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Naomi sits on the couch, cradling me in her palm. Her foot rests on the edge of the coffee table, her toes toying idly with the TV Guide. I catch myself staring, then glance up nervously to see if she saw me. Fortunately, Naomi is too entranced in her "stories" to pay me too much attention. Bob Barker has left the air, giving way to The Young and the Restless.

I have no idea who these people are, but Naomi watches this show religiously. I'm treated to her non-stop commentary: "Oh, I hate her. She's such a bitch. She won't be happy until the rest of the world is as miserable as she is."

She strokes me absently with her thumb, which isn't so bad. Her thumbnail pokes gently at my chest, then traces a path down my stomach. I take a deep breath and lean back against her fingers, feeling the warmth of her skin through my cotton clothes.

"Suzy should be here any minute," Naomi says during the first commercial break.

"Who is Suzy?" I ask.

"She cleans the house every Thursday, and she babysits for Nicole when we need her to. She's a real sweet girl. Oriental, but sharp as a tack and she speaks English real good. I think you'll like her."

I doubt it seriously. In fact, I'm fairly confident that when this day is over, I will have added yet another name to my Dalton Household Hate List.



The doorbell rings just as Jill Abbot is divulging her plan to screw Victor Newman once and for all. Naomi sets me down on the table and goes to answer the door.

"Hey, Ms. Dalton." I crane my neck, trying to catch a glimpse, but Naomi is blocking my view.

"Hi, Suzy. Come on in."

Naomi comes back into the living room, accompanied by the most stunningly beautiful girl I've ever seen. She's petite, barely up to Naomi's shoulder. Her lovely Asian features are framed by long, silky hair that hangs down past her shoulders. She's wearing a Love & Rockets t-shirt and denim shorts. I find myself trying to guess her age-she looks about seventeen, but I suspect she's a little older. With a shiver, I realize that in my entire life, I have never been around anybody this close to my own age.


Her green eyes widen with astonishment when she sees me. Her jaw drops for a second, but she quickly regains her composure with a small, shy smile.

"Suzy, this is Ray. He's Paul's son from a previous... well, I mean he's Paul's son. Ray, this is Suzy."

Suzy approaches and kneels in front of the table, bringing her lovely face tantalizingly close to me. "You are so beautiful," she says. Her breath, smelling of spearmint, wafts gently over me. Her complexion is perfect, without a single blemish.

"So are you," I say. My heart skips a beat when she smiles at me.

"Careful," Naomi says, coming to stand behind her. "Ray's kinda skittish sometimes."

Suzy moves back and brings her hand to rest on the table. Her fingernails are pale green, which looks quite nice next to her olive skin. Her hand slides slowly towards me, then hesitates. She looks at me and asks, "May I?"

"Ray doesn't like to be touched by strangers," Naomi says. Her hand swoops down, snatching me up roughly from the table. I tumble into her palm and find myself pinned as her fingers close around me. "I better put him back in his house so you can get to cleaning."

"Sure. Okay." Suzy's phenomenal green eyes fix on me, and she smiles. "Nice to meet you, Ray. I'll see you later."

I'm cursing under my breath as Naomi carries me back to the dollhouse. She slides it away from the wall with her foot and drops me onto my bed. She lingers for a moment, as if she's about to say something. Then, abruptly, she's gone. The house slides roughly back against the wall.

"There we go," Naomi says. "Better stay put so you don't get sucked up or stepped on." She walks past Suzy and heads down the hall to her bedroom.

I watch Suzy through the window as she drags the vacuum cleaner from the hall closet to the living room. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest when she kicks off her clunky, black shoes. Her toenails are pale green, just like her fingernails. She presses the on-switch with her toe, and the vacuum roars to life.

Damn Naomi, anyway. Why can't she go two minutes without making me miserable? I watch the vacuum cleaner slide across the carpet, coming close to the dollhouse without touching it, leaving a track behind it. Suzy spots me in the window. She winks and grins at me, then returns to vacuuming. My heart pounds at the sight of her bare feet walking past the dollhouse and I finally force myself to look away. It just suddenly feels wrong, like I'm spying on her.



