Unwilling Accomplice
Barbara Seranella
2004
For all the kids who have broken the chain,
and for all the counselors, teachers,
and mentors who helped them.
Prologue
The man was everywhere.
Asia Mancini first met him by the rabbit hutches. He gave her two carrots to feed the bunnies, which was nice of him. Then he squatted down next to her as she pushed the orange sticks through the wire mesh. She could feel his breath on her neck when he said, "C’mere, bunny. " It made her feel funny when he did that, gave her goose bumps all up and down her arms. She crossed her legs and brought her elbows down to her sides. She didn’t know why she did that.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"Ten?"
"Eight and three-quarters.’ she said, pleased that he thought she was older.
"Almost nine," he said. "My little girl is nine."
"What’s her name?"
"Taffy, like the candy. I bet you like candy."
"But not taffy" she said. "No offense."
He laughed and patted her arm. His fingers had hair on the backs of them and looked large on her forearm. She sank deeper into the cannonball position, her chin on her knees, arms holding them tight against her chest.
"You just have fun." he said.
Asia was glad when he left and she could go back to studying the bunny’s cute little whiskers, trying to get him to wiggle his nose at her. Next to the bunny pen, there were ducks. Asia liked the ducks in the Venice Beach canals near her godparents’ house better. Their feathers weren’t all tufted up and she didn’t remember them smelling bad, like they’d been stuffed in a closet or something with a bunch of dirty laundry.
At the goat pen, the man was there again wearing the same blue windbreaker, his longish dark hair combed straight back, a friendly smile on his tanned face. This time he gave Asia an ice cream cone full of birdseed.
"No, thank you," she said, being polite like her mom had taught her.
"G’wan," he said, "take it."
She looked around, wondering where all the other kids and adults were. She felt like she was in trouble, like she might not get to go on another school field trip, but didn’t know what she’d done wrong.
"I have to go," she said. "My mother is looking for me." This was a small fib, but sounded better than saying one of her teachers.
She went to the gift shop and scanned the souvenir racks for pencils with her name already stamped on them. There were plenty of Anns, Andreas, Audreys, Alices, even an Abigail, but none, as usual, with Asia engraved in the wood.
Audrey? she thought, trying to picture a kid her age named that. She shook her head. Abigail would be cool, though. She saw her teacher, Miss Hopp, talking to Sister Margaret over by the bus. Sister Margaret was eating an ice cream cone. Today’s outing was going to use up the whole school day so all the kids would get a chance to see the animals get fed and groomed.
Asia thought she’d seen the last of the man with the hairy fingers, but then, after lunch, when all the kids were sitting at the benches talking and acting stupid, she went for a walk along the tree line. She thought she might find something interesting. A rock or a piece of wood that she could take home to her collection, maybe some flowers for her mommy. She would like that. Asia didn’t even hear him come through the bushes. Then suddenly he was there on horseback.
"You want to go for a ride?" he asked.
Of course she did. More than anything. But that vague feeling stopped her. The sense that she was in trouble or would get in trouble. He was a stranger, even though he seemed to want to be friendly. His clothes weren’t all dirty or torn and he didn’t smell. And he had a kid, so he was like a dad, too. Still, she felt dry in the mouth and wished she hadn’t wandered off alone. Again. The sisters and her teachers were always telling her about that.
He patted the saddle in front of him. "C’mon, I'll take you for a ride."
"Both of us at the same time?" she asked. What would it be like, sitting on the saddle in front of him? His breath would be all over her again. Her bottom would be touching him. The saddle would make that happen. She knew she wouldn’t like that, being so close to his boy parts. She also knew he shouldn’t be asking her. He must be a bad man. She remembered then something else her mom said once, something that she didn’t really get, and her mom said she’d tell her more about it when she was older. Something about how being a parent didn’t make someone good. Asia turned and ran back to the picnic tables. Forget good manners.
