt, threadbare and stained with God knows what. He didn’t care that I still had to live in this body once he was done with it. All he cared about was his art.
The door squealed open and clicked shut. Footsteps approached. I steeled myself for whatever was to come. A lecture. A scolding. Orders to pack my shit and go this instant.
“You should be on your side,” said Maddox. “Just in case something comes up.”
“Been there. Barfed that.” I rose onto my elbows. “Did my dad send you in to check on me?”
He shook his head. “He’s too busy making sure the masses don’t pocket one of his Rembrandts.”
“Figures.” I could’ve been choking to death on my own vomit and his biggest concern would be how he was going to paint around the puke.
“Henry’s just a little rusty, that’s all.” Maddox began walking the perimeter of the room. I had to turn to keep him in my field of vision. “It’s been a long time since he’s had a little girl to look after. Tonight’s spat notwithstanding, y’all strike me as exceptionally close.”
His unbidden reference to the past sobered me up quickly. I rose from the futon, determined to learn as much information as I could while he was still in the mood to talk.
“Do you have kids, Maddox?”
“I do. A son, though we’ve never met.”
I began my own counterclockwise lap around the room. “Why not?”
“His mama gave him up for adoption, and I didn’t even know he existed until a few years after.”
I thought about what that would feel like, knowing you had a child somewhere in the world who may or may not want to be found and no way of searching for them. It made me wonder how much my mother had concealed from my father about me. Probably a lot.
“Have you tried to find him?”
Maddox shook his head. “Adoption records are sealed. He’s grown now. Old enough to come looking for me, if he felt so inclined.”
We met on the far side of the room in front of my father’s painting. Heat filled my face as I watched Maddox’s gaze caress the half-finished portrait of me with my hand between my thighs. He licked his lips, and my nipples puckered in response.
“You look so much like her,” he said.
“Do you mean my mom?”
He nodded. “Your daddy used to draw her all the time. We both did.”
“Are you an artist, too?”
“Not really. Though, I was something of an amateur filmmaker in those days. The three of us had a lot of fun making home movies.”
I recalled the amateur porn my father had been watching the first night I came here, and how he and my mother couldn’t possibly have filmed it themselves. Was Maddox behind the camera? I trapped the question like a sparrow behind my teeth before it could fly out.
He considered the painting for what felt like hours. I pleated my hands together, not sure what else to do with them while I patiently waited for him to tire of studying my naked body.
“So much of this world is ugly,” he said finally. “I want my small corner to be beautiful, so I surround myself with beautiful things.” He gestured to the canvas. “Maybe I’ll buy this when it’s finished, hang it over my bed. You could come and see it.”
I pictured Kristin on her knees, mouth open and watering for Maddox’s cock beneath a giant nude portrait of me. I fought back a giggle as I imagined his gaze locked on my face as he sank into Kristin’s undoubtedly bleached asshole.
“Your girlfriend”s annoying,” I said. “Just thought you should know.”
“That”s not a very nice thing to say.”
“It”s true.”
“Just because something”s true doesn”t mean it should be said aloud. Sometimes you’ve got to massage the truth to avoid hurting someone’s pride. Or to protect the one you love.”
“If you love someone, you should never lie to them.”
“Not even when the truth hurts?”
I held his stare. “Never.”
He took a step back, and I moved forward as if tethered by an invisible cord. We stalked each other around the studio. He walked, and I followed. I retreated, and he advanced, slow and calculated. A hunter stalking prey, though the roles were fluid. It was anyone”s game.
Eventually, we made it back to the futon. Maddox touched the dark fabric, rubbing it between his fingers.
“So, this is where the magic happens. Care to grant me a behind-the-scenes peek?”
“I don’t think my father would like that,” I said, which was almost enough of a reason to make me want to do it.
“You’re probably right, though I’ve never known Henry to mind sharing his toys.”
“I’m not his toy. I’m his daughter.”
“That you are.” He cradled my jaw and slowly turned my face from side to side. “So, why do I get the distinct impression that he wants to fuck you?”