'It's important,' Anderson said.
'It's gonna have to wait.' Sabatino could feel himself building to a climax. He opened his legs wider and the girl moved her head faster. She grunted in time with her movements, small animal-like sounds that excited Sabatino even more.
On the screen, the brunette turned around and began to play self-consciously with her small breasts. He could see her nipples harden under die white cotton material. Sabatino moaned. She looked so young with her hair soaked. Fifteen maybe. He began to push himself further into the black girl's mouth, trying to go in as far as he could. He felt her gag but he pressed her neck down and pounded into her.
'Are you okay, Mr Sabatino?' Anderson asked.
ing his backside off the chair. The brunette stepped out of the shower, waved to the audience, and skipped off the stage. Sabatino settled back in his chair and pushed the black girl away. She fell on the floor, her legs sprawled wide and her hair in disarray.
'Mr Sabatino, what's going on?'
'Nothing,' Sabatino snapped, holding the phone against his ear with his left shoulder as he zipped up his trousers. 'Just give me a minute, will ya?' The black girl lay on the floor where she'd fallen. Sabatino glared at her and waved her away. The feelings of lust had evaporated and now he felt only disgust for the teenager. He watched her as she picked up her clothes and dressed. She seemed to realise how his feelings had changed and she kept her back to him.
'Mr Sabatino? We've got a problem.'
'We? What do you mean, we?' Sabatino's voice was ice cold.
'This guy I told you about, the bank's representative on the board. Nelson.'
'Yeah, what about him?'
'He wants to shut down the company and transfer production overseas. Says it'll save us millions.'
'He's probably right,' Sabatino agreed. The girl squeezed into her tight pants, bouncing from foot to foot. Sabatino had a sudden urge to hurt the girl, to tie her down and whip her until she bled. He wanted to mark the perfect skin, to scar her for ever, a permanent reminder of the power he had over her.
He'd seen fear and pain in the girl's eyes, but Sabatino wanted more. Much more. She fastened her shirt and grabbed her boots, running out of the office barefoot as if she knew what he had on his mind. He wondered if she realised how lucky she was that he was on the phone.
'Yeah, but that's not all,' Anderson continued. 'He wasn't happy at Ventura increasing its stake in the company. He said he didn't understand why you'd want to put more money into the company, what with the problems we're having and all.'
'By "you", I hope you mean the partnership and not me personally.'
'Oh, sure, yeah, he doesn't know who's involved, though he did say that he wanted to make some enquiries. And, Mr Sabatino, he's really going to give our books a going over. I'm not sure how well they'll stand up to close inspection, if you know what I mean. Some of the amounts you've been putting through our accounts are pretty big, you know?'
'Yeah, I know exactly what you mean,' Sabatino said. 'Well, thanks for bringing this to my attention, Maury. I'll take it from here.' He replaced the receiver, sat back in his chair and stared at the bank of video monitors. The girl in the shower cubicle was in her twenties and carrying several pounds more than was good for her. Loose rolls of fat vibrated around her hips and her thighs jiggled more than her breasts. Sabatino shuddered.
Mersiha ran her hands through her hair and tried not to look at Dr Brown. They were nearing the end of the session and his soft, insistent voice was beginning to annoy her. She wanted to walk out of the office, to tell him to leave her alone, but Katherine was waiting outside and leaving would cause more problems than it would solve.
They were covering the same old ground. How was she sleeping? Not good. Was she having nightmares? Yes. How was she getting on at school? Fine. What did she think the problem was? She didn't know. She had expected the psychiatrist to , mention the fact that he'd asked to see Katherine, but he hadn't raised it. The fact that he hadn't, worried Mersiha. She felt that they were going behind her back for some ulterior motive, but she had no idea what that motive might be. Katherine hadn't mentioned it either.
'Mersiha, why don't you regard Katherine as your mother?'
The question caught Mersiha by surprise and she turned to look at Dr Brown, her mouth open. 'Excuse me?' she said.
'You call your father "Dad" but you don't call Katherine "Mom".'
Mersiha raised her eyebrows. 'She isn't my mother.'
Dr Brown nodded. 'But Tony isn't your father, either. Strictly speaking.'
Mersiha's brow furrowed. 'They're my parents now. I know that. I mean, I know they're not my real parents, but they are my parents. If you see what I mean.'
The psychiatrist smiled as if he understood everything. 'Do you feel closer to your dad than Katherine, is that it?'
Mersiha shrugged. 'Maybe.'
'Because you knew him first?'
'Because he saved my life,' she said flatly. 'Because if it wasn't for him, I'd be dead.'
'And when did you first call him "Dad"? Can you remember?'
'After I came to America, I guess. I don't think I ever called him anything else.'
Dr Brown wrote something down on the notepad on his desk.
'And you've never felt like calling Katherine "Mom"? It's always Katherine?'
'I guess so.'
'Why do you think that is?'
'I don't know. Has she mentioned it to you?'
'I've discussed it with her, but only in the context of how you relate to your new family.'
'My only family,' she corrected him.
Dr Brown inclined his head, conceding the point. 'You still miss your real mother, don't you?'
'Of course. I miss all my family.'
'And you think of them often?'
Mersiha could feel tears welling up in her eyes and she blinked. She stared at the blinds on the window. It wasn't fair of him to try to manipulate her like this. He only wanted to see her cry.
'Perhaps you should try calling her "Mom". I think she'd like that.'
'It doesn't feel right. Not yet. When the time's right, I will.'
She wanted to rub her eyes but she kept her hands down by her sides.
'Would you like to tell me what happened to your real mother?'
His voice was soft and coaxing, like a child molester's.
'No,' Mersiha said firmly. She looked at her wristwatch.