by Liz Crowe
The kitchen manager smiled as she handed Julie a plateful of shrimp and spicy rice. She snagged one of the salads from a waiting tray under half-hearted protest from a server and contemplated eating back in the break room so as to avoid the whole disgusting scene between her mother and Bart. But she still needed to get a few more things done and had a split-second of uncertainty. Maybe she was overreacting to Bart. He could be harmless. He was going to lift them up, marry her mother, provide her with college money and all sorts of great shit, she’d been told countless times. She should be nice to him as her mother insisted, not such a surly, mistrustful teenager.
Julie didn’t see either of them on her quick trip between kitchen and back hall, ducking into the tiny office with a sigh of relief. She inhaled the food, finished the rest of her soda, and wrapped up the essay within the hour. In the meantime the room had gotten even hotter. The old building had crappy ventilation. Between the kitchen and the body heat of hundreds of customers and employees, the plaster seemed to soak it all up and blow it straight down onto Julie’s damp forehead. She put her head down on the desk, willing it to be cool, for her mind to still and stop knocking around ridiculous images of her and Nathan Harrow.
She yelped and jumped up when a wet, meaty hand dropped onto her shoulder. Her throat closed up in fear but she set her face in calm lines. Overreacting, remember? He only wants to help you and your mother. And he was nice to her, which, after her mother’s last guy left them with nothing but an overdue rent payment, was somewhat of a relief.
“Hi, Bart. I was, uh, just finishing. I think I’ll catch the next bus home.” She shouldered her backpack and lowered her gaze.
He didn’t move, and his presence seemed to swell and fill all the corners of the already crowded room. Julie made the mistake of sucking in a breath, as she tried to calm her pounding heart. Whatever cologne he had bathed in filled her brain, triggering her gag reflex. She put her hand over her mouth.
Bart’s eyes were suddenly concerned, and he shrank a little, becoming a man who was only checking on her and not a predatory monster. He put a hand on her shoulder, let it slide down her bare arm.
“You okay, sweetheart? Feeling sick? Need a ride home?”
She shook her head. The thought of being closed up with him in his car made her gorge rise even higher. His eyes darkened, sharpened. Panic made her speechless. She yanked her arm out of his grasp and stumbled out into the hall, gulping in air, mercifully free of his man-perfumed stench.
Chapter Three
“I told you I was going out.” Her mother primped and preened in the tiny bathroom mirror. “I left ten bucks on the table. Just order pizza.”
Julie sipped her tea and tightened the robe around her. She was already dressed underneath and had thrown on the robe when her mom had rushed in from her shift at the restaurant, blathering about Bart taking her out “dancing” or some shit, a “short-notice date.”
Julie gave what she believed had to be an Oscar-worthy effort, convincing her mom she had an awful cold and would be shivering under blankets, clutching tissues, for the night. At one point the woman had narrowed her eyes, and Julie had dropped her gaze, thinking herself caught out in the lie. But Julie’s mother was nothing if not the most self-centered human on the planet. So she bought the act, made Julie a cup of tea, gave her an aspirin, and resumed her preparations.
“I don’t like him, Mom,” Julie said, trying one more time to get her mother to stop being so excited about Bart. “He’s kind of a creep.”
“No, he’s not. He is a successful businessman, concerned about his employees and about you. He told me so. He wanted to make sure you were safe and sound at home tonight while we were out. Such a thoughtful guy.” Julie rolled her eyes as her mother sighed and stared at herself in the mirror another few seconds. “I think he’s going to ask me soon, Jules, I really, truly do.” Her mother bit her plump lower lip and grinned at her daughter as she turned and ran her hands down her hips encased in a second-hand little black dress.
“Oh Mom, please do not tell me you want to marry him, ick!” Julie wandered down the hall, wishing more than anything that her mother would listen, would heed her fear about the way Bart stared at her breasts while pretending to talk to her. She shuddered, then flopped onto the couch to stare at the television as it blared out the latest rotten news of the world.
The doorbell rang. “Jules, baby, would you get that?” her mother sang out.
