by Julie Smith
“Well, that’s my dilemma. You think I was depressed before…”
He was serious a moment. “Hey. Did you find a new therapist?”
“I didn’t look. Wait a minute! I bet I could go back to Boo.”
“This is moving too fast for me.”
“Her husband was Jacomine’s press secretary. But Jane Storey just told me he quit.”
“Listen, maybe you should get together with the husband. He must have quit for a reason.”
She considered. “Not a bad idea—Jane’s probably all over him, but I’m sort of a friend of the family; that might help.” She looked at her watch. “Let’s go, though. Dee-Dee’s probably getting restless.”
“Half-drunk,” Jimmy Dee said when they arrived. “I find a glass of wine distracts from restlessness. On the other hand, it has a price.”
Skip’s head swivelled. “Where’s Layne?”
Dee-Dee turned his palms up, casual, but there was a catch in his voice: “The Angel problem. He can handle about an hour, so he’s coming for dessert.”
“I really must get those witches on this.”
“ ‘Eye of newt and toe of frog. Wool of bat and tongue of dog.’”
Steve said, “Is that what we’re having for dinner?”
“We are having my justly famous couscous.”
“Funny, you’ve never mentioned it before.”
“I’ve never made it before. But it will be famous, I’m quite sure. Kenny will tell all his little friends how awful it is.”
She said “The kids are joining us?”
“Kenny’s desperate to see Steve. I hope you don’t mind. And I’m trying to teach Sheila manners.”
Steve said, “Kenny wants to see me?”
“Frankly, I think he wants an update on Napoleon.”
When they were all seated and Kenny had been filled in on Steve’s German shepherd, Jimmy Dee said, “How’s L.A.?” in a way that made Skip suspicious.
He and Steve had never really hit it off—out of jealousy, she was pretty sure—but things had gotten better after Layne came on the scene. Still, Skip wouldn’t have expected the line of questioning she thought he was about to pursue.
“Same old rat race,” said Steve.
“Still thinking about moving to New Orleans?”
I was right. I must really be pathetic if Dee-Dee thinks he can’t take care of me himself.
“I just have to salt away a few more pennies, and then I think it’s really going to happen.” Steve was a documentary filmmaker who’d one day stumbled into a lucrative career as a film editor—a career he wanted to milk thoroughly before making the move he’d long talked about.
“Phooey,” said Kenny. “Napoleon’s probably dying to come back—it’s his home town.”
“Yeah, he mentions it pretty often. Actually, I might be able to come for a few weeks now and then if I get my new project going.”
Sheila said, “May I be excused?”
“Sheila, we just sat down.” Dee-Dee couldn’t keep the impatience out of his voice.
“Look, my plate’s clean.” She held it up. “It was delicious, Uncle Jimmy.”
“You must want something.”
“No, I liked it. Honest. But—you know—dinner was way late and I have homework.”
Kenny said, “Me, too?”
“Okay, then. Since you ask so nicely.”
When they had gone, he shrugged. “What are you gonna do—chain ‘em to a chair?”
Skip said, “Well, anyway, they made a clean getaway. Manners lessons workin’ out.”
“Am I a great father or what?” He looked the slightest bit smug. “It was easy. I promised to send them to manners camp if they didn’t shape up.” He looked at his watch. “May I be excused, too? I need to call Layne.”
An hour and a half later, full of couscous and Jimmy Dee’s chess pie, feeling mellow and talkative, Skip and Steve returned to the garconnière. They sat on Skip’s bed, cross-legged, facing each other. Steve took her hand. “You seem almost… okay.”
She pulled back, slightly embarrassed. “Nothing like building up a good head of anger to make you forget your troubles.”
“I guess the shrink knew what she was doing.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it? I could have done volunteer work—or come out to L.A. to visit you…”
“A great idea.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, there’s a million things I could have done, but I didn’t have the energy or the inclination.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“I can’t help it. If I could have, I would have. I just couldn’t move. Have you ever been that way?”
“When I’ve had the flu.”
