A Taboo Desire

I didn't get much sleep the night before; it can be a bitch focusing when your heart and mind are reeled back in to the one single thing that has captured your attention. A natural part of life. I just wished that the object of my involuntary obsession wasn't a pig. That's the good news, I've concluded. The bad news—the really bad news—is that I want him and everything is wrong with that. Everything. Unable to fall asleep, I binged on Friends and finally fell asleep at four twenty in the morning. The face that welcomed me in the bathroom mirror, as such, was a total mess.

Professor Dray makes a clicking sound to make his displeasure known, contempt in his eyes. He turns and walks back to his desk, resuming his lecture. Good for him. I vouch to stay focused but zone out again, my full attention on a dress that I can't wear and a man I'm not supposed to love and desire, not snapping out of it until Ely catches my attention. Professor Dray is already preparing his exit, and students are leaving like ants an anthill.

"You handled that pretty well," Ely says, and I nod and go “Yeah.” Taller than me, Ely is the opposite of Cathy; always surrounded by an air or nervousness and a bit of a nerd. OK, a total nerd. Listening to her with half-an-ear, providing the mandatory feedback to her part of the dialogue, we make our way to the cafeteria while I worry about what I'm going to do.

One look at my watch tells me it is nine hours and thirty-seven minutes until a party I really should boycott will start. I'm just not certain if I will. The mind is strong but the flesh is weak, right?

On my way home after my last class, my jaws set and eyes narrow in determination to act like a sensible adult. I reach the point where I feel even the weather is conspiring against me. If it the sky were grey and packing thunderclouds, now that would appropriate. A tell tale omen of impending doom, unless I stay strong, like my spiritually inclined Aunt Ann—Dad's younger sister—would say. But the sky isn’t anything like that.

It is another perfect day with the right amount of breeze and bright sunlight to make you wish it was always like this. The kind of weather that promotes thinking lightly of grave matters. The kind of weather that invites you to do foolish things, like dress up in a revealing dress and enter the lion's den.

"I'm home," I yell. The one thing that hasn't changed is Mrs. Elkins greeting me with motherly warmth. Mother isn't home, and I can only be glad for it.

"How was school?" Mrs. Elkins asks. She places a cup of my favorite tea in front of me, a single cup and saucer accompanied by a chocolate cookie. That's one thing that never grows old.

"Great. Especially when you have a professor taking the piss out of you," I say and take a bite. Closing my eyes, I savor the sugar. Ten to one that I wouldn't have lasted as long if it weren't for Mrs. Elkins. The ten billion dollar question is if I'll last. That's probably his net worth. No. He’s probably worth several times that much.

"Sounds like you are enjoying yourself," Mrs. Elkins says. She opens the fridge and takes out vegetables. Broccoli.

"You bet, Mrs. Elkins." I drag out my daily chitchat session with Mrs. Elkins just to avoid being by myself. I'm told Mother won't be home; she’s on a long weekend shopping expedition with her friends in Paris. That's fine with me. I don't think I could handle Mother's drama now. I have enough of my own.

Mrs. Elkins has mastered the art of small talk and I spend my time listening to tidbits of knowledge that help me relax for a moment, until I make the mistake of glancing at the kitchen clock. Five hours and twelve minutes. That does nothing to relax me. Clenching and unclenching my hands, I catch Mrs. Elkins looking at me, and I quickly crack out a nervous smile, feeling I was caught doing something inappropriate. For all I know, I've been staring at the clock longer than I've realized and she has been studying me with those wise old eyes of hers. Seeing right through me. My cheeks coloring, I decide this as good a moment as any to retreat to my room.

"Later, Mrs. Elkins," I say. I get up from my seat, grateful she isn't asking questions. That's part of what makes it so easy to relax around her. You know those people who notice everything and are never too proud to let you know? Barraging you with questions you neither want or need. She isn't one of them. She probably knows something is out of order with the young woman who attached herself to her like a chick to a mother hen, and she has been kind enough to leave it to me to decide whether I want to bring her in on it or not. "You rock, Mrs. Elkins," I say. Standing still in the doorway, I look at her over my shoulder, happy and proud she is there for me. That woman is deserving of a medal.

