When he didn’t offer anything of his own experience, as a person usually does when they’ve asked that kind of question, she nudged him along. “You were, weren’t you,” she said. “What was she like?”
Suddenly he was on his feet and at the bluff’s edge, where he looked like he was considering jumping. Jennalee had no idea what to do or why asking about his love, the subject he’d drawn her into, was wrong. She fidgeted, then called to him. “Harley? If I said something wrong, I’m sorry.”
In his black clothes he was barely visible, black shadow against blackening sky. “Harley?” she called again. “We don’t have to talk about love.”
“Actually,” he finally said, “that’s just what I want to talk about, only…”
She waited, but he didn’t continue. “You can say anything to me, Harley, anything at all and I’ll not tell a soul. I’m great with secrets.”
He moved from the bluff’s edge but didn’t return to her. Instead he walked around, circling, turning, then finally coming to stand over her. “It was the love of my life,” he said. “I was happier than I knew possible, and then it ended and I am so…so…I don’t know, out to sea I guess, not quite drowning, but tired of paddling.”
“Can you tell me about her?”
“No, because it’s not a her. It was Carroll Fraser, my music teacher. I loved him like you do Mr. Mendel, and he loved me back, I knew that. It was all caught up in the music.”
Harley’s words were stringing together rapidly, like he was turning a throttle to go faster and faster. “When I turned eighteen a year and a half ago…when I became legal…“
Jennalee got to her feet and went to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t knock it away, she said, “It’s okay to tell me.”
He turned and pulled her into her arms, but instead of telling her the rest, he kissed her and not gently like before. His lips were hard against hers, his tongue prodding, and when he began to grind against her, hands kneading her bottom, she responded fully, awakening with surprise and then excitement. They carried on until she put a hand on his erection as she had with other boys, but this time it stopped things. Harley jerked back, letting her go. “I’m so fucked up,” he said before taking flight.
She stood with mouth open as quiet settled over her. She wanted to go after him, but her body wouldn’t move, blindsided by the rejection. What had she done? And what had he said? Not possible. He was so together, knowing so much. If anyone was fucked up, it was her.
She crept down the bluff as the Sutherlands were warming up around the pool. There was nothing formal planned, they were on their own now, but a bar had been set up and John Witherspoon was tending as well as imbibing. People were in the pool, some fully dressed, and laughter prevailed, though in with the clamor there came a few voices distinctly raised in something other than fun. Jennalee circled wide, avoiding them all, which was nearly impossible since they’d scattered into every corner. She was waylaid more than once by a grab of her arm and compliments on her playing.
“Wonderful, young lady,” a woman gushed on liquored breath. “Delightful,” said the man with her.
He said more, but Jennalee yanked free and hurried on, only to be caught again, this time by Marian Sutherland, grand matriarch of the whole thing. “Thank you for a lovely performance,” said the woman, now in magenta. Even in the soft lights ringing the pool, she nearly glowed.
“You’re welcome.” Jennalee scanned the area for Harley. He was not to be seen. When she finally unstuck herself from several more admirers, she ran to Building Eight only to find Noel Sutherland squaring off with the diminutive Earl Laidlaw. A motorcycle sat between them.
Jennalee stopped at the building’s corner to peer around and listen. As she wondered if Harley was inside his room, trapped in his own agony as well as the presence of his brother, Earl spoke more words than he had uttered since his arrival.
“I don’t give a fuck what you want, Noel,” he said, squaring up like some old west gunfighter. “You have no rights toward what’s outside my door so you’d best go inside before I lose my temper.”
Noel, nearly a foot taller, stood his ground even as he appeared to waver like a noodle in boiling water. “But my boys,” he protested. “They don’t need this, nor does my wife.”
“And you? Don’t hide behind your family, Noel. It’s you not liking the bikes, only you’re not man enough to say it outright.”
