by catt dahman
“Jennifer,” Bernie stated.
I looked behind me. Nothing. “Huh?”
“My ex girlfriend. “
“Right.”
“Not here, yet,” he said. When I stared in confusion, he explained more, “You can bet she’ll be here.” He was being very dramatic.
“Why? She isn’t close friends with Buddy, is she?”
“She always shows up places, especially when I have a date.”
“Well, we kind of all run in groups that run with each other.”
“She’ll be here, though,” he sighed. More drama.
“Not if no one invited her, she isn’t that crass, is she?” That was my stupid question.
He looked at me as if I were an idiot. I knew Bernie from school, from football, but I wouldn’t say we were good friends or hung out before, so I wasn’t the one he was used to gossiping to about Jennifer. Still, I was expected to understand. Most of what I knew about him or about Jennifer was from talk or from watching their arguments in public places.
“She’s a piece of trash,” he told me.
“She is?”
“You know I dated her?”
Said like that, he was downgrading himself but didn’t realize it.
Didn’t everyone know he had dated her? I nodded. Had he not seen me at those places when he was with her? “Umm. Right, I think I knew that.”
“She’s very jealous.”
“Is she?”
“Yep.”
“But you broke up a long time ago?” See? I knew a little history.
“You know women. She never seemed to get over our dating.” His voice held some pride. He grinned. “When you’re….a girl’s first, she never forgets you.”
Okay, so I am good at controlling my face because I know I was about to stare slack-jawed at him and roll with laughter. Her first?
Almost a smell and definitely a look: both females and males have that when they have had a lot of experience. Both get a knowing look, a sexual awareness, and sometimes, a rough, worn-down visage. Not all do, but those who have known sex since an early age do, and those who have done the mileage do; loss of innocence leaves a mark. And I wondered if that were true; I thought so. He intended to sound knowledgeable, but I was seeing him as boastful. That was very personal information he was sharing.
No one forgot his first. I wouldn’t anyway. “I guess not.”
“So, Jennifer wants me back.” He was smug.
Not if you had cut it off clean before you had sex she wouldn’t, old pal, I thought, but you didn’t, did you? He was Jennifer’s first and only, and now, she told herself marrying him was the way she would have a clean life. He was supposed to be her last. Only he wasn’t interested anymore. And he knew all that. That’s when I began hating Bernie. “Well, only you and she can decide that.”
“I wouldn’t take her back,” he laughed, “I deserve better.”
Deserve?
“Yep…I deserve a classy girl,” he said.
Grace? I wanted to puke. He was drying up in athletics, making the norm in grades, and having no money to finish at a big school; he was going nowhere, and he knew it, unless he married well.
Despite my dry mouth, I said, “Maybe she won’t show up here anyway…Yanno… We can hope.”
His eyes glittered. “I hope she doesn’t”.
But he was lying.
For some reason, he did want her to show up, maybe to parade Grace’s innocence in front of Jennifer, to flaunt his own clean slate. It made me feel sick.
I mumbled something about finding the girls.
He followed me inside where there were dancing, couples getting punch and soft drinks, and a crowd listening to Will’s banter. I joined Colli with paper cups and greetings to my friends.
Buddy’s parents floated in and out throughout the rooms, their presence lowering the noise in each room. Will was louder with each addition of people to the party.
I was having fun, despite Bernie.
Then.
“Wow, Don’t look now, but guess who’s here?” Colli hissed at me.
Because I was normal, I turned to look.
There was Jennifer, surprisingly stunning in a canary yellow sheath and scarf, flanked by Sandra Curry and Nell Reed. Had those two been playing beauty shop with Jennifer? She looked better than I had ever seen her, dressed up. Her raven hair was looped up into an elaborate style. I was already wincing with Colli’s death grip on my arm but almost swore when Cornelia waved the trio over to our group, eyes full of mischief. Cornelia was a ‘corker’.
Jennifer stopped next to us, beaming, “Hello, Cornelia. Hi, David and Colli.”
“What a pretty dress,” Nell and Sandra chattered their hellos.
“Thanks.” Colli dug nails into my flesh.
“And I see Bernie…is that his new girlfriend?” Jennifer asked.
“Just a date,” I mumbled.
“She looks so young.”
Grace did look young, hair flowing down her back, freckles across her nose and cheeks. Bernie glared at us. “She’s our age,” I said.
“Very pretty girl,” Jennifer said. Why is it when a woman is fixed up and looking good, she can be so complimentary and then be so critical and hateful when she feels less than pretty? Jennifer’s make-up was flawless: peachy pale; eyes lashes, dark; lips pouting pink; hair swirled into an elaborate up-do; stiletto heels perfect; I saw she was being sincere.
Gradually, the noise rose again after having been brutally silent. I made small talk, I ignored dirty looks from Bernie, and I pretended that Colli wasn’t digging her talons into my arm; mostly, I prayed to blink and awaken at home right then. There was small talk, Will’s humor, and buzzes of voices.
“What’s her name?” Jennifer asked. I knew she already knew.
“That’s Grace,” Cornelia gushed, “and isn’t she adorable?”
