by Sandy DeLuca
She looked at me, arms folded. “Meg, I hope you know what you’re doing. We really don’t know much about Ken.”
I waved my hand at her. “It’ll be alright.”
She shook her head. “You’re young. You don’t know men at all yet.”
“I guess I need to learn then,” I told her as I tossed makeup and comb in my bag. Then I left her standing there on black and white tiles with a ray of sun streaming down on the porcelain sink.
As I left Luke’s that morning, I thought about my dad and how we’d clashed through the years. I stood up to him when my sisters didn’t and most times my actions got me grounded. Once or twice he’d slapped me across the face when I defied him by staying after school and hanging out with my friends, or cruising through town with Alan Berle. Dad and I had our battles, but once in a while he was tender, caring.
I thought about Daddy’s angels as I stood in Luke’s parking lot, bag slung over my shoulder, watching the sun rise higher. I thought of Ken gulping down coffee an hour or so before, not bothering with eggs, or the jukebox. I could still feel his breath on my face when he whispered, “Be back to get you in a bit,” before he made his way into a misty dawn. I wondered if he’d eaten someplace else. Maybe he was nervous about our date and food was the last thing on his mind.
My heart pattered each time I heard an engine roar. A couple of guys zoomed by; honking, whistling. I didn’t respond. There was only one guy on my mind.
Ken’s truck came barreling down the road; dust swirled round massive black tires. The truck’s painted images seemed to move. The fire’s flames rose and swallowed the baby and the crowned figure licked his lips as steam from the road spiraled.
It was around eight fifteen in the morning when I climbed inside the place that held the essence and scent of a stranger—someone I should have stayed away from. I didn’t know he’d change my life forever. I didn’t realize that sometimes infatuation is like a potent drug, one that gets a hold of you and doesn’t let go until you give in to it—until it’s too late.
I was hot, ready for anything. I’d worn a tie-dyed mini. It fit snug against my body, rising to my thighs and showing off my summer tan.
Ken’s eyes swallowed me up as he turned the ignition and then shifted into drive. His short-sleeved shirt was tight on his chest and biceps bulged through cotton fabric. Blue veins stretched the length of his arms, swollen with his blood—pulsing with the life force that would soon overtake me.
“You’re so pretty. I wanted to ask you out for a long time, knew it could be good between us.”
“Glad you finally asked.”
“Look, because of what I do I haven’t got a lot of time to wine and dine you. Come Spring I can change my schedule. For now we’ve got to steal time.” He touched my bare leg. “Hope you know what I mean.”
His promises thrilled me. “I know,” I said.
He drove a few miles past Luke’s, took the highway leading to Century Lake and drove down a stretch of dirt road. I smelled the perfume of summer flowers and grass. The lake came into view, blue, sparkling underneath the hot sun. It was beautiful, but for a moment a dark feeling erupted.
I grasped the edge of my seat and thought about telling Ken I’d made a mistake. I wondered if he’d get angry, force me to do something I wasn’t ready for. The dark feeling went away when he turned and smiled at me.
He parked underneath thick trees. We sat there in silence for a while, looking at the lake, and then he leaned over and kissed me. It was quick and frightening. I didn’t stop him when his hands moved over my breasts and then between my legs. It wasn’t long before his fingers were inside me, probing, inching deeper, making me wet.
“We’ll be more comfortable in back,” he whispered to me.
He opened his door, moved around to my side and helped me out. We walked with arms around each other. I felt safe in those arms. I felt Ken’s strength and the hardness of his body.
Blue Jays dipped and dived in front of us and a butterfly—golden yellow with dark patterns on its wings—glided by.
The trailer had boxes neatly stacked in the rear. An army jacket hung on a hook and several pairs of boots leaned against some plastic containers.
I wondered if Ken had been to ’Nam. I didn’t ask. Lots of guys who’d been there didn’t like to talk about it. I didn’t want to do anything to spoil the mood.
