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Last year, my English tutor Dana made me start reading The Canterbury Tales. For the literarily-impaired, this is a massive novel-length poem written in Middle English about people on a pilgrimage to Canterbury. And while they're on the road or resting in the inn, they all tell stories.

At first, I was really put off by the whole thing. I mean, Middle English is almost like a foreign language, but Dana insisted that I had muddle through it. She even made me memorize the Prologue and recite it back to her... "Whan that aprill with his shoures soote, The droghte of march hath perced to the roote..."

Anyway, the first actual tale in the piece was The Knight's Tale. The basic gist of it was this: Two men were imprisoned by their king in a dank dungeon. Life in the dungeon was unbearable, but for one thing. There was a small window in the dungeon and through this window, the men would occasionally catch a glimpse of the king's daughter. She was a real hottie, and both of these men eventually fell in love with her. But then, the king decided to pardon one of the men, on the condition that he leave the kingdom and never return. So you're left asking yourself, which man was happier? The one that spent the rest of his life in a dungeon, glimpsing the woman he loved? Or the one that spent the rest of his life in exile, never again seeing the woman he loved?

I hadn't really thought about this poem until last night, but suddenly it all makes sense. And I know I can endure any humiliation or any torture Naomi cooks up as long as I can be near Suzy...



Suzy shows up, and Naomi heads her off, telling her to leave me alone because "the poor little thing is so exhausted." She yammers on, rattling off a massive list of instructions including what to fix me and Nicole for breakfast, what chores need to be done, and so on. She also reiterates to Suzy that I'm still grounded and that I managed to add another week to my sentence.

I just lay there on my back, all sobbed out but too weary to draw attention to myself while Naomi is still here. So I wait and wait until Linda finally comes to pick her up. When I finally hear the front door close behind her, I slowly make my way downstairs and out the front door.

Suzy is on her way over, and she smiles when she sees me. "You look wiped out," she says, kneeling down and setting her hand on the floor. "Are you okay?"

I nod. "Yeah. Naomi's just been screwing with me all morning." With a sigh, I add, "I don't think she's going to let me come over to your place. Right now, she's just looking for excuses to ground me."


"What a bitch," Suzy mutters. "You poor thing." She stands up, holding me in the palm of her hand and cradling me against her t-shirt, just below her breasts. Her fingers rub me gently, kneading the tension out of my back and shoulders. After a few minutes, I can barely keep my eyes open.

"God, that feels good," I tell Suzy, then yawn loudly. I stretch my arms out and feel my spinal cord pop all the way up to my neck.

Suzy yawns too, then slaps at me playfully with her index finger. "Knock that off," she tells me. "It's contagious."

"Sorry. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"How come?"

I yawn again. "It's a long story, but one I definitely want to tell you."

"You can tell me later, when you wake up," she tells me.

"No, I don't feel like spending the morning napping in that stupid dollhouse," I tell her.

"You don't have to," she says. She smiles down at me, and all is well with the world.



Nicole is over at Kim's house this morning, playing. But when Cheryl leaves to go get her pedicure (shudder), she's going to bring the girls over here so Suzy can watch them. Which means I get Suzy all to myself until around 11:00 or so.

I hate to waste that time sleeping, but I honestly can't keep my head up any longer. Suzy gently massages me, and there in her hand I am safe and warm and content. It's a perfect moment, one marred only by the fact that it has to eventually end.



I awaken with a start when the doorbell rings. I glance around confused, before I finally realize that I'm still in Suzy's hand. I've slept for four hours, and she held me the entire time.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," she says as she stands up. "You feeling any better?"

I nod, amazed at how much better I actually do feel. I roll my shoulders, relishing the dull ache. "So much better," I tell her. "You're an angel of mercy."

Suzy grins down at me as she walks to the door. "I'll put that on my résumé," she says. The doorbell rings again just as she gets there. Suzy looks through the peephole and sighs. "Brace yourself," she tells me. "It's Nora Desmond and her psychotic spawn."