Julie hauled herself up, knowing her mother was perfectly capable of answering and had been ready for this date for nearly a half hour. But she loved to make an entrance. So Julie peeped out to see Bart’s giant teeth and rodent-sharp eyes looming large in the fish-eye lens before opening it and stepping back, tying her robe even tighter around her middle.
He smiled, a benevolent thing, which made Julie second-guess herself for the hundredth time when it came to Bart Hardin. “Here,” he declared, handing her a cup of something and keeping his distance. “Gourmet hot chocolate for the poor sick girl.”
She smiled and sipped and tried like hell to feel anything resembling comfortable under his gaze.
“Manners, Julie. I know your mother has taught you better.” He took a step way too close, making her gulp and stumble back into a chair. His eyes were sharp again, making her feel like a doomed mouse in a hawk’s direct sights.
“Thanks, Bart,” She said, turning from him to hide in the kitchen. Resisting the urge to pour the stupid chocolate down the sink, she sat in the far corner of the room, keeping the table between them.
He leaned in the doorway, never taking his dark eyes from her. “You sure you’re going to be all right here alone tonight?”
She shook off her sudden need to respond, to be polite, to let him lull her into any sense of complacency. She had watched enough television and read enough news articles to know exactly what it was he wanted from her. She hunched her shoulders and tried not to be “so dramatic” as her mother liked to say. “I’m fine. Gonna read and go to bed. Mom!” she yelled, hoping the woman would hurry the hell up and get this guy out of their apartment.
“Hi, handsome.” Her admittedly lovely young mother put a light kiss on Bart’s cheek. The reek from his cologne hit Julie’s nose then, making her turn her head away.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he growled. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving this one alone.”
Her mother frowned at her. Julie shrugged. They had such a strange dynamic, and this new bizarre twist, the one where Julie actually sensed jealousy shooting out of her mother’s dark stare made her gulp and want to burst into tears. The hopelessness of her situation hit her right between the eyes. She had to get out of there, even if she lingered in town and went to community college.
She squared her shoulders and tried to look simultaneously way too sick to sneak out and go to a party, and well enough to be left the fuck alone.
By the time Bart had let himself be dragged out the door, Julie was exhausted. The phone rang just as she was about to wimp out of the whole thing, convinced it was pretty much a stupid idea anyway. She had no business going to any normal teenager’s party. She was as far from normal as a teenager could get. “I’m not going,” she declared when Amy called to say she was about to leave her house and would be at Julie’s building in fifteen minutes.
“Oh, yes, you are.” Her friend hung up, leaving Julie to hyperventilate in the kitchen, clutching the phone handset in a death grip. She stood on wobbly knees, put the cracked receiver back in the cradle, and stripped out of the robe.
Her feet wouldn’t cooperate at first but she finally made her way back to the bathroom, tried her hand at a bit of makeup, finally washing it all off in frustration. She didn’t even know how to talk to boys or what to do at a “back-to-school” party. Jesus. She gazed at the small tub, wanting nothing more than to run a hot bath and climb in, then watch TV for a while, before catching up on some sleep. It was too much. Her head jerked up when the doorbell dinged again.
&n
bsp; “I am not going,” she declared to the vision of her friend clad in shorts and the smallest possible t-shirt. Julie rubbed her bare elbows, feeling overdressed in what she’d thought was a cute sundress but now realized how frumpy and out-of-it she looked. “Cut it out!” she yelped when Amy grabbed her arm and yanked her into the smelly hallway. “Jesus,” she mumbled, part of her happy Amy was not taking no for an answer. “Hold on.”
She grabbed a small purse and pulled the door shut behind her, embarrassed that her wealthy, put-together friend had to see the shabby, shit-colored carpet in the hallway, smell the Indian food cooking that permeated the building, experience the shouting and cursing coming from the other apartments.
But Amy just grinned at her, unfazed. “Let’s go. Your new boyfriend awaits.”
Julie rolled her eyes, but lost the battle to keep from grinning from ear to ear when she climbed into Amy’s VW bug. The night felt rich, glorious, and full of possibility. Could this be the turning point for her? After all these years wishing she had something like a normal life, or that her mom would at least pretend to like her sometimes in between bitching about how both her figure and life as a teenager had been ruined by the fact of Julie’s conception.
