Child's Play

by Andrew Neiderman

  Alex was in his study reading one of his father’s old books. She knew what it was like to interrupt him when he was doing that, but she couldn’t back away. Without looking at her, he slammed the book closed. She winced, but held her ground.

  “What is it, Sharon?”

  “I was…taking…taking a bath, and he…was spying on me.”

  “Who was spying on you?”

  “Carl.”

  “For Christ sake, what’s the big deal? It’s just adolescent curiosity.”

  She stood there blinking rapidly. What was she going to add—he’d caught her fantasizing? She knew what loyalty Alex commanded of Richard. Already she had seen signs of Carl’s becoming like him. When Alex confronted the boy, Carl would tell him what she was doing. She was positive. Being so exposed embarrassed her even more. Alex had been so aloof from her recently—was it her fault that a bath had made her feel sensual?

  “It’s not nice,” she said, and felt stupid immediately for the way she’d said it.

  “I’ll speak to him.”

  “He could make up stories. He could…”

  “I said I’ll speak to him. It won’t happen again.”

  “He’s different,” she insisted. “At least Richard behaves; at least Richard can be trusted.”

  “Carl will become like Richard,” Alex said with that definite tone of voice. She swallowed. She wanted to continue and insist that Carl was too much. They should give him back.

  “I don’t think so,” she said quickly, and left the study.

  Later that day, Alex brought the incident up at their afternoon session. To emphasize the privacy of these talks with the boys, he held them in a rarely used room of the Manor. It was furnished with an old soft-cushioned couch and two straightback chairs. There were two standing lamps and a small round table in the room, as well. The walls were bare and the heavy curtain was drawn closed over the window.

  “Sex is part of yourself that you must control completely,” Alex said. He always spoke in a soft, reasonable tone of voice during the sessions. The boys were seated on the couch and he was sitting on the straight-back chair directly in front of them. Carl was looking down between his legs and Richard was to his right watching him. “When it comes over you, it comes over you like a wave. It can drown you.”

  “She had the door open, so I looked in,” Carl said. He shrugged and looked down quickly again.

  “You’re not listening,” Richard said sternly. Carl turned to him. Richard sounded so much like Alex. “Alex isn’t mad at you. He’s trying to help you.”

  “Anyone would have looked in,” Alex said. “Listen,” he added, a slight smile on his face, “you know how my father described sex to me? He said, ‘Alex, sex is just a trick of nature to bring people together. That’s all it is. Don’t make more of it.’”

  Carl’s eyes got wider. He was used to fatherly talks. He had had them from counselors in school, the psychologist, teachers. A seasoned delinquent, he knew when to nod and when to act repentant. But Alex was different; Alex seemed more on their level.

  “I guess she’s pretty pissed,” he said.

  “No, she’s scared. You frightened her more than anything else. Tell you what,” Alex said. “Later on today, go to her when she’s alone in the kitchen, and apologize.”

  “I couldn’t,” Carl said. He looked terrified. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

  “Just say you’re sorry,” Richard said. “Say it was dumb and you won’t do it again.”

  “That’s right.”

  He looked from Alex to Richard and then back to Alex again. Alex nodded slowly. His gaze was intense now, and for a moment Carl thought he could hear the man’s thoughts. He had to hold his breath.

  “I’ll try,” he said.

  “Good. And while you’re at it, maybe there’s something else you should apologize for, huh?”

  “What’dya mean?” He looked at Richard, but there was only the same intense, accusing glance.

  “What do I mean?” Alex asked gently. Carl couldn’t avoid his eyes. They tore into him, through him, and pushed the lies back. He felt naked, exposed, worse than Sharon must have felt in the bathtub.

  “How long did you know?”

  “Soon as Sharon knew.”

  “What did you do with the money?” Richard asked him.

  “I was going to buy cigarettes, but I stoled the cigarettes.”

  “You oughta think about giving up cigarettes,” Alex said. “If you’re going to train with us.”

  “He’ll give it up,” Richard said. “Or I’ll kick his ass.”

