Page 51 of Succubus

“I don’t want to get wet,” Ella informs the three of us in a stubborn tone.

Dee sighs. “I told you, you can just read your book then.”

“It’s the wrong one!”

Dee looks at me. “I brought the Libby book, but it’s the second one. Apparently she still won’t touch that. It’s been, what, a year now?” I can tell she had to cut her work call short and she’s stressed.

“You know I’m not ready yet!” Ella cries, fully activated now.

I flinch.

“And why are you speaking in that voice about me? It sounds mean. Titi doesn’t use that mean voice. Ever!”

I freeze in place and the Crayola-colored slides seem to writhe and wriggle together in the humid distance like poisonous snakes. But then Dee takes a slow breath and says with great restraint, “I hear you, baby. Do you want a hug right now? You can just tell me if you want a hug.”

And I relax as Ella nods and then flies into Dee’s arms. Dee is such a good mother. She will be fine, I think, without me, if it comes to that. Maybe she’s always been fine without me.

I call Joel’s office again from a gray-carpeted nook by some vending machines and ask if Dr. Tav is in today. The receptionist says he isn’t. Where is he? I almost demand, but then suddenly she is asking me if I’m the one who called earlier. “This is like a miracle, honey, but we just had a cancellation for tomorrow afternoon. We don’t get a lot of those around here. Not for Doctor Tav, anyway. He’s so popular. This might just be your very lucky day! Do you want to snap it up?”

“Yes,” I say without thinking. It’s like the universe is dragging its lazy butt over to the side of justice. Finally.

“Amazing!” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper: “I’m supposed to check the wait list, but you sounded so stressed. . . .”

“Thank you!” I chirp.

“All right, let’s just get your info!”

Crap. My name.

“Um. My name is . . . Catherine. Catherine Jones.” Not my best effort ever, and I will have to somehow get past the front desk without showing ID, but I’m leaving that problem for future Tempest to solve. Hopefully tomorrow me has learned and grown.

I start to give my address. No reason a doctor would check on that detail, right? The address doesn’t go on the forms they see, but I change a couple of details anyway.

“Wonderful, thanks, Catherine! Do you prefer Cathy?”

“No,” I say primly. I am not a Cathy.

* * *

I turn on the harsh light that also controls the churning exhaust fan and face myself in the mirror of the hotel bathroom. I take off my shirt. I shake my hair out of its low bun, and it drifts limply, streaks of air between strands. I pull off my pants and stand in my beige-and-gray striped Thinx, my arms at my sides. My period is short and light these days, thankfully. I run my hands over my breasts. Unassuming. An understated, quiet body. Nothing objectionable here, nothing remarkable.

I try for a come-hither expression. It looks like I’m faintly disturbed, maybe constipated. I return to my regular face.

Beautiful, I suggest silently. Sexy.

Alluring.

Seductive.

Shit.

This isn’t going to work.

I’m not seductive.

I’m not even sexy, probably.

I’m nothing like Dee.