Copyright 1991 Aya Katz
FROM THE DIARY OF VERITY LACKLAND ...
I'm stuck here. Maybe forever. And I've got to be good because there is no other choice.
I feel so sick of myself. I am a weakling. I stood there before the Judge and I quaked in my boots, just like the coward that Nabal said I was. He was right.
The point is, I don't want to go to jail. And when I said I might as well be dead, I didn't mean that either. Because when I was in jail again, I thought about killing myself, seriously thought about it, and I figured out something really awful about myself: I can't do it. I don't even need to try to know that. I can't, because the mere thought of doing myself in makes me sick to my stomach.
So that means there's nothing I can do but be a good little girl and go along with whatever they have in mind.
I'm no better than any of them. Worse really. Because someone like Pipa has no sense of justice. But I do. And I've given in, completely. I'm a submissive little slave.
Nabal came in tonight, the first time I've been back since I missed my meeting with the probation officer.
"Welcome back," he said. His face did not betray any amusement, but I knew better than to expect him to care.
"I suppose you know where I've been," I said.
He smiled. "Pipa did mention something about the carcel."
I can just imagine him and Pipa chatting about me.
"But I understand that you are working on overcoming your addiction," Nabal added, "and that they've let you out on good behavior. It's just a question of taking it one day at a time," he said, speaking slowly. "And accepting that which you haven't the power to change."
"I can't change anything," I said.
"Precisely." His eyes were sad, and only his mouth twisted slightly, the mere shadow of a smile. And he took another swig of his drink.
....................
Abner came on to me last night, with rather bizarre consequences.
I was serving at another table, and he pinched my behind as I passed. At first I didn't quite realize what was going on, thought I had bumped into him by accident, so I said: "Excuse me."
"Oh, you're excused," Abner said and he did it again.
I turned on him. "What do you think you're doing?"
Abner spread out his hands. "You tell me, Miss Verity. What do you think I'm doing?"
I stared at him. "What do you mean?"
He said: "How long is this going to keep on? Aren't you hankering for your college dorm yet?"
I still didn't understand, so I just looked at him.
"I'm a fair man," Abner said. "And I only ask what I have coming. Once you've learned your lesson, I think we can safely say your probation's been fulfilled." He shrugged. "It's all up to you." He laid down some change on the table as a tip for Pipa, then got up and stared me down. "Seemed like you were real penitent like in Court the other day. After all, you started it. How about we get it over with, and have you on your way? I don't find you that interesting." He latched on to my arm.
I yanked loose. "Let go of me!"
He shrugged. "Suit yourself. Not woman enough, I expect."
Abner walked out.
I looked around. There had been one couple in the rear, but they had walked out in the interim. And then there was Nabal, sitting in the corner with his back to the wall, nursing a drink.
I wanted to save him the trouble of saying it. "No, I suppose I'm not woman enough." I shrugged. "I don't even know if I'm woman at all. Probably never get a chance to find out."
Nabal perked up, and his eyes narrowed. He was silent a moment, then he said: "I'd be willing to put you to the test." His voice rang clear, each word well enunciated. I've noticed that the more he drinks, the more refined his diction becomes.
I stared at him. Our eyes met. A shiver ran up my spine.
I can't even explain it. It was a challenge I couldn't turn down, as though the last of my self respect depended upon it. Because I was really, really scared.
"Okay," I said. Part of me almost expected him to back out. For it just to be another joke. Another twist at my tattered self esteem.
He kept looking me in the eyes, and he must have seen how scared I was, because that big white smile of his finally broke. "Yes, well, we'd better get on with it, shall we?"
He got up out of his chair, and nearly stumbled over the chair Abner had vacated, on his way to me. Gallantly taking my arm he said: "Well, Miss Lackland, tonight I seem to be nearly as graceful as you are when at your best. We are well matched."
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Room 26 will do nicely, I think." His voice was cold now, very intent on achieving the task he had set for himself.
He got the key from Eb, asking all the while. "I hope it is all right for Miss Lackland to be excused for the evening."
Eb looked at me, a little slow on the uptake. "I reckon so." As Nabal turned to go, Eb gave me a thumbs up sign. I felt it in the pit of my stomach.
Nabal paused to let me ascend the stairs ahead of him. His gallantry was very funny. Only I wasn't laughing.
He stopped by the room. Traced the number with his fingers, before opening the door and motioning me in. He shut the door behind him. Looking around, I remembered cleaning up the carpet, trying to get those blood stains out. And the soiled linens, where David and Abby had had their last fling together. I wondered who would clean up after me. Would I have to do that, too?
Nabal just stood there eyeing me, and there was a look on his face that seemed to say he thought very little of me. And not much more of himself.
Great. I've just consented to have sex with a murderer, I thought. Brilliant. Why? For heaven's sake, why?
