Call Me Daddy
1988
It started with a personal ad in the LA Weekly:
“Lost little girl? SWM 40s looking for missing “daughter” — a girl in need of love and a firm hand. Box #4978028″
It stayed with her for weeks, even after she threw away the paper. Daddy had been gone for years, taking love and a firm hand with him. Her mother was, well, she was okay. But she and the girl had never liked each other much and the move from girl to teen had been too much strain for the relationship. They simply tried to stay out of each other’s way.
Sitting on the hard wire chair of a Santa Monica Starbucks she looked again in the Weekly. Told herself not to check, as she sipped the bitter coffee (despite wanting hot chocolate) then tried to look cool scanning for the ad. That ad because — well, then maybe.
And there it was:
“Lost little girl? SWM 40’s looking for missing “daughter” — a girl needing love and a firm hand. Box #4978028″
She’d taken out a P.O. box and written, told herself it was all a goof, that she wouldn’t really meet him, wouldn’t really call him, wouldn’t write again… well, maybe once. But she did, sending a picture of herself in clothes too sexy, too old for her soft young body — her eyes wide, haunting, vulnerable. To his question, she replied she was nineteen, a lie by almost four years.
o0o
Her hands shook so that she could hardly hold the phone as she dialed the number on the letter, calling collect from a pay phone.
“Hello? Mr… A…. um. Mr. X? It’s me.” Her voice was a good deal higher than usual — a little girl voice.
He paused a moment, not sure which of the women he’d written back had called, not wanting to be mistaken.
“Where have you been sweetheart?”
Feelings of power rushed over him.
“I well, I mean, A – Mr.. Mr..” she stammered, unable to speak, her head suddenly full of memories of being late biking home from a friend’s. Her father meeting her at the door, first full of concern, which turned to annoyance at her breezy explanation of her tardy return. Her fear as his hand gripped the back of her neck, leading her to his room, the order “Take down those jeans now!” accompanied by the sound of her whining pleas and his belt clicking unfastened, “Those panties too!”
o0o
“Call me Daddy sweetheart. Now where have you been?”
A pause as her heart raced faster than her breath, her mind even faster, almost blank.
“I- I was, I was…”
“Young lady! I’m waiting.”
Her voice tightened further as her stomach fluttered and her hand locked the phone in a death grip. She looked around, afraid of someone overhearing her stuttered excuses.
“I was at school.” Pause as he waited. But she didn’t say it.
“And now?”
“I’m at a pay phone at the mall.” She shuffled her feet as though suddenly caught in a crime… or lie. Her voice dropped to a shamed whisper.
Silence on the other end.
“Which mall?? Have you noticed it’s already dark?”
“I guess.”
“Don’t you give me that attitude, Miss. Now, which mall?”
“I’m at the Westside Pavillion.” her voice was a broken whisper. Pause. She still didn’t say it.
“You meet me at the Overland side of the parking lot. Go there right now. Do you hear me?”
She nodded, lost in the memories of his searing strap burning into her pillow-raised bottom.
“Are you wearing that black dress?”
Stammering. What?
“No, no. My green skirt and jean jacket.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. And you better be waiting right where I said — Overland exit. You’re in more than enough trouble as it is.”
o0o
She stood there clenching the phone for several minutes, the dial tone insistent in her ear before the noise around her brought her back to reality. She always felt most alone and isolated amidst a crowd.
You don’t need to go.
But he’ll be waiting.
You don’t need to go.
But he’ll be madder if I’m not there.
She felt the white paper of her shopping bag turn moist and soft in her hand. Despite the traffic, the Overland end of the lot is quiet, almost deserted. When a car pulled up, fast and loud, into the space not far from her, she stepped forward a bit, not thinking. A man got out and came toward her quickly, his size and demeanor overwhelming her at once as he embraced her tightly.
“There you are!” taking her purse away, throwing it in the back seat, and pulling the shopping bag from her stunned hands. “Did you ask if you could come here after school today? I don’t remember giving you permission. Hmm?”