  “It would be better if he gives it up because he wants to and not because we want him to.”

  “So what did you do with Sharon’s five bucks?”

  “I still got it.”

  “Then you can do the right thing about that, too,” Alex said. He stood up. “All right, I’ll meet you guys in the gym in a half hour. What’s Carl been benchpressing?” he asked Richard.

  “Eighty, five reps.”

  “Already? He’s got potential.” He winked at Carl and then left the room. For a few moments, the two boys sat in silence.

  “I don’t get it,” Carl said. “He wasn’t even mad. I mean…”

  “Alex knows what it’s all about. He’s been there. Go see Sharon. I’ll meet you in the basement.”

  “Hey, I don’t know if I can do that. I just said I would.”

  Richard’s eyes grew small. His hands became fists and his back stiffened. He took a few steps toward Carl.

  “You can do it,” he said slowly and in a deliberately subdued voice. “It’s what Alex thinks is right.”

  Carl nodded.

  Even so, it took him the better part of twenty minutes to work himself up to it. He found Sharon in the kitchen, mixing a batter for a cake. She nearly dropped the bowl when he came in silently behind her.

  “What do you want?”

  “I…I just want to say I’m sorry for what I did before.”

  “Well, it wasn’t very nice.”

  “It was dumb. I’m sorry,” he repeated. She saw the great effort in his face and she softened.

  “We’ll just forget it,” she said, and looked at her batter again.

  “I…” He stepped up to her. “I found this,” he said handing her the five-dollar bill. “I know it’s yours.”

  She looked at the money and at him. She thought she saw a mixture of fear and repentance in his face. His hand was shaking. She put the bowl down and took the bill.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It is mine.”

  He looked at the bowl quickly.

  “Making a cake, huh?”

  “Banana chocolate.”

  “Sounds great. See you later,” he added and ran out. She nearly laughed.

  Then she looked down at the five-dollar bill in her hand. It’s just amazing, she thought, amazing what Alex could do. Who knows? He might really change these kids.

  She folded the five-dollar bill and put it in her apron pocket and then went back to her cake batter.

  Carl went down to the basement gym. Richard had been there only ten minutes. He finished his work on the speedbag and went to the weights to set Carl up.

  “Did you do it?” he asked, not looking up at him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Alex’ll be happy.” Carl nodded and looked about nervously. “All right, here’s eighty pounds,” Richard said, stepping away from the benchpress and the weights. “Go at it.”

  “No,” Carl said.

  “What’dya mean? You’re up to that.”

  “Make it eighty-five. I want to surprise Alex.”

  Richard smiled. There was respect in his eyes. “That’s a great idea,” he said, and helped his new brother get ready.

  3

  “You’re taking on a particularly hard case here,” Mrs. Hoffman said, “and if it weren’t for your great success with the boys, I would have hesitated to even mention her.”

  “Hard case?�
� Sharon leaned forward in her seat. After three months with the two boys, Alex had gotten her back to the child protection service by appealing to her feminine instincts.

  “I’ve been selfish,” he told her. “I didn’t even consider bringing a female in so that you would play a much more significant role. You have so much to offer a young girl.”

  She thought about it. Maybe Alex was right; maybe if they did take in a girl, that girl would depend more on her. There were things she could tell a foster daughter that she could never tell the boys.

  After Alex brought it up, she went into the attic and opened one of her old trunks. She took out her prom dress, still bright as new, and held the garment to her face. The scent in the cotton and the feel of the crinoline lining brought back wonderful girlhood memories. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to unlock them again with someone else, she thought, someone who would be excited by the descriptions and the stories?

  But Mrs. Hoffman was discussing a girl who might not be so appreciative or even interested in Sharon’s tales of innocent love, moonlight kisses, and harmless pranks. She was talking about a girl who most likely would find all that silly.

  “Did you say, ‘raped’?” Sharon asked, coming out of her reverie at the mention of the word.

  “Yes. Her home conditions were abominable.”

