by Meany, John
The owner glanced at Ashley. She still had her attention focused on the black Doberman. “Aren’t they cool?” he said to her. “The Doberman is one of my favorite breeds. This fellow’s name is Roscoe . . . Say hello Roscoe.”
The Doberman growled; his spiky teeth scraped coarsely against the bars of the cage.
“Roscoe’s six months old. He’s a real firecracker too. But don’t let that scare you. Everyone has a misconception that Dobermans are vicious. Take if from me, they don’t have to be. It all depends on how you raise them. Anyway, ladies, I hope you find a dog you like. If you need any further assistance, just holler.”
“We will,” said Claire. “Thank you.”
The owner went to the back of the store, where, near the tropical aquariums, there were other customers waiting to be helped.
“Actually,” Ashley spoke, “now that I think about it, mom, getting a dog would be a good idea. It would make me feel safer.”
“Huh! That’s interesting. I thought that gun you bought would have made you feel safe enough.”
“It does. Don’t worry. Hopefully, I’ll never have to use it.”
“You won’t.”
“If I did have to use it though, I would shoot someone. No matter what you might think, if someone ever assaulted me again, I’d blow their fucking head off!” Ashley had said this loudly. So much so, it was quite possible that the pet shop owner and the customers he was presently assisting had heard her.
“That’s enough!” Claire snapped, immediately clamping her hand over Ashley’s mouth. “We don’t need to be talking about shooting anyone . . . Maybe you were right, Ash. Maybe you should wait outside.”
“No!” She flung her mother’s hand away. “Now that I came in I’m gonna help you pick out a dog. And I say we pick this one.” She pointed to the Doberman.
“Honey, a Doberman is not what I had in mind.” Just then, the baby started to howl. “Oh frig! Now see what you did? Kimberly was behaving marvelously until you had to go and get her all riled up.”
Ashley scowled. “It’s not my fault. Kimberly is always riled up. From sun up until sun down. Rotten kid!”
“Cut that out! That’s no way to talk about your baby daughter.”
“Yeah. Well, too bad. I’m tired of her crying all the time. Furthermore, I’m sick of you thinking, without a man in my life, I’m doing the baby some sort of disservice. Peter hasn’t even been in the ground a year and there you are all the time, hoping I shack up with someone, anyone, just so that Kimberly has a father.”
“Ashley, what on earth are you babbling about?”
Not only had she upset the child, Ashley’s verbal flare-up had also goaded most of the puppies in the store. Now nearly every caged canine had begun to bark.
“I’m saying that you want me to start dating. That you think I can’t rise up out of my, quote on quote depression, without a man. And that because I’d rather be alone, you think there must be something wrong with me.”
“Dear God, you’re lost,” Claire uttered sincerely. “I’m your own mother, yet you have no idea where I’m coming from. But I don’t want to discus this here. Whatever you have to say, in this wine-induced state of mind you‘re in, you can say it to me when we get outside.”
Before any more hurtful words could be exchanged, the pet shop owner returned.
“You’ll have to excuse me, ladies. These animals don’t normally get this worked up.”
“It’s our fault,” Claire apologized. “We were having a family quarrel. And I think we got your dogs excited.”
“No big deal. You didn’t do it on purpose.” Then, to the puppies, the owner shouted, “If you guys don’t settle down, they’ll be no more Milk Bones today.”
***
Instead of waiting for her mother, Ashley decided to walk home by herself.
Once she had staggered into the house, she kicked off her sneakers, and then went into the kitchen, where, from the fridge, she removed the cold jug of wine. She unscrewed the cap and filled herself another glass. Then she took the goblet and the jug with her down to her art studio.
Ashley wanted to paint.
And since she didn’t want to deal with her annoying mother, she locked the basement door.
CHAPTER 18
While returning home from the neighborhood pet store, Claire placed a cell phone call to her friend Rachel Gilbert. The wheels of the baby stroller clattered softly against the bumpy residential street.
“Where are you?” Rachel inquired in a cheery manner.
