8. Oh! You Pretty Things

8

OH! YOU PRETTY THINGS

DAISY

"There she is!" I'm greeted by two of my favorite voices in the world when I step through the front door of my parents' house. Uncle Abe, who is my godfather, and Uncle Stef. They get up from their seats on the living room sofa and walk toward me.

The house smells deliciously of steak and roasted potatoes, and the dogs jump up my legs for hugs and kisses. Once I'm done with cuddling the cute balls of fluff, Uncle Abe locks his arm around my neck and starts messing up my hair. "The talented little troublemaker," he hums in his usual honeyed voice. "Hi, kiddo."

Uncle Abel has been around for as long as I've been alive. There are barely any wrinkles on his black skin, save for the few lines in the corner of his eyes when he smiles with his white teeth.

I squeak and laugh as I try to rip myself out of his grasp. "Let me go, you ass!"

When he does, Uncle Stef fixes my hair by smoothing over it with his large hands before he gives me a kiss on my forehead. "Evening, princess. Stayin' out of trouble?"

As opposed to Uncle Abe, who seems to stay young forever, Uncle Stefano did change quite a bit. His black hair is completely gray nowadays, and he looks like your typical Hollywood mobster. He's a real one, though. A capo, just like my father.

I am technically a mafia princess, though Dad has always kept Mom and me out of it.

I fold my arms and raise my eyebrows in jest. "Never."

He grins as he grabs my shoulders, pushing me further into the house. "Go on. Your parents are getting dinner ready in the kitchen. They'll be happy to see you. But you better hurry. We wanna hear all about that prestigious school in Aurelia."

When I open the door to the kitchen, I find my mom seated on the kitchen island, my dad between her legs as he kisses her. "You better not burn my food," I tease.

"Is that my beautiful daughter that I hear?" Dad calls out with a chipper voice, his head popping up from behind Mom's shoulder.

Mom turns right after, quickly jumping off the counter and scrambling my way. "Oh, honey. We have missed you!" She takes me in a tight embrace, placing a kiss on my cheek before she steps aside, letting Dad have his turn. He takes off his apron before taking me in a hug so tight that my eyes nearly bulge out of my head.

"Evening, sweetheart. How are you?" Planting multiple kisses on my cheek, he doesn't let me go. I look pleadingly at Mom. There's a sweet spark in her eyes that tells me that he needs it . I just have to let it happen.

Truth be told, I've missed them, too. I've never been away from them this long. Coming home to an empty dorm after a long day of school will take some getting used to.

By the time dinner is ready and we're all seated, I'm bombarded with questions about my first week of school.

"Knock everyone's socks off yet?" Uncle Abe asks as he shoves a large piece of steak into his mouth.

"It's a little soon for that," I reply. "But one of my professors was really impressed with my work. He told me so."

"You see? I knew it. You're going to be the star student!" Mom squeaks, her voice full of excitement and pride.

We continue talking about school, everyone's personal lives, and about the book signing Mom is attending tomorrow with Uncle Abe. He's her manager―has been for almost fifteen years now. After he got released from Crimson Manor, he started working as my mom's assistant. He handles all of her marketing, appearances, events, negotiations with publishers, and even the financial aspects.

We finish our dinner and I help Dad with clearing the table. Mom and Uncle Abe discuss the signing event of tomorrow in the living room while Uncle Stef sinks down on the couch beside them with a glass of wine.

When we've put away all the dishes, Dad puts an arm around my neck. "I am so goddamn proud of you, you know that? The way you've applied yourself over the years is remarkable. Goddamn Aurelia university…" he lets out on a disbelieving sigh, shaking his head. "Before you know it, you'll be famous like your mom."

Telling from the pained expression on his face, there's something on his mind. "What is it, Dad?"

After a few beats, he says, "You're out in the world on your own, and it scares the living shit out of me. You know I'm always one call away, right?"

"Always, Dad. I love you."

With that, he squeezes me so tight I can hardly breathe. "I love you, too, mo luaidh. " My darling . He holds me there, just breathing in my hair and working through whatever he needs to work through.

When we return to the living room, Dad goes for the record player. "Now let's do some dancing, huh?"

