The Super Ladies

by Petrone, Susan

  “Thank you,” Margie murmured as she opened the bag. Inside was a pair of blue cheater reading glasses with a tiny Alice in Wonderland–type toadstool painted on either end. “Thank you, these are adorable!” Margie exclaimed. She put them on and picked up the little drink-special stand from the middle of the table. The small type printed on top of a photo of a margarita was definitely clearer. “And they work.”

  “I love them,” Abra said. She put on a pair of dark green glasses with tiny purple irises. “Thanks.”

  “I thought there might be times when you don’t want to be recognized.”

  Abra looked skeptical. “These will keep me from being recognized?” she asked.

  “If you have one accessory that’s eye-catching enough, that’s all people will remember about you.”

  Margie was a little skeptical, less about the glasses and more about whether she’d ever even have the chance to wear them while doing something superhero-y. Still, she had pretty much decimated that guy’s motorcycle seat—moreover, it felt surprisingly good. She didn’t realize she was sitting with a silly grin on her face until Katherine asked, “What are you smiling about? Basking in the afterglow of some smutty encounter with your husband?”

  “At least somebody around here is getting laid,” Abra said with a sigh.

  “Ain’t it the truth.”

  This last remark from Katherine caught Margie by surprise. “Anything wrong?”

  Katherine slightly furrowed her brow, just for a second, as she said, “Hmm…no, not really. We’re kind of in a sexual slump, that’s all. No need to talk about it.”

  Margie let it rest and tried to think of something to change the subject, but the only thing she could think of was melting the jerk’s motorcycle seat. It was pretty much the only thing she could think about since it happened. It had been wrong and downright mean by just about any ethical standard. You weren’t supposed to destroy someone else’s property, unless you were going to latch onto Proudhon’s maxim that property is despotism, and she wasn’t entirely ready for that. Plus she had to admit it had been incredibly satisfying, like a giant hot fudge sundae with a warm brownie on the bottom. “May I confess something?” she began. “After I left Abra at the mortgage loan office the other day, I did something that I’m not entirely proud of.”

  “What?” Katherine asked eagerly.

  “Some guy on a motorcycle followed me into a parking lot and accused me of cutting him off. I didn’t,” she added in response to Katherine’s unspoken question.

  “Did you call nine-one-one?” Abra asked.

  “No.” Telling them what happened was more difficult than she thought. It was a little embarrassing to admit she had let her emotions get the best of her and repaid spite with spite. Hell, she had upped the ante considerably. “I…I melted the seat of his motorcycle.”

  Katherine burst out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

  Abra looked like she might choke on a chip. “What did he do?” she said between spurts of incredulous laughter.

  “I didn’t stick around to find out. I think I scared him.” Margie was silent for a moment. “I think it scared him that I wasn’t scared. I mean, I was, but I guess I didn’t show it.”

  “Well, destroying personal property is not generally regarded as a sign of fear,” Katherine said.

  “I think I understand what you mean,” Abra put in. “We’re supposed to be afraid of strange men, not the other way around.”

  What do you say when someone speaks the truth? Sometimes nothing; you just drink. She took a sip of her margarita and felt her purse begin to vibrate and heard the faint tones of Rick James’s “Super Freak” coming from its deepest recesses.

  “I’ve always loved your ringtone,” Katherine said.

  “Sorry. I don’t want to break the no-phone rule, but it might be Joan needing a ride.”

  “Family supersedes the no-phone rule,” Abra said.

  “Get it,” Katherine added.

  Joan was at a party with some kids she’d met through swimming. Margie was expecting a text or a call later to pick her up. She wasn’t expecting the “XA” code. She and Karl had read about the XA code a few years ago in some article whose provenance was forgotten, but they liked the idea. The code was supposed to be a way for kids to get out of an uncomfortable situation. The theory was, if your kid was out with friends and people started drinking or smoking weed or planning some activity that was dangerous or illegal, the kid could text an agreed-upon code to a parent, who would then call or text saying there was an emergency at home and that they’d be coming to get the kid in ten minutes. It was supposed to offer the kid a graceful way out of a sticky situation. She and Karl had introduced it to Eli and Joan when they got their own phones. Eli had never used it because he had been an introvert for most of his high school career and never went anywhere, and Joan usually hung out with kids from the swim and soccer teams, all of whom signed “contracts” with their coaches pledging not to drink or smoke. This was the first time any of her children had ever used the code. For a second, Margie almost forgot what it meant.