“I guess.” Jennifer watched Bernie. She tried small talk, but her eyes kept drawing back to him. He stared at her.
Finally, Jennifer held a hand up and gave him a little wave.
“We’re out of here,” Bernie announced loudly, eyes shooting daggers at Jennifer as he grabbed Grace’s hand, his face red with anger.
Overly dramatic again.
She meant to comment sotto voce, but it was one of those times when everyone had gone silent after Bernie’s announcement, and Jennifer’s voice was loud when she told us, “I didn’t mean to break up the party.”
Bernie, holding Grace’s hand now, stormed from the scene, and while there wasn’t a word said or any extra sounds made, it was cacophonous. How could an exit be that voluminous and bright without anything but two people walking away? Fury has a sound, smell, and look, all of its own.
“I didn’t mean anything,” Jennifer wailed as she followed them, and as we all fell in line, not wanting to miss the show.
“It’s okay,” Sandra offered, “he’s just moody.”
“I just waved.” She hurried to keep up.
“He’s over-reacting. You know Bernie.”
We could hear all that as we followed Jennifer, Nell, and Sandra.
I needed to get Grace out of there. The crowd was eager for entertainment, the Romans that they were, so there wasn’t anyone helping to derail this scene from playing out. I expected a yelling scene.
“Let it go, Jennifer.”
“No, ’cause then I will be the bad guy who caused Bernie and his date to leave the party; everyone will say I caused it, and I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Jennifer was moving fast, calling Bernie’s name.
“Seriously, Jennifer.” Sandra was trying.
He wouldn’t stop walking away, even with Jennifer almost screaming for him. Grace dug her heels in, finally, and turned to face Jennifer. She begged Bernie, “Just talk to her, and get this over with, please.”
“What do you want now, Jennifer? We’re leaving.”
“You don’t have to. I’m sorry if I did anything.”
“You caused a scene.”
No, he had.
She looked at Grace. “I’m Jennifer, and we haven’t met, but I didn’t want you to think I meant anything by what I said.”
Grace nodded. “It’s fine. I’m sure you didn’t do anything.”
Bernie glared.
“I really wish you both the best,” Jennifer said levelly.
Grace nodded. “Thank you, really, can this just be over?”
Bernie muttered something. No fireworks after all?
But then Bernie told Jennifer, “Don’t talk to or about us again. If you keep this up, I swear, you’ll be very sorry.”
He jerked Grace with him, turning to leave again. I was tired of his pulling her around with him. Couldn’t he just stop this?
“I didn’t do anything.”
Sandra and Nell agreed.
“You’re nothing, Bernie, nothing,” Jennifer called out.
In a flash, Bernie spun, letting go of Grace’s hand and was up within inches of Jennifer’s face. Everyone halted. “What did you say?”
“I said you are nothing and are just causing a scene yourself.” She was calm.
We were used to the yelling and screaming between the two, but this time, she was calm, and he was the only one furious. He whispered something that made Jennifer’s face drain pale; he stepped forward, all but touching her now, causing her to step back and lose her balance.
She went down on her butt, a seam ripping, palms on the grass, teeth clacking loudly as she fell. It was a nasty fall that hurt. She cried out.
I reached for Grace who stepped away, in shock.
“What did you do to her?” Nell helped Jennifer up and shot eye-daggers at Bernie. “Why did you push her?” Nell was livid.
“I didn’t push her; she’s pretty dramatic.” Bernie took a step toward Nell this time, but Nell held her ground.
Nell was a tall, athletic girl, rich in self-esteem, and unafraid to stand up to him. “Leave Jennifer alone,” she said, and she was livid.
“Oh, I did that a long ago,” Bernie answered her.
Jennifer began sobbing.
“Back off.” Nell looked ready to dare anyone to say a word in his defense.
“You stay out of my business.”
“Grace, why don’t you come with us?” I offered. I needed to take her home and tell her why all of this was a very bad idea. She was like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide, looking from Jennifer to Bernie to me for a clue of what to do. We had all filed out; there was an audience; she was at the center.
“I….I….” Grace was without words. Face flaming deep red, she was unsure of what to do. She looked at Jennifer who was crying softly, her hair mussed, dress torn.
“Just come with us. Colli and I will take you home,” David said. However, that was the wrong thing to say; her parents would have a hundred questions, and Grace didn’t know the answers. If she left with us, then Bernie would never speak to her again, and I knew Grace’s parents were his fans right now. If she came home like this, they would somehow blame her, not him.
She was her own person though. She could handle it. It would blow over. Grace made a step closer to me. “I guess….”
“David, butt out. Grace is fine.” Bernie focused on me now. This might turn ugly; I hope Will would back me up.
“Grace, just come with me,” I told her. I don’t know what she saw or thought then, but she watched my eyes and looked almost afraid. It was in that second that she made her choice.
“I have a ride home.”
Taking Bernie’s arm, she turned her back on me and asked him to take her home.
As they left, everyone started to return to the party as Buddy’s parents asked questions from the porch. After cleaning up a little in the restroom, Jennifer left with her friends, and several more couples left the party right after.