Amy sped away from the curb, drinking from a red cup full of something that smelled so strong, Julie wrinkled up her nose at it when her friend thrust it into her hand. “Just hold your nose, Miss Sensitive. It’s social lubricant, a pre-tuner, whatever. Drink it. So you don’t look like you have a broomstick up your ass when we get there.”
Julie stuck her tongue out at her friend but did as she was told, literally holding her nose and downing the foul liquid, wincing as it burned her throat. Amy sang along with The Who, and Julie joined her as they made their way to a neighboring suburb where the second-tier party was being held, sans adults, and completely illicit.
Amy had a funny look in her eye when they stopped at a light. Julie felt a chill steal across her scalp.
“I’m doing it. Tonight. I swear to you I am,” the other girl declared.
Julie frowned. She knew damn good and well what Amy was talking about but didn’t want to acknowledge it. The state of their mutual virginity had been a hot topic of discussion all summer between them. Amy had snagged some of her mom’s steamier romance novels and the girls had giggled and squirmed uncomfortably at some of the more explicit parts. The whole thing was both disgusting and titillating, terrifying, forbidden, and yet potentially wonderful, especially the part when the virgin allowed her rakish, charming man to “penetrate her” and they “rocked their hips together,” drawing sighs and cries of satisfaction from their lips. Of course, they would marry, have babies, and live wonderful lives together after that.
Julie was more of a cynic about such things. But she had an innocent young girl’s normal fascination about how and when she would surrender her “maidenhead” and what man would be worthy of such a gift. She talked big when she and Amy read some of the juicier bits about “throbbing manhood” and “soft fluttering kisses” and “warm wet folds” out loud. She acted like she knew all that crap and then some, but she didn’t. Julie was terrified of boys, to tell the truth, after her mother’s strange verbal indoctrinations in spite of the way she was a walking, talking, “do as I say, not as I do” contradiction.
Julie sighed and leaned her head against the window. But Amy wouldn’t stop blabbing.
“I think Tom will be there. You remember him? From geography class last year? He plays soccer? Yeah.” Amy tapped her fingernails on the wheel, worried her lower lip with her teeth. “I gotta get past this, get it over with.”
“Why?” Julie asked, honestly bewildered. “I mean, you know…”
“This is pretty funny, you know. You were the one all summer who said it was no big deal. That we should find a guy and just have him… you know, do it to us so we could be over it.”
Julie sighed. “I know. It’s just…” She stopped talking, not even sure what it “just” was anymore. But she knew didn’t want anything done to her. Images of Bart’s predatory stare made her shudder.
“Right, so here we are. Stick close to me for a while, okay?”
Julie froze in her seat. The house was smallish, not even nearly as nice as Amy’s. Every light was on, but there weren’t a ton of cars parked in the street. Amy pulled down a side street and parked about four blocks away.
“Can’t give it away, or the neighbors will call the cops,” she claimed as she climbed out, leaving Julie to sit gripping her knees in panic. “Come on, already. Jesus.” She tugged Julie out of the car, leaning her against the door after she shut it, and digging in her purse for something. She pulled out a makeup compact and some lipstick. Julie shook her head. Amy shoved them into her friend’s hand. “Put some on. You are pretty and all, but you gotta look like you wanted to come to a party.”
Julie’s hands shook so hard she dropped the compact. Amy tsked and picked it up, patted some of the powder on Julie’s face, smeared her lips with the gooey stuff that smelled so strongly of strawberries she had to repress the urge to lick it all off.
Amy grinned at her. “Better. Now, let’s hit this.”
Julie nodded, but her whole body felt encased in ice, then fire, then ice again as she followed Amy around the corner.
Chapter Four
It took an hour for Julie to get her bearings and figure out that the real party was occurring in the large, dark basement. Upstairs, teenagers milled around, ate chips and popcorn, played video games, and drank from the ubiquitous plastic red cups. She knew everyone there, but had no idea how to fit in, how to “party” and “hang out” as Amy admonished her to do when they hit the door. Julie had plucked at her friend’s arm and nearly burst into anxious tears.