Lucille by Little Richard starts playing, and he holds out a hand for Mom to take. She happily accepts with a giggle. This is standard routine for them. Some of my happiest memories are of watching them dance or dancing with them.

I move my butt to the sofa, taking a seat between my uncles. I bump my shoulder against Uncle Stef in thanks when he secretly slips me his wine glass, and I take a large sip before I slump back with my neck leaning against the headrest.

Dad picks Mom up by the waist, twirling her around in his arms. Arms locked around his neck, her skirt swooshes. Mom retreats with a few steps backward, only for Dad to reel her back in. He holds up his arm, letting her do a pirouette underneath. Right on cue, Dad starts singing along to the lyrics. " Lucille, please come back where you belong… "

I bury my head in the crook of Uncle Abe's neck. "Oh, God…" I groan.

I love them, but they can be embarrassing as hell.

" I been good to you, baby. Please don't leave me alone… " Dad trips Mom's ankle so she falls backward into his arms, and she kicks her right leg up before getting back to stand. " Lucille, baby, satisfy my heart… "

They continue their dance when another song comes on, and I watch them with a broad smile on my face as my cheek rests on Uncle Abe's shoulder. They're slow dancing now, stealing kisses from each other as if they're just a couple of teenagers.

Leaning forward, I grab an art magazine out of my satchel bag. I fold it open and my uncles both lean in as I start telling them things about the artworks on the papers. I have a lot to say about a particular piece of art, one that a very special man made.

"You know an awful lot about this piece," Uncle Stef observes. "A lot of things about the artist, too." When I meet his eyes, I turn redder than a cherry. "Why is that, princess?"

I let out a groan. "He's my Sculpture professor. I'm just a big fan of him, that's all."

Uncle Abe leans into the paper, moving his reading glasses further up his nose as he scans the words. "Lester Gilbert," he reads aloud.

Even hearing his name has my heart pounding. Every single thing Lester does makes my body react. He's only there on a piece of paper, but my body responds erratically.

It's crazy. I'm crazy.

Visions of Professor Gilbert with his head between my thighs cloud my mind. Flashes of him using every tool in his Red Room on me cover my eyesight, punishing me while he has me tied up at his mercy. Thoughts of him kissing away the pain, licking the tears off my cheeks before he kisses me on my lips.

Realizing I've been lost in my mind, I shake it off, trying to focus back on the conversation with my uncles. But I can never seem to let Lester Gilbert go for too long.

My therapist said I have some type of obsessive-compulsive disorder that makes the intrusive thoughts spiral out of control. Right now is a perfect example―I'm fantasizing about getting my guts rearranged by my professor while I'm sitting in between my uncles on the couch.

It's sickening. Or, at the least, inappropriate.

They never seem to notice how I cross my legs to help subdue the ache in my pussy or how my breathing turns erratic, how my nipples harden and poke through my shirt. I guess it's because they would never in a million years look at me in a sexual way. Not even Uncle Stef, who pretty much fucks every pretty young lady that walks by.

Every other man on the planet always tries to take a shot at fucking me. My body is an invitation for them. As if my wet cunt and peaked nipples have anything to do with them. I usually don't even remember their faces. They mean nothing.

Clearing my throat, I say, "Yeah. That's his name. He's so talented. And he's so nice, too. And funny."

Uncle Stef squints his eyes. "Don't tell me you have a crush on your teacher."

I shift uncomfortably on the sofa, scoffing. "Of course not. He's double my age, you freak."

He holds my gaze for a few seconds longer before he lets it go. "Well, good. You've come too far to let yourself get distracted."

Well… The truth is that the only reason I made sculpting my primary artform is because of Lester Gilbert. I've always been creative. I was either drawing or painting, making collages, scrapbooking, paper maché, whatever. But when I first laid eyes on that sculpture of his at the art show, I knew that was what I was meant to do.

Sculpting is my calling. And Lester is the one who called me to it.

When the record stops and my parents' bubble pops, they come to sit with us. "Welcome back to planet Earth," I tease.

"You know I can't resist dancing with your mother whenever the opportunity arises," Dad answers, pulling my mom against him on their chair.