She opens the door, and Cheryl immediately barges in past her. Kim and Nicole run in immediately behind her and head straight for my dollhouse. Before she even says a word, Kim nudges my house away from the wall with her foot and plops down on her knees, peering in through the open side. I watch all this from Suzy's hand, relieved to be out of harm's way.

"Bring him to me, Kim," Cheryl says, not even looking at Suzy.

"Excuse me?" Suzy says.

"He's not here," Kim calls. Nicole kneels on the other side of my house and starts peeking through the windows.

"Well, where the hell..." Cheryl glances down and sees me. Suzy's fingers wrap protectively around me as Cheryl reaches out her hand.

"There's been a change of plan," Cheryl says in that rough voice of hers. "Naomi wants me to bring Ray to the beauty shop with me."

"What?" God, this has got to be some kind of horrible joke.

Suzy's fingers close completely around me and she steps away from Cheryl's outstretched palm. "She didn't say anything about it to me," she tells Cheryl.

"She just called this morning," Nicole says helpfully. "I was there."

"That's right," Cheryl says, taking a step towards Suzy. "Now give him to me."

Suzy shakes her head. "This is ridiculous." She storms into the living room, holding me tightly. With her other hand, she picks up the portable phone. "I'll get to the bottom of this."

She dials the number with her thumb, then holds the phone up to her ear. "Yeah, could I speak to Naomi please?"

Cheryl just stands there, a hand on her hip, glaring angrily at Suzy. I really do appreciate all of her effort, but she might as well hang up the phone right now. I already know how this is going to end.

"Yeah, Naomi? It's Suzy. Your neighbor just showed up and said..." She's silent for a painful moment, then says, "There's really no point in it, though. Why would..." Finally, she says, "Well, you should have told me this morning." Naomi's angry retort buzzes in the receiver, but Suzy cuts her off and sets the phone down.

"Told you," Cheryl says, holding out her hand once again.

Suzy looks pained, almost as bad as I feel. Her eyes are tearing up as she looks down at me.

"It's okay," I tell her, stroking her finger. "I'll be all right."

"I'm sorry, Ray," she whispers. She gives me one more affectionate squeeze, then hands me over to Cheryl.

"I'll try to bring him back in one piece," Cheryl laughs as she carries me out the front door.



Cheryl's car is a black BMW, with tinted windows. It's almost a relief when she sets me down in the cup holder, because the sun is painfully bright. I haven't logged a lot of outdoor time, so I'm not used to it.

The cup holder is sticky, and is littered with loose change and a wadded up tissue. The entire car reeks of cigarettes and obnoxious industrial-grade pińa colada air freshener. I have to struggle to keep my breakfast down.

Cheryl removes her shoes before getting into the car, and tosses them over my head onto the passenger seat. "Ooh, this is going to be fun," she croaks, climbing in and shutting the door.

She fumbles through her purse for the keys. She starts up the car, and the stereo blasts out some horrible doo-wop number from the 50s. Probably the 1850s. Cheryl turns it down, then looks down at me, cringing with my hands over my ears.

"I think I know a better place for you," she says, reaching for me. She pinches the back of my shirt between her long, red nails and lifts me up to her grinning face. Then she reaches over and drops me onto one of her sandals. It's white leather, simple and open, with a short heel.



I can feel the warmth radiating from her shoe, along with the familiar smell of sweat and leather. The sandal slopes upward like a small hill (a foothill, I think weakly). The insole is white and worn with imprints of her toes and heel. The straps, also worn from use, slump like an empty cage.

"You'd better hang on," she warns me as she shifts into reverse. The Beamer lurches backwards, and I grab one of the leather straps to steady myself.

"What do you think?" she asks as we speed down the road. "Do you like them?"

"They're really nice," I say, my voice trembling.

Cheryl takes a corner a bit too fast, and I hear her tires squeal angrily. She looks over at me, watching gleefully as I struggle to keep myself upright. The sandals slide along the seat, thumping against each other as the car speeds along.

"My ex-husband, The Prick, used to love them," she says, lighting a cigarette. "He called them my slut sandals, but he always liked it when I wore them."

