by Ian Hall
“I think he bats for the other team,” I reported to Amos that evening.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to convert him, my dear.”
“The boy has an iron cherry; he’s not gonna let me pop it.”
“You’ve been awfully persuasive when you’ve needed to be, Valérie.”
Amos didn’t even glance up from his paper. He took a kingly puff off his tobacco pipe, the smoke curled around his bent head, burning my nostrils. Anyone who didn’t know my boss as well as I did might assume he didn’t care one way or the other. I knew better.
“Alan’s your problem, not mine,” He jiggled his glass in the air, the ice clanking like a toneless bell, “More whisky, Sheldon.”
Amos’s odd hand-servant jumped out from the shadows and began filling it at once. Sheldon’s dumb eyes seemed as free-floating as the ice cube. He saw to his task then faded away back into the wall.
“You see,” Amos said, sipping casually, “each of us has our job to do, Valérie. Sheldon’s is to see to my comfort and he never fails me.”
A disembodied voice cut over Amos’s, “Oh, no, never, Sir.”
Amos continued as if Sheldon hadn’t spoken, “Because failure to perform one’s assigned job is not an option under my employ. Nor is quitting.”
I took the not-so subtle threat to heart, remembering too clearly what became of the vampires that did fail Amos Blanche. My boss didn’t forgive often and dealt punishment both severely and permanently.
Without another word of protest, I left Amos to his paper and went to place a phone call.
Bereft of band practice to flee to, I made straight home after school, relieved only by the fact that Valérie hadn’t reared her head again throughout the remainder of the day. Despite my timeliness, I found Mother still in an ill-temper as I spread my homework out over the table and dunked my head into my studies.
In a perfect posture, she lowered herself upon her chair, waiting in loud silence until I lifted my head to acknowledge her.
“Your father and I are very disappointed,” she began.
I looked to the empty chair, then to Mother, “I know. Again- I am very sorry for yesterday. It won’t happen again.”
She paid no attention to my apology, “I called Mr. Schuster this morning, Alan, and he gave me some very disturbing news.”
My mind reeled at what she might be referring to. It came as little surprise that she had called the band teacher to verify that I had, indeed, shown for try-outs. However, since I’d been truthful in that regard, could not fathom Mr. Schuster would not have backed my claim.
I hesitated to ask, but saw no way around it, “What disturbing news?”
“That yet again you have failed to make marching band. A fact you kept hidden from me.”
“I did not intend to keep it from you, Mother; there simply was no opportunity to tell you last night.”
“Yes, since you were out running around with your little harpy, you left very little time for me or for this conversation.”
Suddenly, my pencil felt oddly heavy. My head ached. My nerves wore thin. I remembered the expression on Mother’s face from many years back- the night Father had admitted to a fleeting indiscretion with my fourth grade teacher. Father’s infidelity had worn grooves into Mother’s complexion; each crevice severely deepened as I sat before her now. She wore the face of a woman cheated. Somehow the baton of my father’s sins had been passed down to me.
I repeated the words I remembered Father saying as we sat at this same table some nine years ago, “There is no excuse for my actions. I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
The lines in her face did not soften. Her unforgiving eyes slid to the vacant chair across the table as if Mother spoke in silent communion with Father’s omnipresent ghost. I could only imagine Father’s voice in her head, pleading my case, begging for leniency. I knew there would be none.
The shrill peel of the telephone’s ring stirred her out of that private séance. As she left to attend it, I felt the air in the room lift and for a short moment I could breathe again.
My reprieve was short-lived. Mother’s voice, usually so calm and measured, reached a crescendo as she berated the caller with accusations, insults and threats. There could be no questioning as to the identity of the misfortunate party; Valérie, my apparent mistress, had taken her little game to my front door.
Mother returned to the dining room with fire in her eyes and a metal spatula in her hand.
