"Time to party, my lady.” he gallantly said to her, and that was just what she was planning to do.
* * * *
When Brianna woke up, the first thing she noticed was that she was naked. She did not remember taking off her clothes. Feeling horribly nauseated, she had no idea where she was. She looked around and realized that she was in a filthy, run-down motel, the pink neon lights winking through the window. She blinked her eyes, with great effort, stood up, and struggled to the bathroom. A gray mouse scuttled over her foot, causing her to jump and scream. She turned on the light and was horrified at what she saw. From head to toe, she was covered with gruesome, dark bruises, and bright, red welts. She had been badly beaten up. Dried blood had caked around her bottom lip, and she had sharp pains between her legs. She looked down. A tiny river of blood trickled from her vaginal area. She reached down to touch herself and recoiled in pain. As she began to realize what had happened to her, she fell down before the toilet and was violently sick.
Still feeling dizzy, she managed to get up and search in the dark for her clothes. She stumbled over a chair, found her t-shirt and jeans on the dirty floor, which she quickly yanked on. She collapsed on the bed and began to cry. The door burst open, startling her, the man bolted in. He looked at her and sneered. John didn't gag or tie her like he did his other victims-he didn't need to. He was all powerful, and the bitches were scared shitless. He was confident, in control, and has raped twenty women already and gotten away with it, he doesn't need to tie them anymore.
"Was it good for you too?” he asked, and howled with laughter.
"You bastard! You raped me, didn't you?” she screamed at him.
"Oh, did I? Do you remember? I remember you getting drunk and passing out. The whole bar saw you make a spectacle of yourself. You embarrassed the shit out of me,” he said, grinning sinisterly. He had done this many times before and knew just what to say to keep the little whores too frightened to open their mouths.
"I'm calling the police!” she shouted, and reached for the phone.
"And just what are you going to tell them? You met a strange man in a bar, got drunk with him and wound up in a motel room? Huh? Are you going to tell the police that, bitch?” he spat, sitting down on the bed next to her.
"I only had a Coke and you know it!” she shouted.
"Honey, the whole bar saw you pass out and need to be carried away. I have witnesses. Besides, it will be my word against yours. Do you really think that the police are going to believe a woman? A drunk, lying slut? The police see whores all the time, and they always side with the man. Men know your mode of operation. Meet a man in a bar and get him to buy you drinks. I'll just say it was consensual, which it was. You and I had a real good time,” he jeered. The man began to play with her hair, twirling it with his fingers. She shoved his hand away. He eyed her with contempt.
"And what if I find out I'm pregnant from this bullshit?” she inquired, giving him a dirty look.
"That's your problem. If a woman doesn't want to get pregnant, she can always say ‘no'.” he said sarcastically, lighting a cigarette and blowing smoke in her face. It made her cough.
"I think I need to get to a hospital,” she whimpered, holding her stomach. She felt like she was going to be sick again. He got up, put his cigarette in the ashtray, and violently kicked her in the face. It sent her flying to the floor. Her lip started bleeding again.
"I think you need to get the fuck out of my motel room. I'm sick of you. I got what I wanted on a first date. You really shouldn't put out on a first date, babe. Now I'm not interested in a relationship with you,” he said, beastly laughing in her face, and kicking her in the stomach.
She doubled over in pain. “I have your semen inside me. That is evidence that you raped me, you fucking asshole,” she shouted at him, defiantly. He smacked her across the face, getting blood on his hand.
"I'm covered with bruises. What do you think the police will think about that?” Brianna shouted.
"I'll just tell them you like it rough.” the man sneered. He grabbed her by the hair and shook her.
Brianna began to scream for help, and he shoved his hand violently over her mouth.
"You fucking cunt. You don't love me anymore, well fuck you! I don't love you anymore, ether. Dirty cunt, fucking cunt!” he yelled hysterically. She tried to break free and shout for help, attempting to shield herself. He continued to yell and spit on her.
"Pig! Woman! Slut! Pig!” he shouted. She broke away and scrambled for the door. He grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her. “If you go to the cops, I swear to God, I will tell them that you are a prostitute and that you propositioned me. You are a filthy, little cocktail waitress, who does a little hooking on the side. You were already drunk when I met you, understand? Do you?” he exclaimed belligerently and yanked her arm.