She moves a hand over her hair to put it back into perfect form, then snuggles further against him. "You'll babysit the dogs tomorrow, right, honey?"

"Yeah. I'll go skating with them. Take them to the dog park across town."

I know exactly who I'll meet there. Lester always does his shopping on that side of town on Saturdays when he's off work. Usually he starts at the bakery, then gets his vegetables and fruits at the store next door before he moves onto the butcher, and finally to the general grocery store. Sometimes he even makes a stop at the bookstore when they get a shipment in with new releases. Telling from that, normal and plain as it is, you'd never guess that he's the invincible Sculptor of Death.

Tomorrow I'll run into him accidentally .

I get up from the sofa and walk to the record player, taking off the Little Richard album and putting it back in its cover. "Now let's play some real music."

Grabbing Hearts by America from the large pile next to the turntable, I put it on. Lifting the needle up, I put it down in the crack, listening to the soft crackling sound before the music starts.

I sit back down between my uncles. Uncle Stef argues that music these days has gone to shit, while Uncle Abe tells him that he doesn't know what he's talking about. Mom remains neutral and Dad is on the fence. He admits that he likes The Beatles, but not much else.

"Don't even get me started on that Deep Purple crap that's on the radio all the time," Uncle Stef says, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Ah!" I sit up straight with a screech, my hands on my chest. "Blasphemy!"

He just laughs and I punch him in the shoulder. "All you listen to is jazz, so you must be a psychopath. No other way about it. You should broaden your horizons a bit. You're totally missing out. Ever seen the kind of girls that go to their concerts? You'd be in heaven, you dirty old man."

He hums. "If that's true, maybe I'll need to reconsider."

"Oh, fuck off, you ladies' man." Dad rolls his eyes. "You'll be chasing skirts until you're eighty at this rate."

"If everything still works down there―" He nods at his crotch. "You bet your ass I will be."

My uncles leave a little past ten, and Mom and Dad disappear into their bedroom around eleven, taking the dogs up with them. I'm spending two nights here before I drive back to campus on Sunday morning.

Snuggled up underneath the fresh covers of my bed, I doze off into a deep sleep and dream of the only man who has ever had my heart.

The wheels of my roller-skates roll satisfyingly over the concrete street and the dogs work hard to pull me forward by their leashes. They run as fast as they can, and it's one of their favorite ways to tire themselves out.

Holly barks at another dog that passes, and Eliza and Gaby are panting with their tongues hanging out of their mouths.

I slow down our pace when we get close to the dog park and watch out for the parking lot in the distance. After about ten minutes, a bronze Chevrolet Chevelle pulls onto the lot.

That's my cue.

The sun shines down brightly upon us, and I feel the warmth on my bare arms and legs. I'm wearing a crop top with a deep neckline, exposing a nice portion of my chest and belly, and high waisted jean shorts that are frayed at the hem.

Pretending to be lost in the pretty sky with my big sunglasses on, I wait for him to notice me. He walks this exact route on his way to the stores every single time, and I conveniently let the wheels of my skates roll over the sidewalk, where I know he'll pass me.

I hear a car door slam closed, the click of his zippo when he lights a cigarette, footsteps… Then, finally, his deep, smokey voice follows. "Daisy?"

I feign surprise, tearing my eyes away from the pretty sky. Lifting my sunglasses, I move them to the top of my head. "Professor Gilbert? Hi! How nice to see you here."

"Yeah, you too." His beautiful eyes meet mine as he takes a large drag of his cigarette. "How's your weekend?"

"Oh, it's great. The weather is nice, the dogs are happy. Nothing more to wish for." I hold my hand up to my eyebrows to protect my eyes from the sun, smiling at him. "Do you live around here or something?"

He nods, taking a step to the side to let an old lady pass by. "Just a couple of blocks down. What are you up to?"

"Hanging out at the dog park. I was just about to get some ice cream. Do you want any?"

"Oh." A puzzled look flashes over his face. Is it normal to get ice cream with one of your students? Probably not. Will that make him say no…? "Sure. Why not."

I'm gliding on air right now. "Great!" I nod to the park. "There's an ice cream truck over there. Best gelato in town."