Noel’s fists were clenched and Jennalee waited for the fight to begin, then noted Earl’s hands hung loosely at his side. She got that this wasn’t cowardice, just the opposite. The small but sturdy man knew he could take the taller one, and also knew Noel was just hot air.
“I don’t like the motorcycles,” Noel managed, though not with conviction. He spoke like he wanted room to retract his words, should they cause trouble. “They’re a bad influence, not to mention greasy, loud, and generally objectionable.”
“I’m sorry you don’t like them,” Earl replied, “but that’s how life goes at times. I don’t happen to care for you, but I’m not making a big thing out of being stuck next door, so why don’t you go inside and treat your family to your winning ways? I’m done.”
With this Earl disappeared inside and Noel stood with fists still clenched until he seemed to discover them and flexed his fingers. He then went inside to his family.
The motorcycles sitting outside the Laidlaw room would make the Preeces happy. No bikes in the room. But what about Harley, the boy? Jennalee looked around, then crept to his door and listened while keeping watch, should some Sutherland or Donna Witherspoon discover her. She could hear the TV going, but nothing more. Maybe Harley was laid out in bed, eyes closed. She finally retreated toward the main building, but as she waded through the throngs, she kept an eye out just in case, knowing the last thing Harley would do was go among the throngs.
She skirted the pool with a wide arc, avoiding the raucous party, but as she passed Building Three, she came upon a woman pressed against the wall by a man whose pants were open. The woman’s white skirt all but glowed as it bunched around her waist, while below, the man went at her in that familiar way. Jennalee tried to see who they were—obviously not a married couple, likely married to others—and she stayed to watch the entire act because who could turn from such a sight?
At last the man issued a moan and rammed home his climax, the woman silent throughout. He then withdrew and stepped back while her skirt fell down into place. He bent over like some runner after a race, regaining his breath, his penis still visible as it slowly deflated. It was when he straightened up that Jennalee saw it was Vaughn Southerland.
Then he turned and caught her looking. “Hey!” he shouted.
She took off running the other way, back behind Building Four and then Five, going around to the other side, where she found Alden Sutherland engaged in a shouting match with one of the nameless hordes. She detoured again, running between buildings, but this put her in line with the pool so she sidetracked at Building Two. Finally, after jumping over a fallen drinker, she landed at the main building where, sitting on the low brick edge of the fountain, she found yet another couple, this one madly making out, the man kneading the woman’s breast as she prodded his crotch.
“Jennalee!” her father called when she hit the lobby. “Where did you go? Your playing was wonderful, I wanted to congratulate you, everyone did, but you ran away.” He came out from behind the desk to embrace her and she allowed a couple seconds, then wriggled away.
“It wasn’t that big a deal,” she told him. “And I’m tired. Going to bed.” She passed her mother as she hurried into the living quarters and heard motherly compliments until she slammed her door. Peeling off her outfit, she slipped on a tee and kept on her panties which, for once, seemed entirely necessary. She took up Bascomb Bunny, hugging him to her as she stood at her window and looked out onto darkness. “You’re not the only one,” she said to Harley, who she wished with all her heart was there looking back a
t her.
Idleness lasted about five minutes. Jennalee had to do something, but what? She couldn’t go back out into the Sutherland zoo, not when the animals were mating across lines. Where was her phone?
The device that had been her lifeline in San Francisco had turned against her a couple months earlier, and not just because of Howard Li’s failure. For her first months of exile, she had texted near constantly with best San Francisco friends Lana and Chloe, who were sympathetic to her plight, even soothing, until they weren’t. They started talking less about her and more about themselves and Jennalee finally tired of herself and her pain, which in itself had become a pain. When she stopped texting them, it all stopped. They initiated nothing, which put her further adrift. Malvern was now her entire world. This was confirmed when she found the phone atop her dresser and saw eight messages from Malvern boys: six from Bobby, one from Alan whom she couldn’t recall, and one from Jimmy what’s-his-name, all wanting to know when they could see her. She had only to respond and an erect little penis would arrive for her to use as she pleased. She was tempted to answer them all, set them up for an orgy on the bluff, make them come and come and come.
