Epilogue
Angel
A year later
“Girls, can you greet our guests?”
Mandy, Mercy, and Juanita rush to stand next to their neatly made beds. They each raise a hand and wave politely.
My guests wave back, shifting nervously in the doorway.
“You can go in if you like,” I suggest. “We don't have any secrets here. Have a look around.”
“Are you sure?” the senator's wife asks me, tipping her head toward mine and keeping her voice low. She's doing the same thing people always do: acting like they're in some kind of zoo situation. Everyone's very careful not to mention the words orphan or foster care, so the girls won't hear it. Like they don't already know they’re orphans or something.
“Oh yes, we love having visitors,” I reassure her, smiling broadly. “The girls are really proud of their personal spaces and projects. Why not just go say hello?”
She tiptoes off, carefully walking between the marked off spaces that denote each girl's individual area. She keeps her weight forward, trying to not make too much noise with her expensive heels on the terrazzo floor. The girls just smile at her warmly, beckoning her further toward the space.
They'll take over from here. They know the drill. Visitors come for tours, and then they leave a check before getting back in their expensive cars and driving away, back to their regular lives. It's a kind of wholesome charity in their minds. It's not too politically sensitive, and it's not too difficult to look at either. Just some lost girls, sharing a room and edging toward adulthood at a reasonable pace, safe from predators, drugs, and all the other horrible things being on the streets of LA could have done to them.
Elaine folds her hands together and nods to get my attention. “They don't mind? Being in one big room like this?”
She sniffs as her gaze sweeps back and forth, probably mentally calculating the square footage of each space. I think she's in real estate. That makes sense. Even though the room is large, the girls still have heavy curtains on tracks hung from the ceiling, to get extra privacy if they want to.
“You know, it's not ideal for every situation,” I tell her quietly, “but we quickly found that too much privacy leads them back to whatever bad habits they've been trying to escape from. Not that they all have had bad habits, mind you. Some of the foster kids are escaping really terrible situations.”
Elaine's perfectly garnet colored lips form a small, pursed O of understanding. She opens her eyes wide and blinks as though just the tiniest bit mortified by whatever she's imagining. Sex, drugs, all the things that terrify the well-heeled, even though they indulge in all of them.
Beside her, the younger girl called Kita simply looks knowing. Like she’s been through all this before even though she’s much younger. I wonder what her story is.
In some way, I suppose the check that these people are going to leave me probably soothes the guilt over their own hypocrisy. Elaine just recently soldiered through a small scandal, where she was caught naked with the gardener's teenage son in the guest house. Caught on video. Nobody seems to want to talk about why there were video cameras in the guest house, but there you have it.
Life is weird. Did I mention that? Los Angeles is not exactly everything that the name would've implied. It’s like an alien world.
“We have another dormitory, another six beds. Would you like to see it?”
Elaine and the senator's wife both turn gratefully toward me, happy to be moving on from this room. Kita just follows. Guests like to be led from place to place rather quickly, so they don't have to simmer too long in the reality. But there are enough details here that I think we make the right impression. It's wholesome. There are cross stitching samplers on the walls that the girls made themselves. Even the quilts are salvaged and made by hand. It’s not because we can't afford quilts, but because working as a community makes them stronger people.
These are some of the things that we kept from Kingdom Come. Other things, we left there.
I lead them down the short, cool hallway toward the what used to be the game room outside the swimming pool rooms. This house is so spacious, I can't even imagine living here as just one family. It seems like quite a waste of space, but now that we've found another way to give these rooms a purpose, I feel much better about it.
“This is the media room,” I announce, pushing the door open. There are long tables along two walls, with laptops every few feet. On the other wall is a large flat screen television, with a comfortable leather sofa placed in front of it and a few pillows neatly stacked underneath.
“I don't think that there's ever been a time in my house when the television was actually off,” Elaine mutters, rolling her eyes comically. “Are those their laptops? They're just… in here? They don't have them with them, in their rooms?”
I shrug. “They earn screen time through their chores, but too much of it is just… Too much. We would rather they be interacting with each other, trying to be productive. There's too much in modern media that's just…”
I let my voice trail off. The senator's wife nods sagely. She understands what I'm getting at. Her husband has been trying to write legislation to eliminate the use of cell phones and other similar devices in public spaces. He feels their moral influence doesn't belong in some of the more church-like settings. I don't think he's going to get very far with it, but I can appreciate the sentiment.