Suzy has finished vacuuming and is dusting the living room furniture. Naomi comes into the room, dressed and ready to go. She's wearing a short, red summer frock and about a quarter-inch of makeup. A cigarette dangles from her sticky red lips, and her blonde hair has been teased up and sprayed. All she needs is a lamppost to complete the two-dollar whore ensemble.

She clops by the dollhouse in her white sandals, upsetting the neat tracks in the carpet as she walks across the living room. She picks up the phone and dials. "Hey, Cheryl. You ready? Okay, sweetie. See you in a few minutes."

She hangs up and takes another drag on her red-smudged cigarette. Suzy looks up from her dusting. "Going somewhere, Ms. Dalton?"

Naomi nods. "Going to get my nails done with Cheryl from next door, then I gotta run to the grocery store. Oh, that reminds me... we're having a barbecue tomorrow night to kind of welcome Ray into the family. You and your parents are invited."

Suzy glances at me and says, "Sounds great! I'll let Mom and Dad know."

"Great. Now can you manage without me this afternoon?"

"Sure."

"Good. I just put the sheets in the dryer. Can you make the beds for me?"

"You got it," Suzy says. "No problem."

Naomi walks over to the dollhouse and kneels. Her perfume hangs in the air like a sickly-sweet fog. "Ray, sweetie? You ready to go out with Momma and Cheryl?"

"No!" I say, perhaps too quickly and emphatically. Naomi's eyes narrow, creasing her mascara. "Uh, I mean I don't do real well with crowds. I can't stand being around a lot of people."

Naomi shakes her head. "It's okay, sweetie. You can ride in Momma's purse. You'll be safe."

"Please," I say, shaking my head. "I'm really scared of public places. Please don't make me go."

Her hands are on the side of the house, and I can feel it moving slowly away from the wall. "You're just being silly," she says. Her hand reaches into my room. I back away from her fingers, desperately trying to think of something else to say.

"Don't!" I scream melodramatically. "I'm serious, Naomi. This is a real issue. Louise and I were working on it when my father showed up. I've got this condition..."

Her fingers grasp me and lift me from the dollhouse. She stands, holding me kicking and screaming in her hand.

"Agoraphobia," Suzy says, standing next to Naomi. Naomi jumps and I clutch her thumb to steady myself.

"What?" Naomi says. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Agoraphobia," Suzy repeats. "It's a psychological disorder, a fear of open or public places. Causes panic attacks, shock..."

Naomi glares at me, then at her.

"I'm a psychology major," Suzy says. "Remember?"

Naomi is looking down at me when the front door opens and a hoarse voice barks out "Knock knock!" The woman who comes into the living room looks like Audrey Hepburn would look if a truckload of hard life had backed over her face. Her hair is dark and fashionably short, and she wears dark glasses that hide most of the lines around her eyes. She's wearing a green dress and a pair of thong sandals.

She takes the glasses off and spots me in Naomi's hand. "Oh my God!" she brays in a voice that has been murdered by four packs a day. "Oh, Naomi, he's just adorable!"

"Cheryl," Naomi says. "This is Ray. Paul's... you know..."

Cheryl reaches over and prods me playfully with her ragged fingernail. "Oh, you are just too darling," she croaks. "Maybe we can put you to work at the beauty shop today."

"I'm afraid Ray won't be joining us this afternoon," Naomi says, frowning down at me. "He's afraid of open spaces."

"Really? Well, I bet I could keep him safe and cozy." She looks down at me and grasps teasingly at my hands with her thumb and forefinger. "Right, sugar?" She laughs, a harsh bark that sends a shudder ripping through my body. The thought of being in Cheryl's hands is almost enough to make me appreciate Naomi.

"You and Ray can get better acquainted this afternoon," Naomi says, flashing me a mean smile. "When we get back."

"Oh, okay," Cheryl says, a tad disappointed. "See you later, sugar," she croaks as she slides her sunglasses back on.

Naomi makes a point of walking past Suzy to set me down on the table. She touches her finger to her sticky red lips, then touches it to me. The look in her eyes tells me that I'm going to pay later for not going with her and Cheryl. But right now, I'm so relieved to have dodged that bullet that I hardly care.

"There's sandwich stuff in the fridge, in case you get hungry," Naomi is saying as she grabs her purse from the dining table and rummages for her keys. "If you make yourself a sandwich, you can just tear off a corner to feed Ray."

