This choice: Get a copy of Straussler • Go Back...Chapter #41At Home With The Strausslers by: imaj   You sit in Monique’s pajamas at the little desk in her bedroom, humming a light tune that she has had in her head for a few days now. You twiddle the pencil in your hand as you look over the last of the maths homework. It’s easy, way below your capability. Hardly surprising since Monique is only a freshman. You mastered this simple part of geometry long ago. For Monique, it was a frightening and formidable obstacle. That’s why you are taking you time. You don’t want Monique’s parents to question their daughter’s sudden ability in what had been her weakest subject.
There’s only so long you can spin it out though. You jot down the last answer and place the pencil down. The phone handset on the edge of the desk catches your eye. Monique’s family are comfortably off, well enough off that Monique has her own phone line. You lift it up and tap out Jon’s number from memory.
He answers quickly. “Hey songbird,” you hear him say through the phone. Monique’s persona demand that you giggle at his use of the pet name. You comply, the light, sweet tones of girlish laughter seem almost like music to you.
“Hiya Jon,” you reply to him brightly. “I had a good time today at the Carlson’s.”
“Mmmm,” rumbles Jon on the other end monosyllabically. You giggle again. Monique enjoys simply being close to Jon, and hearing his voice brings up memories of the time the two have spent together.
“I was thinking we could maybe hang out for a little while tomorrow,” you ask him hopefully.
“Having trouble with your homework again,” he asks you with a gentle chuckle.
“No,” you protest hotly. “I managed it myself tonight. It just clicked for me.”
“That’s good,” he replies, and with Monique’s mind you can easily picture him on the other end of the line grinning. “We’ll have the day to ourselves.”
“Yeah,” you agree dreamily. The thought is appealing to Monique. “Can I come round after lunch?” He murmurs his agreement and the call comes to an end with mutual professions of love. A more cynical part of you is relieved that they haven’t gotten to the ‘no you put he phone down first’ stage.
You briefly wonder if that really happens.
Monique’s persona demands your attention. You should be glowing with happiness, it tells you, so you let a wide smile cover your face as you slide back out of the chair and pad across the floor barefoot. You make your way downstairs to the lounge. Monique’s mother is there, sitting on a sofa watching the television. Angelique, Monique’s younger sister, lies beside her snoring gently.
“I’m going to go to bed Mom,” you tell her, faking a yawn.
“Did you get your homework down dear,” asks Monique’s mother, looking round at you. It’s clear that she is the source of Monique’s looks. She is as petite and pretty as her daughters.
“Not all of it,” you lie. You clasp your hands and hunch your shoulders forward a touch. “I was going to go to Jonathan’s to get help tomorrow. That’s ok?”
She purses her lips a little. Monique is a little too naïve to realise the way her parent’s feel about her relationship with Jon Straussler, you suspect. The disapproval is obvious to you though. “Of course honey,” says Monique’s mother after a moment.
The Straussler’s wealth must make up for a lot of things, you think.
“Thanks Mom,” you beam. “Goodnight,” you add before half-skipping out of the room and up the stairs. When you reach Monique’s bedroom you lock it quietly behind you. The part of you that is channelling Monique’s personality expresses its puzzlement. Monique wouldn’t lock the door to her room. You push it to the side, banishing the sense of being her from your thoughts.
The grin on your face probably looks a lot more wicked now.
You pull aside the bed sheets and sit atop the bed cross-legged. Then you slip your right hand under the pink pajama top you are wearing. It creeps up your smooth stomach before coming to rest on one of your smallish boobs.
“Ohhhh,” you moan quietly as you squeeze gently. It feels so very good, and your other hand snakes downwards to the waistband of your pajama bottoms. You let yourself fall back onto the bed and pull the covers tightly around you before switching off the bedside light.
Your tender explorations keep you awake for some time.
*****
“There's my snookie-wookums," you dimple as you pull off the helmet and hang it on the handlebars of the moped. Though Monique lives on the same side of town as Jonathan, his house is a little bit distant, so using some form of transport is preferable. The moped isn’t ideal – and certainly not your idea of a good set of wheels - but Monique is too young to use a normal car.
A little stray Monique thought reminds you that she loves the moped: To her it means the freedom to go anywhere in Saratoga Falls. You dismiss the impulse, instead focusing on Jon. You just need to get him alone somewhere to put the mask on him.
Jonathan's eyes narrow. "I don't like 'snookie-wookums'," he says.
"I wasn't talking to you," you retort, and bed over to rub the head of his dog, who pants happily back and wags his tail. You hug him, crooking your neck to look up and smile.
“So what do you wanna do,” he grins back at you.
“I don’t know,” you say airily. “Maybe watch a movie or something?” From Monique’s memories, you know that there is an elaborate home movie theater set up in part of the basement in the Straussler house. It has a proper surround sound set up, and so is soundproofed from the rest of the building. Dark and quiet: Just perfect for getting that mask that Patterson wants.
“Cool,” says Jon. He slips an arm round your waist and guides you towards the house. As you approach the door, Jon’s parents come out.
Jon’s mother reacts to your presence first. “Monique,” she beams, slipping away from her husband’s arm and coming over to you. Like Monique’s mother, she is beautiful, but while your newly adopted mother is a natural beauty, Jon’s Mom has a sense of the manufactured to her. Her skin seems just a little to tight, her lips seem just a little to plump and her breasts seem to ride just a little to high. “Darling, how are you,” she says, reaching out with both hands. You break away from Jon to great her, taking her hands with your own. She leans down to air kiss you on each cheek.
“I’m fine Mrs Straussler, thanks,” you say, letting Monique’s natural enthusiasm and kindness bubble forward.
“Call me Natalie, please,” she adds before ruffling Jon’s hair. He reacts a little sullenly. “You take good care of Monique Jon, you hear that,” she tells her son, winking at you surreptitiously.
“Yes Mom,” says Jon, rolling his eyes. You nudge him cheekily and smile at him when he looks down at you.
“And you still have that darling moped,” she continues, casting her gaze to where you parked Monique’s vehicle.
“I’d really rather have a car Mrs Straussler,” you reply.
“Oh, I thought you went everywhere on it,” she tells you.
“Um… I do,” you answer, pulling Monique’s memories to you quickly. “It’s really good and I enjoy the freedom. I just don’t want to get so wet when it rains.” You smile innocently at her.
Natalie Straussler brays loudly at your response “I’m sure you can always ask Jon for a lift,” she explains. “Has he shown you his graduation present?” You nod. The Strausslers gave Jon a silver Porsche as an early graduation present. “Come on Curt,” she calls behind her. “We must get going.”
Jon’s dad, Curt Straussler, turns his gaze on you. If anything he’s taller than his son, and more heavily built. Some of it is fat, but much more of it seems to be hard muscle. You don’t know much about him, but Jon’s name for his father – the beast – seems more than appropriate. His eyes bore through you for a moment and you shiver.
Then he passes you and hooks his wife’s arm in his own. You watch as a uniformed chauffeur drives an expensive looking car from round the back of the house. It stops in front of the Strausslers, the chauffeur opens the doors for them and you and Jon wave them off as they leave.
“Your dad gives me the creeps,” you tell Jon, pulling him close you.
He rubs your back soothingly. “Me too,” he admits.
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