by Sandy DeLuca
I was foolish, did something foolish in hopes of preventing the inevitable. There are stronger forces than a solitary woman’s prayers.
Yes. Your prayers … and mine.
CHAPTER 19
I turn the key, open the door. The cats greet me as always, rub against me and sniff my feet. I feed them then check the answering machine and make myself some coffee.
Time. What time is it? Have I just taken a stroll in the middle of night, or is it just before dawn? The hours all run together now, much the same as they did during my descent. In the dark, there is no time.
* * *
I climbed onto the bus while Mom watched me from the window. I’m sure she assumed I was going to work like always. If she’d been speaking to me that day, I probably wouldn’t have gone off with Sammy. If Daddy had hid the bankbook in another place and I hadn’t found it in his suit jacket pocket, maybe things would have been different. I wish Mom had kissed me goodbye that day, told me to be careful. But she didn’t.
I can’t go home ever again. Ever, I thought as I stepped off the bus that morning—the morning Sammy and I began our descent. It was a steamy Monday in July.
People made their way to jobs in the city’s local banks, insurance companies and retail stores.
I stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts, got a coffee for each of us, and a cinnamon donut for me, then sat on the steps of City Hall and waited for Sammy. A black dog made his way out of a nearby alley. He seemed familiar. He turned the corner, stopped in front of City Hall, gazed up at me, growled deep and low, and then made his way into a crowd of pedestrians.
Sammy’s black, 1970 Mustang sped around the same corner, and I was reminded of the red Mustang I’d never have. I’d have to use the money to support Sammy and me until we could both find jobs in New York City. I told myself it would be hard, but I still couldn’t wait to get there.
I felt I could really go places, make some connections because of my talent in art. I’d won awards all through high school. I went on to take classes at the Community College, where my painting professor, Doctor Stanley, arranged for me to have an art show in the gallery there. My parents accused me of paying for the art show out of my own money. They said galleries didn’t offer nobodies like me a show.
Aunt Lil was the only member of my family who came to the opening.
Doctor Stanley told me that he hadn’t spoken to his parents in twenty years. They’d had a dispute about the choices he’d made in life. He said I didn’t need to get a lot of advanced degrees with my talent, that I could move to a big city and find lots of work.
New York would be the perfect place for me. And Sammy was taking me there.
I didn’t tell my aunt Lil the plans I’d made. Better not to utter a word to anyone. Nonetheless, she sensed something and before I left said, “Whatever you’re planning, think twice, Julia. It’s not too late.”
“Whatever I do, I’ll be thinking of you.” I kissed her on the cheek.
“That felt like a farewell kiss.” I’d never seen her look quite so sad. “There’s nothing I can do. I tried. I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t understand exactly what she meant at the time, or how profound her statement truly was, so I let it go, dismissed it really, and just told her I loved her.
Sammy and I had everything planned right down to the last detail.
First, we had to go back to my house. I needed to get some clothes, makeup and things, as Mom would have gotten suspicious had I left with all that stuff earlier.
We parked up on the hill overlooking my house, waited until we saw her back out of the driveway and head toward the mall for her Monday shopping.
Sammy drove around the back of the house. “You ready, babe?” I knew he’d been smoking pot, or something. His eyes were red, glassy. I was scared that Daddy would suddenly appear, or that Mom would decide to come back. Sammy saw my nervousness and chuckled at how I kept biting my nails, or twirling my hair.
My mother had never let me have a key of my own to the house. She was afraid I’d lose it. Besides, I still had to adhere to a curfew anyway—no later than eleven—so she’d be waiting for me at the door, hair set in those spongy pink rollers, bathrobe wrapped around her slight body that always smelled of baby powder.
Sammy said a girl my age should be able to stay out all night, no questions asked. My parents had too much of a hold on me. I had to leave, make my own life away from them, and of course I could not have agreed more.
Little did I know Sammy’s hold on me would be far deadlier and stay with me for decades, even long after he had gone.
I’d left the bathroom window unlocked. Sammy lifted me up so I could reach it, slide it open and climb through. Once inside I opened the back door and let him in.
I wrote my parents a note, told them I’d make them proud. I was going to be a famous artist and not to worry. It was time we all let go. I’d try to call them later.
We left my house and headed for Sammy’s sister’s apartment, where he’d been staying.
Tonya, usually happy, was obviously angry. Her dark hair was teased up high. Her eyes were lined with dark liner and she was wearing a bright pink jumpsuit. She held a cigarette in one hand and an ashtray in the other. “Fuck. The heat’s on,” she said to her brother. “I can feel it. Is that why you’re fucking splitting now? I got to stand up to them alone if they fucking find out.”
“Shut up,” he snapped. “I know what I’m doing.”
“I sure hope so, ‘cause if they do come around, I’ll tell them you were here, what time you left.” She looked at me. “And who you were with. You think her folks are gonna sit back knowing the likes of you took off with her? They’ll fucking smell you, Sammy. You know they will. Don’t you give a shit about me? About the girls?”
“Stop talking nonsense. I’m going to Stanni’s now. I’ll straighten things out before I leave. Things will be cool.”
