Michael, Antoinette, and Me

 

Part Eleven

 

I wore my white A line dress, crossover top design ideal for showing off my gold heart pendant, full sleeve, hem breaking around my knees, black leggings, gray wool socks cuffed to the top of my shined-to-perfection black army boots, my hair in a high ponytail. I waited by the door for three minutes, then went back upstairs, barely touching my face with makeup: a whisk of sable mascara, tan eye shadow. With a tilt of my head, watching myself in the mirror, I installed one two-inch hoop earring, then the other – a extra Christmas gift from Pamala.

I washed my hands – again. Bill had repeated the Saturday before, Billie distracted this time, not actually paying attention to the light and lively tales of my life, most of which I made up. The week before Billie and I shared actual girl time.

I was happy I didn’t hug her.

Barely into the evening, Billie dropped on the Lazy Boy, hiked her dress, dropping her underwear – her underwear over the garter as I suggested, she still left the toilet seat up – her taking her penis firmly in her right hand. “Well?”

Rolling my eyes, I stood, dropping my boots and socks, pants, sweatshirt, bra, and underwear in a pile, untying my hair, shaking out.

With his free hand, he swirled at the air. I turned my back to him.

“Now bend over, like you’re going to grab your ankles.”

Eight paces off, I did, gnashing my teeth. This isn’t too embarrassing.

“OK. Enough. Over here, you know what to do.”

As he slobbered his penis, I approached, placing my right foot on the Lazy Boy.

“You are beautiful.”

Yeah, yeah.

He arched a little, his legs stiffening, reaching his left hand across – the hand that grabbed his balls the week before. “Give me your hand.”

I hesitated, offering my right hand, keeping the past week’s warning about much depending in mind.

“Your left.”

He took my wrist awkwardly positioning my open palm, huffing, eyes squinted, growling an odd moan, covering my hand with semen in three healthy squirts, then releasing my wrist, hurrying to his feet as I stepped back.

The slobber-soaked hand hit my butt as I retreated, Billie bounding up the steps to the shower.

In the kitchen, I poured bleach on my hand, scrubbing with a hard bristle brush – four times, soaked a dish towel in bleach, washing my butt, tossing the towel down the basement steps.

I sat on a kitchen chair, pants and sweatshirt, picking at my fingernails, wondering if this wasn’t Bill’s plan all long when I stooped down to lift the rollercoaster car – all just a dance to get to jerk off looking at me naked.

I watched the ceiling comparing the two Saturdays. I figure by the first week in February, he’d be coming on my face, before March, insisting on coming in my mouth. Uncle Gropey didn’t start with sexual battery. I often saw him watching out a window like his father, likely jerking off.

Bill was escalating. I wondered how many weeks I had before I had to kill him.

“You know what to do with this,” he said, dropping a duffle bag on the kitchen table.

“Sure, Bill.”

“Until next week, then.” He slapped my pay envelope on the table.

I scrubbed my entire body for an hour in a too-hot shower, got dressed, waiting at the door.

Working into my red thermal coat, the door shut and locked behind me, Pamala meeting me halfway to the street, her hands in my coat, her chin in my shoulder.

“You didn’t have to get out of the car.”

“Can’t hug too good sitting down. You look really cute.”

“That’s what I was going for.”

“You didn’t have to dress up for church.”

“I dressed up for you. And me.”

Out the gate, Pamala opened the car door, bowing slightly.

“Why thank you.”

She winked. “Like what’s his name, the limo driver –”

“Jack.”

“Yeah, like Jack. I only do it so I can get a glimpse up your dress.”

“He was kind of obvious.”

“You say obvious, I say creepy.”

She dropped behind the steering wheel. “We won’t be long. I have to confess my sins, get absolution so I can take communion in the morning. Don’t go nitpicking the rituals now.”

“I didn’t say a thing!”

“I can hear your thoughts.”

“Do you have to confess each time you got me off, or can you just group it together as one sin?”

“That won’t be on my list. Let me explain. First off, let me restate this much: If not for the rampant gang raping in Riversides, I’d not be going to this church.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“They have their dogma, their set of rules, like any group does.”

“I get that, too.”

“I have my thinking, they have theirs. Where we agree something is bad, like with whacking your mother, I take to confession. Confession is more complex than outsiders realize. I must first acknowledge I did wrong. Admit it, confess it, and promise to do my best not to repeat it. As to the nature of you and me, well, I don’t agree with the position of the church. I certainly would not vow never to do it again.”

“That makes sense. But why even go?”

“School requires it. For the most part, I like the rituals, the people, the community.”

