Slasher Girls & Monster Boys

by April Genevieve Tucholke

  When Jaycee’s court-mandated stay was over, Wellways had wanted to keep her there another six weeks to “successfully embed recovery behaviors.” Just another bunch of leeches looking to bleed them for another chunk of change. And who disappears for twelve weeks? You might as well be dead.

  Now Kara looked at her daughter, head leaning against the car window. She wondered if she should ask Jaycee about the night of the call. No, she decided, it would keep. Trouble always did.

  × × ×

  Jaycee had taken a town car all the way up the coast from Los Angeles to Wellways, her new headphones clapped over her ears, watching the coast roll by on her left, listening to the new tracks her producer had sent along. She’d been sure Mama would insist on going with her, but Kara had booked a spot on one of the big morning talk shows to discuss Jaycee’s road to recovery. “Damage control, babygirl.” Jaycee had been relieved at first, glad she wouldn’t have to sit through two hours of her mother talking strategy. Now she felt annoyed. Poor little girl all on her own. That’s the way it would look. Jaycee was tempted to check her phone to see if clips of her mother’s appearance were already circulating online. She turned up the volume on her headphones instead.

  Mama had insisted driving was the best strategy for avoiding the paparazzi, but they were waiting at the Wellways entrance just the same. They descended on the town car, pressing themselves against the windows, jostling one another and shouting her name. The windows were so darkly tinted that Jaycee wasn’t sure why they bothered. They weren’t going to get a shot. Some part of her wanted to roll the window down and do something outrageous. Flash her tits, show them the mess of her chopped-up hair, her new tongue piercing, let them know exactly what she thought of them.

  But before she could work up the courage, the wrought iron gates opened and the car was gliding through. If she’d been high, she would have done it in a second.

  The gates closed and the paps were left behind. No trespassing on private property. Jaycee knew that wouldn’t keep them out for long. A breaking and entering charge and even a night in jail would be worth it for a picture of Jaycee Adams in hospital scrubs or whatever shitty outfit they put her in. The tabloid bosses would bail their photographers out—just part of the price of doing business.

  The car followed a winding gravel drive past green lawns and dense woods until at last the Wellways building came into view. The place looked like a resort—red tile roofs and two white wings stretching out from a central bell tower, all fronted by an arched colonnade. It reminded her of Marcus’s mansion in Malibu, same Spanish style. But she didn’t want to think about Marcus. They’d toured together last fall. He was a little older, and so funny, smart about the industry. He could make her laugh just by pulling a face. They’d played their guitars, talked about recording a duet. But that had all changed when his new album dropped. It just hadn’t gotten heat the way hers had, and that was a shame because it was good, really good. She’d told him so and she’d meant it, but that had only seemed to make him madder. And then those pictures had surfaced. He claimed his ex-assistant had done it, that she was sore over being fired, but Jaycee didn’t quite believe him. As the car rounded a bend, the shadows shifted. The building’s arches seemed to yawn like a row of dark mouths. Jaycee rubbed her arms.

  When the town car rolled to a stop, the driver came around to open her door. Jaycee stepped out and stretched, sliding off her headphones. They were on a high wooded hill that overlooked the highway and the blue sea beyond. She couldn’t see the gates they’d come through, but she guessed most of the paparazzi were dispersing, making plans to return after dark, or maybe getting into their SUVs to head back to LA in search of some other story. Jaycee was surprised at the twinge she felt, like watching Mama drive away on the first day of school. The driver took her bag out of the trunk, then slammed it closed and stood waiting for instruction. Jaycee realized she could actually hear the break of the waves in the distance. Maybe her room would have a view.

  No one had come out to greet her. They were probably making a show of the fact that she’d be treated the same as anyone else here. Jaycee blew out an annoyed breath. They could pretend all they wanted. She wasn’t like everyone else, and she sure as heck wasn’t some high school junkie popping Oxy or cutting herself for thrills.

  “Guess you can go,” she said.

  The driver nodded, then mumbled, “Have a . . . good stay.”

  “Thanks,” she replied sourly, but she still wanted to chase after him, hop back in the car, and beg him to take her home.

