Playground (22 page)

Kendall and I pass the fishpond and slip into the public bath-

room. We lean against the wall and kiss passionately as my fingers

trace along the edge of her lavender lacy bra. She wraps her leg

around my waist.

We’re like junkies chasing the latest high.

My heart races in my chest as I catch a reflection of the two of

us in the mirror grinding against each other, hungry for more. I

quickly pull away, unable to withstand our intensity. Running out-

side, I inhale the night air and the scent of damp grass and mist.

Weeknights, I drive up to the Mansion with Dad to hang out while

he plays cards with the guys. I am careful not to look over at

Kendall while my father hovers nearby, rolling my eyes when he

blows her kisses. Dad despises Kendall but will do anything not to

disrupt his friendship with Hef. As soon as she’s gone, his smiles

turn to frowns. He tries to keep us from seeing each other, but his

attempts are useless. The more he disapproves, the more I yearn

for her. We meet in the carpet room and shut the door. I know I am

treading dangerous water, but the excitement of something taboo

turns me on.

“You’re so bad,” she whispers in my ear, and we kiss. “I have to

go,” she says, clawing her fingers through my hair.

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“No, don’t go,” I beg, not wanting to be left alone. There is

something so familiar about Kendall, but I can’t quite place it. Per-

haps it’s the way she runs hot and cold, like my mother, enticing

me as if she truly cares, but then shutting off without warning.

There’s a knock on the door and we both freeze, looking at

each other.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” a man’s voice says

through the door.

“Who is that?” I whisper to Kendall, who shrugs, panicking.

“Who is it?” Kendall shouts back through the door.

“Whoever you want it to be,” a man’s voice answers.

“We’re busy!” Kendall shouts.

“Kendall, is that you? It’s Ron Jeremy.”

“Ron!” Kendall opens the door. Hugs and kisses.

A troupe of people follow Ron inside.

“What are you doing?” Kendall asks.

“I’m looking for Bambi,” he explains.

“It’s just us.” She shrugs as a bubblegum blonde appears from

the bathroom.

Kendall and I raise our eyebrows in shock. We had no idea she

was in there.

Ron and his entourage take over the room.

“How’s your dad?” Ron asks, grazing my head affectionately.

“He’s good.”

Three blondes lean against the soft, cozy pillows. A man and

woman, possibly boyfriend and girlfriend, sit across from them. I

look around, hesitant to sit down.

God only knows what this visit will bring.

“I was looking all over for you, Bambi,” Ron says as he turns up

George Michael’s “Freedom” on the radio.

The other blonde toys with her spaghetti straps in the mirror.

Her blouse falls past her shoulders as her tan firm breasts burst out

at us.

“Why don’t you strip for us?” some guy asks.

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“I’m a Playmate, not a stripper, but I love to dance.” The

blonde flails her arms wildly in the air as her perfectly round

breasts bounce up and down.

“Dance for us, Playmate of the Room!” everyone hollers. She

wiggles her body sensuously, lifting her skirt as she dances. Before

you know it, most of the girls have their clothes off.

“Are you a lesbian? I’ve always wanted to be one of those,” asks

Playmate of the Room.

“I don’t label myself,” I tell her, looking around at all the free-

spirited girls. Being heterosexual here is way overrated.

“The girls are a little horny. They haven’t been laid in a while,”

Ron says casually.

“Well, then, why don’t you fuck them?” Kendall blurts out.

“Sweetheart, women pay me to fuck them,” Ron exclaims.

“They beg me,” Kendall grabs the back of my head and pulls

me in close.

We kiss, our lips curled into a smile as we relish the excitement.

A few minutes pass unnoticed until we start to hear moans. We

stop kissing and notice that Ron has his fingers deep inside one of

the girls as Playmate of the Room dances obliviously with her

hands stretched out in the air.

Kendall and I crawl out of the carpet room, careful not to dis-

turb anyone.

Laughing, we head back to the main house. We stop along the

pathway and kiss hungrily one last time, but pull away and sepa-

rate before reaching the front door.

There’s a lonely pit in the middle of my stomach as Kendall

runs over and plops down next to Hef on the couch. It seems

nothing can fill me up for very long.

Later that night, my father confronts me in the upstairs hallway

at home.

“Do you mind telling me what you’ve been doing?”

“What do you mean?” I’m instantly frightened someone told

him that Kendall and I were in the carpet room.

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“Where have you been the past few days?” he asks accusingly,

distrust seething from his eyes.

“At school?” I answer cautiously.

