Mad Girls In Love

by Michael Lee West

  See MISSING, page 3

  MISSING

  (Continued from page 1)

  Though officials initially believed the pair was hiding in the area, credit card receipts have recently surfaced in Lebanon, Jackson, and Memphis, causing authorities to issue the statewide alert. “Because the mother has a history of insanity in the family, and because of some other things we’ve learned about her, we’re very concerned about them,” Prescott said. “The mother hasn’t been acting rationally. She’s a violent woman, capable of inflicting harm to herself and others. We feel like the child might be endangered.”

  Mrs. Wentworth is described as a blue-eyed blonde standing 5 feet, 3 inches tall and weighing about 120 pounds. She is believed to be driving a 1972 white Corvette bearing the license tag TNSTUD. Jennifer Wentworth is described as having blue eyes and blond hair, about 251½ inches tall and 16 pounds. She has a red mole on her right cheek.

  “As it stands now,” said Prescott, “we plan to take evidence to the grand jury on the mother, whether they turn up or not.” He asked anyone with information regarding the child to contact the sheriff’s department at 555-8262.

  A LETTER FROM DOROTHY MCDOUGAL

  September 15, 1972

  Dear Bitsy,

  I don’t know where to mail it, so I am sending this letter to 214 Dixie. I wonder where you are. Go for it, honey. I wish I had. One word of advice: Don’t turn yourself in! If you go back, you’ll end up wearing stripes or in a place like Central State. So do NOT let them find you. I know how Betty Wentworth thinks. I played bridge with that woman for twelve years, and her mind works like a squirrel trap. Chick drinks more than her, but he is more easygoing. Maybe it’s because he plays golf all the time and the exercise relaxes him. But it could also be Valium. I’d always hoped that Claude would take after his daddy. I never dreamed that he’d turn into Miss Betty with balls. So you did the right thing, even though it will be hard to explain.

  If Clancy Jane reads this, I wish a plague of locusts on her head and in her yard.

  Your mother,

  Dorothy

  P.S. Claude ought to thank you for breaking his nose. It was pugged and ugly, and it’s not like he doesn’t have the $$ to get a new one.

  Bitsy

  It was my break, and Alice Ann and I were standing in the alley, getting some air and watching the shucker open oysters. Empty shells lay scattered on the ground. I’d been working here three weeks, and I’d learned that his name was Daniel. I didn’t think he had a crush on me, but Alice Ann swore that he did. I just hoped she was wrong. When he opened oysters, his fleur-de-lis tattoo bulged. It looked homemade. I wondered if he’d served time in a penitentiary. The alley was cool, thanks to the shady banana trees that grew along the fence. The back door to the restaurant was propped open with a brick, and the smell of sauteed onions drifted out. From a transistor radio, an announcer read off the midmorning news with a lisping twang. Henry Kissinger returned to Washington and briefed President Nixon on his eleven-day Asian tour…and in Munich the U.S. Olympic basketball team lost to the Soviets 51–50 in a controversial gold-medal match. The U.S. protested to no avail.

  The news was followed by commercials for Budweiser. I leaned against a crate and watched the shucker’s muscles move, the fleur-de-lis twitching like a spider. Then I glanced into the kitchen and waved to the head chef, Joe, who wore a high, white chef’s hat and kept a stubby cigar pinched between his teeth. The assistant chef, Manny, was chopping celery, wiping his face on his shoulder, and the new chef, Èmile, was shoving braided loaves into the ovens; Mrs. Bianchi, the owner, was sitting in her glassed-in office, a glass of tea beside her elbow. “Jesus,” Manny said. “These onions are putting my eyes out.”

  I turned, blinking at a rusted car that skidded in the shells. It lurched to a stop and a pregnant woman climbed out, tears streaming down her puffy cheeks. She took a step forward, then reached into a purse, and pulled out a gun. First thing, she turned to me. A growl rose up in her throat and she pointed the gun at my head.

  “You the one who been seeing my Danny?” The gun wobbled in her pudgy hands. Her wedding ring was fastened to her blouse with a diaper pin. It looked too small for her finger.

  “I have not!” I cried.

