Between Friends

by Kitt, Sandra

  “Okay. I won’t look.”

  Dallas hesitated, and then came to her knees as she pulled her bra back into place to cover her breasts, glancing furtively at him to see if he was keeping his word. There was not much she could do about her ruined blouse beyond stuffing the tail into the top of her jeans and putting her jacket back on. Her crying turned to sniffles.

  Dallas heard the toilet flush downstairs. It spurred her into action. She hastily crawled across the tiled kitchen floor, reaching for her schoolbag. She stuffed as much of her things in as she could find and then stood up.

  “Alex! Alex!” Nicholas shouted from the lower level of the house. “I’m going to kick your ass, you hear me! I’m going to fuckin’ kill you!”

  Dallas stared at the one called Alex. He didn’t seem to have heard the threat, or maybe just didn’t care. He carefully laid his cigarette on the edge of the sink and, turning on the faucet, cupped water into his hands and splashed his face several times. He used one of the floral dish towels to dry his face and hands.

  Dallas looked at the open basement door, fearful that Nicholas would burst through. She began making her way around the other end of the kitchen table and toward the door.

  Alex’s voice made her jump.

  “You got all your stuff?”

  She wasn’t sure and she didn’t care, but Dallas nodded anyway.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He picked up his cigarette, took a drag.

  Dallas stared at him warily again and didn’t move.

  He became impatient. “Look, I already told you I’m not going to do anything. I could have walked away like Nick said and stayed out of whatever was going on between you two down there.”

  He took two strides across the space of the kitchen and pulled the door open. Then he waited for Dallas to precede him out.

  Dallas rushed past him, not realizing until he’d closed the door behind them that she’d been holding her breath. They were halfway down the block when the realization that she’d just escaped something really terrible finally hit her. The awareness made her quietly cry. She tried to covertly use her hand to wipe her face.

  “Hey … don’t do that,” Alex pleaded. “Look, it’s over. Nothing happened.”

  But Dallas knew he didn’t understand. Because she was only just starting to realize how powerless she’d been. She heard him curse in annoyance under his breath, but then he nevertheless started to murmur words of reassurance and comfort.

  “Come on … you’re okay.” He briefly rubbed her shoulder.

  Dallas nodded and tried to get a hold of herself. But she was recalling more than just the oppressive weight of Nicholas on top of her, or his brutal attempts to control her. Dallas was also mourning the death of a romantic fantasy she had nurtured since she became a teenager, about what it would be like to be with a boy … a man. Nicholas had destroyed it. She was never going to let a man touch her again.

  She kept taking deep breaths of air and finally stopped crying. She hazarded a surreptitious glance at the thin young man next to her and felt like she was being childish. Dallas sighed thankfully and hugged her book bag to her chest.

  “Where do you live?” he asked.

  “Two blocks from here. The other end of Chatham.”

  He frowned at her thoughtfully. “Oh, yeah? Since when?”

  “Since I was about six or seven.”

  His frown deepened, and he squinted at her through the cigarette smoke. “You’re not with that black family Nick and Vin used to talk about, are you?”

  Dallas nodded and stared straight ahead. “Nicholas hates me,” she said simply. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with this man. She heard him chuckle. He shook his head and threw away the rest of his cigarette.

  “Nicholas is just being a jerk. Vin doesn’t hate you or your family, either. He just doesn’t understand you. And he doesn’t like change or surprises. Anything too different.”

  “Lillian isn’t like that,” Dallas offered.

  “No, she isn’t,” he agreed. He glanced at her, puzzled. “So, you’re a friend of Lillian’s. How did that happen?”

  Dallas shrugged but remained silent as they continued to walk. It began when she was about seven. But Dallas had never told anyone about that, and she didn’t intend to make an exception now.

  “I take it Vin and Nicholas don’t like the idea.”

  “I don’t think Vin minds so much. He once told me he didn’t. But I still get a little nervous. He’s almost never there when I go to see Lillian.”

