She wore a dark-red, low-cut dress that hugged her body, a dress worthy of the Red Carpet on Oscar night. Black high heels accentuated a curvaceous figure. A thin black choker set off an elegant neck, mirroring an identical pattern on her small purse. April put extra effort in her makeup and hair. She no longer had a job as a beautician, but her skill shone through kissable red lips and thick eyelashes. Both painted onto a magnificent landscape. The years may not have been kind financially, but once born with drop-dead looks, they may fade, but will never disappear.
April glanced around the nearly empty high-end bar. It showed sporting events, a hockey game on one screen and a basketball game on the other. She struck out earlier in the night and would have to settle for this crowd to supplement her small income.
“Whiskey sour, Pete,” she said after walking up to the bar.
Pete nodded and brought her a drink. He pointed at a man in an expensive suit. The man sat with others. April smiled and passed a bill across the countertop to him. She hated giving up money, but you need a connection in places like this and Pete could spot a mark a mile away. She looked at his expression as he checked the bill she slid to him. He smiled and nodded. April winked, then turned her full attention to the victims before her.
After five minutes, she made a choice.
Her face soured as she looked at the game of Hockey, it meant rough-housing men, something to avoid. Not tonight, not on a dare.
A group of men yelled at a wall-sized screen from an overhead projector. She smiled, basketball it is. Pete had good instincts, but she needed to conduct her own tests from years gained in the trenches. April scanned her available choices. A group of four men sat guzzling beer and screaming. The first was bald and chubby, living through the players. No, not on a dare. The next, a redhead with a crew cut. His neatly trimmed beard suggested good hygiene, a rarity, even among the suits. The third had something of a distasteful Mohawk, the girl that did it should be fired immediately. The last, another suit. Her gaze went back to the redhead.
April took her drink and crossed in front of the screen with it. The men yelled and she made her apologies. When she neared the redhead, her drink mysteriously spilled. “Oh my,” she sighed.
“Let me help you with that,” said the redhead.
“I don’t want to be any trouble.” A big smile and rapidly moving eyelashes work wonders.
“No trouble, little lady.”
He wiped the small spill and picked up her plastic cup. He gave it back to her with a smile.
“Does my hero have a name?” more smiles and eyelashes, this was a banner day.
“Matty.”
“Hello, Matty. I’m April.”
“Nice to meet you, April.”
He nodded. April, not content with the nod, decided to extend her delicate hand. The man’s strong grip proved her right, he was the one. She smiled and walked past him to sit to his right at an empty table. She would hold his attention, play coy, but remain within earshot, pretending she wasn’t.
Matty rejoined his companions. Occasionally, his eyes wandered to the enchanting April, who fed them with bashful smiles. She watched the others to see if they would interfere, she knew two of them, very well.
The man nursing a combination Mohawk crew-cut leaned across the table to whisper to Matty. He spoke low with his head down. He meant to hide his words from April.
Matty shook his head furiously. April tried to see his face, but couldn’t. The man shot a look at her then gave a broad grin. The grin sent small shivers down April’s back. She tried once more to read Matty with no luck.
As if reading her mind, Matty turned back to her and she gave him another smile, wondering what he was thinking. Her face showed no indication, but car blocking was at work. She made plans to counter and claim victory.
“Whatever, man. Gary, what do you know?” asked Matty louder then he should have.
April heard the question. The men looked directly at each other for the briefest of moments. She had always treated him fairly and made no bones about their relationship. Gary, on the other hand, fell in love with her and proposed marriage. He told her she was meant for better things and he could take care of her. April thought he wanted the remains of a beauty queen, not as shiny, but still adequate eye candy. She turned him down and passed him on to a lovely Russian she works with.
April knew Gary would not give her a bad report. He hoped to one day win her heart. She relaxed and stopped concentrating on strategy. The basketball game began its final quarter. She would not leave the bar empty-handed tonight. Her eyes left Matty’s tan suit to appraise his shoes. The Long Wing Tassel Slip-ons were burgundy calfskin and reaffirmed his status. They were expensive, the $500 variety. He was hers.
After the game, Matty walked over to April, surprising her. For the first time in god knows when, she was unsure of her next move. When in doubt, fall back on old plans and wait for an opening. She did just that by giving a seductive smile and a simple, “Hi.”
“I wasn’t too sure I should come over here,” said Matty.
“Why is that?”
“Those two guys I sat with are baggage handlers for Lambert. One claims to know you and it wasn’t flattering.”
“I’m a big girl, tell me the bad news.”
“Well, um, well,” Matty stuttered.
“How about this, start with the crew cut guy, what did he say?”
“He said he didn’t know you personally, but you were in here a lot.”
She eyed him carefully: strong chin, white teeth, penetrating yet gentle gray eyes. She decided to play straight with him.
“Tell me what else he said, the truth.”
“He said you were kind of a working girl. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I am. Either invite me to join you or walk away.”
