Problem Child, page 14
The lieutenant governor is indeed also named Morris. Bill Morris. He’s an average-looking white man in his fifties. Receding hairline, jaw going soft, a fake smile that’s too awkward in this age of friendly selfie smiles. He also owns an oil company worth nearly fifty million.
“So you live in Norman, huh?” Derrick interrupts, obviously feeling neglected.
“What?” I ask.
“We work over there occasionally. Maybe I could call you next time we’re in town? We could grab dinner. Get to know each other?”
“Sure,” I mutter.
“I think we’re scheduled to head east next month, and I make the motel arrangements, so . . . There’s no reason we can’t overnight in Norman. I’d love to see you.”
I sigh and decide I’ll have plenty of time to do research later. Right now I should concentrate on my current goal: I’m about to meet a wind robot!
I click off my phone and smile. “You’d really have time to take me out if you’re working in Norman?”
“I’d make time to take you out,” he says with a grin.
Soothed by his attention, I sink back into my role. “Aw, that’s so sweet, Derrick.”
“Life on the road gets lonely sometimes. If you’re not seeing anyone . . . And you’ve got a place?”
“Sure. What kind of food do you like? Maybe I could make something home-cooked for you. You must get tired of restaurant food.”
“I sure do. That sounds like a great time. Good food. Good company.”
I’m already bored with this imaginary assignation, so I change the subject to the only date with Derrick that’s actually going to happen. “How long until we get to the turbine?”
He tips his head toward the road. “There’s a good, secluded approach about five miles from here. Not visible from the highway. You know, you look different out here.”
I pass him back the cigarette and scrape my teeth over my lower lip. “Oh yeah?” I guess Naive Tequila Sunrise Jane wouldn’t sit with her legs spread and shoulders slouched. “It’s just the tequila loosening me up.”
“Mm. I feel pretty good myself right now.”
“I can trust you, right? Letting you take me off the highway to a secluded spot? You’re not going to kill me?”
He blinks and sits up a little straighter. “No way. You can trust me. I’m a good guy.”
I lean forward and reward him with a little pat on the leg, then I steal another drag of his cigarette. “All right.” Just over the horizon, the turbine blades start peeking at us as they spin, so I face front again and point. “Is that the one? Right there?”
“Almost. It’s just past that one. You can’t quite see it yet.”
“God, this is cool.” The earlier clouds have cleared away, and the evening sun turns all the ugly brown scrub to gold. Each rotation of the blade catches a little yellow-orange light, and the nicotine is hitting my blood, and I feel perfect.
“You’re a funny girl,” he says.
“Am I?” Yes, I am. A strange girl. A puzzle. An abomination, according to dear old Ma. I’m the male fantasy and the male fear all rolled into one package.
He doesn’t know I’m dangerous, of course. Because I’m a woman. But I could have lured him out with no one knowing. I could have approached him in secret with a fake name, and he would have taken me here because I asked.
He understands that I’ve been conditioned not to be a cocktease, not to lead him on, not to flaunt something he can’t have, because then he’ll have a right to take it. He believes that if I let him buy my drinks and get me alone, I’m obligated to put out. He knows he’s the winner here. He’s the man.
What he doesn’t know is that his testicles don’t imbue him with immortality, and I could easily get out a gun while he’s fumbling with the button of his pants. I could kill him and leave his body in the dirt where no one would spot it from the highway. Like he’s a woman. Like he’s one of a million dead women.
Why did he have a drink with her if he didn’t want it? Why did he let her into his truck? Why did he go off with her if he wanted to say no? What did he expect to happen?
You really have to be smarter if you don’t want to get murdered by strange women.
I smirk into the sunlight and wonder why there aren’t more female serial killers. It would be such a simple job.
I’m not talking about myself, of course. I like my cozy lifestyle far too much to risk trading it for prison. There are ways to make a point without committing murder. But Derrick sure would go down quick and easy.
