The Private Lives of Pippa Lee by Rebecca Miller

Author:Rebecca Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: Canongate Books
Published: 2010-08-19T16:00:00+00:00

Kitty

I knew Kat was no good for Aunt Trish, I saw she was playing her, but I was drawn to her in spite of myself. I guess I figured she was bad like me. Good people like Aunt Trish filled me with anxiety because I knew one day they would see I was just a destructive little fucker. Kat bought me clothes, tight jeans and floaty tops, platform shoes and huge hoop earrings. I was flattered by her attention. When Aunt Trish saw me in my new getups, she would click her tongue and blush, but she wouldn’t say a word against Kat. All she’d say was ‘You better not wear that when you go back home to visit.’ That was her way of saying I better visit. My father called every few days to see how I was doing, and then Suky would get on the line. I missed her terribly, but when I heard that drug in her voice, I felt violence rising up in me. My voice went dead; I was abrupt, rude, horrible to her. Then I would hang up and cry, sob into my pillow, ‘I was mean, I was mean,’ and Trish would stroke my head until I fell asleep.

Kat always looked unrecognizable when she went to work in a cheap skirt suit and pumps, her thick hair teased to high heaven, lips slippery with gloss, eyelids iridescent blue. She looked like she was in drag. But one morning, after Trish left, as I washed the breakfast dishes, sponged down the table, swept the floor, Kat stood observing me in her dressing robe, her arms folded. I felt self-conscious and a little alarmed. Ever since the night at the club, when she had set her foot on that shackled man’s head and stared at Shelly, I had known she was a little bit dangerous. That novel she was writing – I had read it, of course. It was full of sex. That’s pretty much all it was. It was a book about a young woman named Kitty, and her adventures with other women. Kitty went prowling around hunting for pleasure. When she saw a girl she liked, she pounced. It didn’t matter if her prey was a married woman of fifty or a child of twelve. Kitty always got her girl. I read the latest installment every night when I went to bed. It made such an impression on me that I committed one passage of her prose to heart:

Kitty looked at Mrs Washington. Though no longer young, she had smoky black eyes and a long neck, her breasts were full, her hair lustrous. There was no way Kitty was going to spend one more night as a guest in this woman’s country estate without slipping a finger in her pussy.

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