It was about three in the afternoon when Sammy parked outside Bob Stanni’s apartment house in the projects. His wife was talking to a girl a few apartment buildings down. She waved nonchalantly, pulled down denim shorts that had ridden up too high, smiled wide when Sammy waved back.
He leaned over. His breath was hot. “Those two get it on, you know. Bob caught them on the couch one day.” He laughed. “He told me he joined right in. Sick bastards.”
Stanni’s three-year-old son was outside riding a rusty tricycle; dirt caked on his face. His stringy blond hair hung in damp clumps on his neck and shoulders.
Sammy high-fived him. “You need a haircut, kid. You trying to imitate your old man?”
“Motherfucker,” the boy said, waving his middle finger in the air. I had gotten out of the car, started to follow Sammy. The boy looked at me and gave a wide smile. He had dimples and clear blue eyes.
“Wait in the car, Julia. I won’t be long.”
I thought it was strange that he didn’t want me to go with him this time. I’d been inside Bob Stanni’s apartment a lot over the past few months. His wife, Gloria, a girl with dyed black hair styled like Cher’s, always made me iced tea while Bob brought out jars filled with pills. The colors were so bright; they reminded me of penny candy.
We all got high together on weed. I remember how hard we laughed when we got the munchies. We scurried around the apartment looking for food. One time I stopped laughing when I opened a cabinet and saw a rat glaring at me.
“Tell Bob I said ‘hi’.” I got in the car, listened to some MoTown dude singing about a girl being just his imagination. The tricycle’s wheels squeaked. Bob’s wife stood awful close to the woman she spoke to. She stroked her hair, turned once to catch a glimpse of the little boy, and then they disappeared behind a door with splintered wood, neon graffiti images of stick people scrawled across it.
Sammy came back a few minutes later. The kid flipped him off again. He handed him a buck. “Buy yourself some candy, kid.”
Something wet was splattered on Sammy’s boots. “Got in a tiff with Bo
b,” he said, tossing shopping bags into the back seat. I heard pills clicking against glass. He was breathing heavily, sweat beaded on his forehead. “Hey, I’ve been thinking, what do you say we go all the way to Florida? Fuck New York City. I’ll bet you can make more money there on your art—not as much competition and lots prettier things for you to paint.”
“But the galleries and museums and—”
“Listen, it’s tough in New York. This guy at the gym told me that they have these outdoor flea markets in Florida where an artist can make tons of money. Let’s do that awhile then maybe we can hit New York, OK?”
Disappointment filled me. But I figured Sammy knew best. After all he was twenty-five and I was only nineteen.
Rain fell from a slate blue sky. “Trust me, babe.”
I wanted to cry as we drove over the George Washington Bridge, leaving the lights of New York City behind. I remembered thinking that some of my dreams flew away from me that night—spiraling spirits that drifted over the water and nestled in the city I’d dreamed about for so long. They waited that night, hoping I’d come back to claim them, but they waited in vain.
* * *
The phone rings, makes me realize I must have fallen asleep.
My mother’s doctor speaks to me in a slow, precise voice he probably thinks is soothing but that I find annoying. “She’s doing better but the pain is still intense.” He tells me about her new medication and says she’s been asking for me.
How long has it been since I’ve visited her?
Time is playing tricks on me.
Or is this all just a dream?
I close my eyes and am riding down the Jersey turnpike with Janis Joplin’s voice singing gutsy blues. It’s raining and the sky is orange and gold.
CHAPTER 20
The dream ends.
Mother cat jumps on the window ledge as I pour white crystals on the coffee table and make three straight lines with a razor.
The New Jersey turnpike stretches out before me as I breathe Hell masked as Heaven into my nose.
* * *
By the time we reached the Jersey turnpike we were hungry and the car was almost on empty, so we got off at the first exit we came across and found a place to eat and get gas.
“Fill up, babe,” Sammy said as he stared through the glass windows. “We’ll pop some speed when we get back on the road. I want to drive straight through to Miami.”
The rain had intensified, spattering the walkway outside. Lightning cut a crooked line through the dark gray sky like something out of a horror movie.
A waitress appeared, young and pretty with red hair piled high on her head. “Can I help you?”
Sammy eyed her up and down. “Yeah, two burgers each, two large fries and some of that pie over there in the case.” His gaze remained on her large breasts.
She smiled and moved away.
His stare followed her.
“Do you think she’s a fox or something?”
He chuckled. “That chick’s freaky looking—with that tiny waist and those huge boobs.” He shook his head, still laughing. “Cracks me up when I see shit like that.”
He ate fast. I still had a burger and my pie left when he got up from the table. I was still hungry, but when I got nervous I couldn’t fill up, no matter how much food there was around.
“I might order another piece of pie. Do we have time?”
“Take your time, honey. I think the old waitress at the next table is taking that bimbo’s place for a while, just call her when you want something else.”
I saw the redheaded waitress standing outside in the rain, smoking a cigarette.