  As Margie was staring at the letters “XA” on her phone, trying to process the idea that Joan might be in trouble, Abra asked if there was something wrong. That’s when it clicked. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know,” Margie replied. Her stomach began to turn into tight little knots as she typed a quick text to Joan saying that there was a small family emergency and she needed to pick Joan up now. Her hands shook a little, and she had to go back twice and retype a word.

  “Which kid?” Katherine asked.

  “Joan. I need to go get her right now.” She gave a quick explanation of the XA code while she grabbed some money out of her wallet and put it on the table. “I’m sorry to have to leave so early.”

  “We’re going with you,” Katherine said, as though it had been agreed upon ages ago.

  “You don’t have to go.”

  Abra was already standing up and putting some money on the table. “I know we don’t have to. We want to.”

  “You might need backup,” Katherine added. “And the idea of crashing a high school party sounds kind of fun.”

  “Fun” was not the first word to come to mind as Margie got behind the wheel of the minivan. It seemed more expedient for Katherine and Abra to drive with her, plus the company kept her from worrying too much about Joan. Neither of the older kids had ever had occasion to use the XA code. Which meant either neither of them had ever been in a sticky situation before, which seemed doubtful, or neither of them had ever been in a situation they didn’t think they could handle. The fact that it was focused, competent, capable Joan using the code made her push the speed limit all the way down Richmond Road.

  “Where is this party anyway?” Abra asked.

  “Over in Beachwood. Some boy on another swim team. Joan and her friend met him at a meet. I’ve talked with his mother once or twice. I thought the girls would be okay if they went together.” She tried to remember to keep breathing and not to speed in the area around Legacy Village shopping center because that was always a speed trap.

  “They are okay,” Katherine said. “Besides, Joan has those swimmer’s shoulders. If any guy ever messed with her, she could clock him.”

  Beachwood was a well-off suburb just next to Lyndhurst, where Margie lived. The city had several industrial and office parks plus scads of high-end retail. All those tax revenues kept the schools strong and houses priced slightly higher than Margie and Karl ever wanted to pay. And high property taxes didn’t mean your kid was going to be an angel.

  The house was an imposing Colonial set back on a hidden cul-de-sac. Even using the GPS on her phone, Margie drove by it the first time. There were half a dozen cars parked on the curved street and two in the driveway. They parked on the far end of the cul-de-sac about five houses away and got out of the van. For a warm Saturday night in Ju
ly, it was surprising that they didn’t see anyone else outside.

  “That’s funny. I told Joan to meet us out in front of the house,” Margie said. She sent Joan a quick text, and the three of them stood outside by the minivan and waited.

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Abra said. “Maybe the kids causing trouble left and everything’s calmed down.”

  Katherine nodded emphatically and added, “I’m sure that’s it.” In the light of the streetlamp on the cul-de-sac, Margie could see that she was wearing the red cat-eye reading glasses.

  “If you’re so confident everything’s fine, how come you’re still wearing the reading glasses?” Margie asked as she started to walk toward the house. Maybe it was the whole XA code and an unanswered text mingled with her own overactive imagination, but her Maternal SuperSense was going off. She didn’t say anything else, just started walking toward the house. There were plenty of lights on inside and a low hum of noise that gradually grew louder as they approached the house, yet it wasn’t quite what she expected from an out-of-control high school party. Then again, it had been nearly thirty years since she was in high school.

  They were in front of the house when Margie’s phone pinged with a text message. Katherine and Abra looked over her shoulder to try and read it.

  “Is she okay?” Abra asked.

