I met Laurie when Becky, her daughter, was only two years old. Only a couple of months ago we celebrated Becky's college graduation. It was a proud moment for both of us. Becky had been a wonderful stepdaughter and great student until she graduated from high school. Then, as if all thirteen years of strict parochial school just evaporated; she started college as a drinking party girl.
Becky survived her first year away but her scholarship didn't. So, at my urging, she left her first choice school and came home to finish her degree. The local college didn't have the same prestige or name recognition but it did have lower tuition and classes close to our house.
Being forced to move home must have been a blow to Becky's pride. She stayed with Laurie and I for a year then moved into an apartment with three other girls. The apartment was in a bad section of town but it was clean and her roommates were more interested in their GPAs than boys and booze. In this new environment, Becky redoubled her efforts and graduated at the top of her class.
Laurie and I took great pride in Becky's apparent turn around. That bursting pride wasn't nearly has great, though, as the pride I felt when I saw the job offer Becky was entertaining. A large pharmaceutical company made her an offer with a starting salary that was nearly as big as my current income. It was an unthinkable opportunity. Maybe that's why Becky made her deal with Mr. Jackson.
Bradley Jackson lives three doors down from us. He's an elderly African American widower who raised his three sons before he moved onto our street. Though, I really never knew him very well, Brad appeared to be a pretty descent guy.
A week ago last Tuesday, around nine o'clock, I got a call from Becky. I was in my morning Quality Assurance meeting. The departmental assistant broke into the meeting and told me that I had an emergency phone call. Fortunately, the emergency was limited to a car accident involving Brad and Becky. No one was hurt. Evidently, Brad was pulling around a construction crew and hit our Lexus that Becky was driving. Becky called because she needed our insurance agent's phone number.
When I got home, Becky told me that she had spoken with our insurance agent and since the accident was Mr. Jackson's fault, his insurance was responsible for the repairs to the Lexus. I was so relieved that I didn't bother to ask very many questions. After all, it seemed pretty straightforward to me.
Even though the body shop was closed, we drove over to take a look. The car was in the middle of the lot, parked alongside a cinder block garage. The front driver side quarter panel was smashed in and there was an ugly dent from the front of the driver's door to the tail light. After walking up and down the fence line, getting the best view of the car I could, I asked Becky if she was sure she wasn't hurt. Becky replied solemnly, "I'm fine. I had the car at a dead stop and Mr Jackson came around and hit the side. I had my seat belt on. The airbags didn't even deploy. I'm fine."
The next evening I thought I would be a good neighbor and check in on Brad. I explained that I just wanted to make sure he was okay. Under his breath he said that he was fine and asked how my stepdaughter was doing. I told him Becky was fine. He nodded and breathed sibilantly "that's good, that's good." I felt sorry for him. He must have felt awful that he had caused the accident. He's a big man, with a good sized belly and a head of graying hair. He moved slowly almost painfully. Not doubt the jolt was hard on him. We didn't talk much about the accident, each time I said something about it he invariably changed to topic to Becky. Her college education, how she looked like her mother, Laurie, and that I must be proud to have such a beautiful and smart stepdaughter. I nodded but before I could continue he said that his oldest son was like Becky, a real go getter. He and his wife had three boys the same age as Becky. One, Darren, had a learning disorder. He comes around every now and again. I listened to him for awhile and then bowed my head and began to leave. That's when Brad said something that didn't mean anything until yesterday. "Starting a new job and all, she don't need an accident and all that stuff on her record."
"Well accidents happen. I'm sure the insurance will to take care of it." I interjected as a way of derailing any accusation aimed at Becky.
Brad stopped and smiled hard at me. He softened a bit as I stuttered through an explanation of accidents and how they were never really anyone's fault.
With that soft smile, he bade me goodbye and turned to go back into his house.
I heard Brad's words again yesterday when he spoke them in my house to Becky. I had taken a half day at work so I could pick up the insurance check and get the repair process rolling. Becky's rental car was in the driveway of our house, so I parked on the street. I entered the hallway through the open garage.
Before I could announce that I was home, I heard "This'll be a good agreement. Your folks don't need to know about your drinking and smoking. You don't need all that stuff on your record."
The voice was soft, deep and drawn out as if the words were pushed through clenched teeth. Then a response came, this voice I knew because I heard it every day.
Becky said "Well, it's not going on my record. You saw to that. So let me see it."
Our downstairs hallway ends in the foyer. To the left is the living room and to my right was the big mirror Laurie bought last Christmas. I moved forward just enough to look through the mirror.
Becky was standing in the middle of the room talking to Bradley who was sitting down on the couch. I'd never seen Becky like this. Her dark red hair was in loose waves over her shoulders. She had heavy eyeliner, lipstick and probably blush. My eyes weren't drawn to her face. She was wearing a tight, one piece black dress that accentuated her assets like Christmas wrap on an expensive present.
Bradley was wearing a big yellow tooth smile. He ran his thick tongue between his lips and chuckled. "This is your..." Bradley stopped, licked his lips again and gave Becky a slow visual appraisal. He then continued with his speech by saying, "This is your bargain. You offered me, whatever I wanted if I'd keep your dark little secret. You told me that I would have whatever I wanted. Whatever I wanted."
"What do you want?" Becky quickly countered.
"First I ask the questions." Bradley said. Becky looked to the floor pressed her lips hard together and nodded.
"That's good, now you had it right. Let's see it. Take that tiny little thing off" Bradley said with a point and wave toward Becky's thin dress.
Bradley reached behind her. I heard the zipper slide down her back. In one motion she shrugged off the slutty attire and for a moment I stared into the mirror at the image of a ripe voluptuous woman. Becky's big breasts were capped with beautiful pink nipples that pointed slightly upward. Her tight, shapely ass was a perfect counter point to her huge tits. Just like Bradley, I let my eyes trace the line of Becky's flat stomach down to her perfectly shaped thighs and calves. She was standing perfectly still in a pair of shiny black 'fuck me' pumps