“I like your church so far, too.”

 

Pamala having come directly from work wore a white button down, black pants, black socks, and black shoes. She opened the church door for me only because she got there first. I became aware of how we must look, concerned we were holding hands.

We received glances from the twenty-odd people scattered about, no stares.

“We may be awhile, all these people, must have had a sinful New Year’s.”

I shrugged, nodding to the balcony behind and above us. “Is there a linen closet up there?”

“Toby! I don’t necessary believe in God, but I do believe in lightning. Besides, I’d lose my place in line.” She glanced over my shoulder, the way we’d entered. “You can wait here.” She kissed me quickly on the lips, nodding, “Sister Carolina.”

“Pamala. So nice to see you. Additionally, you know we discourage that sort of thing.”

“In church.”

“Of course.” She nodded to me. “Toby.”

“Hi, Sister Carolina.”

“You own me a story.”

“See you soon,” Pamala said, hurrying off.

Sister Carolina took my hand as we sat on the rear pew. I wrested my hand back, folding my hands in my lap.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Eh, it’s a personal thing. I don’t much care for strangers touching me – or people I even know casually.”

“That would follow, Toby – for an abused child. A child who possibly never learned to trust.”

I shrugged. “Undeniable empirical evidence.”

She laughed the most wonderful laugh, much too loud and free for where we were. “You own me a story. The story of those boots you wear.”

“Then, Sister Carolina, allow me to pontificate.”

She giggled.

“It was a cold, snowy day back in sixty-five. I made the terrible mistake of helping a boy with his algebra –”

“Terrible mistake?”

“Sister Caroline, please hold all questions until I’m finished.”

Again, the laugh. “My gosh, child, I adore you!”

“Don’t child me, Sister. Despite appearances, I find it insulting.”

“OK, Toby. I still adore you.”

I rolled my eyes, tapping my chin like Pamala. “I didn’t even like the boy, not that I liked any of the other children in the class. I disliked the other kids mocking him for not getting the algebra more than I didn’t like him, I guess.

“Joe banded the kids together to mock me, in chant and pushing, nonsense about me and Michael getting married, sitting is some tree or other – there was mention of a baby.” I nodded toward Pamala across the church. "Even then, Sister Caroline, I knew that an impossibility.

“When confronted with rabid aggression, I withdraw, a survival tool I developed living in a house with two violence drunks. Don’t feed the fire, don’t get burned. Joe, being the asshole he was, not getting a rise out of me, yelled louder, his face in mine, pushing. My very cute Mary Janes were not up to the task of holding my feet on the frozen steps. I bellyflopped, my face bouncing off the concrete.” I pointed. “Still have the scar.”

I didn’t particular care that my scar represented both when my father hit me with a hammer and when I bounced off the steps.

“That’s horrible!”

I shrugged. “That’s what gave me the idea for army boots – not falling when attacked, but they’re cute, too. Joe, and his merry band took exception, of course.”

“Of course.”

“They surrounded me on the same steps yelling something about my mother’s army boots, which I don’t get – I think I’d be proud of my mother if she served in the army. The pushing starts. My boots hold the steps like a spider on the wall. Joe yells in my face, I call him an asshole. He has a problem with that, raises his arm up and back.

“Obsessed with some kind of instinct, I bring my fist into Joe’s nose, which was a mistake. I had to ice my hand for two days. I plant my fist, hard, into his chest. When he bends over, my boots launch me into the air. I come down, my fist in the side of his face leaving him bleeding on the concrete steps where he left me.

“My boots: Armor against the evils of the world. That is the story.”

“Amazing, Toby. How do you feel now, about your use of violence to solve problems.”

“I should have knelt down – but I was wearing a really cute white dress not unlike this one and didn’t want to get blood on it – grabbed him by the hair and bounced his head into the stone until he was dead.”

“Oh, you can’t mean that.”

“Sister Carolina, if I knew this past October he and three other boys would gang rape me, you bet I mean it.”

“But –”

“When he bounced my face off the steps, it was all dismissed, boys being boys. When I dropped him to the ground, I was expelled from school, he wasn’t. Undeniable empirical evidence. No one has my back, Sister Carolina.”

“I have worked with many victims of –”

“I’m good, Sister Carolina. I’ve rid my life of my abusers, I keep my distance, I cling onto those who I know love me. In this moment, in this time, I feel blessed beyond my imagination.”

I stood, taking Pamala hand, kissing her. “All set?”

Sister Carolina stood.

“Did you have a good story time?” Pamala asked.

“We did,” Sister Carolina said, hugging Pamala.

“Yes, we did.”