I took in a deep breath. I cast my eyes downward. There was a blanket on the floor. It was bright red and green. A face—African or maybe Aztec—was in its center. It wore a crown of bones. There were hearts on its cheeks and forehead. The words Love Potion were stitched across its neck. Its lips were full and its eyes were black orbs.
“New Orleans, right?” I said pointing to the blanket.
Ken chuckled softly. “Yeah. My magical love blanket.”
I wondered if he believed in the power of magic—of spells woven during rituals—or if he was just a collector of oddities. I wondered how many other women had lain on his unusual blanket. A surge of jealousy pulsed through me.
It dissipated when he said, “I’ve been lonely, Meg.”
He grabbed my hair and kissed me hard, running his hands over my body, making me tingle all over.
“There, there, pretty girl,” he said.
He lifted my dress over my head, undid my bra and slid down my panties. He took a step back. His eyes moved over my body. He smiled slowly and then pulled off his shirt. Soft tufts of brown hair covered his chest. He had the look of someone who worked out. I never got to ask if he frequented gyms all over the country—or if he brought his own bar bells into musty hotels, sweating and lifting on a hard cold floor.
He put his hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me down on the blanket. He slid down his jeans and then he covered me with his body. It wasn’t long before everything I knew slipped away. He was inside me, a stranger—a mystic who knew how to make my body feel things it hadn’t before.
I’d done it with Alan Berle before he got drafted. We were both curious about sex. I didn’t feel anything when he moved back and forth inside me. He used condoms. They pinched. It was over quick and that was the extent of it.
This was different. My body and Ken’s mingled like stars in a constellation. He introduced me to sensations hidden in flesh—like an enchanted chest filled with all the wonders of the universe. He brought me places I’d denied, kept secret all my life. Light and dark merged in one terrifying act.
Ken’s wooden drummer dangled from his neck. Its eyes bore into mine and for a moment—a flash—it smiled at me with sharp pointed teeth. It drummed, slow and steady and the sounds of birds, the lake and trees rustling mingled with Ken’s breathing. Sweat trickled from our pores, mixing together like a dark brew.
I climaxed for the first time that day and a second time before Ken told me he was going to explode.
I felt his hot liquid in me, telling myself you don’t get pregnant for doing it once with a guy.
“You come?” He asked me.
I told him, “Yes.”
“You’re really something, Meg. A card reader in New Orleans told me I’d meet a special chick. Must be you.”
“Must be,” I said as he covered my mouth with his. I imagined a woman dressed in colorful clothes, beads and earrings clicking as she turned over cards.
“The woman’s always right.” He told me as he kissed my chin, my neck and then my breasts.
Now a different image played out in my head; an old woman with a scarred face sat at a table covered with a lace tablecloth. A solitary candle burned. Its light illuminated her face. A deck of cards lay by the candle. The woman picked up the cards and shuffled.
A man stood before her. Shadow obscured him. He tossed a bundle of money on the table.
The woman stopped shuffling, counted the money and then handed him a card. “Another deal and it goes on and on,” she said.
The man leaned forward to accept the card and candlelight revealed his face.
“My father,” I said softly.
“What’s wrong?” Ken asked. “You zoning out on me, girl?”
“No, just thinking.” I told myself it was guilt. I’d lied to my father. I took a deep breath and looked into Ken’s eyes.
“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a while,” he whispered.
Wasn’t long before he was inside me again. This time it lasted longer.
He held me for a long time afterwards, not speaking, just kissing me, touching me. I told myself I loved him and was comforted by the thought that each Friday we’d be together. Why would it ever end?
* * *
Hot wind blew on my face as Ken’s truck rambled down the road. He held the wheel with one hand and took my hand with the other.
“I love the open road,” he told me. “Could never stay in one place. Don’t mean the right woman couldn’t share it with me.” He clutched my hand tighter.
I didn’t answer. I imagined myself traveling through cities and towns with him, making love in faraway motels and watching the sun rise at the end of a long haul.