She spent the rest of the day alone on the bus, waiting for the others. Sister Margaret asked her if she was all right. Asia told her she was tired and didn’t feel like seeing any more animals. Unsure what had happened or almost happened or might have happened, she said no more. She wasn’t stupid. Why take a chance of getting punished for breaking some rule she’d probably forgotten?
"Look before you leap" was her new motto. Starting now.
Chapter 1
Munch Mancini could hardly believe it. Richard Dean Anderson wanted to make love to her. MacGyver. All six feet and blond and holding her in his muscular arms.
She wasn’t sure if she had become part of his television show or she had met him somewhere else. The only thing that mattered was his closeness now.
They shared a kiss that put every gland in Munch’s body on high alert, then he whispered into her lips, "Can we make a baby together?"
Munch wanted him bad then, already so turned on that she knew the sex was going to be good. But before they went any further she ought to address his question. She blathered on about the scarring on her fallopian tubes, completely ruining the moment. She woke up alone in her bed remembering the kiss, then nothing else.
Man, she thought, not knowing whether to laugh or cry I screwed up my cum wet dream. Her policy of "searching and fearless" honesty had once more proved that she could carry even a good thing too far. Had to be the addict in her. Sober or not, she still had that tweak in her psyche that never knew when to quit.
"Asia?" she yelled into the next room. "You up?"
Asia bounded into her bedroom. Munch braced herself for her daughter’s body block as the eight-year-old flung herself on the bed with a whumpf to Munch’s solar plexus that knocked the air out of her lungs and damn near brought tears to her eyes.
Asia’s enthusiasm was impossible to resist.
At least somebody was going to get her heart's desire today.
"I’ve been up for hours,' Asia said, her face rosy with anticipation.
"C’mon, it’s Saturday." Munch yawned and rubbed her eyes. "I thought we’d just relax today We don’t have anything we have to do, do we?"
"Mooom, you promised!" Asia stood straddling Munch and tugged on her arm with both hands, remarkably strong for such a skinny little girl. "Let’s go. Up and at ’em."
"Oh, right" Munch stretched with feigned languor. "We were going to look at dogs today "
"We’re going to get a dog today."
Munch felt a smile pull at her cheeks. The kid was right. The day had come. They owned, not rented, their little house in Santa Monica. The homes on their street were mostly fifties-vintage wood cottages thrown up after World War II with a few triplexes mixed in. The property had already doubled in value so she was feeling pretty flush. It was October 1985. The economy was booming with no end in sight.
Her little house wasn’t a fancy starter mansion north of Montana Avenue, but it had a yard, two bedrooms, and a garage. She and Asia, not some landlord, decided what color to paint it, what flowers and vegetables to plant, and who would share the space with th
em. Munch had never had a dog when she was growing up, had never had the continuity of living arrangements or the certainty that she could take care of one, so this was a long-awaited first for both of them. Sometimes her life felt as if it were nothing but firsts. Other times she recognized how everything had a way of coming around twice.
She pulled Asia’s squirming body into her arms and twisted her up in the covers, crying, "Steamroll!"
Asia yelled for help.
Munch held her trapped for a moment longer, breathing in the scent of her daughter’s hair. A wave of love bubbled through her.
"Get off of me!" Asia screamed, her words muffled by the bedspread, bucking again with that surprising strength of hers.
"Oh, all right." Munch knew she had tortured the poor kid enough. "Somewhere in this city is a dog with our name on it. Let’s go find him."
"Speaking of names," Asia said. "How come I have such a weird one?"
"Your name is pretty. "
"But no one else has it."
"Someday you might like that." Munch took a moment to consider Asia’s ensemble of yellow pants, red high-tops, and a flowered pink blouse. Definitely a kid who marched to her own brass band.
"Is that what you were thinking?" Asia pressed.
"It’s what I think." Munch paused to study Asia’s reaction and said carefully "You already had the name when I got you."
"Oh, you mean my other mother gave it to me?"
