The Muffia (18 page)

Chapter 27

Returning to the house that afternoon, I was stressed and self-flagellating. I had never just flat-out given up on a mediation and I felt like a failure, even if Stan and Susan
were
crazy and needed to undergo therapy before they could begin to think about mediating. On top of that, my negative attitude was compounded when I got a call as I began my drive home along the Coast Highway, telling me I didn’t get the job with the sports mediation panel. The vice president of the mediation group—a small, Poindexter of a man who’d never been an athlete of any kind, I was quite sure—gave me some lame excuse about how I was unfamiliar with modern Olympic gymnastic and decathlon practices, and that they’d decided to go “another way.” Total bullshit, of course—the typical non-excuse-excuse which tells the interviewee nothing about why they
really
didn’t get the offer. Any way I looked at it though, it was back to networking and the job boards before child support ran out.

I had another hour until it was time to fetch Lila from school and I needed to unwind. Dropping my briefcase on the kitchen counter, I considered pouring a glass of wine then nixed it, acknowledging the early hour. I scratched Stipple under the chin and headed up the stairs to my bedroom. I considered making a larger dent in
We Need to Talk About Kevin
but, no matter how well written the book was, a story about a high-school shooter wasn’t the kind of escape I was looking for.

Slipping out of my simple brown pumps, I tossed my navy suit jacket onto the chaise and unbuttoned my pleated dress pants, letting them drop to the floor before lifting them onto the chair along with my other discarded clothes. Then, in shirt and undies, I crossed the white carpet to my bedside and dropped to my knees, drawing out the flowered case that lives under the bed and holds both the Rabbit and Aphroditty. I didn’t even need to touch myself to know that my pussy was already warm and wet from the tantalizing thought of what was to come.

Opening the small brass latches, I lifted the lid, then the piece of red lace I’d draped over my toys.  Staring into the box, it took a few seconds to realize the truth of what I was looking at—the Rabbit wasn’t there.

So where was it?
The last time I used it was . . . I couldn’t remember. Before Udi was dead, that was for sure. It
had
been in the bedside table, but where was it now?  I
knew
I put it back.

I looked under the bed again hoping I’d missed it. There was a dust bunny or two, but no Rabbit. I pushed the empty box back under the bed and stood up.

Opening the drawers of the bedside table, I saw that there was, again, no Rabbit. I went to the other side of the bed and checked those drawers as well. I really had to get rid of some of this stuff. Audio cassettes? The last time I'd had an audio cassette player, I was sixteen. And what's this? Leftover invitations to Lila’s tenth birthday party? I stopped cold, taking a sharp breath.

Lila!
Would she . . .?
Oh my God, I really didn’t want to think about it. No, she wouldn’t. I must have done something with it myself. I’d been stressed lately and I just couldn’t remember.

Inside the spacious master bathroom, I pulled open the cabinet doors and began rummaging under the sink. There was an old set of curlers, facial cleanser that was at least four years old and other miscellaneous curiosities—but no Rabbit. The drawers were similarly cluttered with things I didn’t use.

The dresser in my bedroom contained things I actually still used, but rummaging through my lingerie, scarves and T-shirts still did not yield my purple vibrating Rabbit.

Standing up tall, I glanced around the room one more time. Then spun on my heel and headed out the door.

Entering Lila’s very girlie room of pinks and pastels, I had no idea what I would do if I found the Rabbit there, but I knew I would at least need to have a more explicit talk with her—possibly put her on the patch. Starting with her bedside table, I opened the second drawer and there, under a couple of naked Barbie dolls, was my purple Rabbit. That was almost too easy. There certainly didn’t appear to be much effort expended putting it somewhere I wouldn’t find it.

Staring at that length of purple for what must have been a full minute, all kinds of thoughts ran through my mind. The biggest question I had was for myself: How could Lila’s sexuality have reached the level of wanting or needing a vibrator without my knowing? I felt like a failure as a mother.