"Right," Suzy says.

"Nicole should be home around three or so. She can have some cookies, but don't let her spoil her dinner."

"Right," Suzy says again. She glances at me and smiles, as if sharing a joke.

Naomi digs through her purse again and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill. "Here's your money," she says, holding out to Suzy. "Don't forget to unload the dishwasher, and if you could load the dishes in the sink, I'd sure appreciate it."

"Sure, Ms. Dalton. No problem."

Naomi finally turns to follow Cheryl out the door, still calling instructions over her shoulder. "If you get a chance to fold the laundry, you can just leave it on the bed. I'll put it up when I get home..."

The front door shuts and Suzy sighs. "Sure thing, Ms. Dalton. And while I'm at it, maybe I can rotate the house a little bit to the left." She looks at me, then walks over to the table. I peer up into her face as she kneels over me.

"So, what's the deal?" she asks. "You really afraid of public places?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I've never been in one. I just didn't want to spend the afternoon riding around in Naomi's purse. Plus Cheryl scares me."

"You and me both," Suzy says, laughing. God, even her laugh is perfect. "Her daughter's a basket case, too. Cheryl's got her on lithium."

My neck is getting sore from craning upward, so I glance down at the green toenails on Suzy's left foot. Her toes are long and slender, her nails meticulously pedicured.

"So, you really don't like being touched?" she asks.

"I don't mind," I tell her, wondering if she can see me blushing. "Naomi just gets mad because I don't like being touched by her."

Suzy grins and nods, then asks, "Are you hungry?"

Just the thought of food makes my stomach growl. "Yeah, I am."

She lays her hand on the table, palm up. I step into her palm and sit down as she delicately cups her fingers around me and slowly lifts me up. It's the same way Louise used to pick me up, and it's a welcome relief from all the grabbing and snatching that Naomi does.

She sets me on the counter and goes to the refrigerator. She sets the packages of turkey, pastrami and Swiss cheese on the countertop next to me, then rummages through the crisper for a head of lettuce and a tomato.

"Was she kidding about tearing off a corner?" Suzy asks as she opens the bread and pulls out a couple of pieces. "I mean, Christ. Are they feeding you table scraps?"

"Basically," I say. "I haven't eaten well since I got here. I guess I got kind of spoiled."

"Well, we can do better than that," she says. She pulls a paring knife out of the drawer and goes to work on the bread with surgical precision. She slices off a square about the size of my head, then gingerly slices that in half.

"Oh, you don't mind my fingers, do you?" she asks.

"No, that's fine," I answer, amazed by the sense of gratitude welling in me. This is the first kindness I've been shown since I got here.

Suzy slices off the remnants of the crust, then taps the mayonnaise jar with the blade of the knife. "Mayo?"

"Please."

She dips the blade into the jar and dabs a tiny dot onto the bread. She does a decent job of spreading it, then asks, "What all do you want on it?"

I start naming off ingredients and she does her best to neatly trim them and lay them on my sandwich. Her beautiful fingers move fluidly and easily as she stacks the tiny squares of turkey, pastrami and cheese. She slices the tomato, then shaves off a piece to lay on top of the cheese. Then, finally, she tears off a small piece of lettuce. She places the other piece of bread on top and gently taps it into place.

"Uh, plates?" she asks.

I point to the stack of plastic dishes that sit on the counter next to the sink. "They came with the house," I explain, giddy from her grin. She places the sandwich on one of the plates, and then sets it down in front of me.

"Voila," she says. The sandwich is about the size of my head, but it looks great. My mouth is actually watering a I heft it and take a difficult bite.

"Wonderful," I say over a mouthful.

"I'm glad," she says. She then goes to work on a sandwich of her own.



"So, you like Love & Rockets?" I ask her. She's sitting on the couch with a pile of warm laundry next to her. I'm standing on the arm of the couch, watching her fold.

"What?" she says, then glances down at her t-shirt. "Oh, yeah. I love them. I went and saw them in Dallas last April."

"Really? That must have been cool."

"It was awesome," she says. "I don't like their new stuff so much, but they did a lot of old stuff too. It was... you know..."

