Daddy Friend Pretty

March 2, 2011

[Morning sun shoots through the blinds and it isn’t kind to the Little Girl’s face. I see now that her nose is bony, perhaps it’s been broken, and there’s an open zit above her lip. Sunlight hits the red ooze floating on the zit and I swear it twinkles. We slept on the floor, next to the bed where Ann and Little Ann slept. The Little Girl was a squirmer and a squealer: I had to periodically cover her mouth with my hand and whisper, Shut up, stop squirming, but she’d keep squirming anyway. She wore those stolen Keds the whole time and twice I felt the soles rub against my legs. I check my legs: oh perfect: grime from the lima bean cannery floor is smeared on my shin. I try to avoid showering on Sundays but now I’ll have to. It was not the best lay, and it wasn’t cheating because Ann was in the room. That was the agreement. She never said she had to be awake.]

[Little Ann is awake now and he sees us on the floor. He counts the people in the room:]

Little Ann: One. Two. Three. Four. Four people!

Me: Very good. There are four people in the room. Say hi to my friend.

Little Ann: Hi.

Little Girl: Hi there. [She turns to me and says:] Is that your son?

Me: Yeah, kind of. He’s feral.

Little Ann: Four. Four people. Euchre! Time for Euchre.

Little Girl: What’s Euchre?

Me: The best card game in the world. You need four people to play.

Little Girl: I love cards, let’s play.

Me: Our fourth is still asleep.

[With her mouth open wide Ann looks dumb. And with fingers stretched out and those tiny wrists against her chest her hands look like a T Rex's. She's a dumb sleeping T Rex. A pathetic tit droops on a pillow. She looks old. Old and dumb. She’s still pretty Ann, my pretty performance art piece, but she’s also a dumb T Rex. Interesting how the prettiest thing in the world and the one thing in the world you want to smother to death with a pillow can be the same thing.]

Little Girl: Who is that? Are you married? Did I just fuck a married guy on the floor next to his wife and kid?

Me: Shush, keep it down. I’m not married. That’s Ann. Don’t worry about her. Hey, so I’m thinking you should go.

Little Girl: [whispering] I thought we were playing Euchre.

Me: Another time.

Little Girl: But you don’t have my number.

Me: I’ll get it from Z, who will get it from Georgia.

Little Girl: Ugh. Fine. Just tell me this much: you brought me home and slept with me on the floor while your girlfriend and feral kid slept in the bed right next to us?

Me: Something like that happened, yes.

Little Girl: Sweet Jesus, that’s fucked up. I’ve had some weird hook ups, but this.

Me: What? That’s no good for you?

Little Girl: You’re disgusting.

Me: Me? I’m disgusting? You’re the one who wore those gross shoes all night. They rubbed filth all over my legs. Look. Look at these legs. [I show her my filthy legs] This grime is from you. You’re nasty.

Little Girl: Well at least I’m not a cheater. Cheaters should have to spend a night in jail. It should be a law.

Me: I didn’t cheat. I can fuck whomever I want as long as Ann’s in the room. That’s our agreement. It’s like an open relationship, but we have to sleep around in front of each other.

Little Girl: I don’t believe you.

Me: It’s true.

Little Girl: So we could have sex right now. And if she saw us, she wouldn’t care?

Me: Why do you ask? Do you… want to… give it a go? [my hand on her neck now]

[Little Ann stands up on the bed and says:]

Little Ann: Four people, in the barn, what’s trump? [he’s playing with his dick too]

Little Girl: YEAH I’M GOING TO FUCK YOU IN FRONT OF THIS KID.

Me: You did last night, sliz.

[She gathers her clothes from the floor and puts on the Care Bears sweatshirt.]

Little Girl: You’re a sick puppy. And I’m using your toothbrush. [She goes in the bathroom.] Which one is yours?

Me: The blue one. [The blue one is Ann’s.]

[After brushing she leaves without a hug. The door slams shut. Ann wakes up and sits up in bed and puts an arm around Little Ann.]

Ann: Good morning, little man.

Little Ann: Four people, Euchre, in the barn.

Ann: You want to play cards? OK. We need a fourth.

Little Ann: There ARE four people.

Ann: No, there are three people. You, me and daddy. One, two, three. Daddy could call Z and ask if he wants to play. But he’s probably busy humping whatever sad little girl he brought home last night. Honey, do you think Z will ever grow up and actually get a girlfriend, or will he be one of those sad dudes in their mid-thirties hanging around NYU bars telling college girls about the time they studied abroad and ate mushrooms. I’ve heard Z’s mushrooms-in-Berlin story at least five times.

Me: Let Z be Z.

Little Ann: No. Four people. Daddy friend.

Ann: Daddy friend?

Me: Daddy friend?

Little Ann: Daddy friend. Dirty shoes.

Ann: Daddy friend? You had a friend over, daddy? Hey. Hey. Why is a pillow on the floor? Did you sleep on the floor last night?

Me: No.

Little Ann: Daddy friend pretty.

Ann: Daddy friend pretty? Daddy had a pretty friend over last night?

Me: I may have slept on the floor last night.

Little Ann: Daddy friend pretty.

Me: But she was not pretty. And she’s not really a friend. And I didn’t come, and neither did she, if that means anything.

Ann: Oh man, this is gonna make for a great birdhouse. Tell me everything.

Me: OK, so we’re dancing at the lima bean cannery that has parties on the weekends. It’s me, Z, Georgia and a little girl who plays bass with Georgia when she has the time. [And I tell her the story.]

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