BEAST

by Pace, Pepper

  “Alma Mae.” Her mother said sharply. And Alma turned with a sulk and plunged her hands back into the sink of greens.

  Okay…something just wasn’t quite right with Alma, Ashleigh decided. Mrs. Jameson gestured to the ground beef that was in a bowl.

  “I’ll show you how to make the meatloaf. Christopher loves my meatloaf!”

  Ashleigh loved the meatloaf too. She could have eaten two helpings but reminded herself that her man would be back in less than a month and a half and she intended to look damned good for him.

  They retreated to the front porch after dinner. Mrs. Jameson talked about the first family reunion that they would have in ages. They had pushed it back a few weeks so that Christopher could attend when he returned.

  “Uncle Ray wants the family to stay together. Now that some of us older ones are passing on he wants the younger ones to remember the family.” Mrs. Jameson explained. “It’s going to be a weekend thing. We got enough family still on that mountain so that everybody’s going to have a place to stay. Ray’s kids offered to stay in the trailer out back. He’s going to put out a tent for some of the young boys. I’m sure they going to want Christopher in the tent with them but you two are going to take the den off of the kitchen-”

  Ashleigh cocked her head at Mrs. Jameson’s words. She’d said, ‘you two,’ as in she was included.

  “Um…did you say for the weekend? On the mountain?”

  Mr. Jameson was rocking in his seat. “Yep. You can visit your kin-folk at the bottom of the hill.”

  Alma snickered. “Daddy, she ain’t trying to be bothered with Cobb Hill Mountain. She’s a rich girl.”

  Rich? Is that what Alma thought.

  Mrs. Jameson gave Ashleigh’s hand an affectionate pat. “You’ll come.”

  She gave Alma a haughty look. “Yes. I’ll be there.”

  Mr. Jameson nodded. “You probably miss the Furnace, too. It’s goin’ be hottern’ hell.”

  “And the goats will stink to high heaven.” Alma said.

  Ashleigh was about to ask about this furnace and why goats were in it when Mr. Jameson had a bad coughing spell and had to be taken inside. Ashleigh made sure he was okay but then indicated she needed to go and thanked them for dinner.

  Christopher’s brother walked her to her car, even though it was just parked at the curb.

  “Thanks for coming.” Butch said. He was in his early thirties and was nearly as tall as Christopher but rail thin. He wore his hair short but it was more auburn than red. He too was pale and covered in freckles and his eyes were emerald green instead of the charcoal gray of his brother’s but their resemblance was unmistakable.

  “Sorry about Dad. I’m sure Chris explained about the stroke.”

  “It’s not a problem. I do understand.”

  “It meant a lot to my mother that you said you’d come down home with us. She don’t really show it but she worries about Chris more than she does anyone else in the family; including my father.”

  She wondered if Christopher knew about that. “It’s not a problem,” she assured him.

  Butch opened the car door for her. “See you next week.” He waved while she drove off.

  ~***~

  Ashleigh spent each evening running the treadmill. Every night Maggie came out of her hiding place to watch her. Maybe she thought it was Chris but stuck around to watch the show. And she sure did put on a show. Every night Ashleigh would run until she stumbled from the treadmill and collapsed onto the plush wool rug. Most nights she was able to drag herself back up and climb on it again, eeking out a few more minutes before her body literally gave out.

  In the morning she’d get up, make a smoothie using one of Christopher’s remembered recipes and she’d head to the gym. The first time she’d gone in after so many weeks of neglecting the place, it felt like Christopher’s ghost was there and she’d been almost too overwhelmed. But then she slipped in a c.d. and she climbed on the treadmill and she began to run. Every day she would turn her mind off and picture Christopher. She pictured his steady form, running, barely looking out of breath; his muscles flexing with each movement of his arms and legs, his torso straight his head facing forward. Or she’d see his naked body, his cock bobbing, hardening because he knew that her eyes were glued to it. She’d meet his eyes and they would be dark with desire. He could have stopped then, and made love to her but he never did. And it seemed that the longer he prolonged it the better it would be when he finally did climb down from the treadmill. They’d make love while he was still wet with sweat, most times never making it to the bed and either falling to the carpeted floor or with her pushed up against the treadmill.

  Ashleigh would begin to forget the world around her. She would look down in amazement when the timer on the treadmill stopped after half an hour. It amazed her the first time she had run at a steady pace for half an hour without even realizing it. She began setting the treadmill for forty-five minutes and still there were days when she was so lost in thought that she was surprised when the machine came to a stop. As the weeks moved on, Ashleigh’s body transformed even though she didn’t know it.

  One day she climbed off the treadmill and saw that two guys were there working out. Two sets of eyes watched her with open interest. She only felt annoyed that they were violating her sanctuary. She quickly retrieved her c.d. and left, not caring in the least that she had left them without music. Maybe they should find another place to work out and ogle women who weren’t interested.

