(Part 1 of 6)
I never really got along with my stepmother. But I hated my dad so when she invited me to come home for the summer I didn't have to think too hard about it. Dad was pissed, of course. He wanted me to go to Tampa. But I explained that my friends were here, all my stuff was here. It just made sense for me to stay with Mom. He didn't take it well. Said I was betraying him. And well, fuck him anyway.
I hardly recognized Heidi when she met me at the door. She looked younger, happier than I'd seen her in a long time, maybe ever. She hugged me and took my bag and brought me to the kitchen for a pot of herbal tea. She had so many questions about my first year of college. She was an alumnus of my school and loved hearing every familiar detail about her alma mater. I was gratified to bring her so much enjoyment and incredulous about how much she had changed in nine short months.
"I was staying in your room for a while," she told me when I suggested I unpack my bag, "And some of my things are still in there. I hope you don't mind."
"I'm sure it's fine, Mom." I always called her that, didn't think too much about it. I was nine when my mother died and for half my life I knew Heidi in that role.
"Well, I weeded out some of your old clothes so half the drawers are still yours and half the closet. If you feel like you need more space I can put some things in storage."
"No, Mom. It's fine. It will only be a few months."
My old room looked the same except for an elliptical machine where my old desk used to sit. There was also a rack of dumbbells and some resistance bands and one of those big inflatable balls. I went to the low dresser and pulled a drawer on the right. It was filled with workout clothing, the technicolored spandex clothing that was popular in the old days. For a moment, involuntarily, I was aroused by the thought of my stepmother wearing this clothing, stretching out, breaking a sweat. I shook off the thought immediately but still stood there for a minute, ogling the well-used leggings and leotards.
I found my own drawers on the left side and put away the pants and underwear I had brought home. Then I hung the shirts in my half of the closet. The clothing on Mom's side was mostly jackets and coats. Down on the floor I noticed a stack of magazines. I was embarrassed to discover they were Hothouse magazines, an infamous men's monthly. After giving it some thought, I reluctantly scooped up the stack and brought them out so that Mom could throw them in the trash where they belonged.
"Hey Mom. I found some of Dad's old magazines in the closet."
Mom looked at the stack and gave me a laugh. "Those are mine, sweetie."
"Uh, yours?"
"Uh, yeah. Everyone likes to look at beautiful women, Trey. Even women."
I looked down at the cover of the magazine on top. A stunningly beautiful blonde woman grinned up at me, her breasts practically bursting out of her top. "But... they're... so..."
"...so nasty?" Mom finished the thought for me. "Sure, but Hothouse makes it seem classy at the same time. And believe it or not, I like the articles too. Why don't you leave those on the coffee table and we can read some after dinner."
My afternoon had certainly taken a weird turn. I did as I was told but I can't say I was looking forward to reading dirty magazines with my stepmother. I thought for sure she was going to yell "Psych!" at any moment and tell me to throw the magazines away. But she didn't.
"Dress up for dinner tonight. I'm making you a special meal. It is so nice having you home again after so long, Son."
I gave myself a nice close shave that afternoon and found a suit that fit. My shoulders had broadened over the year so the jacket bowed out slightly at the lapels. It wasn't a bad look, to be honest. I kind of felt like a dork putting on a tie but I figured it would be less distracting to take one off if it was too much than to put one on. It was a good choice, though, I found when I joined Heidi later in the kitchen. She was wearing a striking lemon blouse over a pleated black skirt, her shapely white legs terminating in strappy sandals.
"Oh, don't you look nice," she said, slipping oven mitts onto her hands. The savory smell of roasting beef and a reduction sauce filled the room when she opened the oven door and pulled out the roasting pan. I pushed the trivet in front of her and she set it down, then looked up at me and smiled, kissed me on the cheek. "I'm so glad you're here."
"Me too," I replied, and meant it.
We ate at the kitchen table. The dining room was reserved for entertaining which had never happened in my memory. There was a salad in addition to the beef and crusty bread. Heidi let me have a glass of red wine though I was only nineteen. I felt very grown up and tried to act the part. I still couldn't get over how happy she seemed. Her wavy brown hair framed her beautiful face which seemed to smile constantly. Her laughter came so easily and sounded like music in my ears. I couldn't help but feel convivial in response.
She poured us another glass of wine and we adjourned to the living room. My good mood faded a bit when my eyes fell on the stack of Hothouse magazines. I had forgotten all about them. Heidi hadn't, and she picked two off the top of the stack as she sat down on the couch, one leg folded beneath her. She held one of the issues out to me and I took it and removed my jacket before sitting down at the other end. I looked down at the cover. This one had a buxom brunette standing on a ladder, her panty-clad tushie thrust out in invitation. I stared at her so that I wouldn't look in Heidi's direction, too embarrassed to make eye contact.
"Hothouse seems like just the right balance of sexy and sophisticated." My stepmother had flipped open her issue and was thumbing through the pages while she spoke so I did the same. "The women in PartyBoy are too beautiful. They're so made up, touched up, they hardly seem real. Real women have flaws, you know?"
I mumbled an agreement, though the women in my issue looked nothing less than perfect. Better than perfect, if such a thing were possible.
"Then there's Rustler. The women in there are pretty trashy and I think they try to make them look even trashier than they really are. Hothouse shows us the kind of woman a man could really want to be with. And he might get her too, but it wouldn't be easy. That's the kind of woman I would want to be, if I was in a nudie magazine, that is."
My ears burned, hearing this confession. I heard myself say, "You are easily as beautiful as these women."
"Oh, you're kind to say so, Trey. Hey, look at this."