 

Bob Edwards leaned on his car, turtled in his black wool coat. We watched Pamala and Taylor, arm-in-arm, move toward the church. I let the wind wave my red thermal coat behind me.

I liked watching Pamala and Taylor interact, a proper bond of mother and child and a poignant reminder I was not and never could be a proper human being.

“Sister Carolina called last night.”

“I should have given you a heads up.”

“How so?”

I shrugged. “People like to gossip.”

“She says you’re quite the storyteller.”

“That should be no surprise to you.”

“She didn’t mean it that way. She says you come off as a poor little rich girl making up stories to get attention.”

“Good.”

“Huh?”

“I kind of made a mistake. I made a sizable donation, wanting it all to go to hungry children. I may have stressed the point a bit too hard alluding to my past. Sister Carolina let me know she’d be available for counselling if I desired. I did not think she’d let it go.

“I know what my past must sound like. Under the cover of explaining why I wear cute army boots, I hit some high points. I figured she’d dismiss me as a storyteller at best, a liar at worse. I’ll take just a kid looking for attention.”

Bob nodded. “I guess I understand.”

“I’m not comfortable with anyone having any kind of power over me. I told you about Father Brown. He was going to turn me in to the State for my shenanigans. He didn’t look the other way cheap, but he did look the other way.”

“You are a smart, attractive, strong woman – I say woman in disregard of your age – many people are terrified by that. I grew up in Taylor’s shadow. I watched her have to grovel, claw, and dance her way to the top. I get it. You’re going to have a bright future if you manage not to be burned at the stake.”

“Drown like an unwanted kitten.”

“Huh?”

“Witch burning wasn’t actually popular. They drown us.”

“You’re not saying you’re a witch –”

“Relax, Bob. Witches – that is to say women who ride across the sky on brooms, make pacts with the devil, cast spells – don’t exist other than in the minds of people who wish to oppress or even murder smart, attractive, strong women.”

Bob chuckled. “One of Taylor’s secrets to success is that she never lets a room full of people know she’s the smartest person in the room.”

“That’s good advice, Bob.”

“Will you and Pam join us for breakfast at the diner afterwards?”

“My house. I’ll impress you with my cooking.”

 

I made my famous fried red potatoes with sliced sweet onion, bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee, insisting Bob, Taylor, and Pamala sit at the kitchen table watching. We spoke of meaningless things. We agreed we missed Maria.

Bob and Taylor liked the house. “All alone in such a big house,” Taylor said.

I didn’t wish to tell the story of my wraiths. “Well, one day I woke up and realized Pam lives here now.”

“Practically,” Pam said.

I sat. Just as I picked up my fork, the doorbell called me.

“You look tired,” I greeted Toni.

“Can we talk?”

“Sure. Where’s –”

“He dropped me off.” Toni hung her coat and hooded sweatshirt in the foyer.

Returning to the kitchen, I made introductions, putting Toni in my chair, getting another from the dining room, apron on, I returned to the stove. Bob caught my eye. I nodded.

 

I walked Bob and Taylor to their car.

“I wish you’d put a coat on,” Taylor said on the walk.

“I dance naked in this stuff.”

At the car, I hugged Bob and then Taylor. “I wanted to thank you both for being so indulgent of me and Pam. Sometimes in the darkness just before dawn, I feel like I’ve been a major disruption to your lives.”

“Love is not about possessing, Toby,” Taylor said. “Love is being happy for.”

“We’ve been concerned,” Bob added. “About her having no friends. Well, there’s Diane, who I never thought good for Pam.”

I looked back toward the house. “I’ve never felt this way about someone living.”

“Someone living? Oh, do tell,” Bob said.

“Maybe another time.”

“OK. Toni, huh?”

“Yes, Toni.”

“She’s really lovely. I would have never guessed if I didn’t know.”

“I like her,” Taylor said.

“I don’t.”

“Huh, why?” Bob asked.

“Again, another time. Let me just say she’s chaotic.”

“Yet, here she is, knocking on your door.”

“Though we’re not friends, I’m the only friend she’s ever had.”

 

I wanted to indulge myself with a too-hot shower, hair washing, and a quiet afternoon under the blankets listening to the wind against the house. Returning to the house, Pamala at the sink with the breakfast dishes, I took her upper arms, kissing her on the neck. “I love you,” I whispered in her ear. She shivered.

Turning, I said, “Toni,” with no attempt to mask my impatience.

She looked up at me from across the kitchen table. “I really need some alone time with you, if you catch my drift.”

“Pamala knows.”

“You told her?” Her anger twisted around her right eye.