Pulling my grown-up toy from the midst of my child’s dolls, I pressed the
on
switch and the Rabbit hummed to life. Though this could have meant Lila had replaced the batteries, I chose to believe she hadn’t used it. Either that or the Energizer bunny really did keep going and going. At this point, I realized the rabbit imagery had gotten out of control, threatening to turn into some kinky version of an A.A. Milne story.

Turning for the door, vibrator in hand, I stopped before I’d gone more than a couple of steps.
What was I doing?
The moment for self-pleasuring myself had passed. I couldn’t get the visual of my innocent fourteen-year-old daughter playing with the vibrator out of my mind.

I returned the Rabbit to the drawer, figuring it would give me more options to bring up the subject later—“Oh look, Lila, what’s this under High School Musical Barbie?” or “
There’s
my vibrator!” Well, the appropriate thing to say would come to me, or so I hoped as I headed back to my room.

Chapter 28

Who do you talk to when you find your vibrator in your teenage daughter’s bedside table? I was just picking up the phone to dial Paige, the mother of a daughter herself, even if Carlotta
was
only six, when Cullen called. I was so fraught that before he could get out the reason for his call, I blurted my news about Lila taking the Rabbit. I guess I figured he didn’t know her and might be able to give some interesting, unbiased feedback.

“Rock on,” he said. “That’s taking charge of your sexuality from the get-go.”

“She’s fourteen, Cullen.”

“So what? People in other countries go to war at fourteen. Might as well have sex first.”

“I don’t know if I like those choices.”

“Kids grow up faster these days. I wouldn’t worry about it, Madelyn. Just wash the thing.”

“That’s good advice. Thanks.”

“Anything new on the Udi front?”

“I’m a little too worked up about Lila at the moment to think about Udi.”

“OK, I’ll call back.”

“You’re rather provocative, you know that? What makes me think I can discuss my daughter’s sex life with you? Some guy I met at Babeland.”

“Ouch. Come on, I told you why I was in there. I’m not like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like the kind of guy who frequents sex shops for the latest stimuli—plastic or human.”

“Still—” I let my angst hang there.

“She was probably just curious. Nothing wrong with that,” he said with a spirit of conciliation, which I ignored. “You should be glad she feels comfortable enough to explore her body in the safety of her own home.”

“Wait until you have a daughter. I doubt you’ll be so cavalier.”

“I’m not trying to be cavalier, but you’re right. I’d probably flip out. In fact, to tell the truth, I don’t think I could handle having kids. I like them and everything but, seriously, I wouldn’t know what to do with ‘em. Especially when they’re in that diaper stage and can’t talk. It might be all right once they get to adolescence .  .  .”

“When you give them sex toys before they go off to war.”

He'd heard me but continued talking.

“I guess I’d have to see how it went, you know, and if I had the right person to parent with.”

"Nobody knows how they’re going to be as a parent until it happens. That’s what’s bizarre. Something takes over and you don’t recognize yourself. I didn’t, anyway. But looking back, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss all the early stuff—even the diapers.”

“Step-father—that’s a job I could be good at. None of that blood-connection confusion that keeps you from looking at a situation objectively.” Something about the way he said it seemed almost like an offer, but I didn’t pursue it.

“I do have one bit of Udi news,” I said, changing the subject. “There’s something I didn’t tell you at Peet’s. You know how I said that Berggren told me that ZsaZsi told
her
that Udi and Nissim served in the Israeli army together and that’s where they met?”

“I think so, but . . .”

“Well,” I continued. “Berggren also told me that ZsaZsi told her—in the strictest of confidence, you understand, which is why I didn’t want to say anything—that when he was in the army, Nissim’s job was as an assassin for the Israeli government.”

“So?” He sounded unimpressed, but maybe he was just waiting for the punch line.

“What do you mean
so
?”
How could he not be impressed?

“
The guy’s in the army, you figure he kills people.”