CHAPTER 15
Derrick exits the highway onto a paved road, but a few minutes later it transitions to red dirt and isolation. There are a couple of turbines ahead of us now, and I lean forward to get a full view of them through the windshield, their giant metal bodies filling my vision.
My nerves thrum with excitement or maybe with the low vibrations of the spinning blades. Either way, it feels great. Just because I’m here to search for a missing girl doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have fun along the way.
Derrick drives past the nearest turbine and turns onto a track that’s barely there. It dips down into a small hollow, and two tire ruts of the trail climb back out to the base of the next turbine. He stops while we’re still in the depression and parks the truck.
I clap my hands. “Just look at it!”
He’s grinning like a little boy now. “You were serious about this, huh?”
“Absolutely! We can go inside when it’s turning?”
“We sure can. That’s no problem.”
Before he even has a chance to shut off the engine, I’m out the door and looking up at the tower. The beat of the blades is like a giant mechanical heart filling me up with happiness. “Let’s go!” I call as I head up the low rise.
I hear the jingle of keys behind me and then Derrick catches up and brushes past me to clang up the stairs first. I follow, making as much racket as I can on the metal grates just to entertain myself. There are twelve of them, carrying us high above the foundation.
While he tries to find the right key, I turn and survey the area. He’s right: I can just barely make out the highway from this elevated point. His truck definitely isn’t visible from any road. No one will catch us.
“Are you ready?” he asks as the lock slides open.
“I’m so ready.”
“Don’t touch anything. There’s a lot of voltage coming through here.” And then he pulls the metal door wide.
I hold my arms out, hands and face raised to the sky in triumph as he walks through the opening. I love getting what I want. Then I collect myself and follow, stepping right into the cool white beast.
The first thing I see are what look like banks of lockers. “Grid inverters,” he says as we walk by them; then he starts explaining that they convert the electricity generated by the spinning blades into some other kind of electricity that can be sent to a central location, but all I can hear is the thrumming power.
“It’s so loud!” I say.
“Ear protection.” He reaches toward a shelf, but I’m shaking my head.
“No, I like it!”
“Suit yourself.”
He walks me farther in, past the lockers, and I see a control panel with lots of numbers on it. I’m disappointed to find no spiral staircase winding up. There’s just a high ceiling. I point to a giant metal box. “What’s that thing?”
“Elevator.”
“There’s an elevator?” I hurry toward it, but he shakes his head at me. “It’s only safe to use when the turbine is powered down.”
“Can you power it down, then? Take me to the top?”
“There’s no way. An alert will be sent to the main station with my code if I stop it. Everything will be on the record.”
“Awww. Please?” But I can see by the set of his jaw that it’s not happening. I don’t want to beg for something I won’t get, so I move on and wrap my hand around a metal ladder that climbs up the wall. Now I feel the real pulse of the robot deep in my bones.
I wish I could look up and see the whole chilling height of it, but the ladder disappears into an opening in a platform only fifteen feet up. “Can we go there at least?” I shout.
“We need climbing gear.”
“For that? It looks harmless. I bet you could catch me if you stay right behind me.”
He cuts his eyes toward the door, then up the ladder. His jaw isn’t set so firmly anymore.
“Come on,” I urge. “We’re all alone here. And I promise to hold on tight, Derrick.”
We both know he’s thinking of his penis right now, but he hesitates for one more valiant moment. “There’s not much to see up there.”
“Oh, I bet we’ll still have fun.”
He shifts like I’m making him feel funny things, but then he nods. “All right. But go slow and careful.”
“I definitely will.”
I climb just as slowly as I can make myself, glancing down to smile at Derrick past my ass. He smiles back and starts climbing too. Then I’m crawling out onto a gray metal floor before I pull myself to a standing position and tip my head back.
“Yes,” I hiss in delight. I can see up another thirty or forty feet now, and I’m thrilled.