“You left the toilet seat up. Not like it required Nancy Drew.”

“I don’t know if I’m comfortable ­–”

“Let me get you your coat.”

Pamala turned from the sink, working her hands on a towel. “Toby, Toby, Toby. I love you, too. For real and true.” She sat, holding Toni’s eyes. “There is nothing in the world concerning Toby that doesn’t concern me. We’re like one soul in two bodies –”

“I don’t believe in souls.”

“So not the point, Toni.” She rolled her eyes. “Toby and I had plans for this afternoon – now, which did not involve you pushing your way in the door. We’ve put all that aside – for you. Recognize and appreciate the gift you’re getting right now.”

Toni stood.

“See, Toni – running off. That’s the reaction from the boy you are, not the girl you pretend to be – like leaving the toilet seat up.”

Toni fell on the chair, elbows on the table, face in her hands. “It’s all so fucking confusing.”

“OK.”

“I mean, well, things happened so quick. I don’t know how I got here.”

“Believe it or not, I can understand that.”

“I guess you can.”

“Let’s talk about it, sort it out.”

That’s the moment I realized the vast breadth and width of my missing humanity, me leaning against the counter, an interloper in my own house.

Toni let out a long sigh watching her hands. “First off, I don’t pretend to be a girl.”

“That, too, I understand. Pretend certainly was a poor choice of words on my part. Girls certainly could stand to pee, but we don’t. Besides, it’s a metaphor.”

“What is?”

“Leaving the toilet seat up. It’s a statement representing all the things Toni could do that would indicate Michael’s behavior.”

Toni narrowed her eyes. “I really think that’s it. I don’t like Michael. Nobody likes Michael.”

“I told you. I don’t dislike –”

Pamala showed me the back of her hand. “Toby.”

“Yeah, Toby, I heard all that. Just another way of rejecting him. That’s the thing, Pam. I really don’t like Mike, either. I’d rather be Toni.”

“Being Toni brings you peace.”

“It does. As far back as I can remember, wearing girl’s clothes felt good. Beings me peace is a good way to put it.”

“Like now.”

“Now here’s the thing: My father hates Mike. I think my father would love Toni, but he’d only see Mike in girl’s clothes, which he would hate more.”

“I have a good friend. Since the day we met, she’s been rabidly critical of me, my weight, for example. Trying to please her was like beating my head against the wall until my head was a bloody stump.” Pamala shrugged. "I woke up one morning and decided to accept Diane for who she was, accept me for who I am, and accept the friendship for what it was. It’s not up to me to please her as it’s not up to you to please your father.”

“But –” Toni closed her eyes. “There’s a but there somewhere, but I don’t know where.”

“It’s a myth, Toni, that our parents must love us, and we must love our parents. There is nothing inherent about love.”

“Inherent?”

“Of nature, required cause. Like gravity,” I said.

“Wait. My father doesn’t have to love me?”

“I have those credentials,” I said.

“What?”

“What Toby means is her parents are proof that not all parents love their child.”

Toni nodded slowly. “I have to get out of that house. I’ve thought that for a while now.”

I chuckled quietly to myself thinking I could stake Toni in a small apartment, extracting weekly sexual deviation for my pleasure as payback, maybe forcing Toni to impersonate Antoinette Blanc, fucking her with a strap on.

“I’ve thought about quitting school, like Toby.”

“I was asked to leave.”

Again, I saw the back of Pamala’s hand. “Toby.”

“I wanted to line up work, a job. Kind of impossible, having to get working papers approved from school. Firstly, I don’t have the grades. Even if I did, that would be Mike, not me. Bad enough I have to be Mike in school, don’t want to do that on a job.

“What’s more is Mike can make more money.”

“Coming from a family where Mom and Dad are both college graduates, I’d inherently be opposed to anyone quitting school.”

“I can make a lot of money blowing guys. I’m sure Toby told you.”

“Huh? No. Toby didn’t say a word.”

“Hitchhiking.”

“Hitchhiking?”

“Girl’s got to get around.”

“I thought Levy –”

“Oh, he can’t pick me up at that house.”

“For obvious reason.”

Toni blushed, rolling her eyes. “Levy. Another thing that happened too quickly, getting out of hand. I’ve decided dozens of times to tell him, dozens of times chickening out. He’s said awful, rude things about gays. I’m afraid he’d see me as gay, though I’m not.”

“What’s he got to say about me and Pam?” My tone may have been more threatening than I meant it.

Again, the back of Pamala’s hand.

“I understand that you’re not gay. In one sense, I can see you’re following what you believe a girl to be.”