I suppose I might have bolted out right then. I suppose he wouldn't have stopped me. Because you see, he asked: "Having second thoughts?"
I shook my head vigorously. "No. I'm not afraid of you." It came out rather hurried and cross.
He laughed. "Well, that's reassuring."
He took a couple of steps toward me, and barely grazed my cheek with the tip of his finger. I shrank from his touch. "Let's seize the moment, shall we," he said, and his voice was harsh and merciless now. He pulled my head down by the hair, and kissed me on the mouth. It didn't hurt, he was really rather meticulous, only I wasn't prepared and I nearly choked from it all, and I couldn't disengage, and when he let go I was spluttering for air.
He then set about undressing me, and I suddenly felt grateful that one of us, at least, was drunk, because I don't think we could have gone any further had we been stone cold sober. Only after a while I began to wonder which of us was drunk, and which was sober.
What I remember of it mostly was that he was doing stuff to me, scary things, strange things, touching me where nobody had any business touching, and I couldn't stop it. He didn't hurt me, not really, yet somehow, I couldn't move unless he meant me to, he seemed a thousand times stronger than I was. That was the scary part. That like everything else, it was out of my hands. No escape now. At first I kind of panicked and started thrashing about, but it didn't seem to make any difference, so I tried to lie still, not to react. But I couldn't do that either. He had my hands pinned behind and so I couldn't even hold on, the way I do at the dentist's sometimes when things become overwhelming. Couldn't even manage to clench my fists.
He had my legs spread out at this point and he was messing with me there and I was whimpering and then it got to really hurting and I screamed, but he kept going and I thought I would burst, and I looked up at his face and it looked really strange and, I just kept thinking that I had to hold on just a little bit longer, and he went really wacky, grunting and calling for Abby.
After that, it eased up. And he just lay there at my side, with his hand on my left thigh, not quite squeezing but not quite loose, either.
He was breathing hard, and I noticed there were tears in my eyes, and something was trickling between my legs. I tried to get up.
"Stay," he ordered.
"I'm bleeding," I said. "The sheet ..."
"I'll pay for the bloody sheet." His voice was quiet, but angry.
I lay very still, wondering whether he had meant "bloody" as an expletive, or just a normal adjective. I was considering asking him that, but before I could work up the courage, he had fallen asleep, still sort of clutching at me. I listened to him breathe. He called for her a couple of times in his sleep. Eventually, I nodded off, too. I hadn't felt this calm in a long time. Not since I first arrived in Vacuum County. Nothing makes you feel safer than sleeping with a murderer who is calling for his dead wife. Really. I felt very safe. As though nobody could get to me there, lying in Nabal's bed and bleeding on the linen.
When I woke up, he was dressing. "Good morning," he said, without looking at me. He didn't glance at me as he dressed, kept his eyes averted, as though suddenly modest or private, or as if he wanted to forget I was there.
I wanted to touch him, but he was out of reach. Okay, I told myself, hold back, let go. Take a deep breath. But my voice was ragged when I said: "This wouldn't have happened, if you hadn't been drinking."
He looked up at me from buttoning his shirt, sort of viewing me from under his forehead, because he was kind of stooped over. But it was a clear glance. "No," he said. And straigtening up, he added, "But you know what they say: In vino veritas." I stared at him and our glances held for a moment. Then he walked out and shut the door behind him.
Today has been weird. Not to mention, incredibly embarassing. I left the room shortly after Nabal, but I was going to come back to clean up. When I got there, Pipa was just finishing up. "I was going to do that," I said.
"Don't be silly," Pipa said heartily. "Cabeza de Vaca paid for the room. This one is his treat. I wouldn't think of it."
I looked in the bin for the sheet, but it wasn't there.
Pipa followed my search. "Oh, you don't need to worry about the sheet. Cabeza de Vaca took it home with him. Paid five bucks for it."
The rest of the day was like that, only worse. Everybody was looking at me, I felt. It was a stupid thing to do, a stupid thing to have done. And everybody knew, of course. Verity and Nabal, in Number 26.
Pipa smiled at me periodically. And once when I looked particularly embarrassed she said: "It's okay, Verity. You did good."
And Eb. Just a broad grin plastered across his face when he saw me.
And even Abner. Pipa must have told him and he just kind of laughed and shook his head at me, not angry, only a rueful sort of smile, as though for once, he almost approved or at least understood something I had done.
I suppose if I went and killed someone they'd give me the keys to the city. After all, it worked for Nabal. He's lots more popular, now that he's a murderer.
And worst of all, I don't know why I did it. Not really.
I went through the morning with my ears on fire, and my crotch sore and a sort of humming in my ears. But I didn't break any dishes. Not a one.