  “She’s thirteen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let her give the full details, Sharon,” Alex said gently. Mrs. Hoffman smiled appreciatively. Alex has charmed her beyond repair, Sharon thought.

  “Her mother, Carmen Sera, has four other children, only two from the same father. They lived in a four-room apartment in a low income project in Monticello. The man Mrs. Sera was living with at the time brought the family up here from New York City when he got employment with a poultry processor in South Fallsburg. After a year and a few months, he deserted them and Mrs. Sera went on welfare.”

  “Who raped her?” Sharon asked.

  “Her stepbrother.”

  “How terrible.” A flush came into Sharon’s face. Alex raised his eyebrows. He rarely saw her so animated. “The poor thing.”

  “Exactly. That’s why a stable home with a decent female influence is so important at this point,” Alex said. Mrs. Hoffman concurred.

  “But why did they take her away from her mother? They should have taken the stepbrother instead.” Sharon was downright aggressive about it. For a moment Mrs. Hoffman did not respond. She looked at Alex and at her papers and then leaned forward on her desk. When she spoke, her voice was nearly a whisper.

  “Her mother was farming her out for prostitution.”

  “Disgusting,” Alex said quickly. Impressed by Mrs. Hoffman’s tone and dramatics, Sharon nodded slowly. “Is there any other criminal activity besides prostitution?” Alex asked.

  “I’m afraid so. That’s why I call this a particularly hard case.”

  “What else?” Sharon asked. She held her breath.

  “A few arrests for shoplifting. Some drug-related problems at school.”

  There was a pause. Sharon looked at Alex, but he didn’t seem discouraged.

  “Won’t the girl feel strange in a non-Hispanic household?” she asked hopefully. “I mean, Alex speaks Spanish, but…”

  “Not at all. Her father wasn’t Spanish. In fact, none of the Sera children are full-blooded Spanish. One’s part black and one’s…”

  “That’s all right,” Alex said. “We don’t really care about the child’s ethnic background. A child is a child.”

  “Oh, of course,” Sharon said. Although Alex was well in control of his temper, she could see the fire in his eyes. She sat back and folded her hands in her lap.

  “I must tell you that there is also some evidence of child abuse here. I have two reports…”

  Sharon looked at Alex again as Mrs. Hoffman sifted through her papers. She didn’t say anything, but she tried to make the expression on her face clear: this child is definitely too much. We can’t take her. Alex turned away.

  “I think all of these children are abused in one way or another,” he said softly. Mrs. Hoffman stopped looking for her reports and nodded.

  “I can’t agree more.” She sat back in her chair and pressed her fingers together in cathedral fashion and considered Sharon. “I’m sure you’re completely right about the need for a decent female influence, Mr. Gold.”

  “Sharon would welcome the challenge,” he said quickly. They both looked at her and she smiled uncertainly.

  “Well, then,” Mrs. Hoffman said, “let me get started on transferring Elizabeth Sera to Echo Lake Manor.” She slapped her hands together so sharply it made Sharon jump.

  She pulled back the curtain and looked out. Behind her, the woman, Sharon Gold, was talking quickly, continuously, with Mr. Kaplan. She had been jabbering like that ever since they arrived. Apparently, they had arrived earlier than expected, and Mrs. Gold was very nervous about it.

  “My husband would have been here to greet her. He wouldn’t have gone on one of his long walks with the boys. There must have been some confusion with the time.”

  “That’s all right,” Mr. Kaplan said. “That’s all right.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes for a few moments. It was a futile attempt to transport herself from the room and the reality of the moment. Sharon Gold’s voice was so thin and high-pitched. It annoyed her. She wanted to turn around and shout, “SHUT UP. SHUT THE FUCK UP. WHO CARES IF YOUR HUSBAND WASN’T HERE AT THE EXACT MOMENT? WHO THE HELL CARES ABOUT ANYTHING?”

  The woman was crazy from the moment they drove up: storming out onto the porch, wringing her hands, going on and on about her husband being on a walk. She didn’t even say hello to her, and Elizabeth would be damned if she’d say hello first. Even Kaplan was confused. He stood there like a jerk, holding her suitcases in both his hands and smiling.

