The Apple of My Eye

Wicked Game

As much of a good time as Star was showing me—and I her—on the phone and online since she had left town, it was very clear to both of us that that wasn't anywhere near enough. Star was growing impatient by the day. At the end of three weeks, she was so mad at the thought that I wasn't doing anything to alter our circumstances that I could hardly find ways to motivate her to engage in phone sex or cybersex anymore. But on those rare occasions when I did find a way, it was memorable.

We had taken things several steps further with the addition of photo and video, so nothing could stop us now. Or, if I'm to be more precise in my description of the facts, nothing could stop Star now. Yes, she was downright unstoppable, my girl, this little sexual monster I seemed to have created. Like she did when we lived together and I had to do work on the computer and she wanted to sidetrack me, now, as then, she was pulling her strings in the best, most titillating manner she could. Whereas in the past she'd parade into the bedroom wearing nothing but a poorly wrapped towel that didn't cover a lot of what it was supposed to—and would pretend to accidentally bump certain parts of her anatomy into my face, yes, I said my face—now she'd send me these incredibly hot photos of her in her undies, right when I was in the middle of talking to a client or chairing a meeting. She wanted me to go insane with desire at the most inappropriate of times, and you know what? It worked like a charm. I'd always open the damn attachments. But not inadvertently. I always knew when Star was up to no good. And I loved it. Her mischievousness would each time provide me with just the extra boost in motivation I needed to work a little harder toward getting my ass on a plane to go see her and do something about that fire of hers already.

But my financial situation still hadn't changed, of course. Not a month had passed since her departure, and as I got paid only once a month, like most people, it was an absolute no-can-do for the time being, pure and simple. Plus, I'm not going to lie to you, even if it makes me look like a horrible, horrible person: I was rather comfortable now, after a long, dreary period of mounting agony. With no more rent to pay and fewer mouths to feed, I knew I was on the right path to spring cleaning my credit history, even if it would still be a couple of months till I could cry victory. In order to do that, however, I needed to take positive action, that is, stop spending money senselessly, like it wasn't a finite resource. I was determined to dedicate myself to beating broke, and I knew now what I had to do to live a debt free life, even if it pained me that I wouldn't have Star around for several more months, even if it killed me that I still couldn't afford to fly to where she was, even if it meant I'd have to sit at home and do nothing but make sure no money was wasted. And although I wasn't getting any in the sex department except for my self-gratifying adventures in rocket polishing—thanks in no small part to the contributions made by Star to my personal project—I was doing a pretty good job of reinventing myself.

Star wasn't so sure that was the right way to go, though. She kept saying it wasn't much of a living if we didn't take risks and shit. Me, I'd had my share of risk taking, I tell you, and it hadn't turned out well. I had learned my lesson, so of course I was extra cautious now, and not without good reason. Meanwhile, it wasn't exactly as if Star had been taking care of her end of the deal and trying to find a job, you know, make some money, go back to school to finish her studies et cetera. She was so certain our separation was temporary that she didn't want to do any of those things because, if she did them, it would seem to her like she was putting down roots, and that was the last thing she needed, she'd say. What she thought she needed was to be back in town in no time, preferably before my baby was born, but then again she was ready to accept the fact that maybe that wasn't going to happen after all. Not before the baby came, anyway.

So April turned into May, and by now I had already accompanied Chloe to a number of prenatal care appointments. We already knew we weren't going to get us a boy just yet. Another girl was on the way, and we decided to name her Rebecca. It sounded like a strong name, and we figured she had to be a strong baby to insist herself into this fucked up world of ours, amidst so much shit going on. I know, it's a cheesy explanation, but I don't care. Plus, I liked the sound of Rebecca. It's melodic. It's a delightful little name. Rebecca it was. Due August.