In an instant, Alan Rand and his mother quickly become a thorn in my ass. I slammed down the receiver, so hard the phone chimed a complaint. I’d never heard language like that coming from the mouth of a mid-aged, mid-class housewife. This woman certainly seemed no Holly Homemaker; no wonder Alan had gotten wound so damn tight.
I turned to find Amos had snuck up behind me, Sheldon at his side like a trailing mutt.
“Lovely woman,” Amos observed with a nasty gleam in his eye.
“You heard that?”
“It would have been difficult not to.”
“So, you see what I’m up against? You’re asking me to make a man out of some boy that’s still suckling from mama’s tit.”
Amos smiled like I was some pathetic simpleton, “Precisely, my dear. Once we get the nipple out of his mouth, he’ll be looking for another breast to latch onto. You see, Alan Rand is not the problem, Valérie; it’s the mother.”
“Am I just supposed to slit her throat or something?”
“I believe we’ll leave that job to Alan. Once we’re in his head, he’ll be more than anxious to stain his hands with her blood.”
I nearly came unglued, “I can’t get through to him!”
“You will.” Amos said, almost sympathetically, “You will get through to Alan and I will get through to Mrs. Rand.”
I tried to control my shaking before it became visibly noticeable. Amos had decided to become personally involved in the acquisition of Alan Rand? Not only did that mean Alan was more important to the Blanche “movement” than I could have imagined; it also meant I had scrubbed the job.
“Give me another chance,” I practically begged, “I’ll get to him.”
Amos looked cold, menacing, “We’re beyond that now, Valérie. After Alan Rand is securely under my control, we’ll figure out what do about your fiasco.”
Sheldon pressed his hand over a nasty giggle.
As they turned away from me, I swallowed my pleas and apologies. It seemed already too late.
“Your mom’s a real fire-breathing-dragon,” Valérie mused, leaning over me as I secured the lock to my bike.
I stood, aggravating the already-screaming muscles of my back, to find her smiling wickedly. I thought to rip my shirt open, expose the bruises from the lashing she had caused me. However, there could be little doubt my suffering would only excite Valérie’s cruel intentions.
“Please refrain from calling my house again.” I told her instead.
She slinked closer, “Mama’s gotta learn some time that her little boy’s all grown up.”
“My mother is not your concern.”
“Sure she is. If she tries to keep you from me, she sure as hell is.” Just like the day before, Valérie rubbed her hand over the side of my face, tracing the oblong bruise. Her fingers were cold but somehow soothing. “She did this to you, didn’t she?”
I went to pull her hand away, but she caught my wrist as stealthily as a frog’s tongue snatches flies out of the air. Valérie gripped tight, her fingers a hard shackle, digging into my flesh. My disgust in the girl boiled inside me, rolling out in a barely-controlled form.
“You did this to me,” I seethed, “Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone?”
A light came over Valérie, an epiphany, “Now I know why he wants you. It’s not your face, Alan Rand… it’s your nasty, angry little heart.”
I struggled against her vice-grip, but could not get free, “What are you talking about? Who’s ‘he’? Who wa
nts me?”
She answered with a smile, “Meet me today behind the bleachers, Alan Rand. Immediately after school. Don’t be late.”
At last Valérie released my wrist. It throbbed to life as the blood rushed back into my hand. Even before the sharp, needling tingles subsided Valérie Lidowitz was out of eyesight, vanished as if she’d never been there at all.
I made sure Alan sat tucked away in school and met Amos at the Rand house at ten a.m. sharp, per instruction. He looked calm in his cruel, superior way. That didn’t bode well for Mrs. Rand or for me.
No sense putting it off. I walked to his car and tapped on the window.
“Good morning, Valérie.”
A pleasant smile greeted me. Amos seemed in a good mood. Why wouldn’t he be? The old son-of-a-bitch would never break a sweat over knocking around some old lady. She was easy pickings, and Amos was one twisted vampire.
“Are you ready?” he asked, getting out of his car.
I wasn’t even close to ready. Not that I could say that out loud. Ignoring the butterflies in my gut, I nodded robotically, “Of course.”