  The message read, “Hi Mom!!!!” Oh, thank goodness, Margie thought as a wave of relief washed over her. Abra and Katherine were right. The troublemakers must have left. Or maybe Joan was overreacting, which was fine. Fourteen was still young; there was no harm in having her be a little cautious. The phone pinged again with another message. This one had no words, just a picture of an erect penis.

  “Oh my…” Katherine said.

  “What. The. Hell?” For an instant, Margie felt nothing but blinding rage. She took a deep cleansing breath and the anger passed, replaced by a sense of control and confidence. She could fight back. She didn’t have to be nice.

  “You do realize that someone took her phone, right?” Abra said.

  “Yes. I am ninety-nine point nine nine nine percent sure that some kid took my daughter’s phone. Too bad his last act in this lifetime was sending me a dick pic.” She took her new reading glasses out of her purse and put them on. She really dug the little toadstools painted on either end. “We’re going in,” she said. It seemed redundant to add, “And kick some ass.”

  Katherine and Abra followed Margie as she strode up the curved stone path that wove in between a couple of well-mulched flower beds and up to a white wooden front door with three long, narrow windows. Margie peered into the middle window then put her hand on the curved door handle and pushed. The door opened. Without hesitation, she walked into the house, followed closely by Abra and Katherine.

  They were in a small tiled vestibule that opened to a wide staircase. Margie spied a couple of kids making out on the balcony at the top of the stairs, the girl’s back pressed up against the railing and the boy’s hands nowhere to be seen. Next to the stairs was a hallway leading to the back of the house. Off to the left looked to be the dining room. The long table was littered with open bags of potato chips, three empty pizza boxes, and scads of red Solo cups. To the right was a classic McMansion Great Room. A sleek, modern-looking white leather sofa wrapped along two sides of the room. The wall at the far end was dominated by a big-screen TV showing what, to Margie’s eye, resembled amoebae undergoing continual mitosis but was probably just a stock background for whatever pop-rap song was playing. In between these two bookends was a squirming mass of about twenty kids. Most of them were dancing, with a couple boys and girls grinding against each other. She tried to ignore the couple making out on the wraparound sofa who didn’t even look up when three grown-ups entered the room. The distinct scent of beer mingled with weed permeated everything. She silently commended her daughter for using the XA code.

  “We’re looking for Joan Joseph,” she announced in a voice loud enough to be heard over the music. Most of the kids stopped what they were doing and stared at the three adults with funky glasses as though they were alien invaders. The couple on the sofa continued to make out, and a few of the more intrepid kids kept on dancing, albeit without grinding into each other’s privates. Finally, one of the girls who’d been dancing said, “I think she went to get her phone from A.J.”

  The girl didn’t say anything else, just stared at them with big cow eyes. Margie counted to five then asked, “Could you be more specific?”

  “Oh, um, I think they’re in the backyard,” the girl said dreamingly. “By the way, I like your glasses.”

  “Could I get a ride with you guys?” another girl asked. She was kind of off to the side. Margie noticed she’d been half-heartedly dancing and pushing away a guy who kept trying to dance too close. She was clearly a kid who needed an emergency code.

  “Sure,” Margie said as she headed toward the hallway leading to the back of the house.

  “Just in case, I’ll check the basement,” Abra said.

  “Her friend is named Kailey. We need her too.”

  “Divide and conquer,” Katherine added. “I’ll get the upstairs.”

  Margie had no idea who or what was going on in the backyard, but she knew it was about to get a little hotter.

  IC_SuperLadies posted: The only thing we have to fear is fear itself and pissed-off moms.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Over the next couple weeks, the Super Ladies became the online comic to read. When Katherine saw an old friend from high school share it on Facebook, she knew something was going on. Maybe it was the local angle, maybe it was just luck, but according to Eli, the number of page views and comments skyrocketed with a four-part storyline called “The Party.” Readers didn’t seem to think that everything in the strip was plausible, although a few comments here and there came from kids who insisted they had been at the “real” party and that it was all true. Just about everybody figured a superhero mom might actually melt all the ice in the pony keg to help break up a party. However, reader comments on The Schvitz melting a boy’s phone were divided. Anyone who started their comment “As a parent” thought it was an apt punishment for sending dick pics, while the comments littered with poor spelling and run-on sentences invariably found it “kind of harsh.”