Cheryl takes a puff on her cigarette and tips her ashes off into the ashtray. The butt is red and sticky from her lipstick. "The Prick liked feet too," Cheryl tells me. "He wasn't too good in bed, but if I let him paint my toenails, he'd be a goddamned Romeo. He gave really good massages and sometimes, if he'd had enough to drink, he'd even suck on my toes." She giggles, then sighs. "It was almost enough to take my mind off of the lousy sex."

She giggles. "Have you ever had sex, Ray?"

I glare up at her, blushing. "What? No!"

"Too bad. You really are too adorable for words, you know?" She gives me a sly look. "Maybe some day, I'll ask your momma if I can borrow you for a while. Make a man out of you."

Oh God. The heat, the smell, the bumpy ride, and now even the mere thought of what she's suggesting are enough to turn my stomach. I take deep breaths through my mouth, struggling to keep my breakfast down.

"Oh, it wouldn't be that bad," she says, noticing the pained look on my face. "I mean, assuming you survived." She giggles cruelly. "I wonder if we can find a scuba suit in your size."

If I didn't have to hold on for dear life, I'd be slamming my hands over my ears by now. All I can do is close my eyes and desperately try to imagine that I'm somewhere else.

We come to a red light, and Cheryl stops the car with a jolt. "I'm just teasing you, sweetheart," she tells me. "You know that, don't you?" I open my eyes and see her smiling down at me. Somehow, I'm not reassured.

"So, you like my shoes?" she asks me again.

I sigh and say in an insincere voice, "Yes. I love them. They're wonderful. I wish I had a pair just like them. Sweet Jesus, take me now, for my life is complete..."

She places her cigarette back in her mouth and reaches for me. I let out a yelp when she grabs me suddenly around the waist and lifts me into the air.

"Maybe you just need a closer look," she snaps, and thrusts me back down into her sandal, pressing my face against the dark, worn imprints of her toes. The leather is damp and slightly tacky, and the smell is overwhelming. Unable to contain it any longer, I vomit.

"God damn it," she shouts, snatching me away from the shoe and dropping me roughly back into the cup holder. She snatches up the used tissue and uses it to dab the puke out of her shoe.

I cower in the cup holder, burning and trembling. My stomach continues to heave even though there's nothing left in it.

"I swear," she says, dropping the tissue back into the cup holder on top of me. "You are being a little pain in the ass today.

Cheryl says nothing else to me for the rest of the trip. She turns the radio back up to blaring and sings along, pretending to be oblivious to my suffering.



At last, the car comes to a stop and Cheryl kills the engine. "Here we are," she says needlessly as she slips her shoes back on. "You ready to behave now?"

I nod. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good," she smiles, picking me up and holding me up to her face. "Is this your first time at your momma's work?"

I nod again.

Her smile widens into a chilling grin. "I really think you're going to enjoy yourself."



The last two weeks have been a cacophony of horrible smells: cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, Naomi's cooking, Cheryl's car, Nicole's socks. But even with that in mind, the Beau Monde Beauty Shop stinks worse than anything I've ever smelled in my life. Turns out Linda is giving one of the customers a permanent, which is why it smells like someone farted in a slaughterhouse in here.

Naomi comes running to the door when she spots Cheryl. She grins down at me and says, "I thought it would be fun if you joined me and Cheryl today. I knew you wouldn't mind."

In Naomi-speak, "I knew you wouldn't mind" equates to "There's nothing you can do about it."


Naomi takes me from Cheryl and holds me up to her face. Her smile falters, a sign that I'm usually about to get in trouble for something. "Are you okay, sweetie?" she asks. "You look all flush, and your little eyes are just watering."

"He got a little carsick," Cheryl says. "Poor thing threw up his breakfast."

"Aww, did oo get tick?" Naomi asks me in baby talk. "Oh, well. We can get him something to eat when we go to lunch."