“Right. Like inherent.”

Pamala shrugged. “I can also understand how some people may not see it that way, since in objective reality, you are not a girl.”

“But, eh, I am.”

“That, too.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Michael can get working papers. Toni cannot. Levy is in love with Toni. I doubt he’d like Michael.”

I scoffed. “I could get Toni working papers.”

Though I couldn’t see, I still knew Pamala rolled her eyes. “So not the point, Toby.”

“I do get all that.” Toni turned her diamond ring. “We’re engaged to be engaged. When I get back to my father’s house, wash may face, become Michael, I don’t even know how that happened. I go to school, sit in class, can’t wait to be out, be Toni again.”

“Do you masturbate a lot?” I asked.

“Toby!” Pamala said.

I shrugged. “It’s for a clinical study, not gossip.”

Again, Toni’s face went pink. “Every chance he gets.”

“Has Levy ever hit you?”

“Huh?”

“He came close with me the other night. I was wondering whether he was generally violent with women.”

“He’s got a temper. I stay clear of it. I made a joke once about him liking a guy. He didn’t hit me, but he smacked me pretty good.”

“Other than that?”

She examined her fingernails again. “Things have, eh, flatten out a little.”

“Meaning?”

“He doesn’t look at me like Pam looks at you anymore.”

“I feel,” Pamala began, then paused. “I feel you need to find out, explore, discover who Toni is without Levy.”

“I’ve kind of gotten to know that. Levy, well, Levy really liked me since the moment we met.”

“There’s something powerful in affirmation like that.”

“I did not know how much I hated myself until Levy showed me I can be loved.”

I stepped in, my palms on the table next to Pamala. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Toni. Over the next three weeks, you’re going to demonstrate you can get a job and pay rent. You do that, you’ll get a place to live outside your father’s house.”

“How’s that?”

“That’s all you need to know for now.”

“There’s Harvest –” Pamala started.

I kept my eyes locked with Toni. “No, there isn’t.

“As for school, I don’t have Pamala’s influences. I think quitting is a terrible idea. I also think that’s up to you.”

Toni nodded. “I’ve got a couple ideas.”

“You’re scaring me a little,” Pamala said.

“Horrifying and terrifying are two of my best traits.”

Toni worked to her feet. “I feel better.”

“Order out of chaos. I have a list of materials I need. You can get Levy to go to the lumber yard for me. I’ll give you money. I want to get started on the fence this week.”

“OK.”

 

Like a married couple, we watched Toni disappear down the street.

“Really. What was that all about?”

I shrugged. “Choices, mostly mine. Teach me to drive?”

“Sure. When?”

“Now?”

“That’ll take about a half hour. What about the rest of the day?”

“Wash each other’s hair. Do our nails.”

“Fuck.”

“Then nap into evening. With you taking on more responsibility at work, I feel like I’m losing you.”

“Yeah, that. And school. Sucks to be an adult.”

 

Monday arrived with temperatures promised in the high thirties, light wind, and the sun smiling down, perfect weather for a long bike ride back to the old neighborhood. I took in the light blue split-level with black shutters. I wanted to rake out the neglected gardens.

Eyes in a soft brown, not unlike mine, greeted me. “Toby.”

“Mrs. Blanc. I didn’t much like how I left things with your husband.”

She stepped back, an invitation to enter. “I’m so glad you came by.”

I entered, dropping my coat from my shoulders.

“Did you want to see her room?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Go up the stairs, third door on the right. I’ll make some tea. I assume milk, honey?”

“OK,” I agreed, mastering the steps, now aware of how Antoinette liked her tea.

The bedroom was that of a ten-year-old. I ran my finger over the dresser expecting dust, finding none. “Creepy.” The room was like a museum display.

“You must be cold, riding your bike. Antoinette hated the cold.”

I accepted the tea. “I don’t mind it.”

“You look incredibly like her.”

“The gene pool is surprisingly small.”

“Huh?”

I waved her off.

“Sit,” she suggested, dropping to the bed, opening a large book. “I’ll show you.”

I sat, Mrs. Blanc telling short stories about the pictures in the scrapbook. I had only seen Antoinette proper, almost angelic in school. The scrapbook told the story of a human being with a family, affirming I could never take her place.

“I don’t know what Jack told you.”

“Jack. Mr. Blanc?”

“Yes.”

“Not much.”

“Losing her was terrible. We miss her every day. Jack thought you could come live with us.”

“Take her place.”

“Yes.”

“Not a good idea.”

“I told Jack that. He didn’t hear me. I was counting on you saying no.”

