Sirens of DemiMonde

by N. Godwin

  “Open them!” they insist as several hands pull me down into the pallet in the heart of their circle just beside the pile of brightly wrapped gifts. I feel pretty silly myself as I move clumsily in my elfish slippers as their tiny bells tingle anytime I move my feet. My family sits down surrounding me, except for Lavelle who sits in the corner closest to the door, but even he is smiling.

  I look at their faces and spot Cecile sleeping across the room on Andrea’s far bunk, and I smile back. “I love you guys,” I say.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Hobie laughs.

  “We already know this,” Tony teases. He quickly hands me a small box wrapped in the Sunday comics.

  I open the box and stare at the exquisite piece of gold in my hand. “Oh my!” I say.

  “Wow!” Andrea whispers.

  “Tony!” I say incredulously holding up the antique, crucifix necklace on a long, thin, golden chain. “I can’t take this! It’s way too expensive.”

  “Sure you can. It’s been kissed by a saint.”

  “Did you steal this from a church?” Andrea asks him suspiciously.

  “No, it was my mother’s,” Tony says and crosses himself.

  “It’s too important to you,” I argue.

  “Then consider it on loan. If I ever want it back someday I know where to find it,” he says and slips the long chain around my neck.

  “Enough mushy crap, open another one!” Hobie says and blows into a paper horn.

  One by one I open their presents: a Walkman and CDs from Hobie, a leather-bound journal from Ken, exotic Arabian perfume from Horst, a scant red Speedo from Andrea (that’s almost a thong in the back!), a jigsaw puzzle of the Tower of London from Robert (you figure it out), a gift certificate for a manicure and pedicure from John and Alan. Mandy and Genie have taken the time to compile a scrapbook of all of us at our best and worst; working, napping, debating, fighting, and playing. There’s even a picture of the five offenders outside on the beach behind La Vela on a sunny day pointing up to the back porch and hiding their guilty smiles behind their hands. Even I laugh over this one.

  Lavelle drew a bold chalk picture of us on a ragged piece of slate, soft exact strokes of each of us. It looks like I have wings and I am surrounded by a sea of smiling, colorful faces, and this brings tears to my eyes. Although purposefully rudimentary, Lavelle’s picture is mesmerizing and very high intensity.

  “Dude, you can draw!” Robert says in awe.

  “Wow!” the girls whisper.

  “Killer, dude,” Ken tells him with renewed respect.

  “Didn’t know you could draw,” Tony says carefully.

  “Me either,” Lavelle shrugs.

  “Where are you Lavelle?” I ask. “I don’t see you anywhere.”

  “There,” he says pointing to a black faceless cloud standing off from everyone else.

  “Wow,” we all say again.

  “Thanks,” Lavelle says and sits down on the end of the large pallet as we all smile.

  “My turn!” Kelly says. “This is from me and Cecile.”

  Her present is the last one, with my name written on a card on top in unfamiliar handwriting. I read the card again and realize this is Kelly’s handwriting, and my eyes tear rapidly. We love you very much, Cecile and Kelly.

  “She’s been writing a couple of weeks now,” Ken tells me proudly.

  “She wanted to keep it a surprise,” Andrea says.

  “And not one misspelled word!” Kelly says proudly.

  I unwrap the small gift. Inside is a handmade ceramic heart. Painted across the surface are the words: God couldn’t be everywhere so He created you.

  “Why are you crying?” Kelly asks softly. “Are you sad?”

  “No silly!” John says.

  “She’s happy, Kelly,” Robert tells her softly.

  “You guys!” is all I can say.

  “Group hug!” somebody yells. In a moment we are joined in a giant bear hug. I realize that I’d been given the gift of a perfect day and I break with superstition and say so. Hugging, laughing, and eyes stinging we hang together suspended in a moment of calm, in a moment of thanksgiving, before Hobie passes gas and we all slug and push him away while he dissects it for us. There is a loud rap on the bunkhouse door.

  “Pizza dude!” John and Tony yell.

  I wipe my eyes as the dudes scamper to the door, collecting donations along the way. The pizza dude looks more than a little startled when they open the door and greet him. He carefully takes in Ken’s fuzzy purple bathrobe and slippers, Horst in his baby doll PJs, John and Alan and Tony in their Disney princesses, and Tony and John’s long hair rolled up on five-inch plastic curlers on top of their head and their faces smeared with garish mkeup.