Naomi takes me around the beauty shop to introduce me to everybody. Linda, of course, I've already met. She's an older woman, slightly heavy, with obnoxiously large blonde hair. The first thing out of her mouth is, "I've been on my feet all day, Ray. You think you can rub them for me later?" Then she cackles and gives me a wink to let me know that she's probably only kidding.

Linda is currently giving a permanent to Greta Jackson, an older black woman who runs a quilt store downtown. Naomi holds me out to Greta, who smiles at me with dentures too large for her mouth. She says something rather unsettling, "Yeah, I saw you in the paper."

"The paper?" I ask.

"The National Mirror," Naomi explains. "They did another story on you a couple weeks ago, when your daddy and I came to get you."

I roll my eyes. "Oh. Did they bother to get any facts this time, or did they just make it up like they always do?"

"He's got a mouth, that one," Greta says, winking at me. "You're a little cutie, too. I'm glad they saved you from that lab."

"He'd better watch his mouth," Naomi says, looking down at me. "Or that two weeks is gonna turn to three real quick."

I sigh. "Sorry."

"Besides, the National Mirror has been calling your daddy at work, trying to get an exclusive. He wanted to do it, but that Rachel woman told him it was too soon."

That's kind of ironic, when I think about it. The National Mirror has made SPECTRUM look like a bunch of child-torturing Nazis, and no doubt made Paul and Naomi look like saints charging in to rescue me. That kind of story can only help GenetiTech in upcoming custody hearing.

But the Mirror doesn't do sunshine pieces. Pain sells, and controversy sells even more. Rachel is probably afraid they'd turn the story around and make up a bunch of horrible things about the Daltons. Which means that, for once, the Mirror might accidentally print the truth.



"Come on back, Cheryl," Naomi calls as she carries me past the driers. A thin woman sits under one, reading her People while two dirty kids play on the floor in front of her. She looks up as we pass by, but Naomi ignores her.

Naomi leads Cheryl to the pedicure station, a white chair with purple cushions that looks like it came straight from the Enterprise. Cheryl kicks off her sandals and climbs into the chair, placing her bare feet up on the purple footrest.

"I've been looking forward to this," she says, winking at me. Naomi hands me to her and flips a switch. The chair begins vibrating with a low rumble. I can feel the tremor through Cheryl's hands.

"Ooooh, God," Cheryl moans, her voice pulsating. Naomi places Cheryl's feet in the small pool built into the base of the chair. She flips another switch, and the water in the pool begins churning. Cheryl looks down at me and smiles dreamily.

"We'll let you soak for a few minutes," Naomi says. She pulls a matching stool up and has a seat at Cheryl's feet. "Did you pick a color yet?"

"I don't know," Cheryl says, smiling at me. "Your boy here seems to like pink best, right?"

"That's my boy, all right," Naomi giggles, looking at me. "You like Momma's pretty pink toenails, don't you?"

All I can think about is the shower this morning, and it makes me shudder. Fortunately, Cheryl's in vibration mode and doesn't notice.

"So, pink like mine?" Naomi asks. "Or something a little different?" She grabs a chart off the table and holds it up for Cheryl. It shows an array of several dozen colors.

Cheryl grins. "What do you think, Ray? Pick a color you like, because you're going to be spending a lot of time with it."

"I don't care," I sigh. "Why don't you just paint them black?"

"I don't think Ray's heart is in this," Naomi says, shaking her head. "Maybe we should try and get him more involved."

Cheryl giggles and pokes me with a fingernail. "I like the sound of that."

She finally selects the color "Fiesta," which is an obnoxious hot pink apparently designed for a woman half her age. Naomi convinces her to get her fingernails done too, so she'll match. Then, God help me, she puts me to work massaging Cheryl's feet while she gives her a manicure.

Me giving Cheryl a foot massage is basically an exercise in theory. There's no way I'm ever going to be able to do anything more than tickle her, no matter how hard I rub. I'm lying across the top of her foot, throwing my back into it in an effort to appease her. Her toes flex slowly, probably for my benefit, and she lets out a theatric moan. "Ooh, Ray. Your little hands feel so good there."