Boys were everywhere, their long, lanky, smelly bodies draped over every stick of furniture. Girls too, of course, but Julie could not tear her eyes from the male contingent. Facial hair warred with zits. They laughed, showing their large white teeth. They drank, making huge gulping sounds, and refilled their cups with beer or vodka.
Someone brought out little cups full of JELL-O that they were slurping back. One landed in Julie’s hand. She stared at it, unsure, then let some boy push her elbow up, encouraging her to eat it in one go. She did, choking and spluttering, hating the sweet cloying flavor and the bitter alcohol afterbite.
Somebody, Amy perhaps, handed her a cup and she sipped the clear liquid, trying to be a normal teen, to feel comfortable. Finally Amy elbowed her in the side as they stood around and watched some guys clowning and showing off, miming a wrestling match.
It occurred to Julie this was like watching one of those nature shows, where the males of some species fought with each other, paraded around with their fancy feathers, their giant beaks or manes or tails, trying to catch the eye of a likely female. For just one reason – to mate. To have sex. To fuck. To get fucked. To let one of these absurd boys put his penis inside her vagina, move it in and out until he, and presumably she, achieved orgasm. She shuddered and downed the remainder of her cup before turning away from the whole messy scene, wanting to go home worse than ever.
But the room had shifted, the floor tilted, and she’d developed a very strange orange glow around the edges of her vision. She reached out, but the wall fell away, and she stumbled. Amy giggled somewhere to her left. A disgusting odor filled her nose then, an earthy, bitter, smoky scent that made her cough and gag.
“You’ll have to excuse her, Nathan,” Amy said, as Julie slumped against the wall, giving up on walking anywhere for the time being. “She is a little sensitive in the nose. Hates strong smells or something, poor thing.”
Julie tried hard to focus, but that ability remained elusive. Fear tickled her newly drunken brain. Her teeth chattered. Nathan Harrow’s long face loomed in front of her. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, his lips turned up. He must be laughing at her. She frowned, put out her hand to steady herself.
“I’m going home,” she declared, b
ut it sounded funny, slurred, and stupid.
Nathan’s voice slid into her ears, nestled into her brain, quieting her nervousness for a moment. “Relax, Jules. C’mon, let’s sit over here a minute. I’ll get you some water.”
Amy winked at her, but Julie barely registered it as she let Nathan take her hand, lead her to a couch in a far corner of the family room. The party surged around them. Boys and some girls ran around, yelping and hollering, and doing their primitive mating dances. Julie gulped. Nathan handed her a cup. She sniffed it, but his face would not stop moving.
“It’s okay, Jules. It’s water. I swear it.” He leaned back, crossed an ankle over his knee. She stared at his calves, their strong, bulky muscles covered in dark hair. A strange, warm feeling spread from her feet up her legs and settled right under her dress.
She shifted away from him. But his hand fell onto her shoulder. It wasn’t hot or sweaty or meaty like Bart’s. It was light. His fingertips grazed her skin as he turned to talk to someone on his other side. She sipped the water and stared at him, letting the excuse of being drunk for the first time in her life give her a reason to be rude. His face was a little pockmarked from former acne, his jaw rough with a light beard. She heard nothing, just saw Nathan and wanted him to wrap her up in his arms and spirit her away from this yowling mass of sweaty bodies and noisy near-coupling.
She sighed and put her cup on the table, but missed and the water splashed down onto the dark green carpet. “Oh shit.” She stood, slipping when her sandaled foot hit the mess.
“Better do something about that one, Harrow.” The boy Nathan had been talking to nodded at her. She felt a blush spread up her neck to her face. “Strike when the iron is hot, my man.” The boy faded into the crowd, leaving Nathan to grab her hand and yank her back down onto the couch.
Julie wrinkled up her nose at the bitter, smoky aroma coming from his shirt and hair. He reached behind his ear and presented her with what looked like a cigarette, only a sort of lumpy and badly constructed one. She glared at it, then up at him.