  “Ramona? Sweetheart?” The shucker grinned at his wife. “I been true to you.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Her face contorted. “Liar, liar, LIAR!” Two purple veins throbbed on her forehead. “Why didn’t you come home last night? I’ll tell you why, because you was with her. And you know what I did? I lay up in our trailer, begging the Lord to let me die. That’s right, Danny. Your pregnant wife, sweating in that trailer, waiting for God to strike her dead. And your little baby, too, Danny. Think about that for a goddamn minute. Meanwhile, you’re having sex with a blonde. But I’m calm now. I see the light. I don’t want to die, Danny. I want her to die.”

  Ramona squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the trigger. The top of a banana tree exploded. The green leaves shattered, pouring down on my head and shoulders. Alice Ann screamed and rolled into a ball.

  “You no good slut!” Ramona yelped and took aim again.

  “Don’t shoot the child!” I screamed. “Run, Alice Ann!”

  The shucker was creeping up behind Ramona. She saw him and tried to hit him with the butt of her gun. The commotion brought both chefs charging out the back door.

  “Hey!” Joe yelled. Then he lunged ahead, rushing toward Ramona. She and the shucker were struggling, swaying back and forth. Before Joe could reach them, the gun fired again. I heard something whine past my ear. Then I felt hot pain. My hand flew up to my throat. My fingers came back tipped in red.

  “Oh my God!” I said. “I’m hit!”

  Ramona looked at the gun, then at me. The shucker jerked the gun from her swollen hands. “You stupid bitch!” he yelled, and a few drops of saliva hit her in the face. She made a fist, hit his shoulder. Joe rushed over to me, his big hands on my arm. “Let me see, Lillian. Come on, take your hand away. Let Joe see.”

  “Where’s Alice Ann?” I said, pulling away from Joe, trying to find the child. Alice Ann was still crouched beside the banana tree. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but her lips seemed paralyzed.

  “She’s okay,” said Joe. “She’s just scared is all.”

  “Thank God,” I said, closing my eyes. “Thank God.”

  “And you gonna be okay, too,” Joe said. “The bullet grazed you. It’s just a scratch is all, just a scratch.” He took off his apron, pressed it to the wound, then glared at Ramona. “You coulda killed her!”

  “Too bad I didn’t!” Ramona tossed her head.

  “It’s a damn good thing you didn’t, lady. Being pregnant won’t keep you out of jail.” Joe put one hairy arm around Alice Ann, dragging her over to me.

  The shucker tucked the gun into his belt. His eyes flitted over to me. “I’m sorry about this. I don’t know why she thought I was banging you.”

  “Because you was!” Ramona’s face flooded with color. She raised her leg and kicked him square in the testicles. He screamed, then cupped his hands over his groin and dropped to one knee. Mrs. Bianchi shoved past the cooks and dishwashers who had gathered in the doorway to watch. She looked at the shucker, then she turned her gaze on me.

  “Goddamn ruffians,” she said through her teeth. “Danny, you’re nothing but a swamp bug. Get off my property this instant. You, Blondie, you get out of here, too.” She waved a dismissive hand at me, then nodded at Manny. “The rest of you, go back inside. We got a restaurant to run.”

  “But Mrs. Bianchi,” I said. “This isn’t my fault—”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” The old woman made a fist and struck her palm. “You’re fired. Get out of here or I’m calling the police.”

  Joe squeezed my shoulder. “Hold pressure on that apron till the bleeding stops.”

  “In this kitchen this second!” yelled Mrs. Bianchi, pointing at the door.

  “Go on,” I
said, pushing Joe with my elbow. “Don’t get fired because of me.”

  “Hell, she won’t fire me,” he growled, but he shuffled away, avoiding Mrs. Bianchi’s eyes. The cooks filed into the restaurant after him. Mrs. Bianchi spat on the ground, then closed the door.

  Ramona glanced down at her husband, who was curled up at her feet. She sighed, rubbing her belly with the tips of her fingers. Then she cut her eyes at me. “First you steal my man, now you get him fired. I ought to shoot you between the eyes. You and your little bastard child.”

  “I’m not a bastard!” Alice Ann screamed.