After a few minutes, Naomi calls to me, "Time to switch to the other foot." Of course, she doesn't tell me just how she expects me to pull off this little miracle. I sit up and slide off of her foot onto the footrest. I'm about halfway to her other foot when Cheryl suddenly shifts her leg. The unsteady surface shudders beneath me, and I feel myself falling. I plummet off the edge of the purple vinyl surface, flailing and screaming. I hear Naomi swear and Cheryl giggle right before I splash into the spa.

The water is hot and turbulent, thrashing me around like a cork. I splash and scream, trying desperately to stay afloat.

"Hang on, Ray," Naomi says, annoyed. "I'm coming."

I glance up and see Cheryl's foot descending towards me as I splash helplessly. I grab hold of her toes and she lifts me out of the pool. Coughing and gasping for air, I slip from her foot and land in Naomi's hand.

"Dammit, Ray," she sighs. "Why do you have to make everything so hard?"

"Oh, don't yell at him," Cheryl says cheerfully. "It was partly my fault, I think."

Naomi shakes her head. "Let me get you out of those wet things." Her fingers tug roughly at my soaked clothing, despite my protests. I thrash and scream, desperate to avoid being naked in front of the two of them. "Ray, I swear to God, if you don't stop squirming, I'm going to stomp the shit out of you."

In a matter of seconds, I'm stripped and sitting on Naomi's table, desperately trying to cover myself. I grab a cotton ball and try to fashion a makeshift loincloth out of it.

"I'm going to go set his clothes on one of the dryers," Naomi says. "Then we can get started on your feet."

Cheryl looks at me and giggles. "I can't wait."



God, it's barely noon, and this is already the longest day of my life. Naomi has pumiced Cheryl's feet, pushed back her cuticles, and cut and filed her toenails. And all through it, Cheryl kept moaning with pleasure and begging Naomi not to stop. It was like listening to the worst porno movie ever.

As much thought as I've devoted to women's feet, I guess I never realized just how much trouble they went through to make them pretty. I mean, it's a regular cottage industry. Pedicures. Sandals. Toe rings. So why? I mean, why do women go through such an ordeal just so they can show their toes off in public? Maybe it's a touch of exhibitionism, a safe way to catch the eyes of strange men and get them to stare. Maybe it gives them a taste of the power or control they desire, that the world too often fails to provide.

I used to think there was something seriously wrong with me because of the feelings I had. But Louise identified it and named it - a "fetish" - and despite the embarrassment, it relieved me somewhat to know that what I was experiencing was common enough to have a name. But ever since Naomi and Cheryl found out about it, they've taken perverse joy in torturing me with that knowledge. Because with me, they get an even bigger taste of power and control. Hell, with me, they can glut themselves on it.

I guess what I'm saying is, I don't think I'm the only one here with a fetish.



Naomi reaches towards me and snatches the cotton ball away from me. "Thanks, sweetie," she says as she tucks it down between Cheryl's toes to spread them apart. She reaches into the bag and grabs a handful, then repeats the process. While she's occupied, I grab another cotton ball and try to cover myself.

When I get done, I notice both she and Cheryl are looking at me with wicked grins on their faces. Too late, I realize what they intend to do. Naomi grabs me and dangles me above Cheryl's bare foot.

"What do you think?" Naomi asks. "Face up, or face down?"

"Face up," Cheryl rasps. "That way, he can watch. And we can see if he's enjoying himself or not."

"Oh, I think he's enjoying himself already," Naomi says, rubbing me between the legs with her thumb. I gasp at the sudden ferocity of my erection, angry once again at my body for betraying me. Naomi licks her top lip as she presses me down between Cheryl's big and second toe. I'm bent backwards, and my head lolls back helplessly. I can see Cheryl's face upside down, grinning as she slowly wiggles her toes around me.

It's painful after the first minute. It's agony after the first ten. But for thirty minutes, I hang there, watching helplessly as Naomi's massive brush slowly dabs hot pink polish onto the toenails around me. My neck and shoulders are stiff beyond measure. Every time I try to move my head, I feel a sharp, shooting pain down my spine.