“Why don’t you tell me where you’ve really been?”

“Nowhere,” I say, suddenly unable to breathe. The walls are

closing in.

This was never part of the freedom plan.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?” His eyes

narrow.

I look at him for an instant, not sure what to say.

“You’re not fooling anyone but yourself, do you hear me?” He

glares at me with irritation and contempt.

“I’m not trying to fool anyone,” I tell him, trying to think of a

way to explain how much Kendall means to me.

“She is a whore, do you hear me?” he screams. “I do not want

you hanging out with her! How many times do I need to tell

you?”

He dismisses Kendall with total disregard and speaks as if she,

like my mother, were the enemy. His lack of sensitivity infuriates

me. The more he belittles her, the angrier I become.

“Why would you intentionally do something that you know is

going to piss me off ? Unless what you really want is for me not to

trust you anymore?” he demands in an icy tone. “Is that what you

want?”

“No.” I shake my head.

No one purposely sets out to cross him, certainly not me. But,

somehow, he always interprets it that way.

“Why do you lie?”

“I don’t!” I shout at him in total frustration, which fuels him

even more.

“Yes, you do! You’re a liar just like your mother!” he yells. “Let

me ask you this since obviously you have the brain of a ten-year-old.

Why would you do something that I specifically told you not to?”

I shrug, hoping to end this tirade. I blink my secret thoughts

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away, knowing it’s easier to stand there in silence than to argue for

hours.

“Let me make this clear, in case it isn’t already. I do not want

you spending alone time with Kendall! Do you understand? I’m

warning you, if you as much as look at her, there will be serious

ramifications! If Hef or anyone else finds out, you’re finished! Do

you hear me?” He threatens me with a look of loathing.

“You put me in this position,” I say.

“And it can all be taken away just like that.” He snaps his fingers.

“Then you’d never see me!” I scream. “Since you don’t even live

here!”

Dad storms down the hallway and slams his door shut.

Kendall and I continue to speak on the phone every day, but we are

more cautious about meeting in person. We know there is always a

risk that someone will see us.

It’s overcast outside. My mother and I meet for lunch at Bagel

Nosh. She looks impeccable in her deep red Thierry Mugler suit.

In between bites of our tuna sandwiches she asks, “How’s

school?”

“Fine,” I tell her.

“Are you still spending all your free time with those positive fe-

male role models at the Mansion?” she asks, with a tone.

“You don’t even know them and you put them down,” I snap

back defensively.

“I’ve been to that house; I know all I need to know. Do you

think a girl taking off her clothes for money is normal?”

“You’re so close-minded.”

“Calm down,” she whispers in a hushed tone, looking around

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the restaurant to see if anyone overheard us. “I don’t want to go in

circles with you.” Mom shuffles around for her wallet as she peers

down at the check. There is an uncomfortable silence as we glance

around at other people eating in the restaurant.

“Are you ready to go?” she asks, but it sounds more like a state-

ment. We get up without another word. She heads straight to the

register and I wait outside.

The next day, Savannah and I meet at Pastels in the Rodeo Collec-

tion. We sip daiquiris. She leans in close.

“What’s going on with you?” she asks, always more straightfor-

ward than anyone else.

“Nothing.”

“All of a sudden you’re all dressed up and coming to places like

this?” She stares at the Venetian-tile fountain a few feet from us.

Savannah checks out my new Gucci sunglasses.

“And what are those? Another gift from Dad?”

“Why not?”

I plop down Dad’s American Express card.

“Must be nice,” Savannah smirks.

“Are you going to scrutinize every little thing every time you

see me?” I ask.

“Mom said you’re still going to the Mansion all the time.”

“What are you, the gestapo?”

“I never see you at school anymore. In fact, no one sees you at

school anymore.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Someone’s gotta be.”

It’s a valid point.

“Why don’t you try being nicer to Mom? She picks up on your

anger, you know.”

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“She resents me for leaving and you know it.” I weigh my

words carefully.

“However you want to look at things, Jennifer.”

“How should I look at it? Close my eyes and pretend every-

thing’s fine when deep down she wants nothing to do with me?”

Years later, we’ll learn favoritism caused this never-ending sib-

ling rivalry, this competitive greed and need to be favored.

“What have you been doing?” My sister softens. I take a deep

breath and exhale.

“Nothing. I’ve been hanging with Kendall a little bit,” I tell her.

“Kendall? Hef ’s girlfriend, Kendall?” she fires back. “Ew! Isn’t

she into girls?”