  The comments were less divided on Shadow turning invisible and messing with the host’s iPod so that the music switched from rap and pop to show tunes after the Super Ladies made their exit. As for Indestructa coming upon two boys trying to convince an unwilling, seriously drunk girl to have a threesome, nearly every reader thought she had been justified in dangling one of the boys over the edge of the second-floor balcony by his feet. As 44122Dad succinctly stated in his comment, “She held that little twerp by the wrong appendage. Other than that, best Super Ladies comic yet!”

  Katherine was secretly pleased that the last strip in “The Party” storyline featured Indestructa as the lead. It wasn’t as though the character in the comic was really her, but it was close enough that she felt a sense of ownership. If she did something overnight, she posted something about it to the IcyU page. Invariably it would show up in the Super Ladies comic a few days later.

  Katherine was moving, changing. Exploring her growing strength and power felt like an adventure. Meanwhile, Hal would come home from work and sit in front of the television. He did just enough of the household chores to call it equitable and played with Anna when asked, but other than that, he seemed stagnant. Sometimes it seemed as though they were leading parallel lives in the same house. He felt like a roommate, not a husband. Katherine found herself looking forward more and more to her solo runs in the morning or to going out with Abra and Margie.

  She didn’t need as much sleep as she used to. It made sense—there was no need for her body or mind to repair what wasn’t being damaged during the day. She still tucked in Anna every night and got into bed with Hal whe
never he turned in around ten o’clock. Sometimes she’d sleep for a few hours, sometimes she’d just wait until Hal was asleep. Either way, she’d silently creep out of bed, throw on her running clothes, and head out the door regardless of the hour. Now she made a point of running outside her neighborhood, outside her comfort zone. She never took the car. She preferred a purer form of autonomy: her body.

  Most nights, her run would start in Euclid Creek Park on the same route she and Abra typically took. But when she got to the end of the park, instead of turning around, she’d keep going, heading north into the city, in Candlewick Heights, into neighborhoods that most people would say a woman alone and on foot should avoid at night. Such a warning seemed like an invitation. She wasn’t actively looking for trouble; she just wasn’t trying to avoid it.

  One Tuesday night she awoke around three in the morning. She lay in bed for a little while, but forcing sleep is almost impossible. And it wasn’t really necessary. Her body was ready to go. She got up.

  Once out on the sidewalk, Katherine let her feet decide where to go. She headed west on Anderson, but when she got to the comically tiny traffic circle by the war memorial, instead of taking the right that would take her to Euclid Creek Park, she continued on to West Anderson. The traffic light at Green Road was blinking yellow. No need to slow down; the only car on the road at this hour was a block away. Abra lived at the end of the block. The houses on this side of Green were a little smaller and closer together than up the street where she lived. As an older, inner ring suburb, South Euclid had its well-off neighborhoods and its working-class neighborhoods. This was the latter.

  There was no need to check on Abra, but Katherine couldn’t help giving her quiet, dark house a long look as she ran by. No need to stop, no desire to stop. She kept running through the July morning, her Adidas hitting the pavement as predictably as a metronome. The birds were still asleep, and the crickets seemed to be on mute. It was blessedly silent. She stayed on West Anderson, made the dog-leg turn by Adrian Elementary School, where Margie worked and Anna used to go, and crossed big, wide Belvoir Boulevard. She wasn’t as familiar with this neighborhood but knew it would turn into Cleveland Heights and eventually come out at Noble Road. She turned down a random side street when the clinking sound of metal on metal startled her. She’d been running in the street but now took a few quick steps over the tree lawn and sidewalk and into the darkness of someone’s postage stamp–sized front lawn. She spied a rusted, dirty white van parked in the back of a brick bungalow a few houses away. A pair of shadowy figures were conferring by the back of the van. The house had green awnings over all but one of the front windows. The overgrown lawn and desolate, weed-filled flower bed by the front door made it clear the house was unoccupied. She stopped and waited. Another clink and the murmur of someone speaking as though they didn’t want to be overheard.