He had failed me so badly—my biological father. He’d abandoned me when I needed him the most and that pain was still inside me. The little girl crying on the curb was still there too, holding onto it. Pain…distrust…fear…anger…she held them in her arms like a bouquet of toxic flowers. They poisoned her—poisoned me—but what could I do? How could I ever let go of them? Let go of the hurt and doubt I felt when I remembered that first, most important betrayal?
“Andi?” Salt said, pulling me out of my morbid thoughts. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I sat up straighter and tried to smile. “Just fine.”
“Are you certain?” He put his hand to my face and his fingers came away wet. “You are crying,” he murmured. “Tell me if this becomes too much to bear. I know it is…difficult.”
“For you too,” I pointed out, swiping at my eyes. “I mean, it can’t be easy having to pretend to be my ‘Papa’ and taking care of me like I’m some idiotic little girl who can’t fend for herself all the damn time.”
“I never said I minded taking care of you,” he said softly.
“Well, you certainly did a good job of it last night,” I remarked acerbically. “I mean, your acting skills are amazing, Salt—or should I say Papa? You should get an Oscar—bravo.”
Salt got a pained look on his face.
“Andi—” he began but I was already jumping out of bed. Keeping the sheet wrapped firmly around me, I went to dig around in my suitcase. “I have another dress for you hanging in the closet,” Salt remarked, watching me.
“What? Another little girl party dress?” I shook my head. “I don’t think so. It’s time to change the game, Salt. Time to escalate. And I can’t do that dressed like I’m going to an Alice in Wonderland themed tea party.”
I pulled out the naughty schoolgirl outfit—the see-through white blouse, the tiny red and black plaid skirt, the white knee socks and Mary Jane shoes—it was all just as I remembered it.
“What are you doing?” Salt’s face had darkened. “I do not want you wearing that.”
“Well that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” I flared at him. “But you’re not my ‘Papa’—you’re my partner. So I’m going to wear what I Goddamn please.”
“Andi—” he began but I held up a hand to stop him.
“No. No more of those stupid little girl dresses. You’re going to have to face the facts, Salt—if we’re going to crack this case your sweet little mishka is going to have to grow up and play with the big girls.”
“I do not like this,” he said frowning. “I do not think it is safe for you to act and dress in this way, Andi. Bad things will come of it.”
“The only thing that’s going to come of it is that we’re finally going to make progress on the case and get the hell out of here,” I snapped.
Then I went into the bathroom, slammed the door behind me, and tried not to cry.
Stupid, I told myself over and over as I pulled on the clothes. Stupid to think Salt was into it last night the way you were. He’s your partner—your friend. Not anything else. And he won’t even be that if you don’t pull yourself together and stop acting like a hurt little girl that skinned her knee and is crying on the sidewalk. Get hold of yourself, Andi!
The pep-talk helped—at least some. By the time I had the naughty school girl outfit on, I was dry-eyed and I had my head back in the game. No more falling into the role I was playing, I lectured myself. No more calling Salt “Papa” when we were alone together. From now on I was going to be all business all the time.
But what kind of business?
Looking at myself in the big bathroom mirror, I knew what kind of business anyone who saw me dressed like this would think I was in. They would think I was hooking or stripping or making a porno—there was no other conclusion anyone could draw, seeing me like this.
The blouse seemed more see-through than I remembered but maybe that was because, after some deliberation, I had left my bra off. My breasts were bare beneath it, my nipples tight with tension as they pressed in two stiff pink points against the translucent silky white material.