Just to keep things interesting, Cheryl occasionally decides to give me a little squeeze with her toes. I don't cry out anymore because it hurts too much. All I can do is lie there and whimper. The smell of the polish is burning my nose and making my eyes water. I cough weakly, and it feels like white-hot needles in my back.

And finally, just because my own little hell just isn't special enough, Naomi occasionally flicks my penis with her fingernail just to make sure I'm having fun.

When at last the ordeal is done, Naomi plucks me from my prison and holds me aloft to admire her handiwork. Cheryl holds up her ten toes for me to admire, and wiggles them prettily.

"Nice work, Naomi," Cheryl says. "Don't you think so, Ray?"

I nod, wincing from the pain in my stiff neck.

"I'll get Ray dressed while you dry for a little bit," Naomi says. "Then we can all go eat."



Lunch is at a place called Dobb's, a dingy bar just down the street from the Beau Monde. Even from within Naomi's purse, I can smell the smoke and the grease the moment we walk in the door. A Hank Williams song blares from the jukebox.

Cheryl and Naomi get a booth back in the corner, so we can have a little privacy. They both order salads, and Cheryl orders a glass of white wine. When the waitress leaves, Naomi fishes me out of her purse and dumps me on the table between them.

"Poor baby," she says, stroking me with her fingernail. "You must be starving."

I really should be, but my stomach is too clenched in knots to eat right now. Once again, these ghastly women have taken the simple task of making me feel helpless and vulnerable, and elevated it to a high art form.

When the waitress comes back with their order, Naomi lays her hand over me to keep me hidden. After the waitress sets down the plates and glasses, Naomi lets me up.

"That was close," she says, grinning down at me.

"What's the big secret?" I ask her. "You showed me to everybody at the beauty shop."

"Those girls are like family," Naomi says. "This place is different." She glares at me with a sudden frown. "Besides, since when do I have to explain myself to you?"

Naomi takes a bite of her salad, watching me as she chews it. She stabs a piece of lettuce, dabs it in dressing, then holds her fork out towards me.

"Here you go, sweetie," she says. "Eat something."

I don't know what bothers me more, the humiliation of being fed, or the fact that the fork has been in her mouth. I walk over to the proffered salad and pluck it from her fork. I choke it down, then wipe my hands on Naomi's cocktail napkin.

"I don't know why I ordered this salad," Cheryl croaks. "I'm really in the mood for something tastier." Naomi smiles at her, which tips me off that something is up. I whirl around just as Cheryl's fork strikes me and knocks me down. She hooks the tines under my shirt and lifts me, kicking and screaming, to her mouth.

Her monstrous tongue licks me, pressing against my body like a slimy mattress. Her breath reeks of cigarettes, wine, and vinaigrette, and now that smell is adhering to me in a disgusting film of saliva.

"Aww, you got him all sticky," Naomi says, giggling.

Cheryl dangles me over her wine, then tilts her fork. I plummet into the glass with a splash and struggle to the surface. The wine burns my eyes and makes me gag.

"I hear white wine is good for stains," Cheryl says, and they both snort with laughter. Cheryl picks up the wineglass and peers at me through the crystal. She then turns the glass up to her mouth and takes a gulp. My hands fumble desperately against the slick glass, searching for something to cling to. I slide backwards and into her mouth, screaming as her lips close around my chest.

Still giggling, Naomi glances around nervously. "Cheryl, somebody's going to see you."

My legs kick frantically inside her mouth as her tongue presses them to the top of her mouth. I feel her teeth touch my back and stomach. My arms and head are sticking out of her mouth. I'm pounding angrily on her chin, screaming and cursing.

Cheryl finally spits me into her palm and shakes her head. "You kiss your momma with that dirty little mouth?"

Naomi reaches over and takes me from her. "I can't believe you," she says to Cheryl, dabbing at me with her napkin. "You got his clothes all messed up." She sets me down on the table and says, "Better take them off, Ray."