"She and your dad both, probably."
Asia wrinkled her perfect little nose in concentration. "Who would name their kid Audrey?"
Munch exhaled, glad that Asia was dropping the subject of her parentage. "I don’t know. lt sounds old-fashioned." The hot names of Asia’s era, kids born in the late seventies and early eighties, were Shannon, Carrie, Jamie, and lots of Sarahs. Half the boys Asia knew were named either Justin or Jason.
Munch stared at her daughter, half-bemused, half-perplexed. She often wondered if she was doing a good enough job as a parent. Talk about operating without a manual. Or net, for that matter. She wished she could pry the little girl’s brain open and see what she really thought. How much time did Asia spend during her busy day contemplating the origin of her brown skin and curly hair, the birth parents she’d never known, or the life she might have lived had either Sleaze John or Karen survived?
"Hey," Munch said, pushing back those sweet brown curls from her daughter’s eyes, "you never told me. How was the petting zoo yesterday?"
"Boring."
"Wasn’t it fun, seeing all the animals?"
Asia looked down at her hands. "They kinda smelled."
***
Asia waited impatiently by the front door while her mother dressed. This Saturday had taken forever to arrive. She’d wanted a dog since she was a little kid in first grade. It was all she’d ever really wanted, though she wouldn’t turn down a pony, or a twin sister. Still, she felt her best bet was to focus on one big wish at a time.
So, every night she pretended her puppy was in her arms as she waited to drift off to sleep. Every wish she made on every star and birthday candle was to that end, and the wishes were finally going to come true.
She loved all animals. As far as the horse went, she understood that you needed a place to keep it. The horse she could wait on until she was ten. A dog was doable now. A dog didn’t need a whole big ranch, just a spot on her pillow. They would be a team, a dynamic duo, each ready to aid the other when adventure called.
Thinking about a horse made her remember the man with the hairy fingers, and she had to rub her stomach hard to get rid of the icky feeling there. Maybe she’d been wrong about him, but she was glad she wouldn’t have to see him again.
***
When Munch and Asia got back from the pound with Jasper, a gold-red cocker spaniel, a message was waiting on the answering machine. For an insane instant, Munch thought it might be Rico, which surprised her. Not the expectation so much, but that she was hoping it was true.
We’re mad at him, she told the committee in her head, remember? He’s an asshole. He chose someone else.
Asia, too young for ghosts, marched straight to the machine and pushed PLAY.
"I hate talking to machines,’ a woman’s voice said.
Very original, Munch thought, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "This is the eighties," she said out loud to the spinning reels, "get over it."
"Munch?" the voice queried, then waited a second for a reply
"C'mon," Munch said, "you’re wasting tape."
Jasper barked, a deep boy bark that made him sound like a much bigger dog, and Munch and Asia jumped in surprise. It was the first sound they’d heard him make.
"It’s Lisa. I’m back in town. Call me. My number is, uh, wait a minute . . . hold on . . ."
Asia rolled her eyes and looked at her mother as if to say What an idiot. Munch felt a guilty pride, knowing exactly where Asia had learned that look.
Lisa recited a number and ended the message with "Call me, bitch."
"Very nice," Munch said as she scrawled the number on the pad by the phone.
"Who was that?" Asia asked, her arms locked around Jasper’s neck in a choking embrace that the dog, rather than resisting, leaned into.
"Your aunt. Your dad’s sister."
"I have an aunt?"
"And two cousins by last count."
"So you’re an aunt, too?" Asia asked.
"Technically," Munch said, but a warm flush was already spreading through her. Auntie Munch. She liked that. Then she considered Asia’s end of the deal. Lisa. Munch wanted to add, Don't get too excited until you meet her. With any luck, they’re just passing through. But her next thought was already defying that logic. Why would Lisa have a phone if she were just passing through?
"Why didn't you tell me?" Asia asked.