“I’m going to fill the car up, take a leak and look around in the convenience store next door for a while. We need cigarettes, a new lighter and some soda. Maybe I can even find a cooler to keep it cold.”
“You need money?”
He nodded and I handed him fifty bucks.
I found some change at the bottom of my bag, went to the pay phone at the rear of the restaurant and dialed my parents’ number. I felt I should at least let them know I was all right.
My mother answered on the third ring.
“Hello.”
“Mom, I just wanted you to know I’m okay. Everything’s fine. I’ll call you again later.”
“Julia? How could you do this to me? Don’t you dare call again! Don’t ever come back. You’re a worthless bitch. You’re not my daughter anymore.”
She hung up and the line went dead.
I should have called back, but didn’t. Instead, I went back to the table and struggled to fight away tears.
The next time I looked, the redhead was gone. Sammy’s car moved slowly toward the gas pumps then veered off around the back of the restaurant. It struck me as weird, but my mother’s venomous words were still ringing in my head. Besides, I figured maybe Sammy just wanted to be away from everything for a few minutes, to take a pee and have a cigarette. He was like that sometimes.
In the time I’d known him there were periods when he said he needed his space, time to think about things, and I tried to respect that as best I could. After all, he was a complicated guy. He told me so, and I believed him.
I ordered my pie and another cup of coffee, devoured both then went to the ladies room to freshen up. I paid the bill when I got back to the table, looked up and saw Sammy outside. He’d pulled the car up to the sidewalk so I wouldn’t have to walk too far in the rain. It was coming down hard.
When I’d first noticed him there he was at the rear of the car looking in the trunk, but by the time I got outside he’d already slammed it shut.
It was after ten that night before we got back on the road. Sammy bought the supplies he’d talked about earlier, plus some extra razors for himself, toothpaste, and a couple of raunchy magazines. He also bought what seemed like an excessive amount of assorted snacks.
Shopping bags and a small cooler were piled in the back seat. “I bought a jack, threw it in the trunk. I used to have one, but I left it in my sister’s car last time she needed me to change a tire. You never know, we could get a flat or a blow out or something.”
“Good idea.” I rummaged through the shopping bags, pulled out a Hostess Twinkie.
“I put the coke in the cooler. We’ll start downing Black Beauties once we get to Pennsylvania.”
“Okay.” I licked thick white frosting and watched the falling rain.
* * *
The phone rings. “Not now,” I whisper.
Rather than answer it, I grab the remote, click on the TV. The images are black and white and blur together.
The cats twitch their noses; sniff the air and look at me questioningly… perhaps knowingly.
The dead are near.
CHAPTER 21
Marla tried to save me back in ’71. Forever trapped in her pink waitress uniform, a white apron and that nametag pinned to her collar, even now she comes to me in dreams, in blurry daytime visions, a restless soul who died too young. The nametag. How the hell could it have ended up with the girl they just found? A new murder victim wearing a ghost’s nametag, a message from the dead and the past, from Sammy and all the evil within him, taunting me with symbols and clues only I can understand—how could this be happening? Did he pin that old nametag to the poor girl with his own fingers, thinking of me and laughing all the while? I try to tell myself it’s simply not possible, but they keep repeating the story on the news, reminding me once again that anything is possible. Anything. Even those things that Sammy and I did all those years ago.
* * *
By the time we got to Virginia we were high on speed, talking nonstop. The rain had let up, and it seemed as if we were the only two people on Earth, traveling within the thick fog. My head buzzed as Mick Jagger sang Brown Sugar.
Sammy put his hand between my legs, slipped his fingers inside my panties, moved them in and out of me slowly as he told me how he’d never broken a virgin before and that he wanted to turn me into a real woman. He
reached into the back seat and pulled a magazine from one of the bags he’d taken from Stanni’s. On the cover was a picture of a girl. Two guys were doing her. Another was standing over them, watching.
“Don’t she look pretty?” He undid his jeans and pushed my head down into his lap. As we turned a corner something thumped hard in the trunk. “You’re beautiful, Julia. Your mouth feels so good on me. Your lips are perfect—”
Death was close by but I didn’t realize it.
The sky grew a bit lighter as we made our way through North Carolina. We drove down a long stretch on the interstate where no houses or any sign of life seemed to exist. Empty fields surrounded us, bugs splattered against the windshield, and the heat was stifling, so we opened all the windows. Only stale, dead air hit our faces.
“The sun rises in a couple hours,” Sammy said, smoke spilling from between his lips. “It’s gonna get a lot hotter.”
My skirt was raised to my hips, my panties on the floor in a knot. I moved to straighten myself up but Sammy took my wrist and shook his head in the negative.
“I want you to stay that way. My hands need something to do out here in nowhere land.”
I played along, but later, when an eighteen-wheeler passed us, I pulled my skirt down, afraid the driver would be able to see me.
“I told you to stay that way,” Sammy said, eyes wild. “Now I have to teach you a lesson. You got to learn to listen to me, Julia, got to learn who the boss is here.” He lit another cigarette, took a deep drag and watched the tip glow orange in the dark as if thinking about what a suitable punishment would be.
