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"So..." this was the first time I was bringing it up again, not since we'd started packing, not the whole time we'd been on the road, but as we'd pulled off on the exit a nerve in my stomach had alit, had throbbed, fear and curiosity. "These neighbor girls you mentioned," I said.He laughed. Any worry I'd had that he'd forgotten mentioning them or made them up faded."I was wondering when you'd ask," he said. "Don't worry man, it's the best part of Christmas but you've just got to be patient."The clicking noise of his left-turn signal marked the car's broad sweep into a hidden cul-de-sac between tall, bare willows.And my eyes reeled back at the sight of many lighted houses, each lawn marked by mannequin Santas and Smurfs and Charlie Browns, Reindeers, Elves, and fake Snowmen (it was Orange County after all.)He pulled into the driveway of the biggest house in the cul-de-sac. I heard a dog barking. The front door opened. A woman rushed out, smiling. His mother I assumed.We stepped out of. “I know.” She pinches an erect nipple, squeezing until I yelp in pain. “And I hate you. That’s why this will be so…” a throaty purr,” fucking…” another pinch,” amazing.” She pulls away, leaving my body tingling, my legs splayed open like a worn down whore offering free rides. The symphony of alien voices grows in richness as they creep closer, their movements terpsichorean. I try to look away, count the heartbeats that aren’t there. Twelve beats. The symphony grows louder. Thirty-nine beats. I see symbols etched into their bodies like brands. Seventy-eight. Clubs. Hearts. Eighty-three. Spades. Diamonds. Ninety-nine. Their pale blue eyes piece me and the lies shatter like glass. I mewl like a needy kitten, hips arching up. One hundred. Silk cloth drops over my eyes and the phantoms wink out. “Liars don’t need to see,” she whispers. Something damp and musky is pushed into my mouth. “Liars don’t need to speak.” My moans of protest are muffled and halfhearted. “Liars don’t need.
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