We walked up the drive and to the house. Already the sound of the vacuum hummed through the thin walls and the smell of lemon disinfectant smelled thick on the other side of the door. The old broad liked to keep up appearances. I rang the bell. Alan’s mom arrived seconds later.
“Yes? Can I help you?” she asked.
“Sophia Rand?” Amos began immediately. “My name’s Corcoran. I’m a county school inspector, and we’ve had a report of your son, Alan, being involved in an incident; smoking at school.”
Her hands went straight to her face, covering her mouth. “Oh, there must be some mistake. Alan would never do such a thing.”
“Oh, Miss Abercrombie here was a witness, I’m afraid.” Amos’s tone sounded very convincing. “Would you like to invite us inside? Not perform the drama on the steps, so to speak; too many prying eyes.”
“Oh, yes, why don’t you come in, Mister Corcoran, and you too, of course, eh, miss?”
Passing her in the hallway, Amos dropped the act. “I’m not really a school inspector.”
“What?” Her face showed nothing but confusion as she let us walk past her.
“You will say nothing.” Amos said, speaking close to her face. She nodded meekly. Amos walked into the living room and sat in a large armchair.
“Time to bring her under,” Amos said, and I pushed Mrs. Rand towards him.
I kept my head down throughout the day, finding much relief in Valérie’s strange absence. From class to class I went, bothered by nobody and unencumbered by the trifling drama my affiliation with the homecoming queen had caused the day before.
By seventh hour, I felt nearly human again. I’d even been grateful for the burden of physics and calculus homework to keep my mind focused and occupied once at home. My satchel felt delightfully heavy, even though it strained my aching back, as I made my way to my bike after school. I’d all but forgotten Valérie’s mandate to meet her behind the bleachers; not that I’d ever had any intention on showing up.
But, just like the meeting at Harvey’s Drug, my bike seemingly steered itself in the direction of the rendezvous point. Valérie sat waiting for me, dressed in a slinky skirt, tight sweater and bobby socks. Her shoes had already been discarded and she took no concern what might be buried under the sand.
Dumbfounded at myself, I dropped my bike on its side and blurted out the question I should have known the answer to, “Why am I here?”
Valérie tinkled a laugh, “You’re here because I told you to be here. Now come sit beside me.”
I felt drawn in by her command like a fish on a line. I knew Mother would be watching the very seconds on the clock, but it seemed I had no choice but to take my place at Valérie’s side.
“Take this. Drink it.”
She handed me an opened bottle of beer. I sipped its pungent flavor, nearly gagging.
“Don’t you want to know where I’ve been today?”
“No.”
“Paid a visit to Dragon Mama.”
My stomach churned violently; I thought for sure I’d be sick. Valérie motioned me to drink by the tilt of her head. Obediently, I lifted the bottle to my lips.
“Such a charming woman; we became fast friends.”
“You shouldn’t have…”
Valérie shushed at me. My mouth went instantly mute.
“Did you know that she still thinks your dead daddy is hanging around the house? Some sort of eternal penance for his worldly misdeeds from what I gather. Lovely Sophia believes your dad’s soul is some indentured servant, forever at her side, making up for screwing around with Miss Knickerson after parent-teacher conference.”
Valérie lost herself in an indulgent laugh, while I sat as unmoving as some petrified mummy. I could only imagine the expression frozen on my face.
“You will always tell me the truth, do you understand?” Amos patted his lap, and she shook her head violently. “Sit on my knee!” he snapped.
Deliriously, Mrs. Rand walked the three steps to close the distance, and sat politely down. She smoothed her skirt on her lap. All done in the best of propriety.
“Where is your husband?” Amos asked.
“He’s dead.”
Amos smiled over at me; I felt a shiver run down my spine. Alan’s dad dead? Another shortcoming had just surfaced in my part of the operation. I cursed silently. We weren’t just dealing with Alan’s psycho mother; we also had his dad’s ghost to contend with. And I should have found it out before.
