The day Miranda and her mother Lucretia arrived they were accompanied by a letter from my father announcing his new marriage. The driver helped to unload their bags and left the two a few feet from the front door. I looked at them from the left side light of the door. Lucretia removed her gloves by plucking the ends of each finger like the feathers of a chickens ass. I opened the door and those marble bitches stood.
Lucretia was imposing, the stark black suit coat and long skirt blotted out the angelic white blouse under it. Buttoned up to nearly her neck. Imagine, a Mexican woman with a nary a button undone! Her lips were voluptuous, she had eyes like Lilith, a strong jaw that gave you a hard on that then made you nervous because you weren't entirely sure you weren't checking out a transvestite. She had round cheeks, the Mexican kind that make a phenomenal mistress, or a wife you can put up with.
Miranda was petite and frail next to her mother. Both were malevolent. Miranda's head up and her gaze forward. Her hair a train of heavy brunette curls.
“Hello?” I said to Lucretia.
“This is for you.” She handed me my fathers letter. I wasn't worldly then. If I had been I would of read the letter then said to the woman, “So you must have some kind of snapping pussy?” For her to bewitch my father as she did took considerable pains on her behalf. He was a scrutinizing businessman and wouldn't enter lightly into any legally binding contract. Subsequently he barely saw Lucretia, Miranda, Ariel or I. He worked for the film studios legal department securing legally locations that were cheaper to film on overseas. My father hadn't known her long. Either she had some Helen of Troy grade pussy, was schooled in the art of bewitching men, or perhaps my father felt I needed a matriarch.
“Is there a man to take our bags?”
“If you mean Ari, he's in the Kitchen. We were not expecting you.”
She walked past me with her daughter in tow. She exited the foyer and entered the archway into sitting room.
“Tell your houseman to bring the bags to the largest room.” Going over it now, there's plenty of wise ass things I would of said had I been the wiser then. I simply went and notified Ari of their arrival and retired to my room.
When Ari announced dinner as usual, I came down winding staircase to find Miranda perched like a kitten in the chair of the sitting room. The white curve of her panties were visible, obstructed by her feet and the lace of her socks curled up upon the cushion. It was a regular occurrence that Miranda would prance around the house in increasingly provocative clothing. Provocative to the point that it seemed to be mended with scissors each time she wore it. She looked through me though and it was possible for me to control my urges in this instance. I have never been one to flog a dead horse.
At Dinner the lady Lucretia made her formal introduction. She laid claim to my land and my birth with a calm and sterile tone of voice that must have been reminiscent of the Pilgrims at Patuxet. Ariel stood aside as she stood and spoke. I sat anxiously awaiting Ariel to endow the speech with a his succinct and elegantly delivered response. The kind of logic that could not be refuted and would gain him and I back some of the ground we were losing each minute the witch spoke. It never came. I had been abandoned by my own kind. My world changed instantly, and I was as if a ship tossed about at sea with a gathering storm obscuring the stars.
Freud could say I was emasculated. Could that have been the beginning? Sure. But it wasn't what made me do what I did to her.