"Awesome?" I offer.

"Yeah." She smiles at me as she tosses another folded shirt onto the coffee table. "I don't guess you've ever been to a concert or anything?"

"Afraid not," I say. "There's apparently some concern as to whether or not I could survive the mosh pit."

She bursts out laughing. "You're a funny guy," she finally says.

"Yeah, well. You know, I work out..."

Her laugh is beautiful and lilting. I bask in her smile, tremble in the beauty of her eyes. It's quite confusing. She reminds me so much of Louise-kind, gentle and considerate. There's this part of me that wants her to toy with me, to bully me, to remind me just how insignificant and powerless I am; the thought excites and sickens me. But I know that she won't because, like Louise, she sees me as a person. Not a toy, not a pet, but a person.

And that thought simply excites me.



Suzy's in the back, cleaning Paul and Naomi's bathroom, when Nicole gets home. She drops her backpack on the table, glances at my dollhouse, then looks around. She finally spots me on the arm of the couch, next to the remote, and her face breaks into an evil grin.

"Where's Momma?" she asks, walking over to me.

"Out with Cheryl," I say, then add quickly, "but Suzy's here."

Nicole's eyes dart to the hallway, then back to me. I stumble as her hand shoots forward, snatching me from the arm of the couch and yanking me into the air. She's warm, her face flushed from the walk home. I can smell sweat and that cloying perfume as she presses me to her chest. I can hear her heart pounding through her t-shirt as she carries me down the hall.

I begin screaming when she carries me into her room and closes the door.

"Well, what should we do?" she asks, giggling as I writhe in her grip.

"Put me down!" I shout.

Her insufferable grin widens. She sits down on the edge of the bed, holding me out so that I'm dangling high above the floor. Far below, I see her kick off her sneakers.

"If you insist," she says, bending over and setting me on the carpet between her feet. Her socks are damp and cling to the shape of her wriggling toes. The smell is so overwhelming that it makes my eyes water. Far above, she giggles with maniacal glee. I glance around the room. Yesterday's clothes are scattered along the floor. A teddy bear lies on its side at the bottom of the unmade bed. I notice part of a sandal jutting out from under her dresser...

If I can just make it to the dresser, I can evade her until Suzy figures out where I am. I move slowly, watching her watch me. My heart is pounding, my legs are trembling. I brace myself, get ready...

I bolt for the dresser, stumbling across the carpet. I hear Nicole squeal with delight as I run frantically for safety. Her foot is suddenly in my way. I try to run around it, but I'm clearly outmatched. Each time I turn, her foot comes down to block my progress.

"Dammit, why can't you just leave me alone?" I shout, shaking my fist at her. She lifts her foot and lets it hover over me. I catch a glimpse of the rough, white fabric of her sock before I spin around and try to leap out of the way.

My world goes dark and miserable as I'm buried beneath her socked foot. I'm gagging, struggling to get out from under. I can feel her toes through the fabric, slowly clenching, trying to grip me.

"Smell my feet," she says gleefully. With her toes, she rolls me over and pins me down. I try to work my hands free, but Nicole presses down. I try to shout, but I can't get the air into my lungs. Each struggling breath is thick with the smell of her foot.

I finally stop struggling, hoping she'll relax a little bit. And suddenly, her foot is lifted.

"Don't run, or I'll squash you," she says. "And I'll flush you down the toilet and tell Momma that Suzy accidentally vacuumed you up. And Momma will believe me because she says that Suzy's not real responsible."

"I won't run," I tell her. "Can we please go back to the living room?"

Nicole crosses her leg and pulls the sock off of her foot. She then leans forward, placing her bare foot on the floor next to me. She dangles the sock, brushing it against me. "Does it stink?" she asks, giggling.

I flail blindly at the sock, trying vainly to knock it away from me. "Stop!" I scream, but she's relentless. My stomach lurches and I struggle to keep my lunch down, but it proves to be too much. I fall to the floor on my hands and knees, puking up the sandwich Suzy made for me.

"You nasty little thing," Nicole says. I'm on all fours, gasping for air and trying to stop retching when she suddenly grasps me between her toes. I'm too weak to even struggle as she crosses her leg and lifts me up. She plucks me from her toes and holds me to her face. I try to hold it in, but I can't. Frustrated and helpless once again, I being crying. I pray that the worst is over.

