“I’m fine. I’m sorry I missed the rent twice.”

Silence.

“Mom?”

Sigh.

“I got an auction notice on the door.”

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to call you.” I heard the rustle of sheets on the other side of the line. I looked at my watch. It was noon and to all indications, she was still in bed. Fuck. “It wasn’t just that. There were other things. I talked to the bank. They don’t care about your problems. All they care about is money.”

“They’re banks, Mom.” I rubbed my eyes. “How long has it been since you paid the mortgage?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I should ask how you are.”

“It’s complicated. I have only a minute left. What should I do about the auction? Should I move?”

“If you want.”

“Ok, then. I’d better get going.”

“Can you come up some time? I’d like to see you.”

I cringed. I didn’t want to see her. In one sense, I knew something bad was going on out there, and whether I’d spoken to her in years or not, I was obligated to at least figure out why she wasn’t paying the mortgage. But another responsibility was the last thing I needed.

“Sure.” I tried to remove the dread from my voice.

“I’m free most days. Today, even.”

“I’ll let you know.”

In typical Los Angeles fashion, I left the call without making any definitive plans.

MONICA

“I hate you seeing me like this.” Jonathan’s voice had a little less gravel, but he sounded as if the effort involved in speaking was unbearable.

“Then you shouldn’t let me in here.” I wasn’t allowed to sit on the edge of the bed, so I sat in the chair next to him and put my elbows on the railing.

“I need you. Deal with it.”

“Ok, well, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You look thinner.”

“These are my skinny pants. You like them?” I was sitting. He couldn’t even see my pants.

“I can see your cheekbones.”

I touched his face, letting my thumb stroke the stubble on his chin, brushing his lip, dry yet yielding under my touch. Was it wrong to want him even there? In that horrible place with him cut open? Was it wrong to want his arms around me when he could barely lift them? I wasn’t feeling lustful, but greedy, ravenous, ardent.

He took my hand away and held it. Obviously, he wasn’t that weak.

“Let me ask you a question,” I said. “If I was in a hospital bed for a week waiting for open heart surgery, how much would you eat? How well would you sleep? I’m not complaining, I’m just saying, don’t try and deflect away from what you need by making yourself worry about me. I’m fine.”

“When I can get up—“

“You can give me the spanking I so richly deserve. Until then, I’ll be the one doing all the legwork around here.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Oh, I will.”

There’s a chair in your bedroom.

It has red leather cushions on the seat, back and arms. It looks antique and probably is, now that I’m thinking of it. You tied my ankles to the place where the arms met the seat. You tied me gently, stroking between my thighs, kissing my legs, but in the end, I’m naked and spread eagled, tied to your antique chair. Though your hands were gentle, the binds are tight. I can’t move.

Then you tied my hands above my head, looping the leather straps around the sconce above me. You kiss my breasts until my nipples are so hard they’re the size of dimes. You make sure I feel safe and loved. You don’t want me to be scared. I’m not scared. I’m so turned on I’m pretty sure I’d come if you breathed on me.

Then you undress. You do it slowly. Not sexy and camp. But methodical. You put your things away, spend a minute in the bathroom. You don’t let me speak. You threaten to gag me if I make another joke. You need control over me. This is how you feel safe.

So I wait. My cunt is getting wetter every second. I feel it dripping down the crack of my ass. Then you’re naked, and magnificent. Jonathan, darling you are utterly spectacular. But you don’t want to hear that.

You look at me. Your eyes eat me alive. I feel you between my legs, even though you’re half a room away. If I could draw you closer with my desire, you’d be on me. I’m hungry for you.

You step toward me and put your hands on the back of the chair, leaning over it. My arms stretch above me. You put the tip of your tongue inside my elbow, then draw your tongue down, until your lips touch my breast. You circle my nipple with your tongue, caressing it with your lips. It’s so hard. Pointing up like it wants to be millimeters closer to you. You kiss, making it wet, then release. I feel the cold air on it. It’s so sensitive, and you glance up at me like you know it. You suck it again, and release it to the cold.

Then you warm it with your mouth, and you bite.

I arch my back. I thrust my hips into you. I moan your name.

‘Behave,’ you say, pushing my chin up so I can only see the ceiling. ‘Don’t move.’

You roll the wet nipple under your fingers, then move to the other and do the same. Suck, release. Suck, release. Suck, bite.

I am on fire.

You kiss my belly, my legs, and I feel your fingers inside my thigh. You’re brushing them toward my cunt. It quivers. Then you flick my clit like it’s a crumb on your pant leg. You do it hard, and I bite my lip. It stings. Then it fills up with pleasure.

You do it again and again, while kissing inside my thighs. I’m trying not to wiggle, but everything in my body wants to arch toward you. You hurt me with your fingers, then stroke. I burn with the pain, but it only makes the pleasure more unbearable. It’s not enough to make me come.

I want to beg, but you told me not to speak.

I’d take you anyway you’d give yourself. I’d have you in my mouth, my ass. I’d crawl on the floor to have you, and to be honest, you’re barely even touching me, but you have complete control over me. Just with your fingertips.

And when you draw your tongue over my cunt, my toes, my eyes, my fingernails feel it.

Then you do that thing.

With a flick of your wrist, you undo the knots at my ankles. You stand up and tell me to get my clothes on. We’re going out.

“You are fucking with me,” he said.

“Turnabout’s fair play.”

He smiled, then caught his lips between his teeth. “It hurts when I laugh.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

He put his hand on my cheek, brushing the skin. Even sick as he was, the feel of his body on mine was electric.

“Can you stay?”

“I have something to tell you.”

“You love me.”

“My God, Jonathan. I’m crazy with loving you.”

“Feeling’s mutual. Now, what were you going to tell me?”

“I need to go see my mother. In Castaic. I’ll be back late, but I’ll come right here.” I wrinkled my nose to let him know it wasn’t a vacation away from him or his hospital room.

“Lil can drive you.”

“You bought me a car.”

“Let me take care of you. You can rest in the back. Put your feet on the seats.”

I turned and put my lips to his palm. “Go to sleep, darling.”

“It’s a long drive.”

I kissed his mouth. His lips were dry, but responsive, and his face scratched mine. He put his hands on the sides of my face and pulled me close.

“You trying to shut me up?” he said.

“Yes.”

“I hate being like this.”

“You can boss me around when you’re better.”

I put my head on the mattress next to him and he stroked my hair. I watched the clouds move across the sky, humming a tune that may or may not have been Collared. When I knew he was sleeping, I slipped away.

MONICA

I took a white-knuckled drive up the five freeway, past all signs of civilization, past subdivision after subdivision, up a bifurcated mountain and back down it, the bestfuckingthingever drinking gas like a frat boy at a kegger. Everything was dead, flat, dry. Then it hit. Castaic. Burned dry. All the garage doors faced the street like mouths stretched into a closed grimace, and front yards that had not been flattened by concrete were neglected and brown or tamed and green, with sad blowup snowmen and fat, jolly Santas placed wherever they landed, scorched by the sun, smiling in the unforgiving landscape. Even the mountains ringing the town looked compacted under the weight of the sky.