Derrick pops up and stands with a lot more skill than I did, but I ignore that as I turn to take in the rest of the space. It’s not much. A few boxes of replacement parts, maybe, plus a bunch of cables snaking up the walls. There’s a big hole for the elevator in the high platform above us, but the area beyond it is dark.
I turn to smile my gratitude at Derrick. Now that we’re on a level surface, I see that my estimation is right. He’s about five-six or maybe a hair shorter, and he’s pretty fine-boned. Not ugly but not cute. Frankly, he’s just not noticeable at all.
“So . . . ,” he says, his cheeks reddening as he rubs his hands together. “Do I get a thank-you for the tour?”
“A thank-you?” I ask as if I’m confused. “Of course! Thank you so much. I’m having a great time.”
“Me too.” We smile at each other until his mouth wobbles into a twist. “I thought maybe . . .” He pauses, too self-conscious to say more, waiting for me to fill in the blank. But I’m not the type of girl to get worried and try to fix an uncomfortable silence, so I wait. And wait. Until he actually gestures to his groin with eyebrows raised.
I nearly burst out laughing, because it looks like he’s politely offering me a seat on his penis. Poor Derrick. He’s really not used to such a tawdry interaction, but he’s certainly willing to try.
And that’s when I see it. Not his penis, though it’s there. What I see is the right way to play this. I’ve been going for low-hanging fruit this whole time, and yes, I do mean genitals. But I can have my fun and play it safe for the sake of keeping Luke, and that will be a more challenging form of excitement.
Maybe I don’t have to settle down completely. Maybe I can have everything I want and not die of boredom.
Gasping over the noise of the turbine, I widen my eyes. “Did you think . . . ? I mean . . . I don’t know what to say, Derrick. I’m a good Baptist girl following Christ’s path. I’m saved! I can’t do . . . that . . . until I’m married. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Huh?” he croaks.
“Derrick, don’t you believe in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?”
“Of course I do! Of course!”
“Whew. Then you totally understand.”
He touches the front of his pants, cupping his erection, puzzlement sliding into grief on his face. “What?”
When I see the shape of his bent fingers and the mass behind it, my eyebrows fly high. Well. Now that he’s outlining the whole thing, this is quite the surprise. And, to be fair, he isn’t being aggressive. I’ll give him that. He hasn’t even called me a bitch yet. He just looks a little heartbroken. Poor guy, standing there politely with all that enormous expectation.
“Well,” I offer with shy reluctance, “I guess I could watch?”
“What?” That seems to be the only word he can force out at this point as he’s trying to process his grief.
I’ll have to spell it out. “I could watch you masturbate, Derrick. I mean, if you want me to.”
His lips part, jaw going slack before he shakes his head, his brow creasing into a deep V between unremarkable brown eyes. Another “What?” passes his lips.
“Would you want me to?”
“I . . . I’ve never done that.”
“You’ve never jerked off? Color me surprised. My mama always told me men had needs.”
“No, not that. I mean . . .” His face is beet red now but I can see his breath quickening. His eyelids growing heavy. He squeezes himself through his slacks. “Of course I’ve done that. Oh, Jesus Christ.”
“Exactly. I just can’t touch it, you know? I’d have to tell Pastor McAllistor, and how could I live with that? He’d think I was the worst kind of fallen woman. But if you do it by yourself . . . You don’t think that would be a huge sin, do you? It wouldn’t even be my sin, really.”
He’s positively panting now, his eyes sliding down my body, and I realize I’ve pressed a hand between my own legs. “You’ll watch me? Really?”
“Sure.”
That one tiny syllable is all it takes to set his hands scrambling for his belt, the metal clinking as he works frantically at the buckle. Once the belt gapes free, he drags the zipper open and shoves his Hanes briefs down and the great white whale emerges. Okay, it’s ruddy pink and not actually a whale, but it is a shockingly ferocious beast.
“Oh wow,” I cry.
“Yeah,” he groans. “Yeah, look at it.”