  Jaycee straightened her shoulders, fluffed her hair, and headed up the stairs. The doors slid open with a whoosh, and she walked into a plush, high-ceilinged lobby. It was carpeted in soft beige, the dark wood furniture upholstered in earth tones, the walls decorated with vague watercolors of the coastline. Some kind of music was playing, one of those meandering melodies played on a flute with no real structure.

  The woman behind the big, round welcome desk was young and pretty. She smiled at Jaycee and Jaycee smiled back, full wattage. “Jaycee Adams,” she said, leaning her elbows on the counter.

  “Of course,” the receptionist said warmly. “Welcome to Wellways. I’m going to need you to fill out some forms and someone will come get you in just a few minutes.”

  She handed Jaycee a pen and a clipboard full of paperwork. Jaycee hesitated. Mama had always filled out these forms when she was younger, even when Jaycee had gone on the pill. She’d been thirteen, but Mama and her manager had insisted on it. She needed to be on a cycle where she didn’t have to worry about getting her period more than once or twice a year. No cramps, no bloating, nothing to worry about when she was touring or before an awards show.

  She sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs and slowly started filling out the forms. It felt strange, like she was making a confession: birth date, weight, height, allergies to medications, surgeries in the last year. Then she got to smoking, alcohol consumption, and drug use, and it was hard not to smirk. Why did they even bother asking? She went down the column checking the never boxes. All she needed was for a form like this to leak online.

  An older woman appeared through the pair of swinging doors behind the welcome desk. She looked like she was in her fifties and wore scrubs with little Winnie-the-Poohs on them and a pair of those ugly rubber Crocs in purple.

  “Hey, Hollywood,” she said to Jaycee with a big grin. “You hungover?”

  “What?” Jaycee sputtered.

  The nurse held up her hands in a placating gesture. “Lots of people like a last hoorah the night before they go dry.”

  “No,” Jaycee said icily. “I’m fine.” She’d had a little weed before she’d gotten in the car, but just for motion sickness.

  “Good, then let’s lose the sunglasses and get you squared away.”

  Jaycee wanted to throw her Ray-Bans in the old bag’s face, but she took them off and tucked them in her bag. “Sorry, ma’am,” she said in her sweetest drawl, the good Southern girl who didn’t mean no harm.

  “Much better,” the nurse said with a wink. She tucked the clipboard with Jaycee’s paperwork on it under her arm and gave the woman at the desk a pat on the shoulder. “You can take your break in fifteen, Angie.”

  Angie smiled, but as Jaycee hitched her bag over her shoulder she saw the receptionist had her hands balled into fists, pressing them hard against her thighs.

  She hurried to follow the nurse through the swinging doors. As they swished closed, she felt that same little-girl twinge, like she was Alice shrinking down to a smaller version of herself.

  “I’m Nurse Allen, but everyone calls me Louise. Or Lou if you like.”

  “Thanks,” Jaycee said, and flashed another high-wattage smile. “Do you have kids, Lou?”

  “Did have. Lost him in Afghanistan.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jaycee said, internally kicking herself. She’d hoped
Lou might have grandkids who wanted a signed poster or tickets to a show. She could work with that.

  “Me too, kiddo.”

  She led Jaycee down a long hall carpeted in the same beige as the lobby, past some kind of rec room where people were playing cards or watching a TV in the corner. Everyone turned to stare at Jaycee as she passed. She saw the looks of surprise and recognition. One guy sat up and smacked his friend on the arm. She saw his mouth form the words no way.

  They passed through another set of doors and Lou used her keys to open up an examination room. The floor was speckled tile here, and there was a black-and-white photograph of a grove of oak trees on the wall. Through the narrow window, Jaycee could see a glimpse of green lawn, a sprinkler turning in a slow circle, leaving an arc of water that shimmered briefly with rainbows.

  “Hop up,” Louise instructed, patting the paper cover on the table.

  Jaycee hoisted herself up and Louise said, “Okay, kiddo, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to get you checked out, take down all your stats, and help you settle in. Then you can have a shower or a nap before you meet the group.”