And I also appreciate that their wholesome platform makes them perfect donors for our project.
Kita follows the Senator’s wife. Her husband, Daniel, is a donor; I’m not sure what his exact job or position in society might be. I smile at all of them the same. A dollar’s a dollar. Every one helps.
“There's just this one more dormitory here,” I announce, holding my hand out as I walk toward it. I push the door open so they can peek in. None of the girls are here right now, but each bed is neatly made, with pillows fluffed and perched primly at the head. Sunlight streams gaily through the window, illuminating the whole thing like a set for a very upbeat musical.
“I think they're in the pool right now, or maybe mingling with some of the other guests,” I explain. “We're fully booked right now. That's why we want to open the new space. There's a waiting list and everything…”
“And you don't have any boys?” Elaine asks, averting her eyes because she realizes how her question might be taken the wrong way, considering her recent history.
“No, we just decided to focus on the girls. For now, at least. I really feel passionate about helping them on in the world. We don't want to take on more of a test than we can handle, you understand. At least not before we’re ready.”
“Oh, of course,” the senator's wife says. I know she has sons, and I can only imagine what she's thinking right now.
“I suppose we should join the party again now, don't you think?” I suggest.
They smile, the relief plain on their faces. Everyone has a personal tolerance for charity. Some people like to be more at arm’s length than others. I like being up close, doing the real work. Like Mama used to say, I was born to be a hard worker. But these ladies look like they've had just about enough harsh reality for today.
“We'll just go up here,” I say, pointing toward the wide, hewn timber staircase. “I'm sure the caterers have brought out the gazpacho by now.”
The women coo excitedly as I lead them back up the stairs, back to the main living room. Soft music fills the air, with the sounds of subdued conversation here and there. Through a combination of lucky interactions as well as neighborhood visibility, we managed to pull together a reliable and wealthy group of people to help support our mission.
Sometimes I can't help but wonder what it would have been like to have these kinds of supporters for Kingdom Come. Maybe Silas wouldn't have struggled so much. Maybe he would have been able to realize his dreams more quickly.
But it’s happening now, and it feels good. People have been very generous with us, and we have found the kind of peace and fulfillment I don't believe we ever could have, before.
In the living room, I find Silas standing by the window, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he listens to Senator Jack Kenilworth talk with his mouth wide open. Daniel stands to the side, surveying. He’s fortyish. Muscular, and handsome. Jack looks like a senator should: wavy silver hair, the California tan, square jaw. He looks like an actor, playing the role of a senator in a movie where he does something heroic after spending a long time struggling with his foes.
But really, he's just a man. Just like all of them, he gives us money because he feels guilty about some of the really terrible things he's done.
“Quite a view you have here, Silas,” the senator observes, but I'm not sure if he's talking about the city lights far below us, or the swimming pool full of starlets and some of the older foster girls. I watch them through the window, squinting, trying to figure out who I recognize. Sometimes I can’t tell them apart. Actresses and orphans seem to have a lot in common in LA.
“Now, Jack,” Silas chides him, “I know you’re not here to talk about the view. And I'll tell you what, I won't ask you exactly what you meant by that if you just cut to the chase and tell me if we can count on your support?”
The senator rolls his eyes and turns around deliberately. Seems like men are always surprised when they don't get reinforcement for their worst inclinations from Silas. He's not sanctimonious about it, but he is direct. Silas is not anyone to tolerate the abuse of children. Not even as a joke.
You think that these guys would have figured this out by now. It makes me wonder what kind of conversations they have when Silas is not around.
“Yeah, you can count on me,” the senator huffs, pouting. “I’ll get the line item in, making sure there's funding for your little rehabilitation program here.”
“Thank you,” I add quietly.
The senator’s eyes slide over me suspiciously. He looks at me like everyone here: like I am some kind of strange archeological artifact. My “story” has been part of the new Kingdom Come operation. Daughter of an addict, raised in the church. Sheltered from outside influences but still, I am a strong influence here. I’m not like anyone they’ve seen before, and sometimes we have to use that notoriety to gain more attention.
All in the service of the greater good, of course.
The senator knows I’m forbidden, so he wants me. It’s obvious, now that I’ve learned how to watch for the signs. He swallows as he looks me over. He seems distracted by his own fantasy. It’s appalling, really, how everyone is so simple-minded. I’m wearing a long, silk gown that looks like it might be transparent if I move just right. He can’t help but look. But he also knows I’m miles and miles above him. He’s just a man. I consort with better.
