Just like that, the old anger inside me was stirred up again. I thought I’d gotten past a lot of the resentment I’d felt towards him, but clearly, I hadn’t. I hopped off the desk. “Don’t you dare lecture me, Ted. The
only
reason I’m here is because of our daughter.”
“So what is it this time?”
“Grace wants music lessons.”
This got his attention. “Really?” Ted had been trying for years to turn our daughter into a prodigy. He’d forced piano lessons on her at age two; Spanish, Japanese,
and
Arabic language lessons at age three; and math and reading tutors at age four. It had also been his idea to put her in that exclusive private school, a place she hated. At the time we’d divorced, poor Grace was in ten different activities a week, and a nervous wreck besides.
I’d gotten rid of all that once I had custody of her, but it seemed to make Grace worry more, not less because, above all, she wanted to make her daddy happy. But that, of course, would have been impossible since Ted is the kind of man who thinks his child should excel at everything. And if she didn’t excel, it was because she hadn’t tried hard enough.
I was perfectly happy letting Grace choose her own activities (so far, only Girl Scouts and swimming lessons), but right after Thanksgiving, Simon and Evelyn had taken her to a children’s pop concert at the Detroit Symphony, and Grace had fallen in love.
“What does she want to play?” Ted asked. His eyes were alight. “The piano? The violin?”
Okay, this was the hard part. I could hardly stand to say it. “The French horn.”
“The what?” He had that shell-shocked, please-dear-God-tell-me-it’s-not-true look that I recognized since I’d had the very same thing on my own face when Grace first told me.
“Yes, the French horn. She says she likes the way it curls up like a cat on the player’s lap.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Then let’s just get her a cat.”
“We have a cat,” I reminded him.
He responded exactly how I expected he would. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “I’ll happily re-enroll her in ice skating lessons. And tennis, ballet, and gymnastics. Maybe even buy a guitar if she wants. But I won’t give in to a whim.”
“Believe me, I’m not here on a whim. It’s been almost two months since she saw the concert, and she’s been after me almost nonstop ever since.” Of all her phases, it was the one I’d longed to see the end of. But of course, it was the one she’d stubbornly stuck with. She’d been drawing pictures of French horns and putting them into my purse and under my pillow and in my underwear drawer as reminders for me to speak to her father.
“Well, I for one, don’t think you’ve properly researched this idea, Lil.”
In case you haven’t begun to realize this yet, let me explain why I divorced my ex (and let me be perfectly clear here, I divorced
him
). Yes, Andrea the naked model I’d found in my bathtub was a big part of that decision, and so was the five a.m. grope. But there’s more. You see, Ted thinks he’s an expert on everything, and I mean everything. Not only obvious things like dentistry or golf, but things like how a bed should be made or how gas should be put into the car. If I loaded the dishwasher, he’d reload it. If I did the taxes, he’d redo them and inevitably come up with a bigger return than I had. He once told me that, based on value and quality, I was buying the wrong kind of tampon.
The really irritating part was that he was right.
“I know you have your heart set on this, Lil,” Ted said, “but I’m not convinced.” A light on his phone began flashing. “Tell you what. Let me look this over tonight and run it past Adelaide. Then I’ll let you know.”
Adelaide. The name was like a taser shock to my vital organs. In reflex, I clenched my fists so tightly that my knuckles turned white. “Ted, does your mother really need to be in on this decision?”
He looked affronted. “My mother has a lot of insight, Lilith. If you’d only get past your insecurities, you’d see this.”
For the record, I’d gladly pay for the privilege of shooting the person who told me that a man who was good to his mother would be good to his wife as well. Because when I saw the extreme (now I would say nearly Oedipal) devotion Ted showed to his mother, I thought I couldn’t lose. But lose I did. Over and over again. I’d say more on this, but I’m already making myself sick.
When Ted picked up his phone and dismissed me with a wave of his hand, I knew I’d lost. Adelaide, my nemesis, would see to it. That woman hated me with a loathing so pure that it was almost holy.
But as I gathered my purse and coat, I felt a strange, inner tingling. At first, I thought that I was having an allergic reaction to Ted’s aftershave. But on closer inspection, I realized that it was my demon who was itching at my insides, demanding to be let out and play. I smiled. If ever a man deserved to be toyed with by a demon, it was my ex-husband.
Go for it,
I told her and set her free, letting her take more control than I had ever done before. I figured that my demon needed to be as strong as it could be in order to persuade my ex-husband.
I sat back on his desk, leaned forward, and fiddled with the neckline of my blouse, drawing his attention to my breasts. Then I tossed my hair over my shoulder. It worked like magic. Ted stared at me, then hung up the phone.
“By the way, Lil,” he said, “I should mention that you’re looking really great today.”
“Why, thank you for noticing.” My demon gave him a slow, languid smile. The kind you might give someone after sex. “That’s because I’ve been taking your advice on a few things, Ted.”
He looked startled. “You have?”
I, too was startled. I had?
“Yes,” my demon continued. “You were right about the lipstick I was wearing. The color was all wrong for me. And I’ve been trying that granola you recommended.”