  “Uh huh,” is all the delivery man says as he pockets the money without even counting it. He quickly takes a few steps backwards then turns around and runs all-out back to his car while we howl with laughter.

  We have our Lamb Chops comforters spread out across the floor like a giant blanket and are languishing happily on pillows as we finish off the last of the pizza and birthday cake, and listening to Andrea’s music selection. Mandy is French braiding my hair into some elaborate weave with tiny peonies interspersed throughout. I study the flowers all around the room.

  “Hey, where did all these flowers come from?” I finally ask, “Horst?”

  “I wish,” he says.

  “Who else knows they’re my favorite?”

  “You know who!” Robert, Tony and Alan say while John and Ken begin smooching at each other as Hobie stands in a corner and hugs himself into a faux make-out for our amusement.

  “He knows about this?” I ask.

  “Sure. We invited him too,” Robert says as Andrea pokes him angrily in the ribs. “Well we did! She’s not 21 everyday and--”

  “So, then, where is he?” I ask, looking around the shadows of the room suspiciously.

  “Why?”

  “You want a birthday kiss?” Genie asks. “Man, I sure would!”

  “Especially from him,” Andrea agrees.

  “Shi—shoot, Jimmy-Sue probably hasn’t ever even been kissed!” Hobie grumbles.

  “Yes she has,” Horst rapidly informs the group. Everyone looks at him then back to me. “Well she has!” he laughs.

  “How ungentlemanly of you sir,” Andrea drawls.

  “Well, it was a dirty job, but--”Horst stops to grin at me.

  “Talk about the blind leading the blind,” Alan says.

  “Hey, Truth or Dare!” Ken shouts and the room goes silent as we assess each other with dare written all over our faces.

  “Yeah,” Tony says.

  “If we’re gonna be girls then let’s be girls!”

  “Truth or Dare!” they chant.

  “Who’s gonna be first?”

  “The birthday girl, dude!”

  “Yeah,” Hobie shouts. “Jimmy-Sue is first. So, who are you going to humiliate?”

  “You,” I say, as he turns pale.

  “Aw man!”

  “So, Hobie, have you ever kissed a girl, Truth or Dare?”

  “Of course I’ve kissed a girl!”

  “With tonguezees?” Andrea implores.

  “She didn’t ask that!”

  “Sure I did.”

  “Ah man,” he moans and blushes. “No. No! Okay?”

  We all howl with laughter and bombard him with pillows. “Why not?” Mandy asks sincerely. “You’re way cute!” she looks down and blushes.

  “I am?”

  “Uh huh, giggle.”

  “It’s my turn!” Hobie says lightning fast. “So Mandy, Truth or Dare, do you like me, even a little?”

  “Dare!” Mandy giggles.

  “All right!” Hobie exclaims rubbing his hands together. “Um, let’s see? I dare you to call Randy at home and tell him he’s an ugly porker.”

  Mandy is over at the phone in a heartbeat dialing away. “Yo, Randy, you’re an uggggggly porker!” She bangs down the phone whil
e we hold our sore sides and laugh.

  “Ah, little dude,” Ken says to Hobie, “why didn’t you just ask Mandy to kiss you?”

  “Ah man!” Hobie moans. “Ah man!” And we laugh harder.

  “Your turn, Mandy!”

  “Who you gonna choose?”

  “Okay, Robert,” she says as we all groan.

  “Man, all he does is gab!” Hobie moans.

  “Not the important stuff,” she tells Hobie. “Haven’t you ever noticed? What’s your story anyway, Robert, Mr.Gab-A-Mile-A-Minute, why did you leave home, dude, Truth or Dare?”

  Robert sits and stares at the ceiling a moment too long and I think about making them change topics, but before I can Robert zones back into the land of the living.

  “My dad,” he says, “he hits, a lot. He drinks you know.”

  “Yeah, sob, sob, sob! His life is a living hell!” Andrea insists shooting twin birdies in the air. We all stare at the anger behind her voice. She catches my eye and apologizes to Robert quickly. “I didn’t mean it how it sounded. It’s just, I mean, whose dad doesn’t drink or hit?”