“Mr. Blanc said you all agreed.”

“He’s still having a bad time.”

“The tea is perfect. May I have another?”

“Of course!”

I worked against the rubber cement, removing the birth certificate, baptismal record, social security card, and school identification card, wondering why I never got one. I replaced the book back on the dresser, wandering downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table.

“I’m really sorry for your loss.”

Mrs. Blanc placed the tea. “Thanks.”

We talked for about an hour. I told stories of a life I never had, making up happy stories. I figured if Mrs. Blanc thought I had a happy life, my chance of being kidnapped was greatly reduced.

 

“Toby!” Mr. Richardson greeted.

“Hi, Mr. Richardson. How’ve you been?”

“Good, good.”

“Mrs. Richardson?”

“Oh, we’re fine, really good to see you. Kids today, you know, can’t get any of them to mow my lawn, rake leaves, shovel the walk.”

“I bet your paper’s always wet when it rains.”

“If I can find it in the bushes! You’re the best paperboy we ever had!”

“Accept on substitutes. I see your garage is still for rent.”

“I should put an ad in the paper. Do you want to come in? I’ll talk Lisa into making some hot chocolate.”

“That would be great.”

 

I looked over the single page boilerplate rental agreement. “How about we add a couple of things.” I poised my pen over the document.

“Like what?”

“I’ll maintain your yard, front and back, for free.”

He chuckled. “Fine by me!”

“I’ll provide and hang a mailbox on the front, maybe add an A to your house number.”

He looked up to this wife. “What do you think, Lisa?”

“My landlord wouldn’t be happy with me getting business mail.”

“Oh, that sounds reasonable!”

I jotted a note on the agreement. “Also.” I made some scratch outs. “Instead of $50 a month, let’s call it $60, but round up to $800 a year, which I’ll pay in cash right now.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Toby!”

“Right?” I carefully signed the bottom line, initialing the cross-outs, passing the agreement over with a social security card.

“Antoinette?”

“Yeah. I was born in October. Everyone got to calling me October baby, shortened to October, and finally Toby.”

“That’s so cute,” Lisa said.

I counted out twenties.

 

Five miles on the bike later, I was out of the county government office by noon, then back five miles to my old town, main street, filling out forms in the Union Bank.

Tony’s Lawn Service. I had no misgivings using Antoinette Blanc’s identification. After all, Mr. Blanc did invite me to be her, and she wasn’t using it, being dead.

 

“Been waiting long?” I asked, rolling up the walk on my bike.

“Hi, Toby,” Jessica said, sitting on the top step of the porch. “Not really. I managed to get a free afternoon.”

We went inside, hanging our coats in the foyer, Jessica following me into the kitchen. “Hungry?”

“Not really.” She dropped to the table.

I opened a can of chicken noodle soup, filling a pot, applying heat. “Pamala’s going to be over later with diner.” I sat.

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Pamala.”

“Yeah, huh?”

“I had this really wild idea. You know, me and Jake, you and Pamala. We could have a secret affair.”

“I’ve been thinking about the linen closet, that night. Things like that don’t happen, except in letters to the adult magazines I read.”

“Like lurid, hot, secret affairs.”

“Yeah, they have some of them.”

“Anyway, even after our talk, I still hung onto that idea. So much of my life isn’t mine, you know.”

“I do get it. Growing up in a nightmare, I’d sneak off to the middled of the woods, build a fire, dance naked. A place and time that was mine, that I owned, apart and disconnected from everything I couldn’t control.”

“Watching you two together the other night. I don’t want a secret affair with you. I want Jake to look at me like Pamala looks at you. I want a love like that. I want a life like that.”

“Believe me, Jessica, I do know how lucky I am.”

“Then, well. I don’t care much for men. It’s difficult enough being a woman in this world. A lesbian woman? I don’t think I could do life that hard.”

“What’s the number?”

“What number?”

“I thought you came by to give fantasy girl a number.”

“Oh, that. No. I wanted to tell you what I saw seeing you two together. I’m not saying I cried at midnight watching you, but that could have happened.”

I put bowls of soup on the table. “Well, it’s not scampi. Speaking of. Other than bussing table, washing dishes, and making a great shrimp scampi, do you have what it takes to run your own restaurant?”

“Do you doubt –”

“I wasn’t challenging your abilities or experience. I’m just asking a question. I can only imagine what goes on behind the scenes like with payroll, bookkeeping, tax filing.”

“Menu, food ordering.”

“I bet the list goes on.”

“I’m familiar with all that’s required. What’s your point?”

“Fantasy girl. Humor me. What’s the number?”