What a guy thing to say
. “What I was thinking is that because Udi and Nissim knew each other in the army—and yes, this is a bit of a leap—maybe Udi was an assassin, too. Of course, I haven’t said anything about this to Berggren because she might say something to Nissim or ZsaZsi, which could end up getting ugly if Nissim thought I knew something I shouldn’t. So please don’t say anything.”

Luckily, he didn’t know any of the players so his telling someone wasn’t likely.

There was a pause during which I could almost hear his brain working. “So you think Udi could have been a killer? A real spook? That
would
change things.”

“It’s possible. He was really strong the way he could—”

Was I really going to tell Cullen about how Udi could throw me around the bedroom like so many decorative pillows?

“Put it this way," I said, "you could tell he was physically trained.”

“And you’re not talking about ballet,” he said without a trace of sarcasm.

“No. He was like a perfect physical specimen; almost machine-like. And he had this vigilance about him. His eyes were always”—here I felt the need to edit a bit—“active, which makes me think of Daniel Craig for some reason.”

“Do you think that maybe that’s what some of the excitement was about for you? What woman doesn’t like the idea of being with James Bond? And that’s
any
of the Bonds I’m talking about, though if I were a woman, I’d go for Daniel Craig, too. Actually, as a man I could go for Daniel Craig. He goes both ways, I’ve heard. But alas, I prefer women.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cullen. I didn’t know anything about any of this until a few days ago. Udi and I just hit it off. I didn’t know that he was a spy—assuming he was a spy. I just thought he worked as a sky marshal and had excellent physical discipline.”

“
Yeah right
—sky marshal. There’s a ruse if I ever heard one.”

“You’re saying you buy that he was a spy but
not
a sky marshal? Why wouldn’t I believe him?” I protested. “I admit I fell for the accent and maybe I didn’t care what he did. I don’t know—. The point is, I didn’t know anything about him and I still don’t know, but we have it on reasonably good authority that Nissim was once an assassin.”

“And once an assassin, always an assassin. Is that what you’re saying?”

“It seems like something that would be hard to get over, don't you think?”

“Makes retirement kind of tough. An old assassin is usually a dead assassin.”

Something was bothering me.
“But they were good friends. Why would Nissim want to kill Udi? Wouldn’t he need a motive?”

Cullen didn’t respond right away.

“Wouldn’t he?” I repeated.

“Usually, yes, you’d need a motive. But some of these guys were or still are Mossad, right? I mean, that's what you said. Maybe they don’t use the same motivation system we do. If I’m going to write the story, this is a point I need to think about.”

“You need a motive, Cullen, or your reader isn’t going to be satisfied. We need to know why Nissim would kill Udi.”

“We don’t need to know the
real
reason. We can make one up.”

“Yes, for the story, I suppose we can make one up,” I said, getting a little irritated with him. “But we also need to know the real motive.”

“Do you really? If Nissim did kill Udi, maybe you don’t want to pursue this. I mean, think about it. Those guys you described—the Subzero and the one with the red hair and shifty eyes—they could do a real number on you. And you can forget about your friends in the Mafia ever finding a body.”

“Nice thought. It’s the Muffia, by the way. And, anyway, he didn’t have shifty eyes. I know for a fact I never said he had shifty eyes.”

“In my version of the story he has shifty eyes. And it works. The shifty eyes works.”

I took a deep breath. I was getting confused at this point about what was real and what wasn’t—what was truth versus what was being fictionalized by Cullen and Jelicka

“You know, you’re right. I
don’t
really want to pursue it. I never did,” I said. “It’s Jelicka. She believes the Israeli government needs to know about subversive activity being committed in the United States by some of its errant operatives. She says I need to trust her because she’s Jewish, has been to Israel and has a good idea about how the Mossad operates. Her reasoning is not completely wacked and she’s convinced she’s right. I guess she’s also sort of convinced me.”

“I like that,” he said excitedly. “Let me write it down.”

“This isn’t funny, Cullen. Jelicka wants to go over to Nissim’s house during Berggren’s dinner party on Saturday night to see if she can find some evidence to take to the authorities.”