Daniel only seems to have eyes for Kita, which I appreciate.
“You won't regret it,” Silas smiles, clapping him on the shoulder. “Every penny will go to good use.”
“That's just the thing,” the senator huffs, shaking his head as though this has somehow defeated him. “I know I won’t regret it. You really do good work here. You’re one of the good guys, Silas. It's a rare thing.”
“Isn’t he though?” I interrupt, gliding forward and taking Silas's elbow. As far as anyone knows, I am a preacher's wife: committed, devoted, and practically pristine.
Little do they know. I’m not sure everybody would approve of our lifestyle choices.
“Yes, yes, yes,” the senator says wearily. “Listen, I think my wife over there needs a drink. Would you excuse me?”
“Certainly, Jack,” Silas says. He gives him a sarcastic little salute as he walks away, as soon as he can't see us.
“How did the ladies enjoy their tour?” Silas asks, his voice a sexy murmur that sends chills through me.
“Impressed,” I happily reply. “They love what we have done with the place.”
“As they should,” he smiles. “Daniel was happy. Senator Kenilworth seems satisfied too. I think we’re solid from here on out.”
“So, that's good, right?” I whisper, enjoying our private moment in the midst of all these people. We are still connected, like there’s a live wire between us. “We can keep going?”
“We can keep going, little Angel,” he murmurs into my hair. “In fact, we should be able to open the new space even sooner. Fifty beds. Can you imagine that?”
I really can't. We've gone from five foster children, now to fifty more? We’re really doing it. Making a difference.
It's perfect.
“So, can I steal you away, just for a second? Remember, I asked you?”
“Oh!” he gasps. “I'm so sorry. I got stuck with him for way too long. Yeah, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“This way…”
I tug him by the hand, drawing him back through the glittering groups of people drinking their martinis, listening to the swanky jazz band in the corner. I love the way my silk gown swishes around my legs, flowing up behind me like flower petals. It's wonderful.
I still keep mostly to bare feet, because I never really learned how to walk in heels. But somehow bare feet are trendy around here. People think I'm quirky, like some kind of religious hippie, they assume. I get away with not wearing shoes, at least in the house. Sometimes at parties if they’re nice enough.
I get away with a lot of things. Everything I could possibly want.
I open the door to our bedroom, and Owen turns around when he hears us. Softly, I close the door again and lock it. This is our sanctuary. No one can see in, and no one can hear us through the soundproofing. The housekeeper doesn’t even clean in here. I do it myself. It keeps me grounded.
It’s just us. Safe and sound. Separated from everyone who would want to criticize or judge us.
Owen’s tux coat is across the custom-made, extra large bed. The top four buttons of his shirt are undone. He raises his glass, a tall sparkling water with a twist of lemon. He hasn’t had a drop of alcohol since we got here. He says I am the only drug he needs.
Isn’t he sweet?
“Okay. I wanted to talk to both of you.”
Silas shifts away from me, his eyes dark with concern. I love how he always thinks of me first, always looking out for me.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m perfectly all right.”
Owen walks over to us. He looks me up and down with the same sort of concern. I puff up my chest with pride and allow them to inspect me. I hope they never stop.
“Well, you know how I told you have been working on something…” I tease, just sort of giving another hint. I love to see the frustration in their expressions.
“Go on,” Father Daddy prods.
“It's not another foster house, is it?” Owen rolls his eyes. “I think we might be just about maxed out, don't you? We can't give beds to absolutely everybody, you know. We have to work up to it.”
I nod seriously, like I'm considering it.
“Well… you may have a point.”
“Oh, Angel, I hope you're kidding! Another foster house? Really?”
I pout, looking between each of them, drawing the moment out as long as possible. “Well, I mean… I guess Owen has a point about there not being enough beds…”
“There really aren't,” he insists.
“Well, then... how about a crib?”
They look at each other. Some silent communication passes between them. I just wait.
“A crib for what?”
I stare back at Silas. “What are cribs usually for?”
The realization dawns on both of them at the same time. I love to watch it. It's like the sun coming through the clouds. It's like seeing a parade at the end of the block, just as it turns into view.
“No way!”
“Are you for real?”
I nod happily, just about to burst with excitement.
“You're going to be fathers!”
They look at each other again. Owen pipes up first.
“Do we know whose…” Owen asks delicately.
“Does it matter?” Silas challenges.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Owen admits. “Well, you can change the diapers. You do like to be in the thick of things, right, Silas?”
