Julia watched Heather at the breakfast table carefully. Something was wrong; a mother could see these things. Heather kept her eyes averted; her head was down much of the time, her responses monosyllabic. Something was happening in her life.
Of course Jack didn’t even notice – he was so wrapped up thinking about the college (she pursed her lips briefly at this point) that his family could disintegrate without him noticing. For the briefest moment she reflected on the circumstances of her life, then turned back to the problem at hand: she had thought about all of this too many times before.
“Are you all right, honey?” she asked Heather.
Her daughter appeared startled. “Oh yes! Fine!” A smile flittered across her face, a butterfly lost in turbulent winds.
“You sure?”
Suddenly Jack pitched in: “I asked the same question two days ago. Maybe you’re off-colour princess?”
Heather stayed silent for a moment, watching her parents like a deer in headlights. “Maybe”, she finally commented. “I think I’m fine, though.”
Julia kept on watching, though – even when the conversation turned to other things; and each nervous glance and mumbled phrase strengthened her opinion. Another problem to deal with – and, as always, she knew that she would have to take it in hand.
Julia had married Jack when she was only 19. It seemed now as if she had been so much more mature then than Heather was now, at the same age. But the reality was that she had married because she was pregnant, with the first suitor that had caught her eye. Jack had seemed so worldly – she had barely scraped any education together at all, while he had prospects: a college degree was in the offing, with the promise of a fruitful academic career ahead. Perhaps getting married would turn a bad situation into a good future – but the reality had been disappointing. Jack was an academic at heart – his career and studies would always be the central focus of his life. Each progressive promotion distanced him further from his family.
The marriage had to be seen to be ideal, to protect his tenure, to qualify for the next academic rung, to project the image of a man suitable to manage the future of children. Julia learned to behave appropriately, for her livelihood was enmeshed with his, but she paid her own price. At 38, she would look in the mirror and contemplate what she saw: still attractive, but unquestionably becoming matronly, her slim hips gone forever. She wondered sometimes if a man would find her attractive now. She also wondered what it would be like to be with another man – someone to explore her desires, to lead her into temptations that she could only imagine. Who would ever have thought that she would spend her life with one man? Did anybody still do such a thing?
The irony was that all these years of conformance to some idealistic vision of appropriate behaviour was being wasted by Jack’s only vice – he had progressively gambled away all their savings. By the time she found out it was too late. She had almost left him – but what then? She had no way of earning a living, not after almost 20 years in his shadow. And Heather had to be cared for. The only option was to maintain this farce, ignoring her growing desire for an indescribable fulfilment, safeguarding his job as she had always done. Her occasional daydreams were populated with rich, powerful, faceless men who courted her, then drew her close, totally in control, violating her, rendering her helpless and somehow safe before their relentless demands. Jack was an introverted wastrel with no desire or ability to manage the needs of his family – it fell to Julia to organise their lives. The men of her fantasies, however, took charge.
She kept these daydreams intensely private, projecting a model image. The family ran smoothly under her direction, while she and Jack drifted into quiet separate lives.
Heather’s problem was disquieting. She knew even before father and daughter left to head off to college together that she would search Heather’s room. She had done it before, and had never been caught out. The sound of the car had barely faded before she entered the room, and began a methodical examination. She had to be cautious that it appeared undisturbed, but even so she realised quite soon that there was nothing untoward. She had already given up and was turning to leave the room when she realised that the video recorder was switched on. She pressed play, and switched on the television as an afterthought, a whim. But she realised within moments that the clue to Heather’s behaviour lay in the scene before her.
Different emotions coursed through her as the events unfolded. She was surprised to see Heather on the screen, and in a matriarchal response noticed how similar Heather looked to herself at that age. Then, as the boys started quizzing her, Julia felt some anger, which grew to a quiet rage as Heather was stripped of her clothing. And then, strangely, Julia’s mouth went dry as she saw Heather being spread open, touched, examined. Her hands trembled slightly when she saw the first penis being pushed between Heather’s lips, and she flicked the machine off. She sat on the bed, lost, angry, wanting to weep, wanting to rant and rave. She stood up, went downstairs and cleaned the house in a rage of indecision. It seemed inconceivable. How drunk had Heather been?
The lure of the video could not be ignored. After she had calmed down a bit she climbed the stairs again, sat down on the bed and switched on. She watched, quietly this time, as her daughter progressively took three boys cocks in her mouth, stroked and sucked until the boys groaned and spilled their lust down her throat. When they painted her genitalia with lipstick she flushed in embarrassment for her daughter, and a half-cry of shame escaped her lips when Heather was turned over, her bottom spread, and her anus daubed with the red stuff. Her mind seemed empty of cohesive thought – for long moments a monologue streamed through her brain: “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”
She found the remote device and turned it off. Then, consciously she pressed the rewind until she found what she would later think of as the cock-sucking scene. She watched it again, and then again; and as offensive as the scene was she found herself pursing her lips, imaging that hardness forced into her mouth, a hand against her head drawing her close. When she finally let the tape run, she imagined with a barely acknowledged pleasure what it would be like to have her legs opened, to be touched, and finally to have the lipstick drawn across her genitalia while an audience of men watched. She felt startled, then immediately guilty as she realised she had projected herself into the scene and that it had fascinated her. She threw down the remote angrily. What was to be done? The only thing she knew with absolute certainty was that the tape should never become public: Heather should never have to face that humiliation again.
But if Heather had this tape, somebody probably had another copy. She had to find out. She would have to speak to Heather, however difficult that was likely to be. How to approach it though? It didn’t matter what she said to Heather, her daughter would relive those events again. It would be difficult to contain her anger at Heather’s behaviour, but it would be damaging to Heather if she let it show. Somehow she would have to walk a line between empathy and retribution.
It was also clear that she could not discuss this while Jack was present. It would have to be a private dialogue. After debating the issue for most of the day, she concluded that it could only be addressed with a straight, if tactful, conversation. She deliberately maintained a light conversation once her family returned home, then waited until late in the evening. Jack drifted off to bed, but she could see that Heather’s light was still on. She knocked softly on the door, then closed it behind her when Heather invited her in.
Heather was lying in bed reading a book in the half-light thrown by her bedside table. Julia sat on the bed and placed her hand lightly on her daughter’s arm.
“Hey mom – what’s up?”
Julia paused. There was no easy way to say this. “I saw the tape hon.”
Heather froze, smiled nervously. “What tape?”
“You know what tape. You and the boys.”
There was silence between the two women for a while. Then Heather spoke softly. “I am so sorry, Mom. I was so drunk…” There were tears in her eyes, and her voice quavered as she spoke.
“I know. That is really no excuse.”
Heather turned her face away. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now, and Julia felt the anguish of every parent disciplining a child. “If that’s what happens when your father and I go away, we won’t be able to leave you at home anymore.”
Heather nodded in misery, too ashamed to even argue.
“But”, Julia continued. “We have to make sure that no further damage is done. Are there any more tapes?”
Heather nodded, her eyes facing downwards toward the bedspread.
“How many more?”