“I just left Pet City,” Claire said. “Remember what I was talking about the other day?”
“Umn. Not sure.” Like Claire, Rachel too had recently retired. Nowadays, at age sixty-five, no longer teaching math at the local grammar school, Rachel and her longtime husband Mark, a former electrician, lived a happy, serene life. During the summer, their preferred hobbies were sailing and having outdoor barbecues.
“Me buying a puppy?”
“Okay. Now I remember.”
“Well, guess what?”
“You bought one?”
“Yep.”
“That’s wonderful,” Rachel said. “I knew you would.” She was a huge animal lover. “What kind of dog did you get?”
“A collie. You should see the little guy. He‘s so cute.” Excited talk about the puppy continued briefly, before Claire eventually brought up Ashley.
“Oh no. What did she do now?” Rachel asked, deflated.
Claire‘s mood had turned sour. “Caused a scene at the pet store.”
“How’d she manage that?”
“First of all, I need to tell you, that Ashley drank too much wine today.”
“How much is too much?”
“I’d estimate three or four glasses. Though, she might have gulped more than that in the kitchen when I wasn’t looking. Or maybe down in her art studio.”
“So what happened?”
“When we were in the pet store, she copped an attitude with me. I was so embarrassed, Rach. There she was rambling on and on, in that slurred voice of hers, making every dog in the place bark . . . Honestly, I don’t know what to do with her anymore. Sometimes Ashley is such an emotional basket case.”
“Where is she now?”
“I’m assuming she’s at home,” Claire and Rachel had been best friends for twenty years. Between them, no topic was off limits. They had met at the Whittaker‘s diner. “Where else would she be? There‘s no place she could really go. Not in her present condition.”
“Why was she giving you an attitude?”
“According to her she doesn’t want me getting involved in her love life.”
“What love life?”
“That’s just it; Ashley still doesn’t want to start dating. She’d rather be alone. And get this; she thinks I want her to find a man, just so that the baby has a father. Can you believe that?”
“Uh, as much as I hate to admit it, Claire, she is right. You have been putting a lot of pressure on her to get over Peter and move on. But let’s face it, the fact that Ashley was raped, is going to make her more reluctant to want to open her heart up to someone-”
***
Standing in front of her easel, Ashley carefully studied her large canvas. Paint dripped from the end of her brush. The jug of wine was becoming emptier and emptier.
Get your gun! she suddenly heard Craig Elliot whisper.
Yeah, do it! Buck Kennedy seconded the notion.
Unlike how her assailants had haunted her recently, this time Ashley could not see them, she could only hear them. Their phantom voices seemed to echo from faraway, as if she were in a cave.
***
“I understand my daughter is still hurting,” Claire told Rachel. “However, there’s only so much I can do.”
“I hear you,” Rachel offered sympathetically. “I know it’s not easy. You have to stand by her though. Imagine if what happened to Ashley happened
to you.”
Claire had already considered that. “What really scares me is Peter was the only person she had ever been in a relationship with. I mean, I’m not counting that one boy she dated back in high school, her freshman year.”
“Oh. I remember that kid. The one who always wore the leather jacket?”
“Uh huh. Simon Daugherty.”
“How long did she date him?”
“Not long,” Claire answered. “I think only a month.”
***
Now, Ashley no longer held her paintbrush in her hand. Instead, she was clutching her .22 Caliber revolver. As if she were under a magic spell, she had obeyed the ghosts, by blindly going upstairs to her bedroom, and taking the gun out of her nightstand drawer.
Christina, now put the barrel against your head, Craig instructed. That’s it. Don’t be afraid. We’re gonna play Russian roulette.
***
“What are you getting at?” Rachel asked.
“That spending so much time at the graveyard isn’t healthy,” Claire explained. “For heaven’s sake, my daughter has been acting like her dead husband is on vacation. Like one day soon, he’ll be coming back.”
As she rolled the rattling baby stroller onto Blueberry Street, Claire glimpsed Ashley’s car parked in front of the property. Thank God! At least she’d had enough sense not to get behind the wheel.