  Alex frowned at her and shook his head. “Lillian would be real upset if she knew what Nick tried to do.” He blinked at her and lightly touched her right cheek, where a distinct rosette blotch was rising under her tan skin. “He do that?”

  Dallas nodded.

  “Asshole,” he muttered.

  “Who are you?” Dallas asked shyly. “Are you family?”

  The corner of his mouth where Nicholas had hit him was turning purple against his pale skin, as was a spot near his temple. She winced involuntarily when she recalled the sounds of fists hitting flesh and bone. This man had taken a beating for her.

  “Am I family?” He carefully considered. “In a way. Depends on who you ask.”

  Dallas thought about that for a moment. She didn’t know what he meant, and she wasn’t about to ask. “Oh.”

  “Mostly they like to pretend I don’t exist. Except for Lillian,” he said.

  He hadn’t answered her question, but Dallas knew she couldn’t ask for more information. She stopped at the first corner. Suddenly she didn’t know if it was such a good idea to be seen in this man’s company. Not if he was in some way connected to the Marco family.

  “You don’t have to walk me all the way. I just have another block to go.”

  He looked around. “Afraid people will see us together? Doesn’t bother me. I’ve been slammed for a lot worse things than for being with a black kid. I got hang-ups, but I’m not prejudiced. Besides …” he began, frowning thoughtfully at her, “what’s the big deal?”

  Dallas sensed her whole body loosening up. She was no longer holding herself as if she expected to be attacked again. She felt she could trust him. He had a kind of invincibility, like someone who didn’t care. Or like someone who couldn’t be hurt.

  He didn’t look much older than Nicholas. About twenty-one or so. She stole another quick glance, thinking he was much better-looking than Nicholas.

  “I’ve never seen you before. You don’t live around here, do you?” she asked.

  “Nope. Brooklyn.”

  Dallas waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. He was lighting another cigarette. He glanced briefly behind them, and she wondered if he expected Nicholas to come after them.

  They approached a two-level Cape house situated in the middle of the block. There were no cars in the driveway and Dallas knew her parents hadn’t gotten home yet. She stopped in front of the house and faced her escort.

  “Are you visiting with Vin and Lillian?”

  He raised his brows and looked at her. “You ask a lot of questions. Visiting?” he repeated, again testing her word. He shook his head. “Just reminding them I’m still alive. I never stay long.”

  Dallas became uncomfortable when she imagined him seeing Vin and Lillian later, or having to face Nicholas. What was he going to say about the bruises on his face? She gnawed her lips.

  “What … what’s going to happen when you go back there? What if Nicholas and you start fighting again?”

  He lifted his shoulder indifferently. “We won’t.”

  Dallas stared wide-eyed at him until he finally understood.

  “Look, I won’t say anything to Vin or Lillian, I promise. Not if you don’t want me to.”

  “I don’t. They’ll think it’s my fault. Nicholas might lie.”

  “Are you going to tell your folks?” She shook her head vigorously. “How come?”

  “Same reasons. I wasn’t suppose
d to be there anyway. It’s kind of off limits.”

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Dallas. Dallas Oliver.”

  “Dallas? What kind of name is that? Born in Texas?”

  She tried to grin. It twisted, in the end, into a brief expression of sadness. “No. My mother was.”

  He held out a hand suddenly to her. “Alex Marco,” he said.

  Dallas stared at it before she tentatively put her hand in his. The handshake was quick and hard. “Thanks for—you know—helping me before. I’m sorry if you got hurt.”

  “Forget about it. Nick and I, we’ve gone at it before.” He pointed at her. “You stay out of his way. If he ever tries anything like that again, you just …” He thought for a moment. “You call me and let me know.”

  Already Dallas was shaking her head. “That’s okay.”

  “I’m serious,” he insisted. He patted down his pockets, then gestured to her. “Give me a pen and some paper.”

  Dallas opened a compartment on her knapsack and dug in hastily for a pencil. She ripped a sheet of paper from a notebook and handed them to him. While he wrote something down, she looked him over again. His head tilted down at an angle, and she could see something about him that seemed familiar. Suddenly he gazed up at her and handed her the paper.

