Mad Girls In Love

by Michael Lee West

  I angled into the lane marked Long Term Parking and pulled a ticket from the machine. The gate lifted and I drove into the lot. The humidity was intense, but I told myself to get used to a warm climate. In the heat-warped light, the vehicles in the lot seemed to sway as if the colors were melting. I parked next to a red Volvo, tucked the ticket behind the visor, then pushed the keys under the mat. A month from now, maybe longer, it would be noticed. By the time it was traced back to Claude, Jennifer and I would be out of reach.

  As I got out of the car, an airplane passed over, stirring up a hot breeze. It smelled of fuel. I lifted the baby, who was still clutching the tufts of hair, seat and all, into one arm, then grabbed the suitcase with my other. I struggled across the shimmering parking lot, stopping several times to rearrange my load. The blistering wind snapped the hem of my dress, ruffling it above my knees, but I couldn’t push it down. Jennifer was hanging on to the neckline of my dress, her head swiveling each time an airplane passed overhead.

  “Ya!” she screeched, then opened her fist. The fine hairs were sucked up by the wind.

  When the cab turned down Tulip Lane, the bridge players’ cars were still lined up along the curb in front of Eunice’s house. I paid the driver, feeling terrible about the miserly tip, and then lifted the baby into my arms and got out, pulling my suitcase and the car seat onto the sidewalk. Jennifer peered over my shoulder, watching the seat. “Ba-drang,” she said gravely.

  The cabbie gave me the finger and sped off, his tires squealing. Leaving the suitcase on the walkway, I grabbed the car seat with my free hand, dragged it up to the porch, and rang the bell. Once again, Eunice opened the door. This time, instead of holding a napkin, she clutched cards. The backs were printed with magnolia blossoms. Inside, laughter floated out, spiky and harsh. A glass broke and someone yelled, “Whoops!”

  “You’re back!” Eunice said gaily, fanning herself with the cards. Her curls bobbled up and down. “Alice Ann said you’d called again. In fact, she was playing in the garage, waiting for y’all to get here.”

  “Is she there now?” I glanced toward the driveway. “I’d like to tell her ’bye.”

  “Oh, honey, they ain’t no telling.” Eunice laughed. Then her face fell. “You didn’t come back for the car? You came all this way to see Alice Ann?”

  “No, I want it, but first I’d like to do a test drive.”

  “Yes, yes. That’ll be just fine.” A tinkly laugh drifted up from Eunice’s throat. “You go on to the garage, sugar. I’ll be out in a jiffy.”

  I stepped up to the garage. The door was still open, and a shaft of sun shone down on the Cadillac’s hood, turning the metal a rich iridescent green. “Alice Ann?” I called. There was no answer. A mockingbird twittered from a branch, mimicking a cardinal. Eunice waddled down the back steps, right foot, right foot. She had ditched the cards and was clutching the keys to her chest.

  “Did you find Alice Ann?” Eunice called.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Well, it’s no wonder. She’s just like her mother. Can’t stay put. Gotta keep moving. But Alice Ann’s real smart—she gets that from my side of the family. My son was a straight-A student. Alice Ann is so bright the teachers don’t know what to do with her. She’s a pint-size actress, too.” Eunice rolled her eyes. “It’s just the hardest thing in the world sometimes. Well, here’re the keys, sugar.”

  “First let me see if the baby seat fits,” I said, dragging it over to the passenger side.

  “I was wondering what that was.” Eunice pointed to the padded chair. “In my day, we let the children stand up. That’s what I did with Alice Ann, and somehow she survived.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I just like to be safe is all.” I shrugged. “Would you mind holding the baby while I buckle in the seat?”

  “Hand the little darling right over.” Eunice reached for Jennifer, making a clucking nose, then scooped her out of my arms. The baby watched Eunice’s mouth, then she let out an indignant screech.

  “My, she’s got good lungs,” Eunice said, letting Jennifer play with the keys. “Alice Ann had good ones, too. Lord, I’d be out in the yard, and I could hear her crying from her crib. Even now, when she gets mad at me, she has a fit. She’ll scream until she gets her way.”