  “Oh, yeah?” Ramona tossed her head, snorted. “Well, that’s good you got a daddy ’cause you gonna need him. Especially after I kill your mama. That’s right, you little pussy bitches. Stare me down, but it won’t change your future. One night, you gone wake up and find a knife to your throat.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” I said, pulling Alice Ann down the alley. We walked so fast our shoes stirred up a ridge of shell dust. My neck was hurting.

  “I know a man, he just got out of Parchman,” Ramona shouted. “He’ll cut your hearts out. You and your girl’s. Feed you both to the fishes!”

  “What’s Parchman?” Alice Ann gripped the edge of my apron, twisting it in her fingers. I was trying hard not to cry, but I could feel pressure behind my eyes.

  “A prison,” I said. “But don’t worry. It’s nowhere near Point Minette.”

  “I don’t care. I’m scared. If that woman knows a bad man…” Alice Ann’s throat worked up and down. She wiped her eyes with dirty hands.

  “She doesn’t know anybody like that,” I said, reaching out with my free hand to pat the child’s shoulder. My fingers were bloody. Alice Ann squirmed away.

  “But what if she does?” Alice Ann looked up into my eyes. From the end of the alley, Ramona was still shrieking about pussy women getting their just deserts.

  We slipped through the azalea hedge and got into the car. I pulled the apron off my wound and looked at it. My blood was bright red, and it hurt my eyes to look at it.

  “It’s not even suppertime, and you’ve already lost your job.” Alice Ann crossed her arms. “Just take me back to Memphis. It may be boring, but at least nobody’s trying to kill Eunice.”

  I ignored her and drove three blocks, then I angled the car down Oak Street. The boardinghouse was straight ahead and the widows were sitting in green metal chairs under the trees, sipping drinks. Mrs. Finch held Jennifer in her lap, letting her play with plastic keys, each one a soft, pastel color.

  “I mean it,” Alice Ann said. “Take me back to Eunice right now.”

  “I can’t leave town,” I said. “Mrs. Bianchi still owes me a paycheck. We need that money. If you’re scared, I’ll push the dresser in front of the door.”

  “That won’t stop them.” Alice Ann crossed her arms, glaring at me.

  “There is no them,” I said. “That woman was lying.”

  “I don’t care. If you don’t take me back to Memphis, I’ll call the police. I’ll tell them your real name. I’ll say you kidnapped me.”

  “Can we discuss this later?” I could see the old ladies gazing toward the car, sipping their drinks. “I need to wipe off the blood. We don’t want Mrs. Finch and her boarders to get excited.”

  Alice Ann bolted from the car and ran up the back staircase. I glanced in the rearview mirror, assessing the damage to my neck. It was already trying to form a scab. One more inch, and I’d have been dead. I shuddered and stuffed the apron into my bag. Then I got out of the car. As I walked across the yard, I waved nonchalantly to the widows and sped up the stairs. When I opened the French door, I found Alice Ann throwing the thrift shop clothes I’d bought into paper sacks.

  “Honey, don’t be scared,” I said. “That woman’s not dangerous.”

  “Just leave me alone. I want my Eunice. I’m h-homesick.”

  “Let’s get a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow—”

  “No, no!” Alice Ann stamped her foot. “We’re leaving now, or I’m calling the police.”

  “Let me call Eunice.”

  “You are driving me home, and that’s that.” Without looking at me, Alice Ann grabbed two sacks and ran out of the room. Her footsteps pounded on the staircase. I walked out onto the veranda and looked down into the yard, watching the child run over to the Cadillac. I thought about calling her bluff. I didn’t believe she would really go to the police.

  “Where are you going?” Mrs. Finch called to Alice Ann, rising from her chair, the keys tinkling in Jennifer’s hands. The other women were huddled together, watching the girl throw the sacks into the backseat.

  “My grandmother died,” answered Alice Ann in a clear, calm voice. “We have to leave right this instant.”

  “Oh, my stars,” said Mrs. Finch, patting Jennifer’s legs. “Are y’all leaving right now?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Alice Ann and glared up at me.

  Suddenly I knew that she was fully capable of calling the police and stirring up a world of trouble. I had no choice but to drive the little psycho back to Memphis and pray that I never laid eyes on her again.