“Yeah, right. I can put rabbit on the menu, too.”

“I don’t miss sarcasm, so much of mine disappearing in the void. Really. Did you give it any thought?”

She set her spoon in the bowl, folded her hands, looking at the ceiling. “I’ve not put pencil to paper, worked up a business plan.”

“A number, Jessica. I won’t hold you to it.”

“Twenty grand? Maybe twenty-five.”

“From what I read, you can’t expect to make any meaningful profit for the first six month, maybe a year.”

“I did not know that.”

“When you open your door, you should have a least enough money in the bank to pay your way for those six months.”

“Maybe a year.”

“Maybe. That’s the leading cause of most new business failures.”

“I was just thinking pots, linens, tables, supplies.”

“I feel you’d have figured it out, if you’d done a business plan.” I stood, nodding to the table. “Wash my dishes if you would. I’ll be right back.”

When I returned, Jessica was wiping down the table. If she had stayed in her chair, I’d kept my duffle to myself finally realizing the point of Bill Locke’s meaningless tasks.

I dropped the duffle in front of Jessica. “A hundred grand. I’d like to see a business plan by next week.”

She set the washcloth aside, unzipping the duffle. “Fuck, Toby.”

“I really expected wide eyes and blubbering.”

“Not likely. This is the impossible part, but not the hard part.”

“Oh, Jessica, I do actually like you. I can’t say that about many people.”

She held my eyes. “What do you want?”

I shrugged with all the dismissiveness I could pack in my shoulders. “Nothing. OK. Maybe in the future when you do turn a profit, I’ll take ten percent of net. That’s ­­–”

“I know what net is, Toby. Contract?”

I held my hand forward. “If I felt I couldn’t do business with you on a handshake, we wouldn’t do business.”

“Fantasy girl, indeed. Not that you have anyone to tell, but don’t tell anyone.”

“I was going to suggest the same. I’m sure given Jake’s temperament, it’s best not to let anyone know your plans ahead of time.”

“Jake and my father would draw straws to see which one gets to beat me until I’m dead.” She closed her eyes. “My entire world has just changed.”

I liked Jessica’s stoic confrontation of the world. I did not believe she cried at midnight. I believed she wanted to. I smirked watching her green MG with the black canvas top shoot up the street. Bill Locke was vague about the money, dropping the duffle on the table, telling me I know what to do with it.

“Yes, Bill. I do.”

 

Frost kissed the grass as Pamala kissed me, her off to school, me sitting on the step where Jessica sat the day before, the red Chevy II melting into the dark. My new fence lay in a neat stack of planks and posts next to the driveway near the garage.

“I’m off,” Tex said, wheeling up on me.

I watched him over my coffee mug. “So soon? I was hoping you’d get the deadbolts on the three doors today. Maybe help me with the fence.”

“I gotta take the grill apart, do a deep cleaning. I promised Carol I’d get it done before we open.”

“Yeah, Carol, sure, like that’s going to happen.”

“A man’s gotta have a lot of lines in the water if he expects to catch anything.”

“You should take a hard run at Tammy. Fuck some sense into that woman.”

“I’d have to shove a sock in her mouth. That girl never shuts up. I bet she talks a stream even while blowing your father.”

“Ew, Tex.”

“Speaking of holes. I need a doorknob hole drill to put those deadbolt sets in else they’d be done. I took the basement apart – everything but.”

“I’ll take a ride over the hardware store. I wanted to see how Mr. Woodrow’s doing anyway.”

 

I strategically relocated the fence materials onto sawhorses, which I found in the garage. I wanted the fence to at least look like a work-in-progress for when the appraiser came. The sky threatened snow, giving me an idea for the afternoon.

With a handful of miles under my tires, “Good morning, Teresia,” I greeted, the bell on the top of the door announcing my arrival.

“Good morning, Elephant Girl.”

I blushed. “Not really the nickname I’d want. How is Mr. Woodrow?”

She looked to the floor.

I drew a deep breath. I don’t know why I didn’t see that coming, but I didn’t. “So sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks. He will be missed.”

I regretted not hugging him. I dropped my backpack off my shoulders, dropping to a knee, rummaging. “What did he like, I mean, like in the neighborhood?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“A church, a club, save the elephants?”

“Oh, he liked the Girl Scouts. That could have something to do with me growing up in scouting.”

“Who doesn’t like Girl Scouts?” I opened my checkbook on the counter.

“He outfitted my troop with camping gear each spring.”

“I’m going to make this out to you. Woodrow? A donation to the Scouts in his name. OK?”

“Sure, Toby.”