A smile slowly spread over his face. He was eating this up. My demon was doing her job, and doing it well.
I, however, was revolted. I wanted to seduce my ex-husband, but not like this.
Change the topic,
I told my demon.
Talk about something else.
She ignored me.
“I miss having you around to help me out. I have so many problems, and I need someone with a little knowhow to set me straight.” My demon was in full glamour mode now, making my voice grow far more throaty. The heat I’d felt with Harold the funeral director was once more starting to burn. “I need an intelligent man like you.”
Ted’s pupils had enlarged, and his lips were slightly parted. He was in my demon’s power now. I also realized that this had nothing to do with granola or my lipstick. No, he was seduced because I was giving him what he craved: my admiration.
“Ah, Lil. I’ve missed you too.” One of his perfectly-manicured hands slid across the desk.
I stroked his fingers. “You always know what to do. I should take your advice more often.” I couldn’t bear to listen to myself.
Stop it,
I shouted to my demon.
That’s quite enough!
But instead, I heard myself say, “Baby, you know what I really need?” I pouted. “What this silly little girl really needs?”
“Tell me.”
“Advice on what kind of French horn to buy. And who Grace should take lessons from. Because I can’t figure it out.” I leaned over the desk and caressed his cheek. “It would make me feel so much better.”
“Of course. Right away! Tonight, in fact. I’ll do some research online and make a list of what instruments are the best. And by the weekend, I’ll have that horn to Grace.” He was already typing a note to himself on his PDA. “And she can start lessons next week. Do Thursdays work?”
As I left his office, I tried to sort out my feelings. I felt dirty, for sure. Using the demon to pander to Ted’s God complex sickened me. But then again, I certainly was successful. I never would have gotten away with that kind of fake flattery if I’d tried it as plain, old Lilith. And, to trump it all, knowing that I’d successfully manipulated my ex-husband gave me a thrill. So, truth be told, when I’d finished my work, I ended up feeling one thing and one thing only: powerful.
William and Mr. Clerk had been right. Being a succubus had its perks.
I made it home before the girls did and so was waiting in the kitchen when they walked in the front door. Despite the shopping trip and my visit to Ted, I hadn’t forgotten about the voodoo doll that was still in the garbage can outside.
Ariel was doing a pretty good imitation of someone, saying in a loud, nasal voice, “I’ve told you kids that you are to sit three to a seat. And no eating on the bus! And no singing! And, Ben, do not light your farts on fire.”
Grace was giggling madly.
There is one upside to Ariel, and that’s the way she treats my daughter. Though she hates me and ignores Jas, she lavishes Grace with a gruff affection. Yes, they argue – sometimes viciously – but overall, Ariel is a pretty good surrogate big sister.
But as happy as I was that the girls were having fun, I wasn’t about to be distracted. So I called them into the kitchen and said, “Grace, go grab a snack and watch some TV. Ariel, I need to speak with you.”
Of course, they both knew the drill. Grace meekly snatched an apple from the counter and scampered upstairs. Ariel glared at me and stood in the doorway. “What now?”
I patted the chair next to mine. “Come sit here.”
She did, though very unwillingly, sighing and dragging herself forward as if meeting a hanging judge. She sat on the very edge of the chair. “What?”
I’d practiced my speech all afternoon. “I found something in your room,” I began.
“You were spying!” She was up and out of the chair in a heartbeat. “You were looking through my personal things. You don’t have the right to go through my stuff. I don’t go through your stuff.”
A lie, of course, since I’d discovered pieces of my jewelry in her desk drawers. But I didn’t let her tirade distract me. Very calmly, I said, “Sit down, please, Ari. This is something that was on your pillow.”
“Oh.” Still guarded, she resumed her seat. “What was it?”
“A voodoo doll.”
The thing about Ari is that she always gives herself away, but she does it so quickly that if you blink, you’ll miss it. So I kept my eyes on her face and, sure enough, there was a flicker of fear. But almost instantly, it was replaced by her normal, sardonic sneer. “Don’t pee your pants, Auntie Lil. That was an art project. It’s called a kachina doll.”
“Really? So if I call your art teacher right now, she’ll tell me that you were making a kachina doll with pins sticking in it.”
Ariel crossed her arms over her chest. “Go ahead. Call her.”
So I did. And, as expected, I got the school’s answering machine telling me that the office staff had left for the day. But I played along, asking for Ari’s art teacher while the receiver buzzed in my ear. Then I went through the charade of talking to the teacher and saying, “Uh huh,” and “I see”, meanwhile keeping an eye on my niece. Ari bit her lips and nervously picked at a stray thread on her t-shirt.
See, although Ariel is way savvier than your typical eleven-year-old (after all, she grew up watching Tanya plunge hypodermics into her arms and been locked in a closet while her mother entertained her boyfriends) , at the end of the day, she’s still an immature kid, and she doesn’t know everything.
“Okay,” I said, hanging up the already-dead phone, “I think you’re not quite telling me the truth.”
Ariel pressed her lips together in a pout. “Okay, I did make the kachina doll like I said. But then I brought it home, and I worked on it a little. You know, with the pins.”