I went to Buddy’s backyard to sit alone, discouraging people with monosyllables until they went away. Only Will sat with me, deep in thought. I was a lousy date.
I had become Grace’s protector, confidant, best friend, and somehow her keeper. I knew I occupied all of her time. I was smothering her. She might have discouraged Bernie, but then I had made him her only way to get away from me.
Either way, she was going to be owned, and I was as guilty as her parents in trying to make her choices; now, I had pushed her closer to the other side, and what she had seen in my eyes was just how angry and hopeless that made me feel. I was pushing too hard, so she had run.
I was able to leave later and luckily, Colli didn’t say much except to go over the event again and again in amazement. It was an early night.
Chapter 9
I was angry at Grace, furious with myself, embarrassed, and lost. Women talk things out, but not like men do; I withdrew into myself and kept busy in distractions to take up my time.
That next week, I threw myself into my studies, doing extra credit, despite already carrying the highest grades in my classes. I worked harder in athletics, pushing myself: until every muscle burned, until I vomited, and until I fell exhausted into bed early every night.
I volunteered for school events that had held no interest for me days before. I joined the school newspaper. I tried to keep eating, but my stomach stayed in knots, so extra pounds fell away, and muscle mass grew; my body was changing rapidly as I ran extra bleachers, lifted more weight, and did sit-ups until I couldn’t even move. I gained weight but lost baby fat.
My mom and dad watched me in those days, eyes keen, but I was doing something positive with my stress. My mind stayed empty as my body took control.
Then something of interest caught my attention for no discernible reason as if it were a random story I caught; it was the picture that went with the story that pulled me in.
One morning, there was a picture in the newspaper of a girl, several cities away. She was my age but not listed as a college student. She had been found strangled, left in a field, dead, and it made me feel sick to look at her photo. She looked a little like Grace, older, and more tired, but very similar.
Seeing that picture made me realize how things can change in a blink of an eye. I wanted to go next door and apologize to Grace, to work this out, to find some boundaries, but I knew that I was unable to respect them.
I knew then that I was obsessed with the girl next door; I had been for a long time.
I carefully cut the article out of the newspaper to hide in a book, wondering who the girl, Susie, was and who had taken her life. There wasn’t much of that type of crime around us, and so it was big news. It had been over ten years since there had been such a random, brutal murder. In the following days, the story slid to the third page, then to a mere paragraph in the back.
I didn’t know much about crime investigation, but I saw that either the police had nothing to go on or were keeping it quiet. No theories were suggested. No one was arrested. The less said, the more fascinated I became. Who was this girl who favored Grace and why was she killed? Who had done it?
Now, the photo began to haunt me, and I found another obsession. I pulled out the photo dozens of times to look at until I finally went to the telephone book and then to information; I hunted down the sister of the girl who looked like Grace.
Judy.
She lived in New Boston, so I went there.
I met Judy in a café where she sniffed into a lacy handkerchief as she talked to me. I had gotten her to meet me without too much trouble; a few white lies were all I needed.
It was true I had offered to write for the college newspaper and offered to try to write an article about the girl who had lost her life, in an effort to find the culprit, but I didn’t intend to write it. I was just curious about the girl who looked like Grace. That was how far blown my obsession was.
In fact, I had quit the paper after a week.
After we got coffee and found a booth, I pretended to take notes. For a while, she just talked about her sister, but it wasn’t what I wanted to know. “But what
was she like…I mean…as in dreams and all?”
“She was normal.”
“No, what about her?”
Judy thought about that. “Susie didn’t expect a lot, so she didn’t have big dreams. She was so pretty and smart, but David, we’re poor.” A sad laugh. “Dirt poor. White trash, poor. We wore hand me downs and thrift-store finds, and Dad and Mom both drank beer and swore like sailors.”
“I see.” That was probably the wrong response, but what was the correct one when someone said that? This girl answered a question for me. Do ugly people know they are ugly? Do poor people know they are poor? Yes. Do obsessed people know they are obsessed? Yes, we do.
“That’s why they won’t find who killed Susie; no one cares when the social rejects die.”
“I’m sorry, Judy.” Had this been later times and had I been a real reporter, this would have been a social interest. It was a time both close and too removed from civil rights issues. No one cared to have a twenty-four-hour filibuster for this.
“No, I don’t want sympathy for that, but it’s how it is. Susie wasn’t gonna go to college or anything. I have seven brothers and sisters, six now.” She cried for a few minutes. The waitress glared at me as she refilled our cups, and I knew there was no telling what drama she was dreaming up for this scenario.
“And she was the oldest?”
“Yes. She worked at the dime store to help the family, and that wasn’t gonna change anytime soon. But she hoped one day she’d find a nice man and get married, have nice kids, and stop having to support the rest of us. Do you understand what I mean at all?”
“I think so.”
“She dreamed about escape.”
“So she just wanted out?” I jotted this down for my imaginary article.
“Wouldn’t you? Yes. She did. I don’t blame her for that,” Judy sighed. “She was just so tired of always trying to squeeze more dimes out of a dollar, staring at the railroad tracks outside, and washing the old linoleum floor. It never changed, never got better or worse, but it always was there.”