Silas claps Owen in a big bear hug, squeezing until I hear his joints cracking.
“I'll take the diapers if you get up at 3 o'clock in the morning every day to feed the little rascal, sound good?”
“No way! You know I need my beauty sleep!”
“Okay, okay, okay,” I say, with my hands up. “There will be enough work for both of you, I promise. But that's up to me. It’s my job. I decide what gets done and who does it. Deal?”
I look at both of them seriously, pointing with my index finger so they know I really mean it.
“Well… no, I don't know —”
“I'm the boss. I'm the woman. And in this, you both answer to me, understand?”
They both dip their heads, going hangdog and obedient. I love it, this feeling of power pulsing through me. They both love me so much. I think they'll do anything to make me happy. And I’ll do anything to make our baby happy.
Silas comes closer to me, stroking my shoulders tenderly.
“Whatever you say, Mother Angel,” he murmurs sweetly. His lips cover mine, kissing me slowly with heartfelt tenderness.
I feel Owen's hands snaking across my belly, cupping around the fullness that's there.
“You can't feel it yet, silly,” I whisper. “It's too early.”
“So, the little guy’s just safe in there? Can't feel anything from out here?”
I raise my eyebrows. “What do you mean, exactly?”
Owen unbuttons the single button at the back of my dress, sliding the silk off my shoulders at letting it puddle on the floor. Silas's eyes widen as he inspects me hungrily, attuned to the tiny differences in me that already show. My breasts are fuller. My waist is slightly thicker. I don't look pregnant yet, but I do look solid.
He runs his thumbs over my nipples, drawing them into peaks. I arch my back into his touch, thrilled to feel goosebumps washing over me in waves.
“I mean, we don't have to be gentle with you or anything, do we?” Owen asks. I hear the smile in his voice.
“You better not!” I smile back. Gentle, with me? No way. I’m tougher than I look.
Ready to take the challenge, Owen sweeps me up off my feet, clasping me to the front of his body before dropping me in the middle of our enormous bed. Silas dives for the other side, coming up next to me with his hands already stroking me, pinching me, exploring me with this new knowledge. I can hear him growling as he bites the top of my neck, his kisses trailing down to my breasts, his tongue circling my nipple hungrily. The snarl that rumbles through his chest is desperate, inspired by the life inside me.
“I want to be inside you, now,” Owen growls. He takes my lips in his, his tongue pushing past my teeth, filling my mouth. I suck at it hungrily, overwhelmed with lust for my men.
Heaving himself to his feet, Owen’s fingers work quickly to unbutton his shirt and he almost tears it off, revealing those perfectly sculpted muscles, lit from behind by the last rays of sunlight. His pants slide from his narrow hips to the floor, freeing his beautiful, thick manhood.
“Wait for me, brother!” Silas commands him, but Owen pretends not to hear. He pulls my legs open while Silas rushes to disrobe, then leaves close in a messy heap on the floor.
“I can't wait,” Owen sighs, his mouth covering mine again as his cock slides against me. I'm already wet and wanting, ready to be filled with more of him. I spread my legs, angling up onto my side as Silas comes up behind me.
But he does wait. He gives Silas another three seconds so that they can both enter me at the same time. This is what they love, the feeling of their cocks plunging into the center of me at the very same time, one in front and one in back. My body is crushed between them, all of our flesh fitting together like we were formed from the same clay.
I cry out, overwhelmed by this transcendent sensation. My body is rocked back and forth by both of them, thrusting in unison, filling me more than I ever thought that I could be filled. Completing me.
Explosions burst behind my eyelids and I cling desperately to my men, shuddering with wave after wave of bliss that rockets through me, threatening to shatter me into a million pieces. But I don't shatter. Instead, I am made complete.
Owen roars into my mouth as he comes, hilting himself at the same time as Silas, as they both fill me with their hot, thick seed. Our bodies slide together, slippery from sweat and lust, until finally we just lay, panting, confused and awash in the joy that our love has brought together.
As the sun goes down, I can see the shimmering lights coming up from the pool and remember we have a house full of guests to attend to. I need to get dressed again, gather myself, and somehow leave this room without smiling in bliss and triumph. Everyone will know, somewhere in the back of their minds. Though hardly anyone would believe it from a little church mouse like me, this is my secret life.
It all worked out. Life has a funny way of coming together. Like we have. Now that we have found each other, everything is perfect.