Munch sighed. "Because when you were a baby they all went somewhere and they weren’t supposed to ever come back, and I didn't see any point in telling you about relatives you’d never meet."
Asia lifted the receiver. "Let’s call her back."
Munch took the phone from her and replaced it in the cradle. "We will, but let’s get Jasper familiar with the house first. Show him the dog door, take him into the yard, and let him sniff around." She went to the kitchen and filled the new dog bowl with water, dropping in a few cubes of ice. Her friend LAPD homicide cop Mace St. John did that for his dogs. Asia had picked out the ceramic dish at the pet store, drawn to the images of the Disney character Pluto in his space suit painted on the sides of the bowl. Jasper's leash and collar were red with white bones. They’d come with him, along with the name. That’s what sold Asia on the dog. He’d been someone else’s first, and for whatever reason those people couldn’t take care of him anymore.
"There’s nothing wrong with him," the lady at the animal shelter had said.
"Of course not," Asia had replied, appointing herself the animal’s champion, "why would there be?"
Jasper had responded by rolling on his back and fixing them all with a bloodshot gaze.
"He's been neutered," Munch said.
Asia wanted to know how her mother knew that and what neutered meant exactly but then the shelter lady mercifully— changed the subject. "He’s not a big eater."
"His eyes and nose look dry" Munch noted.
"He’s not a big drinker either," the lady said.
"Perfect for us, huh, Mom?" Asia was already on her knees, scratching Jasper’s ears and offering her face to be licked. Twenty-eight dollars later, they had themselves a dog. Now, as Asia trotted past Munch on the way to the back door, Jasper trailed at her heels. He glanced nervously back at Munch as if unhappy that the two of them were to be separated and his loyalty tested so early in their acquaintance.
Asia dropped to all fours and climbed through the dog door; Jasper squeezed through with her, bringing an exasperated "Just wait" from Asia.
Munch chuckled with a parent’s perverse pleasure at seeing her kid on the receiv
ing end of a dependent’s impatience. The dog was earning his keep already.
She stared at the paper with Lisa’s phone number on it and sighed. She hadn’t seen or heard from Sleaze John’s sister since October 1977. Eight years to the month. The same month Munch’s old lover Sleaze John had caught up with her at the gas station where she was wrenching and announced he was in a jam and had a baby daughter named Asia. The first fact hadn’t surprised her. The second piece of news, however, had sent her reeling. Maybe she’d sensed that her life was about to be changed in ways she had never dreamed possible. Big, wonderful, beautiful, curly-brown-haired ways.
Hours later, Sleaze was dead. Days later, Munch took on Asia to raise as her own, and Lisa—lazy, ornery selfish bitch Lisa—disappeared into the witness protection program with her worthless old man, James, and two young daughters. Charlotte would be fifteen by now, and little Jill eleven. James, well, who knew if ol' Iames baby was still in the picture. Eight years was a long time.
Munch had made a halfhearted attempt to find Lisa when she was going through Asia’s adoption process and had been relieved to find no trace of her. The court and the child services people had understood the special circumstances and let the adoption proceed without the next-of-kin sign-off.
Maybe Lisa had changed, but somehow Munch doubted that.
"Call me, bitch" sure sounded like the same old sweathog.
Chapter 2
Munch called the number Lisa had left on the machine. The prefix she recognized as a West Side exchange, possibly in one of the neighboring towns of Palms or Mar Vista. She listened to the first ring, promising herself to wait only four more rings before she hung up. Someone picked up at two.
"Who’s this?" Munch asked.
"Who wants to know?"
"Lisa?"
"No."
"Charlotte? You sound like your mom a little. This is your aunt Munch."
"Really?"
Munch thought that an odd question. A voice in the background asked, "Who is it?"
"Auntie Munch," Charlotte yelled back, without apparently thinking to cover the mouthpiece of the phone or direct her voice away from it.
Unwilling Accomplice - Barbara Seranella Page 1