We passed Luke’s, the old drive-in theater and the new mall. I gave him directions to my neighborhood when we passed the Baptist Church.
“Best I don’t go to your door. We’ll wait until the right time,” he told me when we drove over the city line.
He dropped me off at the end of my street. He kissed me goodbye.
“I’ll see you,” He told me. “Friday.”
I climbed onto the walk. My dress had risen above my hips. I tugged it down and then ran my hands through my tousled hair. I turned and saw old Mrs. Beldin peering out her window. I hoped she wouldn’t talk to my parents anytime soon, mention the truck with the odd painting flanking it, or its driver—leaning over to kiss me. I hoped she wasn’t planning on calling everyone she knew to tell them Barry Fiano’s daughter was whoring with the truckers from Luke’s.
I told myself it didn’t matter, that Ken and I had something special. I watched his truck move away, pretending I wasn’t being scrutinized by the town gossip. I felt soreness between my legs and hoped to God that things would be alright.
I walked home, feeling in love with Ken, smelling his scent on my skin, but something inside me said everything wasn’t going to be alright.
* * *
I’m thinking about the phantom girl Linda saw. Linda swears she’ll never try to open her window again, but I don’t think sealed windows, or doors, can keep out evil.
Linda and Lacey carry their trays back to the kitchen. They’re chatting softly to each other. They pass Patrick Lamont. He doesn’t seem to notice them. He doesn’t seem to notice anything.
Flora, a girl with straight red hair and freckles sprinkled across her nose sits next to me. She’s only sixteen.
“Meg, I found something,” she tells me with an excited voice.
“What?” I ask, my eyes darting to a girl sitting a few tables over—Marcy Long. She’s bullied Flora before, stealing clothes from her closet and money from her bureau. I think she’s the one who messed with my things. Can’t prove it though. She’s holding up her arm, looking thoughtfully at a gold bracelet on her wrist. I wonder who she stole it from. I wonder if a knife is tucked in her boot or up her sleeve.
“It’s her second baby. First one was stillborn,” Flora shakes her head. “She was at Juvie before this. Dealing with her pimp boyfriend got her there. Probably lost the baby from the dope and shit.”
“Probably,” I tell her as I watch Marcy sip her milk. She’s just a young girl. No more than sixteen or seventeen. How did things turn out so bad for her? Now I look at Flora. Marcy hurt her. She hurt other girls, too. I refuse to feel pity. “So what were you going to tell me?”
“I found a Ouija board.” Flora says in between mouthfuls of food. “I was in the library last night, looking for a book about The Beatles. Nothing there but a picture book of John Lennon’s art. Then I figured I’d try to find Rosemary’s Baby. I was checking out stuff on a bookcase in the corner. Found the board behind some Sci-Fi novels. It’s old. Looks like somebody stashed it there a long time ago. It was late, nobody else was up. I brought it to my room.”
“Those things are creepy,” I tell her. “My sister, Beth, had one in college. Told me she burnt it because it spooked her. Never went into details, but she looked scared when she talked about it.” Patrick Lamont looks our way and then begins to make his way out of the dining room. He reaches the door leading into the hall and then seems to blend into shadows cast by the large potted plants flanking the walls.
“If you ask for only good spirits to come through then it’s alright.” Flora watches Marcy pour orange juice into a plastic glass. “Come by later if you want.”
“Alright, later.”
“Ok,” says Flora as she turns her full attention to her breakfast. She’s just a little girl. I hope she’ll find happiness one day and that she’ll recover from this horrible experience.
My mind wanders and I wonder who left the board behind, if it’s part of the darkness of the Amelia Leech house, or if it’s just a toy created on an assembly line with a thousand others like it.
No matter. I’m curious, drawn into the idea. I want to ask about Ken. Maybe it can tell me how to find him. I know there are spirits here. I know they see things beyond the walls of this house.
4
The room is dark except for a nightlight. Rain pelts against a lone window facing an empty street. A radiator hisses. The floor creeks. Someone is speaking above the storm and sounds of an aging house.