  “We can show her her room though, can’t we?” he finally suggested.

  “Oh, of course, of course. It’s all ready. Sure. Come in,” the woman said, charging back into the house before they had a chance to take the first step.

  They moved her stuff in, not that she had that much. The room was big, and the double bed and dressers were much nicer than she had expected. Although the house was big, it looked so old from the outside, that she’d thought everything inside it would be an antique. The girls at the temporary house had told her that many of the foster parents were poor and took in kids just for the money.

  “I didn’t do much in here yet,” Sharon explained after they had entered. “I wanted to wait for…wait for…”

  “Elizabeth,” Mr. Kaplan inserted.

  “Yes.” Sharon giggled. “Silly of me to forget for the moment.”

  “Wait for what?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Why…I thought you might want to help make some choices.”

  “What choices?”

  Sharon brought her hand to her throat and looked at Mr. Kaplan as though she was sure she had said something terrible. He simply smiled.

  “Colors, styles. We’re going to put a rug down and change the curtains and bedspread. Maybe wallpaper.”

  “Holy shit,” Elizabeth said, looking to Kaplan. “She for real, or what?”

  “I think you oughta be very grateful that Mrs. Gold wants to do these things.”

  Elizabeth looked around and then shrugged with indifference. Mr. Kaplan and Sharon began to talk when Elizabeth looked out the window. She was about to turn around and walk out when she saw the three of them moving just at the ridge of a hill: a man and two boys. They were walking slowly and the boys had their heads down as though they were listening to a sermon. She saw a little dog hanging close to the older boy.

  As they came nearer, the boys looked up, and she decided the tall boy was cute. The man looked attractive, even from this distance; but she thought it was odd the way he stared forward and kept his hands behind his back. He really did look as though he were delivering a lecture.

  “That them?” she asked.
>
  “What’s that, dear?” Sharon came up to the window. “Oh, yes, that’s Alex and the boys. Thank goodness.”

  “You got a dog, too?”

  “That’s Dinky,” Sharon said, raising and lowering her voice like a grade school teacher.

  “Dinky. Shit.”

  “We have two cats also.”

  “I hate cats,” Elizabeth said. “My mother said they smother babies if you leave them alone with them.”

  “Oh, that’s not true. That can’t be true. At least I know Fluffy and Tiger wouldn’t do that.” Sharon laughed.

  “Maybe we should go back downstairs and introduce everyone,” Kaplan said quickly.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Sharon said.

  Elizabeth went to the mirror attached to the long dresser and looked at herself. She was pleased with her looks. Her relationships with boys and with men had convinced her that she was an attractive girl. She knew she was well developed for her age. She had no trouble getting served in bars, and few men looked skeptical when she claimed to be eighteen. “Of course,” her mother had said, “they want you to be eighteen. It don’t matter what they tell you.”

  She understood her mother’s meaning. Elizabeth was distrustful of men and had learned to recognize the look in their eyes or the tone in the voice that suggested sexual desire. Even a man like Martin Kaplan stole glances at her bosom and legs when he thought she was unaware. It made her smile and confirmed her belief that men were predators and consumers regardless of their ages or professions.

  She shook her head and threw back her long strands of silky black hair. When she brushed it in the morning, she did so with defiance. In fact, there was an antagonistic air about her when she did most things. She took orders reluctantly, often with a silent defiance, and when she spoke to adults, she used a clipped, staccatolike tone that created tension.

  There was a sharp but stunning contrast between her hair and her hazel-green eyes and caramel skin. Despite the layer of anger she drew over her face, she couldn’t altogether harden her soft, well-proportioned features: small nose with just a slight upturn, an attractive mouth that caused a dimple in her left cheek when she brought her lips together, and high cheekbones that gave her an Indian look. There was enough of a mixture in her genetically to give her face interest and uniqueness. That, combined with the obvious perception and intelligence revealed in her eyes, made Elizabeth Sera exciting to most men.