Her hands fluttered aimlessly as he pulled the sheer panties from the bag, throwing away the packing and receipt away, retaining only the clothing.
“Where did you get the money for this young lady?”
How to tell she’d taken the money from her mother’s purse?
“And what makes you think a girl your age should be wearing clothes like these? Hmmm?”
A man walking out the Macy’s exit saw a father holding a scrap of silk and scolding his daughter. “Shoplifting,” he thought and clicked his tongue in a “kids today” manner.
o0o
The vise-like grip of his hand on her arm propelled her back to the shop where he asked to see the manager. She seemed to shrink as he held her arm tightly while they waited.
The manager approached the middle-aged man and young girl. She noted the child’s resemblance to him around the eyes, though she wasn’t sure as the girl looked down and trembled a bit.
“May I help you?”
“I’m afraid so. My daughter has something to tell you about these” as he handed her the small lacy scraps of panties.
The manager examined the panties and turned to the girl who looked down in misery.
“And what would that be?”
The girl shrugged.
The manager watched as her father leaned down and whispered too loudly, “Do you want us to go back to the car and then come back here?” his hand right hand brushing the buckle of his belt for a brief but significant moment.
The girl found her voice in a rush.
“I stole them from you.”
The manager looked at her scornfully and at the man with a sort of contempt. The two talked for a moment as the girl flushed hot, eyes pricking with tears.
“When I get her home I’ll teach her what happens to children who steal. Don’t you worry; she’ll learn.”
Her ears burned, hearing his words through a haze of embarrassment.
Desire.
“All right. Normally we call the mall security on thieves, but if you promise she won’t be back here again without an adult you both can go.”
Her father thanked the manager and even bought five pairs of very plain thick cotton underpants and T-shirts in the girl’s size. The shop next door yielded some plain ankle socks and saddle shoes.
When she tried to protest being too old for them, he silenced her by saying to the clerk, “Someone has gotten too big for her britches lately and needs to be reminded she’s just a little girl. These seem more appropriate for school then anything you’re wearing”
The clerk laughed, a bit nervously and made conversation about kids today growing up undisciplined and too fast.
o0o
Driving home from the mall, the girl realized she was trembling and damp with nervous sweat.
The man drove silently, fast, toward the house.
“But but… ” she finally stammered.
He turned to her, still driving full speed.
“Call me Daddy if you want something.” His tone was hard but held a pleading note.
She gulped, trying to swallow something large.
“I’m I’m I’m I’m scared of you.” Her voice was a whisper, a childish lisp. He could barely hear.
But he did hear.
“You ought to be. Daddy looked everywhere for you. I love you. But you know you need to be punished for not coming home when you should have. You’ve forgotten you’re just a little girl.”
The girl turned toward him, eyes widening for a second.
“No wait! You’re not my… you bastard!”
“Call me Daddy,” he said as his hand slapped the girl sharply across her face.
The world flashed bright as she struggled with the door handle, locked from his side. Her feet kicked helplessly against the upholstered seat.
His movements were firm and sure as he drove into the garage, opening and closing the door with a plastic box. He set the car in park, turned, and removed the key as she struggled blindly with her safety belt. Then he strode around the car, opened her door, took her chin in his hand, holding it firmly, staring into her eyes.
She closed them.
“It seems I’ve waited far too long. And let you become a spoiled, foul-mouthed, careless little thief. But no more. No more.”
She froze as he spoke, a sudden need for the bathroom washed over her, along with shame as she clenched her legs tightly together.
“When I’m finished with you tonight you’ll be a very sorry, very blistered little girl.” His hand gripped her upper arm, his fingers digging into the flesh.
Her eyes closed and a tear ran down each of her cheeks. She looked up at him, eyes shining.
“Yes Daddy.” she whispered. Saying it.
Finally.
o0o
Copyright 15 Feb 1999 to Mija. Not to be reposted or forwarded to more than one person without the consent of the author