  “She’s lived with you a long time?” I asked, reaching out to open the Cadillac’s door. The door creaked open, and I set the baby seat inside. While I secured it with the seat belt, I breathed in the stale air, mothballs and dust and peppermint candy. I glanced into the backseat and saw a tartan blanket on the floor. I started to reach for it, but Jennifer began to whimper. I turned and held out my hands.

  “I’ve had Alice Ann since she was a tiny girl,” Eunice said, depositing the baby into my arms. “Her mother would drop her off and just disappear.”

  Eunice raised one hand and swirled her fingers in the air, as if demonstrating the capricious nature of Alice Ann’s mother. “My son married himself a lowdown girl from the Gulf Coast. She said she was a stripper, but I don’t know for sure. Well, you know how the young people are. They fall in love at the drop of a hat. After Alice Ann was born, my son got sent to Vietnam. His helicopter got shot down in 1967, the same year that Mother bought this Cadillac.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell about my brother Mack, who’d lost his leg in the Tet Offensive but I stopped myself.

  “The Air Force says my son was missing in action, but his body was never found.”

  “What happened to your daughter-in-law?”

  “Well, it’s a sad story. One day she dropped Alice Ann off with a pink Barbie case. She was planning to head down to Biloxi and work as a Lord-knows-what. Then she waved good-bye and drove her car straight into the Mississippi River.” Eunice’s eyebrows slanted angrily and her cheeks flushed red. “On purpose, if you ask me. A witness said she never hit her brake. She drove through the railing. I just thank the Lord that she didn’t have Alice Ann with her.”

  “Poor little thing.” I shuddered.

  “Just between you and me, she can be a rascal.” Eunice laughed. “Now crank up that engine, dear. Take a spin around the block. Here’s the keys. The big one is for the ignition, and the square one is for the trunk and the doors.”

  I strapped the baby into the car seat. Then I hurried around the Cadillac, slid into the driver’s seat, and fitted the key into the ignition. The engine turned over on the first try. I didn’t know anything about automobiles, but it seemed to run smoothly. Outside the car, I could hear Eunice chatting away. I glanced at the dashboard clock. If it was correct—nearly six o’clock—then I was behind schedule. I’d planned to drive south, straight through the heart of Mississippi. My plan was to reach Baton Rouge, Louisiana, before dark, but that city was 382 miles from Memphis. I’d be lucky to reach Jackson by nine o’clock.

  “Actually, I don’t need a test drive. I’ll just take it,” I said, reaching for my purse. I counted bills out of Claude’s wallet and handed them over to Eunice.

  “Are you sure?” Eunice looked shocked.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve made up my mind.” I continued to hold out the money, smiling up at the woman. “Besides, you need to get back to your party.”

  “Well, that’s true.” Eunice took the money, rolling it into a tight cylinder. “It’s got new Bridgestone tires. And Odell just changed the oil for me. It shouldn’t give you a moment’s trouble. But I can’t guarantee that it won’t act up. It’s been setting up a long time. But if you change your mind and decide you don’t want the car—”

  “I won’t.”

  “Well, dear, I hope not. Because as far as I’m concerned, a deal’s a deal,” she said, suddenly all business. “Odell doesn’t believe in giving refunds.”

  “I won’t need one,” I said.

  “All right.” She smiled and ran one hand through her hair, looking distracted.

  “Please tell Alice Ann that I said good-bye,” I said, shifting into drive.

  “Oh
, I will.” She nodded. “It was so nice meeting you, dear.”

  I turned up the air-conditioning as far as it would go, then I put the car in reverse and pressed my foot against the accelerator. The car slowly rolled out of the garage. Eunice walked alongside it, like she couldn’t bear to see it go. At the end of the driveway I stopped the Cadillac, opened the trunk, and threw in the luggage. I waved at Eunice again as I got back into the car then angled it into the street, and waved once more. Eunice was standing in the driveway, her hands clasped under her chin. She lifted one hand. Then I turned a corner and the woman dropped out of sight.

