by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 75
I got home late and made the mistake of listening to my phone messages. Marge said Vance had thrown a fit because scrawny had left with me. He was threatening to do something. Leave it to boys. Then there was another message from a little South American whom you might remember. He said, “I no finish with you.” Another stupid male.
Besides that it had been a pleasant day. I was fucked, fed, and fucked again. That may sound cold, but that’s how I felt after those two messages. My automatic was loaded and under my pillow. I was feeling sick, not like mother, but sick because of the male mind and it’s predilection for violence. I was expecting a suicide, or should I say homicide bomber at my door any minute. I was soon to find out. It took about an hour, but I finally fell asleep. If my finger moved, I would have woken up. Guns are noisy.
The following morning mother called and spoke with a surprising calmness. “I spoke with you father.” “You just had to tell him, didn’t you?” “No. Let me finish. He read the morning papers. The article about you and your company was commendable. I can’t say he wasn’t proud. I wasn’t about to ruin that for him. Just tell me what exactly is going on in your life.”
“Is this a threat? She waited then said, “No…I just can’t understand you. A girl with your mind, capabilities, education. You’re that few percent. The few real achievers of this world. And then those photos. The disgust. My little girl. I’m sick. I’ll never get over it.”
My other line was ringing. I told mother to wait. It was scrawny. “I’ll be over in ten.” I said, “How about I meet you this afternoon at the beach?” Dumbfounded, he asked, “Why?” Dumbfounded, I said, “Because I have things to do.” He sounded like he suffered some terrible personal defeat, “That’s hours from now.” I said, “You’re eighteen. I’m twelve years older and with a life. I’ll have time for you later. Read a comic book. I’ll see you this afternoon at the beach. You know what I look like.”
I was cold. Maybe I shouldn’t have been, but I wasn’t in the mood to resurrect my fetish side. I switched back to mother and got to the point, “I know about the affair you had in France with you know who. Why don’t we leave it at that?”
Foolishly she said, “I never had an affair in my life.” I said, “By the river bank. That artist, the one you sent me to. I saw him fucking you under the bridge. You were on your back and wearing that white dress with the red belt. It was pulled up and your heels were still on. I watched wanting to believe it was someone else.”
“It was someone else.” Now I waited for a moment. “Okay, then it was someone else in those photos you were looking at.” She was silent, but I had patience. Then, “You’re father is calling me….”