Tears ran down her cheeks. She was too terrified to speak. “My version of the story will be better than yours, and the police will believe me. It's a man's world honey, remember that. Never, ever fuck with a man, we always win.” he snarled and spat in her face. She winced, trying to wiggle from his grip. He roughly flung her arm away. She rapidly jerked open the door and sprinted out into the dark night.
He could hear her crying outside. It was music to his ears. The man was not worried about her ratting him out to the cops, his victims never did. If she did, the police would never figure out who he was. He had used a fake ID and paid cash at the dingy motel's front desk. He laughed as he quickly got dressed and silently congratulated himself. She was victim number twenty-one.
CHAPTER 4
The Roxbury Room was not the worst club Joe had seen, he was pleasantly surprised. He hadn't expected too much from the stuffy hotel. Joe was used to the likes of the trendy House of Blues and The Sky Bar, both on the elusive Sunset Boulevard. This was actually, pretty cool. It had a great, tropical motif, with palm trees and flashing lights adorning the dance floor. The D.J. kept the place rocking with a selection of upbeat tunes from the seventies and eighties. It wasn't a stale, old joint after all. Paul was checking it out, too.
"I was a little nervous when they said ‘introductory dance'.” he told his cousin.
Joe nodded in agreement. Beverly and Angela were sitting at the bar, sipping their exotic-looking drinks, with little umbrella swizzlers. People from downstairs began to make their way inside.
Shauna, Justin, and Jason meandered in, and glanced around the room. “Hey, look!” Jason pointed to the sliding glass doors, which led to a little patio that overlooked the pool and the beach. “Hey, let's go out there.” Jason tugged as his brother's shoulder.
"Let me get drinks first, what do you guys want?” Justin asked.
"Those umbrella things look pretty interesting, how about three of those.” Shauna suggested.
"Three umbrella things coming up.” Justin went over to the bar and ordered their drinks.
Beverly noticed him immediately. She faintly elbowed Angela. “Look, it's the maestro from downstairs.” Beverly whispered.
Angela glanced over. “Yup, it sure is.” She turned her attention back to her drink, sipping it slowly.
"He's kind of interesting, in a funky sort of way.” Beverly observed.
"I guess.” Angela said casually. Justin noticed Beverly looking at him. They made eye contact.
Beverly jerked her glance away. “Great, he just saw me staring at him. He probably thinks I'm some kind of a stalker now.” Beverly whispered to Angela, who looked annoyed.
"So, what do you care what he thinks?” Angela inquired.
Beverly shrugged her shoulders. “I just thought he was good downstairs, that's all,” she answered.
"Yeah, yeah! I know what you were thinking.” Angela retorted, and not in jest. She turned back to Justin and smiled. He smiled back. Angela was always moody when she was drunk. It got on Beverly's nerves sometimes.
Whatever! Beverly thought and sipped her drink.
Justin noticed the cute, little blonde
staring at him. He had a thing for blondes, and this being California, it was blonde heaven. He started to go and talk to her, but then he remembered his brother and Shauna waiting for their drinks on the patio. He paid the bartender and went back over to his brother.
Beverly's gaze followed. She watched him sit down with cousin Shauna and another cute guy, who looked like a clean-cut version of the piano player. Excellent opportunity to go meet him. She thought. She had to talk to Shauna anyway. Why was she infatuated with this man? She didn't even know him, and she was a lesbian for God's sake—her lover sitting right beside her. Yet, there she was, just like a schoolgirl, planning how she could go and meet a cute guy. Maybe she had too much to drink. She turned to Angela. “I think I'll go out on the patio and get some air. Besides, Shauna is out there, and I want to talk to her."
"Go ahead, I'm a big girl.” Angela waved her hand indifferently.
Beverly took her drink and went out on the patio. The outdoor patio was light and breezy, and the smell of the salt air permeated the atmosphere. Tropical plants and torches decorated the quaint patio, colored lights were strung all around. There was also a marvelous, panoramic view of the moonlit sea. She spied Shauna at a small, candle-lit table. Shauna waved her over. She beamed and sauntered over to them.