  “Here. Just in case. You can always leave a message for me, and I’ll get back to you.”

  She nodded, accepting the paper and stuffing it into the pocket of her jacket. She had no intention of ever using it. “What about you? Are you going to get in trouble?”

  “I can take care of myself.” He squinted at her. “You’d better comb your hair or something and change clothes before your folks see you.”

  She reached up and touched her hair. It was a mess. Wild and loose.

  Alex slowly began backing away. He pushed his hands in the pockets of the jacket. The movement caused his elbows to stick out from his slender body. To Dallas it made him look somehow lonely and displaced.

  “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime …” he said before turning to walk quickly back up Chatham.

  Dallas watched him disappear in the distance. When she couldn’t see him anymore it was almost as if he’d never existed. Nonetheless, she believed that Alex Marco would keep his word and not say anything to Vin or Lillian about what happened. She believed that Alex could take care of himself if Nicholas tried to start in on him again. But Dallas also believed that there was no chance that she’d ever see him again.

  Chapter One

  THE VOLUME ON THE telephone was as low as it could be, and still its trilling sound startled her ruthlessly from sleep. Her mind, suspended somewhere in an unfinished dream, quickly shifted into semiconsciousness. She reached for the receiver before the phone could ring a second time.

  Something must be wrong.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Dallas. It’s … me,” came back the deep and throaty answer.

  Dallas recognized the voice on the other end. “Val, what’s wrong? It’s not Megan Marie, is it? Your family?”

  As she asked the question Dallas pulled herself up into a half-sitting position, her shoulders supported by pillows and the headboard. She glanced at the green-illuminated digital numbers on the clock radio: 1:53 A.M.

  There was sniffling and genuine distress, and the answer, when it finally came, was muffled through the folds of a Kleenex or handkerchief.

  “No, no. Everyone is fine.”

  Dallas unclenched the muscles in her neck and thighs. Her body relaxed. She swung her legs from the bed, pulling back the covers. “Hold on a minute. I’m going to switch phones.”

  She put the call on hold and replaced the receiver. Once out of the bed she searched in the dark through the pile of clothing tossed haphazardly on the chair and floor. She found something large with sleeves and quickly thrust her arms into them. Dallas didn’t bother to button the shirt, but wrapped it instead across her breasts as she left the room and closed the door behind her. She padded barefoot down a short hallway and into the living room, expertly sidestepping the edge of the wicker trunk that served as a coffee table. She let out a sleepy yawn and climbed onto the sofa, settling into a corner and digging her toes under a cushion. Slouching down comfortably, Dallas reached for the extension, prepared to listen to Valerie Holland’s latest complaint or problem.

  “You still there?” Dallas asked, fitting the phone between ear and shoulder.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “You just about gave me a heart attack, Val. I won’t even remind you what time it is.”

  “I’m sorry. I … I didn’t even think about the time. Did I interrupt anything?”

  “Just my sleep. Not that it would have mattered to you anyway,” Dallas responded.

  She absently massaged her fingertips through her scalp, pulling and playing with the short, curly locks. Valerie never thought about the time. Dallas had learned that she either had to keep up with Valerie’s schedule or miss half the adventure.

  “What’s wrong now? Did Matthew change his mind again about leaving his wife?” She heard a soft mewling sound and realized that Valerie was crying.

  “Just don’t say I told you so,” Valerie said in a watery voice.

  “I don’t have to. You knew all along what could happen. You know better than to get involved with a married man. Don’t you read Ladies’ Home Journal?” Dallas teased wryly. “They always go back to their wives, and you get hurt.”

  “It … it’s not Matthew. I haven’t even seen him in weeks. I’m glad we don’t work together anymore.”

  “Okay. So you’re not broken up over Matthew. You didn’t wake me up at almost two in the morning to tell me what a bastard he is.”

  Valerie sniffed. “No …” She started to cry again in earnest.

  Dallas’s eyes opened abruptly. She stared into the dark and frowned. “Val?” she prompted.