Matty hesitated. He focused on her hair and then her lips. April felt his eyes and made herself more attractive. He was a hard one and would not look into her eyes and fall under her spell. She coughed. He made the mistake of meeting her eyes and she held him by sheer will, like a predator hypnotizing its prey. Slowly she rose from her chair and moved next to him. She put her arm in his and together they walked out of the bar.
* * *
April entered her house in a disheveled state. Matty had been full of surprises. Her quick in and out turned to several hours. Twice she tried leaving and succumbed to more money and stayed. Damn stockbrokers, they’re loaded. Finally, as he snored, she dressed in the dark. If she hadn’t drank so heavily, she would have been more than happy to wake with him to even more cash. She left her name and number on the hotel pad and drew a smile beneath them. After that, she tiptoed to the door and left.
Brittany sat at the table eating breakfast cereal. April stumbled into the room toward their small brown couch and plopped down. Brittany didn’t bother asking questions, it happened so often it was no surprise. She made a quick check of her mother, looking for cuts and bruises. She found none and breathed a sigh of relief.
“See,” said April, “all good.”
“Are you hungry, momma?”
“No, baby.” April’s head barely rose. The last of her strength was used to make it safely home with her fortune intact.
Brittany gave her a careful look. After that, April raised her arms, their signal. Brittany stared at her.
“Come on, baby. Help your old momma.”
Brittany leaned her forward and unzipped the back of April’s dress. April struggled to lift her legs to ease her dress up and then over her head. The woman collapsed to her side. She moaned and sank into the couch cushions.
“Comfy.”
At six, the first time viewing her mother’s lower half was a shock, but now at sixteen, she neither flinched nor gawked at her mother’s nakedness. Instead, she went right to work. Brittany took her washcloth and cleaned her mother from head to toe as best she could. Her face remained blank. The challenge was to finish as quickly as possible and redress her. She went to the
hall closet for a nightgown. Trials from the past had told her to never attempt to put underwear on the woman. With great care, she put the nightgown on her mother, tapping ever so often to produce the correct shift from the woman. They were better than the synchronized swimming team Brittany wanted to join when she was five.
While her mother sat, the dutiful daughter poured hot coffee into a mug. She dropped two sugar cubes into the cup and added a heaping spoon of cream. She stirred and then blew on it, to cool it.
After a quick taste, it was ready. She took it in to her mother. Brittany pulled out a bottle of pills. “Here, momma.”
“What?” asked April, her eyes remained closed and she tried sinking deeper into the cushions.
“Take your pill, momma.” Brittany pulled her up and put the pill to her lips. April opened her mouth and accepted the medicine. Brittany held the cup to her lips. April took two sips and stopped, shaking her head from side to side, frowning.
“I don’t want anymore,” she whined.
“You need it, momma. Open your mouth.”
In role reversal fashion, April pouted. She reluctantly opened her mouth and gave her best frown to show her defiance. April tried stopping. Brittany lifted the cup higher. Her mother struggled. She looked every bit the drowning swimmer gasping for air. No matter. Brittany had her. The cup tilted higher and though she waved her hands about, April gulped and gulped until the cup was empty.
“Let me get you into bed, I have to go to work,” said Brittany.
April was groggy, feeling light-headed. She leaned on her daughter and walked into the bedroom. Brittany lifted the covers and her mother climbed into bed and fell fast asleep. Her last words, “you’re a good baby; I knew you would be a good baby.” Then she snored.
Chapter Seventeen: Brittany
Brittany was no longer a child and no longer on the pageant circuit. She and her mother supported their humble house—each worked a full and part-time job. Brittany’s school friends let her know about the burned-out house on Norwood, not too far from downtown St. Louis. After a year of hard work, the house was livable and theirs to keep. Homeowners, the word sounded good to her. And she, like her mother, prepared to do whatever it took to keep their home. The countless evictions by landlords were at an end. Never again could anyone throw them out. That felt good.
Brittany put on her waitress outfit. Though she was underage, she had a fake ID swearing to the fact that she was eighteen. What harm could it do? In two years it would be true. Besides, she led the life of a thirty-year-old woman.
She wore a white tank top and bright-orange shorts. The shorts were tight and when she bent over she showed skin. The tank top was tight, but not restrictive. She thought she wouldn’t be able to breathe the first time she wore it. Not because it was scandalously small, but because it might cut off her oxygen supply. She stood in front of the mirror and read ‘Hooters’ backward—the name printed on the top and the shorts. She smiled.
She didn’t inherit smarts from her mother, but she did inherit her body. And what a killer body it was. She looked like all the women in the pictures of Hooters’ girls: tall, long blond hair, blue eyes, perfect teeth, killer smile, body to die for. At sixteen, she was a 36C, she looked forward to eighteen—bigger size and bigger tips. She walked out of the locker room ready to work.
Brittany’s first stop was at the bar. She read her schedule before going to work. Music played and the customers hooted and hollered as she and her cohorts went by with trays. “Hey, Frankie.” She said as she stopped by her first table.
“Hey, Britt.”
She set a drink next to each man. All four of them smelled of liquor, but only stammered through the doors moments ago. This is going to be a long night, she thought. She gave her best smile. These were her regulars and she knew their drinks. To save time, they told her as soon as they walked through the door to bring them their first round and she did.