  Jaycee rolled her eyes.

  “Yes, that’s right, you’ve gotta go to group just like everyone else, Hollywood.”

  Jaycee felt a stab of resentment. “I’m not an addict, okay? I’m like any other kid who drinks a little too much at a party, only I’ve got the world watching.”

  “You hit another kid with your car, and alcohol wasn’t all that was in your system, was it?”

  Jaycee shrugged.

  “Jaycee, we’re the only addiction program for teens on the West Coast. We’ve got all kinds here and they’re not all lowlifes and burnouts.” Her eyes crinkled and she gave a little chuckle. “Might be good for you to meet some kids who don’t have agents or entourages.”

  Jaycee pressed her lips together. Was she really supposed to open up in a room full of strangers when anything she said could end up on the cover of Us? Jaycee Adams’s daddy issues. Jaycee Adams molested by photographer. Jaycee Adams crying over spilled milk.

  Louise looked down at the clipboard.

  “I see you marked never for drug use. Jaycee, I’ve seen the police report.”

  Jaycee shrugged again.

  “What about cigarettes?”

  “Once in a while,” Jaycee admitted. That wasn’t illegal. “At parties.”

  Louise glanced at the clipboard. “No to alcohol?” She sighed and pulled up a chair. “Listen up, kiddo. Whether or not you think you need it, you’re here for the duration, until we clear you or the court says different. And whether or not you want it, I’m going to do my best to help you while you’re here. Think of it as a vacation. No one’s going to look at you or take your picture. Cell phones aren’t allowed here. Not even on the staff.”

  “You think your gates are going to stop the paparazzi?”

  “Oh, sweetie,” the nurse said, laying a hand on her thigh. “It’s electrified. No one gets over that fence.”

  No one gets over that fence. It should have been reassuring, but it gave Jaycee a cold feeling in her stomach. She realized there was dirt under Louise’s fingernails. Maybe she’d been working outside.

  “You’re safe here,” said Louise, “and I want to help you, but I need you to be honest with me. Think about it: If we started leaking private patient information, would anyone ever come here again?”

  She had a point. “Okay.”

  Louise smiled. She had yellowing teeth, smoker’s teeth. Hypocrite, thought Jaycee, but she smiled back.

  “Now let’s try this again. Alcohol?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many drinks per day?”

  “Sometimes none.”

  “Other times?”

  “If I’m partying I don’t really keep track.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Um, marijuana sometimes.”

  “That it? What about prescription medication?”

  Jaycee paused. “Ambien, Adderall, Xanax, Vicodin, Oxy once in a while.”

  “You have scripts for all those?”

  Jaycee shook her head.

  “Your mom does?”

  She heard the disapproval in Louise’s voice. “Yeah.”

  “Sexually active?”

  Jaycee blushed and hated herself for it. “Not exactly.”

  “Don’t know how it’s done?”

  Jaycee laughed nervously. “I’m just not with anyone right now.”

  “But you’ve had intercourse.”

  “No.”

  “Not even with Marcus Price?”

  Jaycee shifted uncomfortably. “No,” she said, surprised at the question.

  “But you did other things, didn’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Any history of depression in your family?”

  Jaycee blinked. “I—no.”

  “Violent behavior?”

  “My granddaddy had a temper.”

  “Addiction?”

  She didn’t want to talk about her dad. Besides, he was an alcoholic, not an addict. “No.”

  “That wasn’t so tough, was it?” Louise said, and gave Jaycee another quick pat on the leg. “Now I just need some blood and we’ll be all set. You okay with needles?”

  Jaycee nodded and held out her arm. Louise took a slim band of rubber from a drawer and tied it tightly in place above her elbow. Jaycee’s hand started to throb. She couldn’t stop looking at the thin line of grime embedded beneath each of Louise’s nails. She hadn’t spent much time in hospitals or doctors’ offices, but she’d never seen a nurse with dirty hands.

  Louise took an empty syringe from the drawer. “Make a fist.”

  “Uh . . . no gloves?”