Nicole drops me, and I fall, kicking and screaming, into the damp, dark recesses of her sock.

In the distance, I hear a muffled knock at the door. "Nicole, are you in there?"

"Help!" I scream, but my voice sounds pitiful even to me. I'm jerked about roughly as Nicole's fingers pinch at me through the sock. It's not until I hear the sound of her toenails rubbing against the cotton that I realize she's putting her sock back on.

My struggles have all but ceased. I find myself held fast between the sock and the top of her foot. My face is being pressed between her big and second toe. I try to raise my head, but my face slams back down against her as her foot hits the ground.

I hear the door open and Nicole say sweetly, "Oh, hey Suzy. I didn't know you were here."

"I'll bet," Suzy says. "Where's Ray?"

"I don't know. Isn't he in his dollhouse?"

I try again to shout, but feel the air jarred out of me with each step Nicole takes. I'm drenched with sweat, and I think my nose is bleeding. It's miserably hot and damp.

"No, he's not. Where have you got him?" I hear Suzy opening and closing drawers.

"He's not in here," Nicole says. Weary and hopeless, I'm suddenly struck with an idea. I raise my head and slide my arm up, reaching my hand between Nicole's toes. I stroke the flesh gently, as lightly as I can. Nicole slams her foot on the floor, smacking my face. I hear her giggle.

"You think this is funny?" Suzy says. "I swear to God, I'm going to slap you if you don't answer me."

I tickle her again, and hear her snicker. This time, her toes clench together, holding my hand. As I try to tug it free, I feel her other foot press down on me, pushing my face down between her toes.

"What the hell are you..." Suzy trails off. My prayers deteriorate into a rapid litany. Please please please please please please... "Oh my God," she says. I hear a smack and Nicole's scream as I feel myself flying through the air.

"I'm telling Momma," Nicole says. "Let go of my leg!" I feel the sock slide away, leaving me exposed and dangling, my hands still caught between Nicole's toes.

"You little bitch," Suzy shouts. Her fingers envelope me, freeing me from Nicole's grasp. Sobbing and trembling, I huddle in her palm.

"I'm telling Momma," Nicole repeats.

"Get in line," Suzy says. "I swear to God, Nicole. I'm going to kick your ass for this."

"I was just playing with him," Nicole says, a trace of panic in her voice.

Suzy shakes her head and turns to leave. I glance at Nicole and I see tears welling up in her eyes. It's not enough, but it's satisfying all the same. I find myself fantasizing about the poisoned arrows again...



Suzy gently touches the tip of the wet cloth to my face. "Feeling any better?" she asks.

I nod, slightly embarrassed. I've spent the last fifteen minutes sobbing helplessly as she held me. Now that I've regained my composure, I'm ready to put that humiliating scene behind me.

"Your nose isn't bleeding anymore," she says. "You're a little bruised, but not broken. You're a lucky little guy."

"Yeah, I'm feeling pretty lucky right now," I say. "Nicole thinks I'm a toy. Naomi treats me like a pet. And I get the feeling Paul is just protecting his investment."

"You poor thing," she says, cradling me. She sets the rag down and strokes me gently. "Listen, how badly do you want to see Nicole get in trouble?"

"Why?" I ask, looking up into her face.

"I was just thinking, she looked pretty scared when I caught her with you, and she's been in there crying for the last fifteen minutes. Maybe I could tell her that I won't tell Naomi if she promises to leave you alone. In fact, if I tell her that you talked me into it, she might be a little nicer to you."



She's right, of course. If Suzy tells Naomi, Naomi will hand out some half-assed punishment and Nicole will take it out on me. And next time, Suzy might not be there to save me.

"Okay," I tell her. "Sounds like a plan."

"Good," she says, grinning. "Well, I'd say you could handle yourself pretty well in the mosh pit."

I laugh and she laughs, and suddenly my ordeal with Nicole seems distant and less menacing. I lean back against her fingers and relax, enjoying the gentle touch of her fingertip on my arm.

I have no experience with this, and I may be severely jumping the gun here, but I think I might be in love with her.
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