“Whatcha think, Bascomb?” she asked the rabbit whose plush was nearly gone, bald in patches where his fabric had worn through. His eyes remained vibrant blue, though they were now buttons, and he’d lost his tail some years back. He looked at her with his button eyes and his silence sealed it. “You’re right,” she told him. “They’re not the answer.” She hugged her one true friend.
It was later, when she lay on her bed in the dark, Bascomb tucked into her arm, that a siren broke the silence. It took a second to figure what it was because it was a city sound. Cops in Malvern? Were there any?
She sat up, as if that would improve her listening, because it now sounded like more than one car. Two? Three? Maybe an ambulance? Had a Sutherland drowned while tangled in clothes not appropriate for swimming? Or had Alden Sutherland, the madman, stabbed somebody with a steak knife or maybe just beat him to death? Or was it Vaughn Southerland’s wife, what’s her name, Anita? Yes, Anita. Maybe she’d fought with the woman he fucked or no, attacked him, maybe cutting off his penis and throwing it into the pool. Jennalee pictured Vaughn running around bloodied, hand at his crotch, while the old man who’d warned her about the one-eyed-worm squealed with delight.
Chapter 14
There was no need for Jennalee to sneak out because her parents were rushing from their room, Gerald half into his bathrobe, which gave Jennalee a view she’d rather not see: plaid pajama bottoms beneath a bare chest scarred down the middle with the red line that marked her father’s heart operation. Why’s it still red? she wondered, but then her mother was taking the lead, flying along without any robe, clad in tasteful pink short-sleeved pajamas and barefoot. By the time the three got outside, police and medical personal had spilled from cars filling the circular courtyard.
Guests were slowly emerging, creeping around the main building’s edges to gawk while Gerald demanded to know what in hell was going on.
“You tell me,” said the police officer who Jennalee noted hunky. “We got a call of an assault in progress.”
“Assault? Good God,” said Gerald. “I know nothing about that. One of the guests must have called, but there’s been no screams, no commotion. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“All quiet then?” The officer cocked his head to take in sounds of the pool party that still persisted at one A.M. “Come on,” he told his deputy, who looked maybe twenty-five to Jennalee, or maybe twenty. Then again, maybe even high school, he was so fresh-faced and skinny. She wondered about his penis, small and pink.
Gerald, Jane, and Jennalee trooped behind the two police officers and a pair of medical personnel who had jumped from their ambulance toting equipment apparently good for any mishap. At the pool, most heads failed to turn with the invasion. A Sutherland man lay face down on an inflatable raft in the deep end of the pool while a couple stopped making out in the shallow end; the man, sighting the invaders, quickly adjusted something below the water. “What the hell?” he called.
“Assault,” said the officer. “We were called about an assault in progress.”
The making out woman, in her forties, began to laugh. “No assault here,” she slurred. “Just the opposite.” She reached down and did something below the water that caused her companion to flinch. He batted away her hand and she laughed all the more.
Others around the pool, several sitting in the grass passing around a bottle, were questioned, but nothing was gained. Whatever assault was taking place was a quiet one. Once all parties at the pool had been taken into account, the officers, medics, and trailing owners, now followed by pool folk in search of new entertainment, took the winding path to Buildings Two and Three where nothing was stirring. It was when the little crowd reached Building Four that a weeping Anita Southerland stumbled into view. “Help me!” she cried. “Help me!”
“Ma’am,” the officer said as she fell into his arms. “Are you the assault victim?”
“Yes, oh yes, I am truly the victim.” Her dark-rooted blond hair was disheveled, as was the whole of her, like she’d been sleeping in her clothes, or maybe assaulted. Her face was flushed bright red, her eyes swollen from crying. “I have been ruined,” she sobbed, “absolutely ruined by the brute.”