“It was like that. It seems so strange that getting good and mad is the only thing that could get me out of it.”
“Oh, come on, it isn’t only that. You’re trying to prevent something terrible.”
“Mighty Mouse, that’s me.”
“‘Tell me something. Do you ever think about…”
“Shavonne crawling across the floor?” She felt her eyes close for a moment. “Yes. I still do. What’s that?”
“It sounds like someone knocking.”
“Dee-Dee!” She stepped onto the balcony. “What is it?”
“Can we come in a minute?” Layne was with him.
As she opened the door, he said, “Guess who’s missing?”
“Well, not Kenny. Must be Little Miss Manners, who really liked the couscous—’honest’.”
He put a hand to his head. “How could I have been so dumb?”
“I would’ve fallen for it. I mean, I did.”
“What do you think I ought to do?”
“I don’t think she’s run away, Dee-Dee. Remember how she said, ‘dinner was way late’? She must have had a date.”
“A date! She’s supposed to get picked up at the house.”
“Maybe she thinks the guy’s socially unacceptable.”
“You mean like, my age, say? A pervert? It’s that damned teenage computer conference—she probably met some pedophile.”
Layne said, “James, will you calm down? She’s only been missing an hour or two. She’ll probably be home by midnight.”
Skip nodded. “We’ll go stay with Kenny while you take Layne home. That’s what you came for, isn’t it?”
Dee-Dee nodded.
“And if she’s not home by the time you get back, I honestly think the best thing is just to go to bed—and give her what-for in the morning.”
“What-for indeed. She’s grounded till the next century.”
* * *
“‘Torian! Come down, quick! Somebody to see you.” Paulette sounded unlike herself, almost frightened.
Torian thought: The Rev again? She was reading in bed, wearing a T-shirt and panties, Faylice asleep in the next bed. She didn’t answer, not wanting to wake her roommate, just pulled on yesterday’s shorts and hit the stairs.
“Sheila!” Torian’s bare feet moved so fast the worn carpet burned them. She’d never seen Sheila like this, hair unkempt, cheeks wet from crying. “Sheila, what is it?”
Sheila glanced at Paulette and didn’t answer, just threw her arms around her friend. “Oh, Torian, I’m so stupid.”
Torian also looked at Paulette, but not distrustfully— beseechingly. She couldn’t imagine anything happening to Sheila. What on Earth should she do? For the moment, she just held her.
When Sheila pulled away, Torian said, “This is Paulette. She’s so cool.” And then she noticed her friend’s jaw was swollen. “What’s this?” Impulsively, she touched it.
Sheila winced.
Paulette didn’t offer to shake, didn’t even acknowledge the introduction, simply said, “Honey, you need a place to stay?”
“Yes! Can I really stay here?”
Torian was going crazy. “Sheila, what’s wrong?”
Paulette said, “Better get some ice on that. Come on. Let’s go on in the kitchen. I’ll make y’
all some hot chocolate.”
It wasn’t really hot chocolate weather, New Orleans being a September furnace. But the AC was on, and nothing else she could have mentioned would have been so perfect, so comforting.
This must be what a real mom is like, Torian thought.
She couldn’t wait to question Sheila till they were sitting civilized around the table. “What’s wrong?” she said again.
Paulette said, “Come on, y’all.”
They followed her to the kitchen, and by the time they were there, Sheila seemed to be recovering her composure. She looked very pale.
Torian remembered something. “You were supposed to meet Joe Eddie … oh, no! You got mugged on the way.”
Sheila shook her head, wiping tears with the back of her hand. “He tried to rape me.”
“Joe Eddie?” Torian couldn’t take it in.
Paulette, fooling with ice trays, spun around, alert. “Sheila. You really okay? He just tried, or he did?”
“Oh, he didn’t. Uh-uh.” She shook her head vigorously. “Listen, I don’t weigh a hundred and forty-five pounds for nothing.”
Paulette gave her a dishtowel full of ice cubes. “Sit down, baby. Hold that on ya jaw.” She busied herself at the stove.
