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Plaster of Paris; chapter fourteen, part three

“I’m glad the bitch is dead,” Mr. Jenson shouts, spraying spit on Lyle’s face.

“You’re an evil man,” Lyle shouts back, his biceps bulging.  “She’s his mother, for god’s sake!”

“I’m his mother!”  Mrs. Jenson mewls, tears running down her face.  “I’m the one who raised him.”

“That’s right, Catherine,” my mother says soothingly.  “You’re his mother.”

“That bitch is nothing more than a baby maker,” Mr. Jenson says nastily.  “Put in a penis and out pops a kid.  Nothing but a whore.”

“Keep your voice down,” I say, furious at his histrionics.  “Do you want Paris to hear you?”

“I don’t give a good hot damn,” Mr. Jenson declares, pushing a finger in Lyle’s chest.  “She deserved what she got.”

“Listen, you,” Lyle sputters, making a grab for Mr. Jenson’s finger.

“Oh for god sake’s,” I sigh loudly, fed up with the whole scene.  “Mom, can I have the keys to your car?  I’m going to the gym to work out.”

“This late?”  My mother protests.  It’s nine-thirty, and it makes her nervous when I travel alone late at night—especially after the last few months.

“I gotta get out of here.  I want to check out the gym one more time, anyway.”  I pull my cell phone out of my duffel and wave it at my mother.  “Look, I’m armed and dangerous.”  I shove it in my jacket pocket so I have easy access.

“All right.”  She reluctantly hands me her keys.  “Be careful,” she warns.  I breeze out of the hospital and drive to the gym.  There are only two clients, both of whom are wearing headphones, and Jimmy is at the front desk.

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Parental Deception; chapter fourteen; part three

“Mrrreow!” Onyx launches herself at me as soon as I walk in the door to Rembrandt’s house, and I catch her without dropping anything. Jet head-butts my shins repeatedly as I cradle Onyx to my chest. I carry her into the kitchen, dropping my weapon bag along the way. Jet trots behind us, his tail sticking straight up in the air. I feed them four Greenies each, and Ginger pops her head into the kitchen, demanding her share. I give her four as well, and Rembrandt ambles in behind her.

“Hey, babe.” Rembrandt hugs me, and I can feel his hardness against my thigh. “How was class?”

“Good,” I say with a smile. “I had to turn down an offer for hot sex with a twenty year old, but no regrets.” I laugh at the bemused expression on Rembrandt’s face as he processes what I told him.

“You what?” He lifts an eyebrow as the cats mill around our ankles.

“There’s a young man in my class, Donny, who is a big fan of the Sword Form, as am I.” I pause and grab a Diet Coke from the fridge. I pop the top and take a big swig. “Apparently, he’s a big fan of me as well. He wants to be bed partners as well as practice partners. I told him I was amenable to the latter, but not the former. He’s not sure about it, so we’ve agreed just to practice together in class.”

“I can’t blame him,” Rembrandt says, a gleam in his eye. “There’s something incredible hot about a woman who can handle her wood.” I lose it, laughing uproariously at his double entendre.

“My sword is metal, but I get your point,” I say, hugging him with enthusiasm. The cats meow in unison, and I laugh at them staring at Ginger’s cupboard.

“Wanna practice sex with me?” Rembrandt asks, offering his hand. I grab it and follow him up to the bedroom. We spend the next hour in a satisfactory fashion, then Rembrandt falls asleep as is his wont. I let in the cats, and Ginger hops up on his chest. She curls herself in a tight ball and flicks her tail around her nose. Onyx and Jet flank Rembrandt’s thighs, and I go back downstairs because he promised me pancakes. There aren’t any, of course, so I rummage through the fridge for something else to eat. There’s a Tupperware of tortellini, so I dish up a generous portion and heat it up in the microwave. It feels a bit strange not to have the cats begging me for food, but I guess sleep trumps sustenance for once. I take the tortellini and another Diet Coke to the living room to eat. I check my blog while I’m at it, and I start another post.

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