***
Let’s go! Craig demanded. Pull the trigger. What are you waiting for?
With a shuddering hand, Ashley held the revolver against her sweaty temple. She was crying, thinking back at her life and what it had all meant.
Do what he says! Buck Kennedy snapped. Shoot! That’s how you play Russian roulette. If you’re too scared Britney, take another drink. You probably thought we were a couple of lowlife drunks. Well, look at you now. You’re no better than us. Drink up and pull that trigger.
Ashley couldn’t do it. She didn’t have the courage to squeeze the trigger. Moreover, she had to stay alive to take care of Kimberly. Her baby needed her.
Shaking violently, Ashley put the gun down on the table where her pallet, brushes, cigarettes, and sunglasses were and then swallowed another pain pill. If she had pulled the trigger, she would have probably killed herself, being that the chamber was fully loaded.
CHAPTER 19
In the morning Ashley opened her eyes at a little past eight o‘clock, which, on a day when she did not have to work, was astonishingly early.
With the jug of Carlo Rossi wine on the floor beside her, she lay, looking sheepishly pale, on the leather sofa in her art studio. This wasn’t by design. Ashley had intended to sleep in her room, but had apparently passed out.
Presently, she had no saliva in her mouth; it felt as if she had been chewing on sawdust. She desperately needed some water.
Now, as Ashley slowly elevated her messy blonde head, she became aware that her Shania Twain CD was still softly playing; the disc had been set to automatically repeat.
After turning the CD player off, she plucked a bottle of Evian from the portable fridge. Ah, that felt good! The cold water instantly appeased her dehydrated throat.
That’s when Ashley spotted it, the .22 Caliber revolver perched on the nearby table. Just looking at the pistol, sent a shockwave thundering through her system.
Don’t think about it, she told herself. Remain calm. Maybe I didn’t really play Russian roulette. Maybe I dreamed that. After all, I was pretty screwed up.
She had no time to dwell on what may or may not have happened. Ashley had to be at Brad and Eve Ferguson’s pool party soon. The drive alone, to Cape May, would take an hour.
In the kitchen she noticed a piece of paper on the counter. It was a note from her mother:
Sweetheart.
Took Kimberly with me. Went to grab breakfast at Denny’s. Hope you’re feeling better.
P.S.
Don’t feed the puppy. He already ate.
I named the little guy, Albert. Thought you’d like to know.
Be back shortly.
Love, Mom.
Interesting, Ashley thought. By the tone of the note, her mother didn’t sound upset. Considering the way Ashley had acted at the pet store yesterday, she had expected her mother’s note to be harsh.
Relieved, Ashley put the note down, and then walked out to the backyard. The hot summer sun dominated the blue sky. Tied to the wooden fence, Ashley suddenly spied the new dog and realized right away that that was probably why her mom was in such a fabulous mood. The panting collie looked like a miniature version of Lassie
“Albert,” she called, clapping her hands. “How you doing boy?” When Ashley bent down to pet the dog, the happy puppy licked her hand excitedly. “Welcome to Blueberry Street. Are you hungry? Yeah. You must be hungry, sitting out here all by your lonesome. Come on, I’ll bring you in and see if I can find you something to snack on.”
***
Brad and Eve Ferguson’s huge home in Cape May was like something from Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.
The purple Victorian had an immaculate front yard, flawlessly trimmed hedges, a grandiose garden, and a long, winding driveway that, for Ashley, invoked images of old English royalty.
Both Brad and Eve drove Jaguars. As Ashley pulled up, with Kimberly strapped into the backseat, she wasn’t surprised to discover that their guests were also sporting luxurious cars. In comparison, Ashley’s black Toyota, although a respectable ride, looked cheap.
She did not let this bother her, however. If Ashley were to visit Peter’s parents in Fort Lauderdale, she knew the situation would be far worse. At least here the house wasn’t flanked by stretch limousines.
“Glad you could make it,” Brad Jr. declared graciously, when Ashley, with the baby in her arms, sat down on a lounge chair.