Torian sat down with Sheila. “What happened?”
“Well, I went to meet him when he was getting off work, and he said, ‘Let’s take a walk.’ So we walked to an apartment building, and he started to unlock the door. I said, ‘Where are we going?’ and he said, ‘My friend lives here. He’s letting us use the apartment.’ ”
Paulette said, “Uh-oh.”
Sheila nodded. “That’s what I thought. So I said, ‘I don’t think we know each other well enough,’ and he turned around and he hit me. Just like that.” Her face wore a look of utter bewilderment. “He didn’t say a word. Just hit me.” She rubbed her jaw.
Paulette said, “Mmmm. Mmmm. Mmmm,” as if she had heard it all before.
“Omigod. Then what?” said Torian.
“Well, I was so surprised, I grabbed my chin and said something dumb like, ‘What’d you do that for?’ And he backed me up in the entryway and groped my boobs. I was trying to fight him off, and he was laughing. Then he put an arm around my back to hold me and with the other, he tried to unzip my jeans. And suddenly I thought, ‘Holy shit, he’s trying to rape me.’ It just never occurred to me, you know?”
“Did he say anything?”
“Yeah, he said, ‘Come on, baby, you know you love it.’ Anyway, when it occurred to me what he was trying to do, I kneed him.”
Torian giggled. “Just like they tell you.”
“Guess what? It works. He fell back, and then I hit him in the stomach.”
Paulette said, “Good for you, girl,” and set a cup of cocoa in front of her.
“There was a taxi going by, so I just grabbed it. I told him to go to my house, and we were almost there when I thought of what was going to happen when I got there.”
“What?” said Paulette.
“Well, see, I sneaked out for my date, so they were going to kill me for that. And then I went out with someone I didn’t run by Uncle Jimmy first.”
“Why’d you do that, baby?”
“Well … I sort of knew they weren’t going to like him.”
“Why?”
“You know—he doesn’t go to high school, his family doesn’t know my family, all those stupid things.”
Torian said, “He’s quite a bit older, too.”
“But I never thought he was dangerous.”
“Honey,” Paulette said gently, “there might be a reason they got those rules.”
Sheila looked into her cup. “I know,” she said in a small voice.
Paulette got up again, as if repenting of bringing up an unpleasant subject. “Let me get ya some whipped cream for that.”
She squirted some into Sheila’s, then Torian’s cup. She looked at Torian when she spoke again. “Whenever an older dude goes out with a young girl, ya know what? He controls her.”
Sheila stuck out her jaw. “He didn’t control me.”
“Well, he tried, baby. He thought he could. He was cruder about it than most, but, believe me, they’re all like that, whether they mean to be or not—”
“Mean to rape you?”
“No. Mean to be the one in charge. It’s real dangerous and real bad.” She glanced at Sheila quickly. “Now, honey, don’t think I’m judging ya. I know why ya don’t want to go home. Ya think they will judge ya there. And punish ya, too—right?”
Sheila looked miserable. “I don’t know. I just feel like it’s my fault.” Her eyes filled and a sob came out of her throat.
Paulette put an arm around her. “Well, it’s not, baby. Don’t you forget that. It’s just plain not.”
“I feel like somehow they’d make it my fault.”
“Ya might be wrong about that, but we’re not gon’ argue about it. I’m gon’ give you a nice warm place to stay, but ya gotta do two things—first, don’t say where ya stayed, okay? ‘Cause this is illegal. I do it because I think there’s a need.” She smiled. “And I love kids.
“Second, do ya want to call the cops? They can’t come here, but ya might want to think about whether ya want to let that bastard get away with this.”
“Well, I don’t want him to get killed.”
“The cops won’t kill him, baby, why do ya think that?”
Sheila laughed. ‘Cause my Aunt Skip’s the cops— and she’d murder him.”
“Ya never going to tell her?”
Sheila shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know. I feel so mixed up. I just don’t want to deal with it.”
“I know how ya feel, honey. But they might worry about ya. Want to give ‘em a call or anything?”