  “Nicholas is dead,” Val sobbed.

  For a moment the only thing Dallas could hear was the sounds of Valerie’s distress. Everything else was so quiet, like a void around the crying. The confusion she was suddenly experiencing had nothing to settle on.

  “Nicholas …” Dallas repeated blankly, as if testing the sound of the name. For a moment Dallas had no idea who Valerie was talking about. Her memory sifted through all of Valerie’s boyfriends over the past several years.

  “Who … who did you say?”

  “Nicholas! Nicholas Marco. He’s dead. He’s dead,” Valerie said impatiently, as if it should mean something significant to Dallas.

  Dallas was not fully awake. She leaned forward to grab an ecru knit afghan from a basket on the floor next to the sofa and attempted to spread it over herself. She wished she’d taken time to put on a robe. She felt a chill as goose bumps rose on her limbs. Her mind began leafing through a mental file, a chronology of childhood events, of incidents and occasions between herself and Nicholas Marco. The list was short and select. She’d actively tried to stay out of his way.

  Still, there had been times, like that Tuesday afternoon, when the details remained crystal clear. Even then what most often came to mind had less to do with Nicholas and the attempted rape than with the other person so fatefully present that day.

  Alex. He’d appeared out of nowhere to save her.

  So, Nicholas Marco was dead.

  For Dallas the announcement resurrected deep-seated feelings. Sympathy wasn’t one of them. Vin must be beside himself, she speculated silently. And poor Lillian …

  “When did it happen? How?” Dallas asked, feeling neither shock nor sorrow.

  “Sometime last night, I think. I got a call from Mom. She heard from Sylvia Campbell. You remember her? That retired schoolteacher whose house is behind the Marcos’. She saw a cop car come to the house around ten o’clock. She told my mother she could hear Lillian screaming …”

  Dallas squeezed her eyes tightly closed, and felt a strong wave of sympathy for the woman. “Bad news spreads quic
kly,” she murmured.

  “That’s what happens in a neighborhood when everyone knows everyone else’s business. I swear if I ever commit a crime, five people on the block will know about it before I’m booked.”

  “So how did he die? Was Nicholas sick or something?” There was a pause and then more quiet tears. Dallas was starting to lose patience with Val. She didn’t understand all this weeping over Nicholas Marco.

  “No …” Valerie croaked. “He … he was out at some party and got tanked. Then he insisted he could drive home. You know how Nicholas was. Always trying to show how macho he was. Can you believe he’d be so stupid?”

  “Yes,” Dallas responded flatly, although she doubted Valerie had heard or was even actually expecting an answer.

  “He was with someone. Not his wife, of course. Or should I say his almost ex-wife. Some bimbo. Mom said she walked away with whiplash and a few broken nails. Can you believe that? She had her seat belt on.”

  “Then she wasn’t a bimbo,” Dallas said dryly.

  “Forget her,” Valerie said, annoyed. “What about Nicholas, for Christ’s sake? We grew up with him.”

  “We lived in the same community,” Dallas corrected. “Other than that I had nothing in common with Nicholas Marco. He didn’t like black people.”

  “I don’t know if I believe that.”

  “How could you forget the stuff that went on the year my family moved into the neighborhood, Val? The racial slurs spray-painted on our garage door? Remember your folks taking Dean and me in for a week so my parents didn’t have to worry about us while the police investigated? We heard talk that Nicholas and his friends were involved.”

  “No one ever saw him do anything. Anyway, it was just talk. He was a kid.”

  “Old enough to be dangerous. And I was …” Dallas stopped abruptly.

  Valerie made an impatient sound through the phone. “Don’t tell me you were scared of him. He acted tough, but he really wasn’t.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore. Your family was like everyone else in the neighborhood.”

  No, we weren’t, Dallas thought stubbornly. She knew there was no way that Valerie could understand the effects of the reign of terror her family had gone through for those first months. The past was even more complicated than that because no one knew about what she alone had to endure. She got it from both sides, like working double duty: for being black … and not being black enough. As if it were her fault that her mother was white.