“Thanks.” The Ferguson’s big aquamarine pool had an island waterfall, which flowed majestically from elegantly arranged rocks. In the background, the Atlantic Ocean sent foam rolling up the golden beach. “I’m excited to be here. It’s not every day a girl like me is invited to a social gathering like this.”
Brad smiled. He looked so much the way Peter had; light brown hair, tall, in phenomenal shape. Sometimes this reality, from Ashley‘s vantage point, was slightly disturbing.
“Would you care for refreshment?” he asked. “Something cold to drink?”
“Yes. I would love that.” Ashley surveyed the chatty group around her to see what sort of drinks everyone had. She estimated there were seventy, to eighty guests. “Do you have champagne?”
“Of course, my dear. Only the finest.”
She watched Peter’s brother saunter over to the outdoor bar. For the occasion Ashley wore a leopard-print shirt and khaki shorts: her bathing suit was on underneath. A ball cap covered her flaxen mane.
From state-of-the-art speakers, Tchaikovsky’s renowned string serenade came on the stereo. Prior to that, the guests had been listening to Mozart’s piano concertos.
“Cold champagne for my lovely sister-in-law,” Brad proclaimed cordially, when he had returned. “And another for myself. Now what should we toast to?”
“To our health,” his wife Eve interrupted, appearing from seemingly nowhere. Then, gazing at the thumb-sucking baby she added, “And to our children . . . Hello Ashley. We’re so happy you could make it. Did you run into a lot of traffic on the way?”
“Yes. Actually quite a bit,” she admitted, while sipping her fizzy beverage. “The usual people headed to the shore. You guys are lucky.”
“Oh. How so?” Eve asked.
“You don‘t have that problem. You have the beach right here in your backyard. How awesome is that?” Overhead, gulls shouted lazily.
“It seems there are fringe benefits to owning oceanfront property.” Eve winked at Brad. “You don’t have to sit in traffic . . . Speaking of homes, Ashley, how are you and your mother getting along?”
“Pretty good, I guess.”
&n
bsp; “No mother-daughter squabbling?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
Eve Ferguson, who, just as Ashley had predicted, wore a string bikini, looked absolutely gorgeous, Her thick dark hair, which had blonde highlights in it, tumbled down to the center of her back. Thanks to hours of aerobics four days a week, Eve had an incredible body. Her only shortcoming, Ashley decided, was the way she carried herself. Due to her wealth, she sometimes, similar to Peter’s mom, came off as snobbish.
“And how is my cutie-pie niece?” Brad asked, pinching Kimberly’s chubby cheeks. The baby flashed him a toothless grin. “Hey! Did you see that?” he said to his wife. “Eve, my niece just smiled at me.”
“You always did have a way with women,” Eve joked. Then she put her hand on Ashley’s shoulder. “Darling, how’s the champagne?”
“Excellent.”
“Is it chilled enough?”
“It is. Thank you.”
For years, neither Brad nor Eve had treated Ashley this kindly. If I hadn’t been raped, she reminded herself. I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. They still clearly feel sorry for me, especially Brad. I could tell that months ago when we were at the Red Lobster.
“Better go easy on that,” Eve recommended, watching Ashley knock back a hefty swig. “It’s going to be a long day, and you don’t want to be driving home later with a buzz. Take my advice, too much bubbly after a long day in the sun will precipitate irrational behavior.”
“I appreciate the warning,” Ashley said, not pleased at the prospect of being told what to do. “I’ll keep that in mind. Nevertheless, since my glass is just about empty, do you think I could get a refill?”
Eve nodded. “Why yes you may. This is a shindig isn’t it? But make sure you sip this next one.”
“Oh. I will. I give you my word.”
While Eve went to replenish Ashley‘s glass, one of the Ferguson‘s guests, a pediatrician, dove, from the diving board, into the pool. It was a pathetic dive. For a laugh, Brad told the children’s doctor he’d better relinquish his dream of making the Olympics. Everyone standing around the pool, started to giggle.