“I just can’t… talk about it yet. To them, I mean.”
“Well, what if I call ‘em? I’ll just say you’re all right and you’ll call back tomorrow or somethin’.”
Sheila looked uncertain, but a sudden calm had come over Torian, now that she knew her friend wasn’t badly hurt and hadn’t been raped. Somehow, she knew exactly what to do. She said, “No, I’ll call,” and Sheila shot her a grateful look.
“I’m going to call Skip instead of Uncle Jimmy.” She got no answer, but left a message saying Sheila was with her, and they’d be in touch soon. “Is she working tonight?” she said when she was done.
Sheila shook her head. “Probably out looking for me.” And then she smiled for the first time. “Or screwing. Steve just got here.”
Paulette winced. “Girl, girl. Y’all talk like sailors.” When they had finished their cocoa, Paulette said, ‘Torian’s already got a roommate, so I’m puttin’ ya in with Adonis.”
“That’s a girl?”
“That’s what Torian said. Why’s that a boy’s name?”
“Guess it isn’t.”
Torian slept as soundly as if she’d run a marathon.
Chapter Twenty
BOO THOUGHT: IS it raining? She listened, but heard nothing.
Why did I think that?
I must have heard something.
She saw that she was alone. Something didn’t feel right—that must have been it.
She remembered why Noel had left and she thought then that perhaps a dream had awakened her, that surely she had dreamed after so shattering a revelation, that her psyche must be struggling like a child thrown in the ocean to understand the thing that had happened to her.
What did I marry? Was I molested as a child and I’ve set up a replay?
Her gut told her it wasn’t that. It was something even harder and less acceptable, something about power, about control, something it made her angry even to consider. Angry at herself, mostly.
Shit. I’m supposed to know what I’m doing. I’m supposed to have some sense.
What in the hell am I going to do now?
Get a divorce, I guess.
The answer—so simple, so straightforward—filled her with
unutterable despair—not pain, but a feeling of clammy emptiness. She had a vision suddenly, a sort of hallucination, of a terra-cotta pipe that sweated freezing, filthy, foul-smelling liquid.
Stumbling, not really knowing what she was doing, she found her way to Joy’s room and nearly picked up the sleeping baby, wanting desperately to hold the child to her heart and hug her like a teddy bear.
She caught herself. That’s right, Boo, pass on the pain to your daughter. Real mature idea.
Oh, shit, I need the cat.
She padded to the living room, turned on a light, and checked Melpomene’s favorite chair, an ancient rocker with a red cushion. It was empty.
I know where she is. She probably slipped out when I went to turn off the light in the slave quarters.
The red pillow on the rocking chair was an old one, having once been retired because of a cat-sized indentation in its middle. Boo had bought a new pillow, exactly like the old one, but during the renovation had put it on a shelf in the garage, giving Melpomene the old one out of pity. More than once, though, she’d found the cat on the shelf when Melpomene got caught between the house and its outbuilding.
She opened the door to the garage and there was Melpomene, curled up on the pillow, at eye level. But at the same instant she registered something else—the car was running.
The garage was filled with exhaust.
She held her nose and slipped into the garage, intending to circle the car from the back and turn it off. She didn’t look at the floor, so she actually tripped over her husband’s body before she saw it.
She knew that he was probably dead, but she didn’t stop—turned off the car as planned, and opened the garage door into the courtyard. Air rushed in as she knelt beside Noel. His body was cold.
Her scalp prickled and she began to sweat. Not knowing why, moving like a robot, she picked up the red pillow with the cat on it and brought it out onto the flagstones. The disheveled corpse of the cat made a tiny, agonized sound, and she was suddenly galvanized, no longer moving like a robot, but leaning over Noel, meaning to breathe into his mouth. She nearly vomited, realizing that he was dead before her lips met his. She was aware, as she bent over him, that his crotch was wet, that he had emptied his bladder in death. Yet her hand, having already begun the action, opened his mouth to clear it of obstructions. The night—early morning now—was warm, yet his skin was deadly cold.