  Louise released a laugh that sounded almost like a grunt. “Don’t tell me my job, Jaycee, and I won’t tell you yours.” She grinned again. Up close, her teeth looked more brown than yellow. They were oddly thick, with dirty little ridges. Not like teeth, Jaycee thought. Like tusks.

  Louise took hold of Jaycee’s arm and Jaycee saw that the nurse had coarse, dark hairs on the backs of her wrists.

  “So you didn’t put out for that boy?” Louise asked, and jabbed the needle into Jaycee’s arm.

  “What?” Jaycee squeaked.

  Louise leaned in closer. The smell coming off of her was sweat and the ashy vegetable stink of dumpsters in a hotel alley. Why hadn’t Jaycee noticed it before? She tried to breathe through her mouth.

  “You said no intercourse.”

  “Hey—” Jaycee said, trying to pull back.

  “Careful,” Louise said pleasantly, giving the needle a shove. Jaycee hissed in a breath. It stung. “He religious?”

  “What? No.” Jaycee watched the test tube fill with blood. Louise popped it out, then clicked another into place. “He didn’t pressure me. We wanted to wait.”

  Louise chuckled. Moments ago her laugh had seemed warm and friendly; now it had an ugly, knowing sound to it. Jaycee focused on her blood pooling in the plastic tube, so red, it was almost black. She was starting to feel dizzy.

  “You eat today?” Louise asked.

  She’d had a smoothie for breakfast, but that had been hours ago. Jaycee shook her head and the world started to spin.

  Louise popped the second tube out and locked a third into place. How much blood does she need? “I don’t think—” Jaycee tried to say, but the words felt funny and shapeless in her mouth.

  “Maybe he didn’t want to be in you. You ever think that might be the problem, kiddo?”

  “I think I need to lie down.”

  “Maybe he knows what you are.” The nurse’s eyes looked bloodshot, her nostrils curiously wide and dark. Flecks of foam had formed in the corners of her mouth.

  Jaycee tried to stand, but her knees buckl
ed. Dimly she was aware that there was still a needle in her arm. The room tipped and she hit the white floor with a loud crack. She saw the soles of Louise’s purple Crocs. They were caked with something black and foul. I’m going to die here, she thought, and then the world went dark.

  × × ×

  By the time they got home from the airport, it was late and they’d missed the sunset. Kara walked through the house, turning on lights.

  “No cornbread?” Jaycee asked, eyes roaming over the immaculate kitchen. Like the rest of the house, it was all clean, modern surfaces, bright white, glass and chrome.

  “I’ve got fruit and quinoa,” Kara said cheerily. “Vacation’s over. Time to get you fighting trim. You can have my chili and cornbread when you lose that little pooch.”

  She expected sass back or maybe an embarrassed laugh, but her daughter just stared at her with that same slack expression, as if Kara were speaking some foreign language. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Kara said, surprised by the nervousness in her own voice. “I’m just trying to take care of you.”

  “Where’s Inger?”

  “She has the night off,” said Kara. “House is tidy enough and I figured we could do for ourselves like old times.” Except old times would have been canned soup in a studio apartment in Huntsville.

  They had a light dinner, took a call from Jaycee’s film agent, then Kara got Jaycee settled in her room. “Big day tomorrow,” she said. “Can’t wait to hear what you’ve been cooking up.” She planted a kiss on her daughter’s head. Jaycee’s blond hair was soft as corn silk, just like when she was little. Made it almost impossible to curl. “So glad you’re home, baby.”

  “Me too,” Jaycee said, but her face hadn’t changed.

  Kara put the dishes in the sink, then took a little sliver of Ambien and washed it down with some white wine. On her way back down the hall, she peeked in on Jaycee. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, and had her old acoustic guitar out, the one that had belonged to her daddy. She wasn’t playing, just tuning it, humming a little to herself, a single low, flat note. Still, it was good she had a guitar in her hands. Jaycee was mostly known for ballads and upbeat dance songs, but Kara felt sure they were going to get an anthem out of all this—Jaycee as a fighter, the phoenix rising from the flames.