Gone is the slight, mild-mannered manager. As he takes himself in hand, his mouth draws back into a slash of lips and his body hunches, curving around his proud prize. Lust has shaped him into a rutting werewolf, and I love it.
“It’s so big!” I exclaim.
“Yeah. Look at it. Look.”
This poor man walks through life every day being disrespected, dismissed, barely seen at all by society, and the whole time he has this glorious thing in his pants that he can’t show anyone. How utterly frustrating that must be.
I laugh in pure delight. “You really are huge,” I say, figuring he deserves a little praise.
“Fuck yeah.” He’s positively snarling now, his eyes cast down at his own show. “Look at it.” His gaze flicks up every once in a while to be sure I’m watching, and I definitely am. The turbine buzz surrounds my head as I watch ol’ unnoticeable Derrick put on the best performance of his life.
And I’m glad it’s a performance. I’m glad I’m not participating. Not because I’d feel guilty, but because this is a new level of the game, and I’m winning it.
I’m also glad because, impressive as he is, Derrick wouldn’t be a good lay at all. He’s all clumsy big-dickedness, which is a problem a lot of well-endowed men have. There’s that one great tool in their toolbox, and they think their hammer trumps all other instruments no matter what the job is.
“This is so hot,” he growls, rubbing himself rough and fast, going right for the goal. No easing in, no subtlety, no teasing. He’s probably afraid I’ll change my mind if he gives me a moment to think. Another problem a lot of men have during sex.
But a show is a show, and I’m worked up with sex and power and the hum of electricity. I ease my back to the metal wall, let the vibrations purr through me as I press the heel of my hands to my jeans.
I got my giant robot, and I love getting what I want so damn much.
I start to slide my hand down the front of my jeans to get myself off, but when he sees me, Derrick bites out a strangled “Oh God,” and then it’s all over, Derrick painting a ridiculous splotchy mess all over the gray metal floor. “Oh God, oh God,” he chokes, his skinny body in spasms, face a comical rictus, and my fingers haven’t even reached their destination.
“Oh, Derrick,” I sigh in disappointment, drawing my hand free. He definitely wouldn’t have been worth the chafing if he was that out of control with his own right hand. Yet another great decision on my part. I’m killing it today.
Derrick is starting to come to his senses, returning to reality from that place people go when they’re aroused beyond all reason. The behavior makes perfect sense in evolutionary terms. Sex is a weird, messy act with a likely outcome of saddling the participants with a needy creature that will be dependent on them for at least a dozen years and could, in fact, result in the death of the female. Of course we have to lose our damn minds to enjoy it. That’s just good design.
But now Derrick’s sanity is returning, and he’s still standing there with his pants and tighty-whities collapsed around his knees, softening penis in hand and the sad evidence of his expulsion at his feet. I even spot a dribble on his shoe.
“Uh,” he grunts as he starts to reach for his pants and then pauses to stare at his soiled hand. He looks so hopeless for a moment. So lost. I swallow a giggle.
Finally he reaches gingerly for his underwear and pulls them up, then wipes his hand on the white cotton so that he can pull his pants up without sullying them. This is why Derrick is in management. He’s a problem-solver.
“Can we go up higher?” I ask as he buckles up.
“Excuse me?” he mutters.
“Can we climb a little higher now?”
“No, it wouldn’t be safe.” He only glances at me before looking sheepishly away. “Let me go down the ladder first so I can spot you.” He starts toward the opening, then stops short to gape at his little Pollock painting of semen. He’s frozen again. Lost.
“That’ll dry right up,” I say. “No worries.”
A blush conquers his entire face, but he eases around the mess he’s made and heads for the ladder.
Now I wish I’d recorded the whole thing. If he’d noticed, would he have let me? Probably the idea would have turned him on even more, but he’d have immediately regretted it, and I’d hate to wrestle him for my phone. He hasn’t even washed his hands yet.