“Hey, Beautiful.”
“Hey, Carl. How’s your wife?”
The others razed him.
“Hey, Sunshine,” said another.
“Hey, Brett. How many months is Cathy?”
More razing.
The last man tried. “Hey, Britt, am I your favorite?”
“Well, Joe, if you tip real big, you can definitely be my favorite.”
She winked and made him blush. Joe took his razz with high-fives. They all watched her walk away. She exaggerated her sway and listened for her response, cheers and howls.
“Girl, don’t you get tired of them?” asked a female customer at the bar.
“Nope, they’re harmless, big wallets and little bats.” Brittany and the woman shared a giggle. “What can I get for you?”
“Whiskey sour, please.”
“Coming right up.”
Brittany turned to fix the order. She had a giant mirror in front of her that she used to keep an eye on her customers. She thought the woman looked at her so she did her patented bend to check. The woman’s eyes fixed to Brittany’s backside as if drawn to it by unseen forces.
Oh well, money is money. Brittany didn’t care who gave it to her. She brought the woman her drink and smiled as big as she did for the men.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks,” the woman said. She paid twice the cost of her drink.
“I’ll get your change.”
“No, that’s for you.”
“Oh,” said Brittany, “thanks.”
“No problem. I’m Cassandra. I worked in one of these years ago. Snagged myself a rich guy and have lived the good life ever since.”
“Oh wow, way to go, Cassandra.” Brittany high-fived her.
“I’m thinking of buying the place. Is this the usual crowd?”
“For a Wednesday night, yeah. Stick around for the weekend, we pack them like sardines.”
“I’ll be here. Tell me, Miss . . .?”
“Brittany Dushell.” She extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too. Tell me, Brittany, what did you think of me when you first met me?”
“Uhm.”
“The truth.”
“Okay. I thought you were a lesbian.”
“You don’t serve lesbians?”
“Oh, no. That’s not it. I serve everyone. That was just my first impression.”
“What gave me away?”
“You are a lesbian?”
“I’m bi. What gave me away?”
“Your eyes, you watched my ass when I bent over. I know the look and it wasn’t casual.”
Cassandra gave a beautiful laugh. It filled the air. Misjudging her was a relief. Having a woman own the place would help them a lot. If she could sell the place to her, she would.
“You are beautiful, but I wanted to know how you would react to lesbians. They are a rising demographic in the club scene.”
“Really?”
“Yes. My husband will either buy this bar or open another that caters to the gay and lesbian community. I thought I would get a jump on things and check it out myself.”
“How do you like us?”
“Not bad. Are the tips good?”
“I can clear $500 most nights.”
Cassandra nodded. She finished her drink and asked for another. More customers came in and Brittany left to attend to more of her regulars. She spoke off and on to Cassandra, while servicing her customers. She finally called it a night at 3 am and went home.
The first stop she made was to her mother’s room. She eased the door open to peer inside the dark room. Light filtered in to reveal her mother, safe and sound, in bed and asleep. April looked beautiful in her sleep. Brittany smiled and eased the door closed. It had taken years to repair the rift between them. Both women eventually found peace.
Brittany went to the kitchen and made a sandwich. For obvious reasons, she never brought food home from work, eating it all night, made it toxic for her. She ate half a sandwich and took a can of soda to her bedroom. After a bath, she went to bed and f
ell fast asleep.
In the morning, she stole another peek at her mother before rushing out of the house. April sleeping meant she didn’t have to waste time lying to her about where she was going. Brittany hopped into her ten-year-old Chevy Malibu and made her way to her appointment.
Brittany was led by a nurse to a backroom where she undressed and put on a flimsy gown. She laid on the cold table, feeling every bit a corpse. Her thin gown gave her no relief from the table’s metal surface. Thoughts of horror ran through her head. She closed her eyes tight in an effort to shut them out. It didn’t work. Voices and images flooded her. The quietness of the room woke dark demons within her. They filled the void and sounded off, bringing thoughts of horror and abandonment with them.
Her torture ended when the doctor came in with a nurse.
“Miss Dushell?” he said the name with a soft sound.
“Dushell, as in dew.”
“Dushell.” He looked at her chart while talking to her. “You are here today for an examination? Let’s see here . . . um, I see. Let’s begin. Please slide down and put your feet in the stirrups. Let’s have a look.”
Brittany took a deep breath. She slid down and lifted her legs. Instead of focusing on the doctor, she stared at the nurse’s face.
“Describe your pain, please.”
“I get periodic pains, sometimes they are sharp. A friend of mine had to have a hysterectomy. The doctor told her she had scar tissue in her uterus that caused her pain. I thought mine might be the same.”
“Maybe,” said the doctor, nonchalantly. He pressed harder and she winced. “Have you had any children?”
“No.”
Whatever he did made her wince again. To get her mind off the pressure she felt, she spent her time trying to figure out what the nurse was thinking. Before long, it was over. The doctor left the room with the nurse and she pushed herself back to a more comfortable position.
Zombie Invasion Page 12