Shauna got up to hug her. “Cousin Beverly! Come sit with us. Come see Justin and Jason.” Shauna cooed.
Beverly sat down and introduced herself to the guys. “So, how are you related to us?” Jason asked.
"Shauna and I are first cousins. My mom and her dad are brother and sister.” Beverly explained.
"So that makes us the same as Shauna, third cousins twice removed.” Justin explained.
"Huh?” Beverly looked at him puzzled.
"My mother was the second cousin of your Aunt Linda,” he told her.
Beverly now realized who they were. “Oh! Now I know who you guys are. The twins from Philadelphia?” Justin nodded. Beverly smiled. Justin smiled back. She noticed his nose ring and found it very sexy!
"We've never met, but my mom told me all about cousin Kathy. How is she?” Beverly asked.
Justin shrugged. “My folks split up about four years ago. I talk to my mom sometimes. She is doing fine."
"Do you live in Philadelphia with your folks?"
"Nah, we live in New York now—Upper West Side."
"We?” Beverly's heart stopped, she did not know why.
"My brother and I.” he nodded over in Jason's direction.
Did she just breathe a sigh of relief? “What do you do?” she asked him.
"I'm a composer. I write musicals,” he told her. His smile was dazzling, with a slight gap between his two front teeth, and full, luscious lips.
"By the way, I thought you were beyond awesome downstairs. I wish I could play the piano like that. Do you play any other instruments?"
"I brought my guitar."
"Will you play something for me?"
"Sure."
"I'm so jealous. I have no musical talent whatsoever. I can't even sing in the shower.” Beverly hung her head and smiled sheepishly. He grinned at her. Why was she feeling fluttering in her stomach over this adorable, aesthetic man? Why was she ignoring her lesbian lover? Why was she feeling all giddy and girlish? She had no idea, but she liked it.
* * * *
"I thought I told you to shut the fuck up! I'm tired of repeatin’ myself, girl!” Donnie was on one of his usual besotted tirades. He was still reeled from the scene he caused downstairs in the dining room. Shelly tried to calm him down. He was ashamed that he was not rich or educated like the other guests at the hotel, and was carrying out his anger on the girls. Right now, they were back in the room that the three of them were sharing. “I told ya there ain't nothin’ but whores and faggots in California. I think we should just drive home tonight.” Donnie shouted.
Shelly spoke up. “No, sweetie, now you know that ain't right. You're far to tuckered out to drive. Let's at least get some rest. You done paid for this room anyhow. Drivin’ back now ain't practical,” she explained.
"Practical?” Donnie shot at her. He smacked her to the floor. He hated it when she used big words like ‘practical'. Women were not supposed to talk at all, at least according to Donnie McCoy. Lilly sat silently, afraid to move or speak. “You don't tell me what to do, bitch. I'll way lay ya’ across the floor.” Donnie drew back his arm to slap her again.
Shelly put her hand up defensively. “Wait, sweetie, wait. I'm just sayin’ that you work so hard to provide for me and Lilly. You deserve a vacation. You deserve to relax a spell,” she pleaded.
Donnie paused. She was right. He did slave his butt off out in the Mississippi heat so he could provide food for these two ungrateful sluts. He did deserve some time off. “Yeah, I know. I don't care about these hoity toity city folk. I'm gonna have me a good time. Yup, a good time.” he sneered. Donnie grabbed his dirty, orange farmers cap and ambled out the door, slamming it hard behind him.
Lilly bounded into Shelly's arms at once. She started to weep. Shelly comforted her, as she had done so many times before. “Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay.” Shelly's voice was soothing to the frazzled, shaking Lilly.
"I hate him. I hate him. I wish he was dead.” Lilly cried.
"Now you don't mean that. That was just the liquor talking. Your Poppa ain't all that bad.” Shelly tried to reassure the emotional teenager.
"You know he is, Shel. He is evil. Pure evil.” Lilly exclaimed between sobs.
"Shhhh” Shelly began to rock her back and fourth, gently stroking her hair.
"You know what he does to me. You know he touches me, and makes me suck his thing at night. You know he does that to me.” Lilly was near hysterics.
