The phone line buzzes as I wait impatiently, tapping my fingers on the edge of the metal table in front of me. How I hate waiting for a call to go through. Takes forever with this shit phone process the prison has.
Finally the familiar click, and Lisa’s voice purrs over the line.
“Aaron. So good to hear from you.” Her voice is warm and inviting, like she’s talking to an old friend.
My grip tightens on the receiver. She’s a pretty piece, Lisa Swanson. A little old for my tastes—I’d peg her at around my age, maybe a little younger, but still. I’d fuck her. She’s glamorous, with a curvy body, cold, cold blue eyes, and a thirst for blood. Those eyes, that thirst . . .
Lisa reminds me of myself.
“They wouldn’t let me watch the interview,” I tell her, allowing the frustration to tinge my voice. I’m fucking mad that I couldn’t watch my finest moment on television last night. Fucking unfair is what it is.
“I heard; such a shame. I’ll do my best to get a tape over to you so you can watch it privately. I’ll talk with someone. See if I can pull some strings.” She always knows just how to smooth my ruffled feathers. “The ratings were spectacular, Aaron. We had a 2.9 rating last night, and that’s just with live views. Not all of the DVR and streaming views have been counted yet. I think we could jump over three when it’s all said and done.” She sighs happily, like a woman who’s just been well pleasured.
She starts talking all that ratings and TV mumbo jumbo and I wouldn’t be surprised at all if she creams her panties. She gets off on that stuff. Me, I don’t get it, and don’t really give a shit, either.
“That’s just great, Lisa. But I have another question.” I pause, letting the crackling air fill with anticipation before I drop my bomb. “I have sources telling me my boy and that girl are in a relationship. As in, they’re fucking each other.”
Lisa’s quiet for a moment, like she needs to digest what I just told her. Well, fuck that. She needs to listen up and tell me the truth. Fast. Just the idea of my son with that girl . . .
It turns my stomach. Makes me feel like I’m gonna puke. Why her? Why would he want my sloppy seconds?
When she still doesn’t say anything I’m on the verge of exploding.
“Is that for real?” I shout into the receiver. “Is my son fucking that stupid girl or what?”
“Aaron,” Lisa immediately chastises, her voice low and calm, as if she were speaking to a naughty child. “You shouldn’t talk like that about Katherine Watts.”
I practically growl at hearing that bitch’s name. “Fuck her. And fuck that asshole son of mine, too. They are together, aren’t they? Jesus H. Christ. Why didn’t you tell me? Hell, why didn’t you expose them so all the world could give them endless shit?”
The two of them together would flip people’s crazy switches. I’m sure of it. They’d deem it unnatural. Accuse them of having a weird connection—accuse my boy of being the one who did her wrong all those years ago. Not me.
Him.
“I’ve been waiting for more confirmation. We’re on it, but we wanted to be sure before anything was said,” she murmurs. “They’ve been spotted together over the last week or two, but nothing has been caught on film.”
I have friends—friends on the outside who are linked to my friends on the inside. One of them started spying on Katie Watts after I paid a decent sum of money. It was easy. Little bitch didn’t hide herself too well and he found her with minimal digging. And what my friend saw after only a few days of watching her just about made me lose my mind.
My very own son at her house, spending time with her like they’re some sort of romantic couple. It’s disgusting, what they’re doing. I don’t understand what he sees in her. Just following in his father’s footsteps, is that the deal?
I doubt it. There’s more to their relationship than that. I just can’t figure out what.
“You lied. You kept that from me and I don’t like it,” I say, my temper rising. She’s done nothing but help me, but does she really want to help me? Or help herself?
Her supposed kindness makes me mad. She turned her back on me when she knew my son was banging Katie Watts. She just didn’t have the nerve to tell me. I’d guess Lisa Swanson is really nothing but a no-good dirty liar.
That’s probably half the reason why I like her, but I don’t want her lying to me.
“You’re right. I should’ve told you,” she says.
“You’re damn straight.”
“If you want me to leak the news tomorrow, I can. I have a source who claims he caught them on camera.”
“That sounds real good, Lisa.” I run a hand along my chin and jaw. “Real good.” Perfect. I breathe deep, relish the calmness washing over me. Every single thing I say to Lisa is calculated. Sometimes my emotions get the best of me. My rage. My frustration. But she seems to make it better.
Every single time.
“Perfect. So that’ll be my gift to you.” She hesitates once more and I eat up the quiet, the stillness on her end, the faint buzz that’s always there when I talk to someone on the damn phone. Not that I take a lot of calls, but still.
There’s something reassuring about talking to another human being on the outside. It reminds me that life’s still happening, still carrying on. All while I sit here in my cell, pace the length of my cage, and dream of getting out. Someday it could come true.
Someday it might become a reality.
“A gift, huh?” I chuckle. “I’d like to have something a lot more exciting as a gift from you, Lisa.”
She laughs, but it sounds strained. Like she doesn’t mean it. “I’m sure you would. Just . . . I’ll take care of this. My way of showing appreciation for you allowing me to speak with you.”
“Why are you always so nice to me, Lisa?” I’m serious in asking my question. She’s the only media type who’s ever given me the time of day. Who’s ever given me a chance to speak and let me tell my side of the story. “Why are you doing this?”
“Oh darling, because I have a heart of gold.” She laughs, a throaty, sexy sound that sends a shiver through all my good parts. “And for ratings, of course—always for the ratings. You and your son earn me a shit ton of them.”
I bet we do.