  Bitsy

  At dusk, on the outskirts of Jackson, Mississippi, I drove past a sign: You Are Now Entering Hinds County. At least the baby was sleeping; good, because the traffic was starting to get heavy, and that made me nervous. I glanced into the rearview mirror, and lights from an oncoming car swept into the backseat, shining onto the forehead of the little red-headed girl. The child’s eyes cut to the mirror and met mine. I screamed, then stamped on the brake. The Cadillac skidded into the other lane. A car honked, and I grabbed the wheel and swerved back into my lane.

  “Alice Ann?” I yelled, and Jennifer’s head jerked up, eyes blinking open.

  “Hey,” Alice Ann said, waving.

  “How did you get here?”

  “I ran away.”

  “No, I meant, how did you get in this car?”

  “Hid under this.” She lifted the tartan blanket. “I’m wringing wet with sweat.”

  “Well, I’m taking you back,” I said, switching on the blinker, guiding the car into the exit ramp. “Your poor grandmother is probably worried sick.”

  “I won’t go.” She scooted over to the door, grasped the handle. “I’ll throw myself out.”

  “Let me slow down first,” I said, trying to hide my panic. I suspected that she’d used this method before—the shock technique. When Claude Wentworth had been small, he’d controlled his mother by threatening to jump out of her Lincoln Town Car. Straight ahead, I could see a busy intersection. The traffic light turned yellow, and I patted the brake. I glanced at the car beside me, a yellow Studebaker, driven by a pretty brunette. Her hair was wind-tossed to perfection, and she wore tortoise-shell glasses. She frowned up at the traffic light, tapping one manicured nail on the steering wheel. I wondered if she knew how quickly her life could change. I wanted to roll down my window and tell her that a day or two ago, I’d been coasting through life with nothing but green lights.

  The traffic light changed. I pulled into the parking lot of a hardware store and stopped the car. “All right,” I said. “You can get out. Just be careful.”

  “You can’t just dump me here,” said Alice Ann. “I’m your new child.”

  “No, you’re Eunice’s child.”

  “She’s too old to have a little girl.” Alice Ann crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes. “But you’re not.”

  “Alice Ann, do you know what kidnapping is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s what the police will call this.”

  “I don’t care.” She poked out her bottom lip. “No matter what you say, I’m not going back. Eunice doesn’t want me. Besides, she was going to dump me off at a private school.”

  “You might like it.”

  “I’ll hate it. Nothing but c-r-a-z-i-e girls go there. The nuns make you wear uniforms and eat Cream of Wheat. It gags me.” She reached and grabbed her throat, poking out her tongue.

  “Crazy’s got a y at the end,” I said, “not an i-e.”

  “Who are you, my fifth-grade teacher?” Alice Ann rolled her eyes. “Look, Eunice hates me. You’re doing both me and her a favor.”

  “Grandmothers don’t hate their grandchildren.”

  “No? When I act up, Eunice goes outside, breaks off a thin willow branch, and switches my legs.”

  I tapped my fingers on the seat, trying to gauge the truth behind Alice Ann’s escape. Way off in the distance, I saw glimmering neon arches, McDonald’s, but I couldn’t reach it from this road. I would have to get back on the interstate, fighting the traffic, and take the next exit. I shifted into drive and circled back the way I’d come.

  “Where you going now?” Alice Ann began to bounce up and down.

  “I’m driving to a restaurant,” I said. “We’ll eat supper, and then I’m calling Eunice.”

  “Fine, I’ll tell her you kidnapped me.”

  “She’ll know better,” I said. “She saw me drive off.”

  “I’ll tell her you knocked me off my bicycle and stole me. That you conked me on the head and threw me into the trunk. That you kidnapped me to babysit Jennifer.”

  “She won’t buy that.”

  “She will, too,” Alice Ann said. “That’s not all. She forgot to give you the title.”

  I sucked in air, too startled to respond.

  “There’s more,” she continued. “Your license tag says 274463X, Shelby County. Bet you didn’t know that. And the tags expired last year. But don’t worry. I fixed it up with shoe polish. I turned 1971 into 1972. Wasn’t that smart?”

  “Brilliant,” I said.

  “But I can’t do nothing about the title.” She leaned forward, her breath hot in my ear. “I sure hope your mind doesn’t drift like Eunice’s, or else I’ll be calling the shots for you, too.”

  “I’m tempted to put you out of this car right now,” I said.