  “I don’t think mine ever did,” Mandy reflects trying to conjure up a memory of her father.

  “Mine either,” Alan, John and Horst say.

  “Hey! No offense guys,” Andrea snaps. “You guys aren’t Halflings. You have no right in this conversation.”

  “Sure they do!” Ken argues. “It’s a double sided scale.”

  “The hell you say! Face-it, every single Halfling is here because we have abusive or negligent dads and spineless, horny women for mothers! Get over it!” Andrea shouts to the sky. “We’re not the ones with the problems anymore!”

  “Yes we are,” Genie says, “and my daddy never hit me. He just stopped loving us, all of us. So he left.”

  “That’s why I left,” Robert tells us softly. “I started hitting my mom, too, just like Dad. I don’t remember when my brothers and I started in. I don’t even know why I would hit her. My mom wasn’t so bad, just lazy. I never had three meals a day or nothing until I came here. You Know? At home we never did the normal stuff. And the air in my house was smelly and hot. So my parents snort or drink or--.”

  “I’ve only had a Christmas tree two times since Daddy left,” Genie says pulling on her doggie tail and biting her bottom lip, “and my Mom stole one of them right off the neighbor’s car.”

  “My mom would steal stuff too,” Lavells says.

  “No kidding!” Ken jokes and the whole room laughs, even Lavelle.

  “I remember,” Robert continues, “when Mom made these little sugar cookies the day before Christmas. I’d never seen her bake anything just for fun before. They were like warm little stars in my hands. I hit her really hard that night.”

  “No way, dude,” Hobie whispers.

  “Did she get mad when you hit her?” Andrea asks rubbing an invisible scar beside her chin.

  “Nah, she just cried a lot,” Robert says and hangs his head. “She never talked much because that’s when we’d all start hitting her. So the day after I hit her, that Christmas, I walked out my old man’s front door and I never went back.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Aw, that’s sad!”

  “Ditto.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know,” Robert says and bursts into tears. “I know it, I’m a jerk!” He is suddenly bent over and sobbing.

  John and Tony pat his back. “Man!” Tony tells his friend. “You don’t got--have a mean bone in your body!”

  “But I did!” Robert sobs as his glasses fog up. “Maybe I still do?”

  “Ah, no,” Andrea says and even pats his back trying not to make a disgusted face, “you’re annoying as hell but you’re not mean.”

  “Really? Thanks!” he tells her blowing his nose on her sheet.

  “Could we, like, lighten up a little?” Horst asks. “This is supposed to be a party!” Like a rubber band everyone snaps back into a cheerful mood. “Hey, Robert, you’re turn, dude.”

  Andrea curls her lip and kicks at the offending linen while Robert dries his eyes. His eyes scan the room and land on John. “Okay, Alazar, dude, if you’re such a ladies’ man how come we never see you with a girl?”

  “There are so many,” he sighs.

  “Yeah,” they tease, “how come?”

  “Bet he’s got a married woman!” Tony says.

  “Truth or Dare, John,” Robert continues cracking his knuckles, “who do you got-- have the hots for?”

  “Dare,” John replies all curled up like a panther as he surveys his nails and avoids our eyes.

  “All right,” Robert shouts looking around the room seeking a suitable punishment, “go stick your face in the toilet!”

  “No way!”

  “Then tell us who you loooove,” Robert and the dudes say.

  “You know,” Ken slowly tells John. “It is only the girl’s john and we all know how anal Andrea is.”

  “Am not!”

  “Are too.”

  “So it’s gotta be gleaming,” Horst adds, nodding his head.

  “Aw, man!” John groans standing.

  A moment later he is in the bathroom. We watch as he lifts up the seat and stick his entire face down into the bowl.

  “Gross!” we howl.

  “Man, he must love Eunice or something,” Hobie moans with a shudder of disgust.

  “It’s probably Jimmy-Sue.”

  “Hey, John,” I joke as he covers his face in soap lather and bubbles washing his face as fast as he can. He is making gagging sounds, “if it’s me you love I love you, too,” I say smacking my lips at him.