"I know," Mrs. Elkins says, beaming and smiling. Cheeky. We both laugh.

"And modest too," I say, just before I leave the sanctity of the kitchen.

Forty-seven minutes, my watch tells me. I spend my time after dinner brushing Crystal, who’d had enough of it after about thirty minutes, and then pretended to be studying. I can handle this, though. I know I can.

By the time the party starts, I'm in the shower, and when I step out, I feel both proud and disappointed at the same time. I should be proud of myself, I tell myself, but the sense of victory that ought to be there just isn't. I feel like I’ve let myself down, instead. As if by being the strong and decent woman that I want to be—the one I'm proving I am by keeping a healthy distance from my forbidden object of desire—I'm actually losing out.

Falling backwards on bed in my bathrobe, I close my eyes. Too tired to care, exhausted by the emotional rollercoaster ride. "Night," I say to Crystal, as she jumps on bed next to me. I'm out before her meow has died out. That's a mistake I learn in mere minutes.

The first thing I dream of is the sight of him and her. The bitch who is too beautiful for her own good. Jealousy hits and spreads like a toxic substance, corrupting my pride and self-esteem. I curse when I open my eyes and bolt upright. Crystal jumps up and rushes away. I'd do the same, if I were her. Anger pulsates off me in waves, and my limbs move without needing any guidance, the voice of my pride pushed aside by the big green monster who has taken the lead.

Telling myself I'm just going to see what the big fuss is all about, I slip out of my bathrobe. It falls around my feet like used-up old skin. Fresh panties will be the only underwear I'll be needing. I'm too psyched to care about trembling limbs when I slip on the dress that fits me like a glove. Catching my image in the mirror, I'm surprised by the woman I see. I've never looked like this. Beautiful. And I never really thought of myself like that before. But that's how I look, and I no longer feel so powerless. Chanceless.

That's how a woman like that model bitch makes an ordinary woman feel, and we don't even think about it, do we? Women whose looks are way out there.Too perfect to even think about competing with. Why even try? A small smile spreads when I look at myself in the mirror after putting on red high heels that are a perfect match to the dress, its diamonds sparkling in the light.

Standing in front of the mirror, the woman who looks back at me fills me with a confidence and a daring that is new to me. My blonde hair and red lipstick and smoky eyes almost make me feel like a stranger to myself. The makeup applied while high on jealousy. The kind that can get you into trouble. The kind that I know will get me into trouble, unless I put a stop to it.

It is impossible to relax with the amount of skin I'm showing, and my nipples tighten at the thought of presenting myself to him like this—candy for his eyes. Heat that is familiar by now explodes and spreads in my belly, and I pretend I'm not aware of it.

The clock tells me that the party will be in full swing now, has been for well over three hours, and my heart tells me that I'm going. Come hell to pay—my body will go without me, if needs be.Together with my purse, I'm a collection of the finest fabric and more diamonds than any woman should be entitled to wear, and I feel great. Liberated. It represents all the waste and splendor that I've always objected to so strongly, and I love it.

Dizzy, not thinking—not wanting to think—I tear my eyes away from myself in the mirror. Crystal rubs her furry head against my leg and meows.

Now come

s the hard part. Some women spend every hour of the day on high heels. Not me. Give me a pair of comfy sneakers and I'm as happy as I can be. Lacking practice, I self-consciously make my way through a house that has never felt this big before, anxious to make my escape without being seen by anyone. The spiral staircase is the hardest part, and the heels click clack on the marble floor and I cringe with each step. Afraid a familiar face will show up to see their employer's daughter dressed like—like what? A beauty, a little voice at the back of my mind whispers. I can't help but smile.

I open the front door quickly, ready to make a rush for my car and glad I never park it in the garage. Too much work for me. I just park it out front, ready for use. But my car isn't alone. Next to it is a black limo. Standing in front of the hood is the driver who delivered the package. Back straight and eyes aware, the military man has been standing guard as he was probably ordered to do. Waiting for the maiden his master has set his piercing blue eyes on.