Shelly looked at her helplessly. She was caught in a glass house. She did, indeed, know all about the sexual abuse that went on in the McCoy home, but she was powerless to do anything. Donnie supported the family financially, and Shelly had no job skills. It was the most dreadful situation for a woman to find herself in. She could not help her; all she could do was cry too. “I don't know what to do, sweetie. I'm sorry.” Shelly shook her head at Lilly.
"Can't we run away? You know, just get away?” Lilly asked, hopefully.
"Where are we supposed to go?” Shelly asked the naive teenager.
"I don't know, anywhere. Away from him. Far, far away from him.” she pleaded.
"What would we do?” Shelly tried to reason with her.
"I don't care.” Lilly wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
"We can't, sweetie."
"Please?” Lilly begged.
"No."
"Then I'll go. I'll run away. I swear if he touches me again, I'll kill him.” Lilly became defiant.
Shelly sighed. “Look, we're here in California. I aint’ never seen the ocean before, and you haven't neither. Why don't we go down and take a little walk on the beach. Sound fun?"
Lilly managed to smile through her tears. “Sounds right nice to me. You think Poppa would approve?"
"Not if he don't find out. He's down at the bar gettin’ drunk.” Shelly looked at her knowingly.
"How do you know?” Lilly asked
"Cuz I know your father. Now let's get down to that beach and have a little fun of our own. We deserve it, too."
Lilly laughed out loud, a sound usually foreign to the both of them. They got up, grabbed the room key, and went out the door heading for the beach. Maybe a nice walk would clear out their heads. Maybe, even for a few precious minutes, they could forget about their lives and be happy.
* * * *
Angela was drunk. Not sloppy, obnoxious drunk, but a goofy drunk. She was telling everybody that she loved them, and was cutting a rug on the dance floor. The D.J. started spinning Come on Eileen by Dexy's Midnight Runners. Angela jumped up and down with excitement. “Oh, my God! I love this song! I love everybody!"
Joe joined in. “This song is totally memory lane for me. Can you say grammar school?"
> "Sneaking down after bedtime to watch MTV on a school night?” Angela offered.
"Yup. That was me,” she said. The two collapsed into silly giggling. Joe was sipping a Screwdriver, and boogieing down with her. The Roxbury Room was now open to all the hotel guests and the place was quite crowded. Every female eye in the place was on Joe. He knew he could have any one he wanted, but he was actually having fun dancing with Angela. They danced to I Want Candy by Bow Wow Wow.
"Must be eighties night.” Joe shouted above the blaring music.
Angela nodded. “I love it!"
Paul appeared on the dance floor with them. “Right now you love everything!"
"Hey, remember that time you got drunk and trashed the SAE house?” Angela reminded him.
"So I was a crazy frat boy in college, big deal. Hey Joe? Were you a frat boy?” Paul inquired.
"They didn't have that where I went to school.” Joe answered.
"Didn't have fraternities? What on earth kind of bumpkinly school did you go to?” Paul slurred drunkenly. Angela laughed and danced, feeling no pain.
Joe grinned. “N.Y.U."
"N.Y.U.? Oh, yeah, I forgot. No frats there? Strange.” Paul looked astonished.
Angela piped up, sottishly. “Yeah, in New York City I guess they have better things to do that get drunk and be weird."
Paul chided her. “Kind of like you're doing?” he asked, taking a sip of his Mai Tai.
"Hey, I'm on vacation.” she shushed him.
"I don't know about you guys, but I need some fresh air. Why don't you come with me?” Joe said sweating. He grabbed Angela by the arm. “Let's go.” They followed him out onto the patio, where the rest of them were sitting. The cool ocean air was a welcome relief from the hot, crowded dance floor, and the sweeping view of the moony Pacific had a calming effect on all. They grabbed chairs and joined Beverly, Shauna, and the twins, who Joe had not yet met.
Angela promptly noticed that Beverly and the piano guy were sitting a little too close to each other, and it made her feel uneasy. Joe extended his hand to Jason. “Hey, I'm Cousin Joe. My Uncle Stephen was married to your mom's second cousin."
Weekends Page 7
