Chapter 18

A trip to the Chemist. Condoms weren’t the only thing we needed.

When women live together in close proximity they tend to “Moon” together. Abby and Myndee had been Nanny and client, now they were advisor and teen. They, because I had been such an asshole after Just Abby died, were together far more than even a mother/daughter relationship. Myndee didn’t have to be an employee ... she was independently wealthy ... but living arrangements other than the status quo ... were unthinkable.

Her single foray into internet romance was with a New Zealand sheepherder. It ended Baadly. (“Forgive me. I couldn’t help it,” he said sheeplessly.)

Not only were they cycled together, they started at the same minute. We needed “feminine” products. Not exactly WE, but they. Situations like this ... leave me blushing.

Abby was experiencing her first year of cycles ... pads were messy ... I don’t know why they were called sanitary ... and ... with the help of fingers and a hairbrush ... had managed to shred her hymen.

There exists a cheap hairbrush with an extremely pronounced thumb rest which seems to attract girls. The brush, when held by the bristle end is well known to relieve tension and stress.

Of course, I didn’t KNOW. It was just a hairbrush.

For the first time, I was present when she bought tampons ... a revelation. My daughter, who had already admitted to finger play, was admitting to certain other enjoyments. She also bought a new hairbrush ... and alcohol wipes ... bet that stings.

After a discussion with the chemist ... with plenty of Monty Pythonate nudges and winks, Myndee said, “We’re going for a cruise of the back room.”

“No, Dad, you can’t come.”

“He already did,” Myndee said.

And they broke into riotous giggles.

The registered chemist unlocked a door at the back, they entered and just before the door swung closed I heard someone complain that batteries wore out at the most inopportune moments ... the door shut and I was no longer privy to girl secrets.

They came out giggling. Laden with long narrow boxes, the pair accompanied the chemist to the register. Abby paid cash surrendered from her favorite leather purse.

We eat a lot of rice, and early on, Abby preferred rice from India ... a particular flavor of Indian Rice. It came packaged in a raw silk lined water buffalo leather bag ... a hand tooled, hand stitched and hand painted leather bag. Each bag was different.

The bags came in one, two, five and ten kilo sizes. Leather bags. Growing up, Abby used the empty bags for storage, for play and for Dress up. When it became expedient for Abby to have and carry a purse, she chose a 5k tooled green dyed water buffalo leather Jasmine rice bag. A five kilo bag isn’t very big but she could carry more in that bag than you can imagine. When she sold her gold she insisted on a piece of it in cash money ... a troy pound of gold, in plastic Jolly Green Giants; 100 dollar bills ... also called Toast. Melba Toast.

“Cash ... real cash ... not a debit card. Daddy, first time I’ve had money.”

“You have had money.”

“Nope ... debit card. I’ve never paid for anything with cash. It feels different.” She shook her bag.

She insisted on paying for our shopping with cash ... her cash ... she reveled in it.

“What did ye get, Girly?” I said.

“This is one time I can say, it’s none of your business Dad.” Abby said, “The bill isn’t going to come in the mail. The accountant isn’t going to demand an accounting. He won’t know.”

She laughed, “Freedom!”

“What did she get, Myndee?”

“None of your business.”

“Wait. Accounting? You had to give an accounting of your expenditures to whom?”

“Your accountant ... the fellow you hired to oversee my life.”

I have a firm that replenishes my accounts. I use my card, they pay the bills. They make simple transfers of electronic dollars from one account to another. The interest is such that I’ve always had more income than outgo. I never authorized anyone delving into the whys and wherefores of my spending. I certainly authorized no such thing for my daughter.

Just another bump in the road of life. I see that I have been remiss. A snap of the cellphone and I was speaking to Jimmy ... the elder James of James, James, James and Son, Chartered Accountants.

“Jimmy-jac, who do you have overseeing my daughters accounts?”

I heard the shuffling of paper in the background. He was back on.