The Tao.
She turned to him with a wad of cash and smiled drunkenly. She needed him to kill her lesbian concubine. Another body for the burn pile. She was standing in a speakeasy with smoke and a band to the left at break. The bar behind her outlined her back and her lithe form twisted into a laugh and she collapsed in weakness on the table. No words were exchanged; he simply took the wad and knew in embarrassment what was expected. Her husband was the lead singer of the band and her lover was kept in the basement like a love puppy on a chain. This man before her would take care of it.
She remembered her husband. The time they wove the web on a campsite and he spun the music for the rustic scene, his hair dyed blond. That night he took her in the camper, raped her hard. They were lying on the dinette sofa turned bed, they fake cushions against the thin wood felt stiff beneath the weight. She turned her cheek to him, her dark skin unfolding under his hands. She wanted to leave him, divorce the bastard. But they had chemistry, a bond that held them like master and slave. He was white.
She would take lesbian lovers under him, women who would do anything for her, pets. She would keep them in the basement and use them at her will. When she grew tired of them they were disposed of like arrogant cats who overstrayed their welcome.
She built a garden behind their house and the children tended the pumpkins that grew larger than their heads. I am the child and when my father is away he takes me. Right there next to the dishes in the kitchen sink. I felt him hold me on the counter and love me tender like he never knew with my mother. He would touch my shoulder blades and his black hair would shine through the dye, his eyes focused and intent in his hands. I love him.
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