The Most Dangerous Thing - Laura Lippman [68]
“I’m going to go outside,” Mickey says. “Look around.”
“You get all your stuff unpacked?”
A pause. She’s actually thinking about whether to lie to her. The thing that kills Rita is that Mickey wants Rita to see her thinking about lying. “I’ve done enough,” she says. “For now.”
“You did a shit job packing my glasses,” Rita says.
“Maybe you should have packed them. I guess you were too busy.”
She puts a lot of spin on busy. There’s no doubt what she means.
“Yeah, I was busy. Busy working every night, so you can have food and clothes and a roof over your head.”
“Yes,” Mickey says, looking upward. “And what a roof it is.”
Rita raises a hand, her temper roaring back, even as Larry says, “Ladies, ladies.” Larry doesn’t like conflict. She better keep it in check if she wants to keep him, not let Mickey get a rise out of her. She wonders if Mickey understands this, if she’s baiting her mother to make her look bad in front of Larry.
Joey bellows from the bedroom, waking up from his nap. Rita’s policy is that if he takes a nap at nursery school, he sure as hell is going to take one at home. But he never goes down without a fight.
“Go get your brother,” she tells Mickey.
“I was going to—”
“Get your brother. Your stepfather and I have to—wash the sheets.”
“He’s not my stepfather,” Mickey says, and Rita can’t be sure, but she thinks Larry nods.
“Get your brother,” she says.
“Half brother,” Mickey says. She always has to have the last word.
As soon as Mickey leaves the room, Rita grabs the laundry basket and a random selection of clothes, doesn’t even bother with detergent.
“Why do I—” Larry starts, and she gives his crotch a quick squeeze. “You’ll like it,” she whispers. “Doing laundry is good clean fun.”
They can’t lock the door as it turns out, but they close it and start out standing. No one’s coming through that door unless they’re determined to push 250 pounds of human aside. But Rita doesn’t want to finish that way. It’s too tempting for her to press herself against the rattling washer, full of someone else’s clothes, Larry behind her, vibrating all over. She has to stuff her fist in her mouth to keep her pleasure to herself, and even Larry, expert at stifling his own cries, has to bite her shoulder to muffle his groans. He breaks the skin, although he doesn’t draw blood. She thinks she hears someone start to open the door, only to retreat.
This is how I will keep you. She almost says it out loud. She has to be fun, spontaneous, dirty.
Back in the apartment, little Joey is running around naked, screaming at the top of his lungs, and Mickey’s just watching him, no expression on her face.
“Nake! Nake!” he screams. “I’m nake.” It’s the word he used as a toddler. He knows it’s funny.
“What the hell, Mickey?”
“He took his clothes off,” she says with a shrug. “I can’t help it if he’s retarded.”
“Don’t call your brother retarded.”
“Look at that little thing,” Larry says. “No resemblance there.”
Rita shoots him a look. Shut the fuck up. Luckily, Mickey is oblivious, for once. She’s watching her brother run in circles as if she can’t remember what it’s like to be that young and silly. “Nake! Nake!” he cries. Rita reminds herself to be kind to Mickey, the less advantaged child, the one without a father, whereas Joey has two in a sense. Rita can tell it baffles Mickey that Rick Senior doesn’t have any obligations toward her since moving out. He’s kind enough to include her on some outings, but everything’s tailored to Joey—tot lot, cartoons—which makes it boring as hell for Mickey. Yet Rita can’t blame Rick, either. It’s biology. He’s taking care of what he believes to be his child. Eventually, Joey is what will bind Larry to her, far more important than hot sex in the laundry room and blow jobs at the drive-in. He just needs some time.
“Nake! Nake! I’m nake!” Joey screams.
“Retard,” Mickey says under her breath, but she’s smiling.