  “Well, will y’all be back?” Mrs. Finch’s forehead was wrinkled.

  “No telling.” Alice Ann shrugged.

  “Be careful driving,” called Mrs. Finch. “The road’s full of maniacs these days.”

  I walked down the stairs, toward the old ladies. Alice Ann charged up past me. “You better pack your stuff,” she whispered. I walked over to Mrs. Finch and lifted the baby into my arms. I drew in a deep breath. “I’m just so sorry,” I said.

  “Well, that’s perfectly all right,” said Mrs. Finch, glancing up at my neck. The other widows leaned forward and stared.

  “Thank you for watching Jennifer. You’ve been awfully kind to babysit her and Alice Ann.”

  “She’s a little angel,” said Mrs. Finch. “I was proud to watch her. Now y’all be careful. Where is it that y’all are driving to?”

  “Georgia,” Alice Ann said, suddenly appearing behind me. She balanced the baby’s car seat in her arms. She looked at me. “I’ve got your stuff all packed.”

  “That Alice Ann’s like a miniature adult, isn’t she?” said one of the boarders.

  “Is her father alive?” asked another.

  “No,” I said, grateful that I didn’t have to lie. I hugged Jennifer to my chest. From the corner of my eye, I saw Alice Ann running back up to our purple room. I was grateful that the widows hadn’t commented about my bloody neck.

  I hurried over to the Cadillac. The car seat was sitting in the gravel. I leaned over and strapped Jennifer in, then I lifted the seat. From the corner of my eye, I saw Alice Ann running down the steps, red pigtails flying. On the last riser, she tripped, and a sack of clothes went flying into the air.

  The old women cried out. Alice Ann landed and didn’t move. She lay motionless in the grass. I set the car seat on the roof of the Cadillac and hurried over to her. Squatting down, I whispered, “Are you hurt?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Alice Ann sat up, rubbing her scraped knee. Then she snatched up the sack, stuffed her underwear inside, and hobbled toward the car. She climbed into the front seat and began honking the horn. I picked up a blue shirt. The old ladies were watching, inclining their grizzled heads and whispering.

  Alice Ann honked the horn again. Then she began to scream. I ran to the car, tossing the blue shirt onto the seat, next to my pocketbook, which resembled a butcher’s bag. “Let’s go!” Alice Ann shrieked.

  My hand trembled as I stuck the key into the ignition. I started to back out of the driveway, but the widow women were scrambling out of their chairs, waving frantically. Alice Ann stood up on her knees and watched. Mrs. Finch was shouting, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying.

  “Something’s wrong,” I said, tapping the brake.

  “No, it’s not,” screamed Alice Ann. She made a fist and beat it against the seat, denting the leather. Her cheek
s reddened, and her eyes began to glow. “They’re just stupid old ladies. Keep driving or I’ll tell them everything.”

  I hesitated, glancing at the old ladies. They were scurrying toward the driveway.

  “Don’t you dare stop!” Alice Ann screamed. “They’re probably after you for back rent. Drive.”

  She scooted toward me, knocking my purse to the floor, then slid down on the seat. Her foot crashed onto the accelerator, and the Cadillac shot backward crookedly out of the drive, knocking over Mrs. Finch’s trash cans. Alice Ann sat up and tried to grab the gear shift, but I beat her to it. “Go!” she yelled, her eyes bulging. “Go, go, go!”

  I shifted into drive, drove slowly to the corner, and turned onto Broad Beach Boulevard. Alice Ann screamed in my ear—“Faster, faster!” I gripped the wheel and focused on the road. The blue sky seemed to pour itself through the windshield, a vast, open space that seemed larger than the ocean. Alice Ann slumped beside me, her arms crossed over her chest. She began tapping her shoes together.

  “How long will it take you to drive to Memphis?” she asked.

  “All day.” I didn’t bother to add the dangers of my returning to Tennessee. I had little doubt what Alice Ann would tell her grandmother. “I was kidnapped,” she’d say. “Taken in broad daylight.” Eunice would call the police, give a description of the Cadillac, along with the license plate number, and I would be pulled over before I left the city limits.