Medical personnel stepped up to take her in hand just as Vaughn Southerland stepped into view. “There he is!” shouted Anita. “There’s the culprit!”
“That’s your husband,” Gerald said to her. “Your husband assaulted you?”
Anita began to wail as the officer headed toward Vaughn, who had stopped in his tracks. After a few words, the officer took Vaughn’s arm and brought him over to his wife and the little crowd. “Is this your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Did you assault her?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Did you assault her?”
Vaughn took a moment to let the situation sink in. “You bitch,” he said to Anita. “You fucking bitch.”
“Sir, enough of that,” said the officer, who Jennalee saw puffing up at asserting his power. “Answer my question. Did you force yourself upon this woman as she claims?”
Anita continued to wail while managing to offer some insight. “He’s an animal, taking what he wants, never giving. He can’t keep his dick in his pants. He’ll fuck anything that moves.”
Vaughn shuddered in containing himself and Jennalee thought it masterful, what with the onslaught by a clearly drunken woman. Finally he spoke. “Officer, I’m sorry about this. My wife is a drunk who imagines things and she has given a false report. I have not assaulted her. In fact, I haven’t made any advances toward her in years. As you can see, she isn’t the most appealing creature. I assure you this is all a mistake, and for that, I apologize.”
“Liar!” screamed Anita. She tried to lunge at Vaughn but was held back by not one but two medical personnel against whom she wriggled and kicked. “He fucked Lorene. I know he did, and he took her against her will because no woman in her right mind would allow his filthy prick inside her.”
As exchanges escalated to the point where officers had to restrain Vaughn from doing violence against his wife and medical personnel had to likewise restrain Anita, Jennalee was putting pieces together. After all, she’d seen Vaughn doing what Anita described, so the wife was correct in the sex part. What she had wrong was any assault business because Lorene—it was nice to learn the woman’s name—was a willing partner, enthusiastic even. Jennalee wondered if she should step forward as a witness on Vaughn’s behalf. She had her mouth open to speak when the officer called for quiet from everyone, so she complied and said nothing.
“You—” he pointed to Vaughn “—you’re coming with us, as is your wife. Lady,” he said to Anita who, as if on cue, collapsed.
“Ambulance,” the officer said to the medics, and they ran back to get their stretcher. Minutes later Anita was dr
iven away in the ambulance while Vaughn was taken in a squad car. Silence then settled over the Malvern Gardens Inn, except for the low hum of conversation as people dispersed.
Gerald was slumped in Jane’s arms and Jennalee moved in to prop up his free side. Together they assisted him to the living quarters and then to bed. “Get a place in the country, I was told,” he said as Jane pulled off his robe and laid him down. “Peace and quiet is what you need.”
Jane fled to the bathroom and returned with water and a pill. “Take this. You need rest and you won’t get it after this. Go on, it’s just to help you sleep.”
Gerald hated pills, had proven a disaster of a patient, but now caved and took the pill. Jennalee thought his red scar brighter now and she did her own shuddering, her father looking suddenly frail. When her mother rose to turn off the light and leave the room, Jennalee clung to her like a child, which was how she felt at that moment.
“He’ll be okay, won’t he?” she asked her mother.
“Yes, his heart is fine. You know how excitable he can be and this…this…incident…Honestly, of all things.” She shook her head as they moved to the kitchen, where they stood at the counter and ate peach yogurt to settle themselves.
“Why would that woman report an assault?” Jennalee asked, not so much for an answer, since she had that figured, but just to get some comment.
“She was drunk and is clearly unhappy in the marriage.”
Truth bubbled up inside Jennalee and she took several bites of yogurt before she spilled over. “I saw him doing it,” she said in a near whisper.
“What?”
“I just happened along earlier and there they were, down at the end of Building Three, away from everybody and everything. They were standing and he had her up against the wall, that Lorene, and she wasn’t fighting at all. She was into it, kissing like mad as he went at her like some animal.”
Sutherland Page 12