“I agree with you there—that
doesn’t
sound very smart.”

“No, it doesn’t. But she won’t listen to reason.”

“She shouldn’t go alone. I should go with her.”

“Nobody should go!”

They were both crazy.
“Look, you’re both making too much of this. But it’s my own fault. I keep letting you get me all carried away. Udi just died—hard as that is to admit.”

“Well, I’ll keep Saturday night free, just in case something interesting crops up.” He paused then he let out a sigh. “You sound really wound up.”

“I
am
really wound up.”

“Sorry. I hope I didn’t make it worse.”

“Nah. It’s . . . you didn’t. It’s been a fruitless kind of day.”

“What did you end up doing with the vibrator?”

“Left it in Lila’s bedside table so I could pretend to discover it when I tuck her in tonight.”

“Go get it.”

I knew where he was going with this and I wasn’t sure I wanted to play along. “I decided to leave it there so we could have a little heart-to-heart sex talk with visual aid.”

“You can put it back.”

His tone, more than his words, had me getting off the chair where I’d tossed my discarded clothes and where I was, up until that point, putting them back on, and head for Lila’s bedside table.

“Wash it off,” he told me, once I was back in my room.

“Cullen, if you’re asking me to—”

“Go on,” he cooed.

“I don’t have much time. I have to pick her up in—”

“Wash it off, Madelyn.” His voice had dropped a register or two and I got a wave of that same feeling I’d had kissing him in the tapas bar. Still, I didn’t move. “Don’t you need to write? It’s still so early in the day.”

“Warm water.”
So insistent.
“I’ll wait.”

Once again, I did his bidding. Of course, I must have
wanted
to, I just needed that little bit of encouragement. And I
did
have a little time before I had to leave. Gently, but quickly, I washed the Rabbit, toweling it dry as if it were a newly circumcised penis. Then I returned to the chair and picked up the phone.  “OK, done.”

“Now lie back on your bed. Tell me about your bedroom.”

“Well,” I said gazing around my room, which I’d made my refuge after the divorce. “It’s pretty; maybe a little too girly, you know?” I stretched out on my king-sized bed, still lumpy after a poor bed-making job. “But definitely a woman’s room.”

“Are you on your bed?” He had a mellifluous voice that soothed me and wound me up at the same time.

“I'm lying down and very comfortable.”

“
Mmmmmm
. . . Tell me what the colors are like in your room?”

“Shades of grey and blue which are soothing, and then some cream mixed into the curtains and duvet. The floors are maple and the fixtures are sort of a dark reddish color. It’s kind of cool and warm at the same time.”

“Sounds nice. How about you? Are
you
warm?”

“I
am
warm.” I was getting very warm and I knew I was already wet.

“Pull your panties down.”

There was no more resistance. This was exactly what I needed to be doing. A wave of desire pulsed through me and I felt my vagina involuntarily tighten in anticipation of what was to come. Positioning the receiver on the pillow next to me, I could hear him talk while not having to hold onto the phone, leaving my hands free to fully maximize my toy of joy. I lifted my buttocks, slipping my panties clear of my ass.

“Are they off?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“You’re surprising me, Madelyn. This is getting interesting.”

“How am I surprising?”

“When we met I thought I detected some fire there inside you, but the last couple of times we’ve seen each other you’ve been sort of distant.”

“We were in a cancer ward.”

“Peet’s Coffee?”

No excuse there
. “Maybe life intervened.”

“I’m going to intervene now. Turn it on—just the vibrator first.”

I remember wondering for a fleeting instant if the thing would have enough juice to go the distance. But it purred to life and kept on purring.

“Now,” he said, “ I know you’re wet.”

“Mmmm . . .”

“I want you to rest it on your thigh and just let it purr there for a few seconds.”

I did as he bid me. Closing my eyes, the second it touched my soft, sensitive thigh, I was vibrating all over, especially high between my legs, still four inches away.