  “My turn!” John says wiping his face and throwing the hand towel in Robert’s face. “Yo, Lavelle, how come you always got your hand down in your Johnson? Every time I see you it looks like you’re touching yourself. What gives, you hung like a horse or incredibly horny, Truth or Dare.”

  “Maybe he’s got those little white itchy things?” Kelly defends.

  “Crabs you mean?” Genie asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Ugh, I hate those things!” Andrea agrees

  “You’ve had an STD?” Hobie asks her. “Where’d you get it from?”

  “Ah hell, Hobie!” Andrea laughs too sharply, “from my brothers mostly.”

  “Gross!” Hobie says with a shudder. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Yeah,” she says nodding her head. “You can’t imagine how gross. They used to hold me down and take turns. Sometimes good old dad would rate their performance; he did pay the bills, after all.”

  “That’s messed up!” Genie says.

  “Really twisted, girlfriend,” Hobie adds sympathetically.

  “What pigs!” Horst almost spits in disgust.

  “My uncle used to—used to—you know,” Mandy whispers.

  “Cousins,” Genie joins in holding up two fingers.

  “Man are we a fucked up group here or what?” Andrea scoffs. “Oh! Sorry, Jimmy-Sue, here take five.”

  “It’s a freebie, it being my birthday and all,” I allow appreciating a rare occurrence when I see one.

  “I’m sorry but has anyone of us had a normal sexual encounter?” Andrea asks scanning our faces hopefully.

  “I have,” Ken says. “And I like it.”

  “I have too,” Tony says and smacks his lips.

  “Um, excuse me again,” Horst tells them and sighs. “This is a party. Remember? Could we find a topic less upsetting?”

  “I’m not upset,” Andrea and Genie say.

  “Well you’re upsetting me! Can we shift to a parallel universe where everyone is happy?”

  “I’m happy,” Mandy giggles.

  “Me too,” Hobie says thinking hard.

  “Ditto.”

  “You’re turn for Truth or Dare, Lavelle,” Robert says, “although you didn’t really even answer the question. Aren’t you happy here? Don’t you like any of us?”

  Lavelle actually moves up into our circle. “Of c
ourse I like it here. And, I don’t got no…don’t have no…any crabs, and I don’t play with myself. I keep my money there. Okay. I got me one,” he says. “Robert, Truth or Dare, spud, when’s the last time you took a bath? You stink.”

  “Dare!” Robert sulks.

  “Okay. I dare you to be quiet for thirty minutes solid.” Lavelle looks at us smiling big then winks and shares a high-five with Andrea.

  “Ah man!” Robert moans.

  “Shh!” we all say with fingers to our lips.

  “Since Robert can’t talk no more—any more I get to take his place!” Tony says leaning in to us and looking at Ken. “Truth or Dare, Killer, are you really going to leave this place in a few weeks or are you just--”

  “Dare!” Ken replies quickly because this is one topic Ken and I never discuss in detail.

  Tony makes a sinister face and rubs his hands together. “I dare you to run to the convenience store next door and streak inside, buck naked.”

  As we awe over this, Ken doesn’t hesitate a second, he stands and walks outside while we all follow silently behind. As he walks toward the store he drops his ugly purple robe with its fuzzy orange flowers to the ground. A moment later we see a flash of a slim white butt as he runs for the store. We are running as fast as we can, trying to keep up but Ken has a good lead and just as we hit the pavement he streaks inside the brightly lit store.

  Two middle-aged women are sitting behind the counter smoking and reading gossip magazines as he flashes inside. They barely look up as Ken jumps up on the counter and begins to gyrate to some internal music. One slightly lowers her paper as Ken bumps and grinds his goods in her face. The other yawns. Both take another drag on their cigarettes. A moment later Ken jumps down from the counter and streaks back outside while the two women break out laughing.

  “Always a pleasure seeing you, Killer,” we hear one yell as the door closes behind him.

  Ken streaks by us and we slow our pace as we follow him back toward the bunkhouse. We watch as he turns the dark corner and disappears and we’re still laughing. We laugh even harder when we hear his mock yells of distress as if being attacked by gaggle of teenage girls, which, by the way, all of us would believe.

  “Let go of my arm, asshole!”