I was wondering whether Nabal would show up again to drink away his sorrows, and how I would face him if he did. And just how snide his remarks would be, if he deigned to speak to me. Because worst of all, I was ashamed in front of him. I mean, the others didn't regard what had happened as anything all that out of the ordinary. Just sort of, welcome to the human race, Verity. So really, I needn't have feared meeting their eyes. They were too blind to have seen anything. But Nabal knew. Nabal knows.
Nabal knows that I lowered myself by submitting to him. Nabal knows it was an act of weakness, of utter despair. And I guess, ultimately, that's why I chose him in the first place.
In the morning, I dreaded his coming. But he didn't show up all day, and I've been waiting all night. Which made me realize that I had wanted him to come.
That's horrible, isn't it?
FROM VACUUM COUNTY FILES0
PROGRESS REPORT
VACUUM COUNTY ADULT PROBATION
SUBJECT: LACKLAND, VERITY OFFENSE: DWI
INTEROFFICE REPORT --- SPECIAL MEETING AT SUBJECT'S REQUEST
THE SUBJECT'S CONCERNS
The subject came in today after requesting a special meeting. She was better groomed than usual, but seemed very ill at ease. She stated that she wished to clarify a point regarding the terms of her probation.
It appears that she has had a sexual encounter with Nabal Cabeza de Vaca and that he has proposed cohabitation. Before accepting the offer, the subject said she wished to clarify whether accepting would place her in danger of probation revocation, on the grounds of her having committed "an act of moral turpitude."
I asked the subject what "moral turpitude" meant to her, and she said she had never understood its meaning, but that she had carefully read over the terms of her probation, and that this was the only clause she felt she might be violating by accepting Mr. Cabeza de Vaca's offer. If moral turpitude meant anything, she felt that must include "serving as Nabal's slut."
I reassured the subject that cohabitation is not governed by the terms of her probation, and that it is currently considered an honorable intermediary step in a sexual relationship, one 0which often leads to more permanent arrangements, and for which she need feel no guilt. I attempted to convey to her that this may be a healthy step in the direction of more normal attitudes toward sex and that if she began to accept her own sexuality, perhaps she might arrive at a healthy understanding of her drinking problem as well.
The subject asked whether it would be acceptable for her to end her employment at the Brown 'N Serve. I responded that so long as her probation fees were timely paid and that she continued meeting the other terms of her probation, there would be no problem.
The subject then hesitated, before asking: "You realize that Nabal will be paying the probation fees." I asured her that the source of the money was no concern of ours so long as it was lawfully obtained.
The subject bit her lips and proceeded as follows: "Look, Mr. Cain, I don't want to seem rude. But you're not going to accuse me of prostitution afterwards, are you?"
When asked what aspect of the relationship made her think of prostitution, the subject explained that Mr. Cabeza de Vaca would be paying her probation fees, in addition to providing her with room and board, in return for her cohabitation. I inquired whether there was any other payment involved. She replied that there was not. I then attempted to explain to the subject that persons who are sexually involved with one another are permitted to provide one another with basic necessities.
The subject seemed confused. When cohabitation was likened to marriage, she commented that she had never understood the difference there, either.
I reassured the subject that so long as she met all the other terms of her probation, she would not be violating it by accepting Mr. Cabeza de Vaca's offer. I then recommended that the subject discuss her doubts with her AA counselor.
Respectfully submitted,
Seth Cain,
Probation Officer
FROM THE DIARY OF VERITY LACKLAND ...
Nabal came in yesterday at noon. Only two days have passed since our ... romantic, or not so romantic, encounter. But it seems like much longer.
He just needs to look at me, and I blush. He likes that. He asked me to sit down at his table. "I have a proposal for you," he said.
I thought he was going to say, that we have another little encounter in room 26. At first I was going to say no. Then I realized I would probably say yes. Except, that wasn't what he said.
"Now that you have passed the test of womanhood," he smiled at my expression, "just barely," he added, "it occurs to me that it might be amusing, and certainly more convenient, if you took up residence at my ranch."
I was confused. "As what?"
"As my slut," he said. "Naturally."
I didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered. I felt a little of both.
"You would have to give notice here," he said.
"I can't. My probation fees ..."
"I would pay them for you."
I squinted. "Can you do that?"
He half-smiled. "The County has yet to refuse my money."
I thought about it. I hate waitressing. "I hate waitressing," I said.
"You're not very good at it, either."
I frowned. "Am I good at ... the other?"
He laughed. "Hardly. But under proper tutelage ..."
Then I remembered about moral turpitude. It's in there in my terms of probation, and I figured if it meant anything, this would be it.
"I'll have to check with my probation officer," I said.
So I did. Cain has no objections. I think he figures it's just one step from a slut to a lush. Nabal came by for his answer tonight. "So, what did your probation officer say. Does becoming my slut constitute an act of moral turpitude?"
I shrugged. "No. He said go ahead."
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