He stroked her back as if she were some scared kitten. Amos’s voice sounded very soothing; even I felt the hypnotic affect. I stood, a fly on the wall, as Amos worked his magic over her.
“How did he die?” he asked.
“Silly bastard gassed himself after he had the affair with the schoolteacher; Kelly Knickerson. Well named, I’ll tell you. Seems her knickers were round her ankles quick enough.”
“Gassed himself?”
“Two cars running in the garage all night.” She looked at the door out of the living room. “Little coward couldn’t stand that I knew; couldn’t face me like a man would have done.”
“He couldn’t bear to live a lie- could he?”
Her dazed eyes became confused, “Living a lie?”
“The lie that it was you he loved, you he wanted. It wasn’t the truth of the affair you hated him for- was it? It was knowing that every night he laid beside you in your bed was a lie.”
Sophia’s expression twisted from one of a broken-hearted widow to that of a scorned lover.
“He deserved to die!” she seethed.
Amos smiled over at me conspiratorially. He turned to Mrs. Rand. “And now you’ve been living with your own lies too, haven’t you, Sophia? Tell them to me…”
Mother had gone to great lengths to hide the family scandal, including launching a terror campaign against Miss Knickerson that ran her out of Littleton before the affair went public. I couldn’t fathom how she would come to confess her private humiliation to some campy slut that’d come calling for her son.
“She told me everything, Alan.” Valérie said, confirming that which I could not believe. “How Barney fell in love with your fourth grade teacher, how they snuck around for weeks until Sophia caught him red-handed at the no-tell Motel one town over.”
If Valérie held any sympathy for my childhood trauma, it wasn’t evident in her recount of it. With callous detail, she continued through the history, watching me for reaction.
“Even after your father confessed and threw himself on Sophia’s mercy that old bitch was relentless; even brought you in their marital issues, made Daddy tell you everything. But, even falling from grace in his son’s eyes wasn’t enough for your mother- was it, Alan? For the next year she hounded him relentlessly; no matter what he did to make it up to her, your mother was bent on making his life a living hell.”
Valérie drank deeply from her
own bottle, then grinned thoughtfully, “Poor, Barney. Poor, horny Mr. Rand. Wifey kept at him until she drove him right back into the arms of the other woman. I mean- why not? If you’re going to do the time you might as well commit the crime.”
She nodded toward my bottle. My elbow bent of its own accord.
“Barney wasn’t just fucking this lady either, Alan- he really loved her. And he paid dearly for that the night he told your mom he was leaving her. Sophia tells the neighbors he slipped in the garage and banged his head on the cement; and tells nobody how the next morning she tried to asphyxiate her little boy.”
The glass bottle clanked against my teeth, my hand trembling as I choked down the next swallow. And listened.
“I guess Sophia thought she could exact her final revenge on him by hurting you.”
“Your husband did deserve to die,” Amos said, matter-of-factly, “You gave him a good home, a good life and he tossed it all aside. The ungrateful bastard. And you loved him, didn’t you?”
She nodded.
“Why don’t you show me just how much you loved him?” Amos’s grin beamed purest evil.
Sophia’s face changed as Amos gave her the command. Initially, she looked confused, as if she couldn’t remember, then she began to smile. Her face seemed to shed the years like a snake, and she started to strip her blouse off, wriggling her ass on Amos’s lap.
Now Amos rules his minions by the use of sex and violence, usually together, but his tastes ran to younger girls than Sophia Rand. I wasn’t sure how he would reciprocate to her pushing herself on him.
It seems I needn’t have bothered.
When she discarded her bra, Amos simply used her. It wasn’t pretty, but thankfully it wasn’t as long as his usual exploits. By the end, all she only wore a rucked-up underskirt and a smile.
Sophia’s smile had changed though. Amos may have been untypically quick, but he hadn’t been gentle.
Then suddenly she stood up, puppet-like, and walked out of the room. Her smile had gone, replaced by something I couldn’t describe; just much colder. Puzzled, Amos motioned that I should follow her.