"Again? Naomi, please..."

She shrugs. "Sorry, sweetie. Can't have you running around in those nasty things."

I feel tears of frustration welling up in my eyes. "Please don't make me do this..."

Naomi sighs. "Ray, either you take them off or I will."

Defeated, I strip in front of them. Cheryl watches me with bright eyes and an all-too-familiar predatory smile. But Naomi just looks annoyed. She takes my ruined clothes and drops them into her purse.

"Well, we can't just let him stand around in the open like that," Cheryl says, reaching for me. "I think I know a good hiding place..."

Naomi slaps playfully at Cheryl's hand. "You've already had your turn, greedy girl." She sighs. "But you're right. We better get him out of sight."

I spend the rest of the meal dangling naked from Naomi's foot, wedged between her sole and her sandal.



And the longest afternoon of my life drags on mercilessly. Once we get back to the beauty shop, Naomi gives me some tissue to cover myself. I keep thinking things are about to wrap up, that any minute now, Cheryl will take me home to Suzy. But for some reason, she insists on hanging around a little bit longer.

It all becomes somewhat clear around 2:00, when a man arrives. Naomi sees him and gets all excited and flustered. He's handsome like a model, tan, with short hair and glasses with thick, plastic frames. He's dressed in a madras shirt and a pair of faded jeans.

Naomi snatches me up and carries me to the front. Cheryl puts down her magazine and stands up next to the man.

"Hey there, Naomi," the man says, looking a little sheepish with all the attention. Every head in the Beau Monde has turned to regard him. Linda gives Naomi a smile and goes back to cutting hair.

"Hi, Benny," Naomi says sweetly. "You know my friend Cheryl, don't you?"

"Yeah, we've met," Benny says, nodding to her. He looks down at me in Naomi's hand and his face breaks into an astonished grin. "Oh my God. This must be Ray." He reaches down and touches me with a thick, nicotine-stained finger. I recoil from his touch, and he laughs.

"I've heard a lot about you," he says. "But words just don't do you justice."

"Benny and I are old friends," Naomi says lamely.

Benny nods. "Yeah, that's right. Old friends."

He keeps looking at me, scrutinizing me in a way that gives me the creeps. For some reason, he reminds me of that freaky doctor from GenetiTech who examined me last week.

For a very uncomfortable twenty minutes, he and Naomi talk all about me and the deal with GenetiTech. It's going to be great, she reassures him. The only downside is that the family has to move to Midland, and she's going to miss all her friends. But she's sure they can come and visit her, and GenetiTech will even pick up the tab. And so on, and so on.

And as I lie there in her palm, listening to her and Benny yammer on, I feel a germ of an idea somewhere in the back of my brain. It suddenly occurs to me that when I was weighing my blackmail options last night, I overlooked one very important scenario. It's risky, and if it backfires, Naomi may very well follow through on her threat to "stomp the shit" out of me. But if it works...

"Very nice to meet you," Benny says to me, reaching towards me again. He pokes me hard in the chest with his finger, as if trying to ascertain whether or not I'm real. He leans in for one last close look, and I hear a muted click.

"What was that?" I ask, looking up at Naomi.

She shrugs. "I didn't hear anything."

"Neither did I," Benny says. "Good seeing you again, Naomi," he says formally, taking her hand. Her fingers stroke his hand in what she probably thinks is a subtle display of affection. Benny waves to the rest of the ladies, and leaves.

A couple of minutes later, Cheryl says the most beautiful words I've ever heard her say. "Well, Naomi, I'll run Ray home now and let you get back to work."



I knew it wasn't going to be that simple. Nothing with Cheryl ever is. Once again, she drops her shoes into the passenger seat as she climbs into the car. Only this time, she's thought of a new game. She leans down and sets me on her right foot, and tells me to hang onto her toe. I wrap my arms around her second toe and cling to her foot as it moves from the gas to the brake, then back again.

But I don't care. Tonight Naomi and I are going to have a little talk, and all of this shit is going to end.
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