his drunken sprees, which always ended up in jail. If he didn’t find it, her mother certainly would. She was always snooping through Tiffany’s things looking for more damning evidence to prove her daughter was still a whore.
Then she’d feel it was her duty to donate all the cash to that screaming redemption preacher she watched on television all the time. No Tiffany didn’t take any chances with the hard-earned money that guaranteed to change her future. She had it all with her and all in cash. She’d divided the money in half and stuffed eleven hundred dollars into each one of her size 32AA Wonderbra cups, which weren’t doing anything remotely wonderful for her figure, as flat-chested as she was. New boobs were going to change all that, of course. She was sure of it.
Going for it and changing what you could change-that’s what success was all about. Like most eighteen- year-old girls, she had big dreams. She had always been very goal oriented, and big boobs were an integral part of her future plans. She’d never told anyone, not even her best friend, Louann, that her biggest dream of all was to be the centerfold in Playboy magazine. Penthouse was a step down, and so was Hustler, but she’d settle for either one of those centerfolds too. All the men in Sugar Creek read those magazines-well, they didn’t really read them. They took them into the bathroom with them so they could get off while they gawked at naked women, and she just knew their eyes were going to bug right out of their heads when they saw her in all her naked beauty smiling coyly out at them with her new size 36D boobs.
She didn’t have any idea what kind of money could be made in centerfold work, but it had to be a lot more than she was making now lap dancing. She was never the customer’s first choice, and she knew it had to be because she was so flat-chested. Vera, one of the other girls, always made three times what she did in tips, but then Vera was full-figured, and the men liked to burrow their faces in between her enormous boobs. Tiffany had had to supplement her income by giving blow jobs out back, behind the Dumpster. She was real talented with her mouth-just ask any of the boys back in Sugar Creek, or for that matter the doctor who was going to give her new boobs. He’d been so impressed with her skill, he’d reduced the price of the implants. Tiffany guessed she’d have to impress the doctor again to get a further discount of the two hundred dollars she was lacking, and if he balked about it, she’d just have to threaten to have a chat with his prim little wife, who had been sitting a couple of feet away at the front desk answering the doctor’s phone while Tiffany was inside the cubicle lathering up the good doctor’s privates. One way or another, she was going to get her new size 36D boobs in just two days’ time.
The flat tire was a temporary setback, and as she stood on the side of the highway furiously working the wad of gum in her mouth, she spotted a van coming toward her. She wasn’t going to have to use her new phone to call a tow service after all. Tugging her hot pink, spandex skirt down, she propped her hand on the tilt of her hip, balanced herself regally on the hot pink stiletto heels that killed her feet but made her legs look good, and pretended to be a helpless woman in need of assistance.
She hoped a man was driving the van because she could always get any man to do anything she wanted once he understood how talented she was. Squinting into the sun, she let out a loud sigh of relief when the van pulled to a stop behind her car and she saw the handsome man smiling at her.
Tiffany Tara Tyler straightened up, put on her best come-hither expression, and sashayed over to the van.
Just as she had predicted, her life was about to radically change.
Forever.
Chapter 13
This was about as close as Laurant was ever going to get to a therapy session with a psychiatrist. There weren’t any of those in Holy Oaks. There were, however, several people she knew who could have benefited from a couple of long talks with a 'head' doctor. Emma May Brie-as in the cheese-immediately came to mind. She was a perfect candidate for analysis. The sweet, but strange, woman wore a blue shower cap decorated with white daisies as a hat everywhere she went, rain or shine. She took if off for only one hour on Tuesday mornings when she got her hair done at Madge’s Magic, the local beauty shop that guaranteed to give every customer 'volume.' Emma May wasn’t the exception to their promise. When she stepped outside the shop, her thinning gray hair was indeed twice the size, that is, until she put her daisy cap on and squished it all down.
There were other residents who could also use a good psychiatrist, but the fact was, if the renowned Dr. Morganstern decided to go into private practice and hang his shingle out on Main Street, no one would ever go see him. It just wasn’t done. Problems were never discussed with outsiders, and anyone who was thought to be peculiar was simply given a wide path when he was having one of his 'spells.' What was taking Pete so long? He’d asked her to wait for him in the dining room, but that had been at least ten minutes ago, and she now so fidgety she couldn’t sit still. Just as she made up her mind to go back downstairs and finish sorting the laundry, the swinging door from the kitchen opened.
'I’m sorry I made you wait,' Pete said as he entered, 'but Monsignor and I got to talking and I didn’t want to interrupt a story he was telling me about one of his parishioners.'
He closed the double doors leading to the hallway to insure privacy.
Although she had requested the meeting, she was suddenly dreading it because she knew what she wanted to ask him, and part of her was worried sick that he would agree.
'There now,' he remarked as he sat down.
She couldn’t seem to sit still and was tapping her foot against the hardwood floor so vigorously her knee was making the table wobble. When she realized what a telltale sign that was about her mental state, she forced herself to stop. It was impossible to relax, so she sat ramrod straight, as stiff as a corpse, in the uncomfortable chair that made a squeaky sound of protest every time she moved.
Shards of sunlight filtered into the room through the old-fashioned, Victorian lace curtains, and the air smelled faintly of overly ripe apples. There was a large oriental bowl filled with fruit in the center of the table.
Pete didn’t show any signs of rushing. He opened the conversation by asking her how she was holding up.
'I’m doing all right.' Could he tell she was lying?
Silence followed her response. He continued to patiently wait for her to gather her thoughts and tell him what was on her mind. She felt like a fool because she was having so much trouble getting the words out. What had seemed like a perfectly sound plan a half hour ago now seemed deranged.
'Have you ever skied?'
If Pete was surprised by the question, he didn’t let it show. 'No, as a matter of fact, I haven’t. I’ve always wanted to try it though. What about you?'
'Yes, I used to ski all the time. The school I attended was surrounded by mountains.'
'You attended boarding school in Switzerland, didn’t you?'
'Yes,' she answered. 'And I’d go up into the mountains every chance I could. I love siding, and I actually got pretty good at it. Since I’ve been in America, I’ve gone to the slopes in Colorado a few times. I’ll always remember how it felt that very first time I took the lift up to the top of a black… they rate the slopes by degree of difficulty you see. Green is for beginners, blue is for the intermediate skier, and the blacks are reserved for the experienced who want more of a challenge. There are other ratings too, like diamonds and double diamonds,' she rambled on. 'Anyway, the first time I stood on the edge of what appeared to be a sheer drop-off, I took the longest time gathering my courage to push off. I felt like I was standing on the cliffs of Dover. It looked that steep to me. I was terrified… but determined.'
'And talking to me is like standing on that precipice again?' Pete asked.
She nodded. 'Yes, it is… because I know that, like that mountaintop, once I push off, there’s no going back.'
There was an uncomfortable pause before Laurant started again. 'I guess I should start by being completely honest, shouldn’t I? I’d be wasting your time otherwise. I told you I was doing all right, but that wasn’t true. I’m a mess inside, and I feel like I’m tied in a thousand knots.'
'That’s understandable.'
'I suppose so,' she agreed. 'All I can think about is… him. My concentration’s shot,' she added. 'When I was doing the laundry for Monsignor, I was thinking about what I wanted to ask you, and I accidentally poured an entire bottle of bleach in with the sheets before I realized what I was doing. A very large bottle of bleach,' she