  “Do it.” She folded her arms. “I don’t care. I’ll just hitch a ride. And if a policeman stops, I’ll tell him what you did.”

  “I haven’t done anything yet,” I said, but I was already planning my telephone conversation with Eunice when I called her from McDonald’s. Then I’d leave Alice Ann in the custody of the manager and explain how the child had stowed herself in the car. The minute Alice Ann opened her mouth, anyone would know she was a smarty-pants schemer. Then Jennifer and I would drive south. The more miles I put between myself and Alice Ann, the better. I could imagine the girl talking to the police, rattling off a description of the Cadillac, along with the tag number. In no time flat, I would be caught and dragged back to Crystal Falls. But I had to risk it.

  Turning back onto the interstate, I peeked into the mirror. Alice Ann was staring out the window, humming “This Old Man,” making every other word rhyme with kidnapped. I hated to steal a license tag, but it looked as if I had no choice. A tag could be switched in the parking lot of any Howard Johnson’s. Although I couldn’t leave the old one behind. That would make things too easy for the police. I could use a fingernail file to unscrew it. Now I was even starting to think like a criminal. And I didn’t want this sort of life for Jennifer. My baby was supposed to grow up with girl friends and slumber parties, her own princess telephone in the bedroom. She would not only speak French, she would tour France, all the places I had only imagined. As the child of a kidnapper/murderess (not that I was either one), my daughter would be destined for a double-wide trailer—or, God forbid, a foster home.

  I pressed my foot against the gas pedal, wishing the McDonald’s sign wasn’t so far away. From the backseat, Alice Ann said, “Uh-oh. A cop’s on your tail.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, and sure enough, a blue light was filling up the rear window. Jennifer held out one hand, tried to grab it.

  “See what happens when you go over the speed limit?” Alice Ann said. “That’s against the law.”

  “Yeah? Well, it’s a good thing. I’ll just hand you over to the cop.” I tapped the brake, steering into the gravel breakdown lane. Cars whizzed past the Cadillac, their taillights blinking red.

  Alice Ann began to sing “This Old Man” again, making up the lyrics. “You don’t have a tit-le. You will go-o straight to jail, where thieves and con men will pinch your tail—”

  “Will you hush?” I cried. “Don’t you say another word. Don’t even open your mouth.”

  Alice Ann spread her lips apart with her fingers and opened her mouth as wide as she could.

 
; In the side mirror, I watched the officer approach. He was tall and lanky, with a beaked nose. As he leaned over, peering into the car, heat lightning flashed behind him. The sky lit up with muddy clouds, then faded to black. A speeding ticket would prove that I’d been on this interstate. It would list the make and license number of the Cadillac.

  “You were going sixty-two in a fifty-mile zone,” he said, glancing at Jennifer, then back at Alice Ann. “That’s not real wise, considering your cargo.”

  “Well, we’re starving. I was just trying to make it to McDonald’s.” I laughed theatrically and rolled my eyes.

  He reached up, tipped back his hat, and squinted down the interstate, toward the crooked row of neon signs. It looked as if a drunken farmer had planted them. Shoney’s, Arby’s, Best Western, McDonald’s, Holiday Inn.

  “We’ve just been driving forever,” I said, and Alice Ann kicked the back of my seat.

  “Where you good people headed?” He spoke with a deep baritone. I imagined him quizzing his daughter, if he had a teenage daughter, asking the girl why she’d missed her curfew. I tried to think of a nearby town, but this part of the country was foreign to me.

  “We’re just…” I paused. Behind the officer I saw a green sign, Hazlehurst 33 miles. “We’re going to Hazlehurst,” I said a beat too fast. I wondered if he’d seen my eyes shift behind him.

  He had. From his car, the police radio crackled. “You got folks down in Copiah County?” he asked, shuffling one foot in the gravel.

  I nodded, but I didn’t think this was a state-trooperish question. Alice Ann began bouncing up and down. “Copiah County,” she sang. “Elevation 479 feet. And the air is ever so sweet.”

  “You’re a smart young lady.” The officer smiled.

  “A genius,” I said.

  The officer’s smile faded as he turned his gaze on me. “All the more reason to drive careful, miss,” he said, tipping back his hat.