  The next day her feet pounded away on the treadmill. Her breath came out steadily and her pace was even. She didn’t know that her body was tight and toned. There was no a roll of fat and her belly didn’t need sucking in. She wasn’t small she wasn’t big but she was toned. She didn’t know that the man in the gym watched her ass until he could barely complete his own workout. How could a woman be so curvy yet so tight with such a wondrous ass? He watched her with interest and then walked to the boom box and pressed stop, a self-assured smirk on his face.

  Ashleigh pulled the safety line causing the treadmill to come to a stop. She looked over her shoulder while wiping a thin sheen of sweat from her brow. It had been nearly two months since Christopher had shipped out and wasn’t due home until Monday. It was only Wednesday but still she looked over her shoulder with excitement. Maybe he had come back early!

  She frowned when she saw the muscled man standing by the boom box, grinning. He was pumped with huge swollen muscles. His head was shaved and he had striking blue eyes and a blondish goatee. He stood at about 5’10” and wore lycra workout pants and a sweat shirt with arms cutout. It said USMC just like Christopher’s shirts did.

  Her attitude perked. Had his troop returned, after-all?

  “Sorry.” He said, though it was obvious that he wasn’t. “But you were so deep in your workout that I didn’t know any other way to get your attention.” He walked towards her and offered his hand. She looked at it momentarily before shaking it. “I’m Tom Kardel. And you are?”

  “Are you with The DPHS stationed here?” She asked, ignoring his flirtation.

  “The…what?”

  Ashleigh glanced at his shirt. “You’re not with The Marines stationed here?”

  His brow furrowed. “There are Marines stationed here?”

  She gestured to his shirt. “USMC.”

  “Oh I got this at a sporting goods store.”

  “Oh,” she said in disappointment. “Can you put the music back on?” She requested while turning her back to him. She rolled her neck hearing a satisfying pop and then started the treadmill back up and resumed her run. The music never resumed and when she thought to turn around again Tom Kardel had left.

  “Asshole.”

  On Sunday Ashleigh sat in Mrs. Jameson’s kitchen with the other ladies. She’d come every single weekend since that first time she’d shown up hesitantly on the doorstep like a little stray kitten. Surprisingly, it wasn’t out of a sense of duty. This family made her feel closer to Christopher
in the sound of their accented voices, the stories they told about him, and the resemblance that they all bore to each other. And in turn, she began to learn and understand them. For instance, she found that they weren’t just regulated to the kitchen to cook for the men. The kitchen was their gathering place. They drank their coffee or soda, had a slice of cake or pie and they talked about the happenings of the past week. They were funny, and sweet and entertaining and best of all they loved having a new person to tell their old stories to.

  Ashleigh was making the meatloaf as she listened to tales about the wildcats that sound like women screaming and ghost stories about people who had died but then been seen walking in the woods. This was the thing that she missed with her own family. She would see her parents and occasionally her sisters but her aunts and cousins never got together.

  “Ashleigh you got too much onion in that meatloaf.” Alma said. Ashleigh looked at Mrs. Jameson who shook her head indicating that it was okay so she ignored Alma.

  “What time will Christopher get home?”

  “Well...” Mrs. Jameson seemed to be in deep though. “Normally he gets home in the afternoon. He calls me and lets me know he’s home.” Mrs. Jameson winked at Ashleigh. “I guess I’ll get the second call this time. Just make sure he does remember to call me. I’m sure his mind will be completely on something else.”

  Ashleigh grinned. Tomorrow her baby would be home. The two month wait was finally coming to an end. She’d spent most of it trying to get her body back to something Christopher would be proud of and found that she had surpassed herself. She had an athletic body that she could be proud of. In just nine months Ashleigh could now look in the mirror and be happy with what she saw—not that she had. She couldn’t count even one single time that she’d been happy since Christopher’s departure.

  Counting down the last final days of his return was agonizing. She had spent the weekend dusting and vacuuming his already spotless house. Maggie had followed her around until she’d pulled out the vacuum and then the poor cat had gone back into hiding. It had taken months but the cat had finally warmed up to her.

  She focused her attention back to the present. As was the ritual, they had gone out to sit on the front porch to watch the kids play for a while. Ashleigh found herself alone with Alma as Butch and his cousin Nick played stickball with the younger ones and Aunt Edith and cousin Patricia brewed coffee and sliced up cake for everyone while Mrs. Jameson was busy helping Mr. Jameson in the bathroom.

  Ashleigh tensed and glanced at the slightly older woman. She wasn’t attractive nor was she bad looking, but her upturned nose gave her an air of snootiness that was ugly. She had shoulder length hair that was carrot red and her freckles were as plentiful as her sibling’s. She was taller than Ashleigh but far from the six feet plus of her brothers.

  Alma looked at her. “What do your parents think of you and Chris?”

  Ashleigh looked at her. The woman hadn’t spoken more than two kind words to her and now she wanted to ask about her personal business. She looked back out at the kids ignoring her.

  “I guess they don’t think so highly of their daughter being with white trash.” The term alarmed and offended her.

  Ashleigh’s head spun to her. “What? Don’t you call Christopher that! He’s not trash!”