It’s my sister Beth. She sounds excited. She looks a little scared. She always seems to know obscure and esoteric facts. “The Ouija board has been around for a long time. Originated in China; 1100 BC. Some people call it a spirit board, or talking board. Bet you didn’t know that. Aleister Crowley used one. His friend Achad summoned angels with the damn thing.”
Beth is sitting in a chair, her knees pressed against a girl sitting opposite her. Beth’s hair is tied back with a red ribbon. The other girl is blonde, slender and looks apprehensive. Her name is Belle. I haven’t seen her in a long time. I can’t remember why. She doesn’t speak. Just lets my sister ramble on. There’s a Ouija board balanced on their laps.
“Let’s do it,” says Beth. Both girls place their fingertips on a plastic planchette in the middle of the board. Beth sucks in her breath and then speaks slowly, “Spirits come to us. Give us a message.”
The planchette moves to the right and then stops.
Beth presses her fingers down harder. “Speak to us.”
Belle sighs. “The answers aren’t here.”
Both girls gasp when the planchette begins to move quickly touching a letter and then moving to another.
Beth shrugs.”Jibberish.”
“I have to go now, Beth.” Belle lifts her hands, holds them up and moves her fingers back and forth. “I’ve been with him. So many have been with him.”
Beth opens her mouth to speak, but disappears in dreamtime mist. Now I’m standing by an open grave. Birds screech and cold wind blows.
I remember why I haven’t seen Belle for so long. She’d been missing for months and then the cops found her body buried under a tree by Century Lake. Close to where Ken and I made love.
Now Ken is here, leaning against the truck. His face is thinner, paler. There are deep blue circles around his eyes. His lips are white. Blood drips from the trailer, onto tires and pavement and he tells me, “The magic worked. Moloch will have his sacrifice.”
I awake when a sand truck makes loud scraping noises on the street beneath my window.
I wonder if it’s a mistake to use the Ouija board. I wonder if Ken is more than a stranger I made love with—if he’s something wicked moving through the dark and through people’s lives; destroying them with evil enchantments.
* * *
Ken didn’t come to Luke’s the following Friday. Each time the door opened my heart beat fast and I hoped it was him. I gave
up hoping when my shift ended.
All the things he said to me, his passion and the look in his eyes haunted me. How could he just forget?
He’d come back. He had to.
But he didn’t.
Before the morning Ken and I made love I was lonely. The loneliness hurt. It was nothing compared to how I felt when he disappeared. I cried. I felt like screaming each time Lizzy looked at me with her knowing eyes.
Time went by quickly. With Labor Day truckers began hauling Christmas stock to the malls and stores in surrounding cities. I thought maybe Ken would return. His truck would be filled with sweaters, boots and warm coats, but that didn’t happen.
I got a little concerned when I was two weeks late for my period, but I’d never been regular and sometimes I’d skip three or four months at a time. Once when I was three weeks late, after Alan Berle and I had done it, I took a bus to the clinic downtown and got tested. The test was negative. I didn’t get a period for another six weeks.
I told myself it was more of the same. I convinced myself that a girl with such erratic cycles couldn’t possibly get pregnant.
On the third week, after being with Ken, the smell of Luke’s coffee made my stomach queasy, but other than that I felt good. I figured if I’d be upchucking every morning if I was pregnant. My Mom was sick for three months with Beth, Jen and me. Doesn’t a girl usually take after her mother?
By Halloween my nipples felt sore and when once—when waiting for my Dad to pick me up after my shift—the cold wind felt like razor blades slicing through them.
I needed to get to the clinic, but I read in the paper they stopped the bus runs from my neighborhood. I had my driver’s license, but I didn’t have enough money saved for a car. My father waited while I cashed my check each week, took it all but ten bucks. He knew I kept my tip money in an envelope. I’d hand it over to him every Friday as well.
I put the extra in another envelope and stuck it under my tissues and makeup bag.