  Alma scowled. “Christopher is poor white trash just like the rest of us. Don’t think just because he works for the government that he ain’t come from the same stock.” Alma got up and walked in a lazy way down the porch stairs. Ashleigh followed.

  “Now wait a minute-”

  Alma began walking away from the house and Ashleigh knew what she was doing; she was luring them away from the rest of the family. Alma wanted to get her away from her Mother and Father so that she could finally get whatever bug she had out of her crawl. Ashleigh was all for it.

  “No you wait a minute,” Alma said almost casually, “because I know you think you going to run through Chris’s money, use him up and when he’s broke just drop him.” Alma looked at her with complete dislike. “But I guarantee that won’t happen. I’m going to be that little bee buzzing in his ear telling him every wrong move I see you make.” And now that they were far enough away from the house that no one was likely to see them, Alma turned to face her, rudely pointing her finger at her.

  “Coming up in here wearing your fancy clothes and your fancy shoes and talking all high-siddity, calling him Christopher when we all call him Chris. You might got them fooled but I know your type. Pretty girls like you always trying to get their hands on an officer’s money-”

  Ashleigh covered her mouth. Did Alma just call her pretty? “God, I thought you were just prejudiced. But you think I’m with Christopher for his money…?”

  Alma scowled. “I never said I wasn’t prejudiced…well truth is I don’t give a damn if you’re black. You high class, I can see that. You ain’t never had to get down on your hands and knees and pull weeds out the garden because if you didn’t and the weeds took over then you wouldn’t have no vegetables to eat at dinner.”

  “Alma!” Ashleigh said. “I make damn near hundred thousand a year. I don’t need Christopher’s money! And I call him Christopher because that’s the way he introduced himself to me. Truth is, there are nights when I’m calling him Chris and honey and baby and whatever else I want…over and over.” Alma’s mouth snapped closed.

  “AND for your information I worked damn hard to get where I am. I graduated with two degrees and have a whopping college loan to pay back to prove it. I got turned down for jobs that white people less qualified got. I trained my own replacement once! And yeah, I never had to grow the food I had to eat, but every bit of money I make is mine to do whatever the hell I want to do with it! If I want to spend two hundred dollars at the salon every other week or buy five thousand dollar Manolo Blahniks then I will!”

  Alma gave her a long look before turning and continuing to walk. She stopped after a moment when she saw that Ashleigh wasn’t following. “Well we better get to the convenient store if we want to convince everybody that we just went off to buy snacks and not to scratch each other’s eyes out.” She waited for Ashleigh to catch up.

  Ashleigh was still breathing hard. She looked at Christopher’s sister, completely thrown off by the flip flop. “So you like me now that you know I don’t need your brother’s money?”

  “I never said I liked you.” Alma said. “I never said I didn’t, either. I just thought…a girl like you would be a gold digger.”

  “Girl’s like me? Black girls?”

  “No,” she scowled, “girls that have to look so perfect.” Ashleigh saw her lip twitch as if she wanted to smile. “But I kinda liked you when I saw you carrying that cute pink Juicy Couture purse. I’ll like you even more if you stay with my brother at least through Christmas so that I might get a half-way decent gift out of him.” Ashleigh did intend to be with Christopher at Christmas and Alma was getting a lump of coal…but it might be sitting in a pink Juicy Couture purse. Ashleigh smiled to herself but Alma stopped walking, her face very serious.

  “I might have been wrong about you. Okay…I have been wrong about you. You love him. You can’t fake that look. Coming around here wasn’t some attempt to ingratiate yourself into my parent’s life like I thought it was.” Ashleigh’s brow jumped up.

  “You figured all that out and you still called me out?”

  “I just wanted to hear you say one thing.”

  “What? That I have my own money?”

  “Exactly.”

  Ashleigh paused before they entered the little corner store. “I’m not going to take your shit. You’re not going to boss me around. If you don’t want to like me than fine. But I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to have to deal with me for a very long time.”

  Doubt crossed Alma’s face. She opened her mouth and closed it. “I have a four hundred and twenty-five dollar leather Louboutin purse.” She twisted her fingers in distress. “I couldn’t tell anybody. Nobody wou
ld understand. My family can’t see why I’d pay that much for ‘things’. I mean, what’s wrong with wanting to get my nails and hair done?! I don’t have to be a fashion model! But so what if I spend my money on things that I like?”

  Ashleigh took another look at the woman. Jealous? Alma had been jealous of her? Her heart softened. “Alma, you have to do what it takes to make you feel good about yourself. You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone about that.”

  Alma nodded. “But…I don’t have anybody that I can…do those things with…” She blushed red and looked so expectant that Ashleigh further warmed up to her.

  “Louboutin? For under six hundred? How?”

  “QVC.”

  “Then it’s not a knock-off…Can I see it?”

  “Can I see your Manolo Blahniks?”

  “Are you crazy?! I couldn’t afford them.” She raised her brow. “But I do have a pair of blue satin Louboutin stilettos.”