Her eyes went big. “Eh, thank you!”

I shrugged presenting my backpack. “I need a mailbox that’ll fit in here. And – I don’t know. A thing to make holes for doorknobs?”

“You want a door lock instillation kit.”

“Yes, that’s what I want.”

 

Rain not much more than a cold mist coated my face, changing to barely snow, more miles under my tires. “Hello, Mr. Diamond,” I said, rolling to a stop.

“Hi, Toby. You’re big enough to call me George,” the mailman answered.

“I’ll try, Mr. Diamond. How’s the new owners of my house?”

He rolled his eyes. “How is your new place?”

I shrugged, presenting a 3 x 5 index card. “Is this good?”

“That’s the Richardson’s address.”

“With an A. It’s their garage.”

“I see. Back to mowing lawns, huh?”

“I have a whole business plan drawn up. Do I have to file anything with the post office?”

“Nah. You do have to register a business with the County, I think.”

“That’s in the business plan.”

“Let me know if you’re looking for investors. I believe you’re a winner. I wouldn’t mind hooking to that star.”

“Yeah, yeah. OK, George.”

 

I relaxed at the White Tower’s window counter, cheeseburger, pickle, cold slaw, fries with brown gravy, watching the snow try to happen. I missed the innocent time of my childhood, sneaking off in the middle of the night, the dark reflection of Antoinette watching me from the glass. Against the gray of winter, my faint reflection looked back. I knew I wasn’t ready to let Antoinette go, that constant mooring, that lighthouse calling to me even in the darkest night, guiding me from the rocks.

I walked my bike through the woods to sanctuary, kindled a fire, stripped, my clothes neatly folded resting on my log, and danced, calling the snow, the tiny white beings swirling around me. Antoinette came, dancing with me. I became her, she became me. The primal power of existence engorged me, raising me up as I danced two feet off the ground.

“Come with me,” Antoinette called, her soft hand reaching down.

“Where?”

“Away. Always. Where the sun is always laughing, the meadow under our naked feet.”

I almost took her hand.

I forced my eyes open, the fire pattering across the dry leaves like kitten paws on newly scattered snow. I sat up shivering against the cold, leaves pasted to the side of my face. On my feet, kicking at the brush contained the fire. I looked up through the bare branches, snow assaulting me from the sky, expecting to see Antoinette reaching for me.

“Damn,” I said, working into my underwear. “I knew death wasn’t far away, but I never guessed it was that close.”

 

“Fuck, Keith. What have they been feeding you?” I said to Keith Oswald at Connor’s Texaco three blocks up the highway from where I used to live.

“Toby!” He gathered me up, consuming me.

Making an exception to my no hug rule, I hugged him back. He was, after all, the person who launched me on my odyssey with the paper route.

“Yeah, I’ve grown. So have you. You look great. Boyfriend?”

I blushed, watching his eyes. “Eh, no. I do have a girlfriend, though.”

He whistled, rolling his head. “Oh, I should have seen that coming!”

“Yeah, huh?”

“I bet Mark’s beside himself.”

“My brother is the king of all the assholes.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “Does he still smack you around.”

“You know Jim? Hangs with Mark. Tall, Ichabod Crane-ish, black hair in need of the attention of scissors, dumb as the dirt he walks on.”

“I don’t know him – know him. Seen him walking around with your brother’s nose up his ass.”

“Carfare, I guess.”

“You saying he smacks you around.”

As cold and unwavering as the air around us, I said, “Jim and Mark raped me.”

Keith watched my eyes, Keith unable to move, speak. Long moments leaked by.

“Holy fucking fuck, Toby. Are you OK?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I’m as good as can be. Ran away from home to avoid a repeat performance.”

“Oh, Toby. That threat shall be removed.”

Again, I shrugged. “My new school has a rape club. You’re not going to change a culture by cracking a couple of skulls.”

He gnashed his teeth. “It’s a start.”

“I quit school, too, because of their boys will be boys policy.”

He looked out across the highway. “How can I live among these people and not be aware of such things.”

“Anyway.”

“Yeah, anyway.”

“Do you know Michael Roberts. Couple of years behind you.”

“Faggy little kid ­–”

I left the ground, slapping him so hard his grandmother felt it.

He reeled, a palm to his cheek. “Shit, Toby. Sorry. I didn’t mean –”

“Of course you meant it. That’s the fucking point.”

He nodded slowly, watching me.

“How can I live among these people and not be aware of such things, you just said. There are people who walk among us, Keith, like me and like Michael, who are victimized by the masses. Boys will be boys, I didn’t mean it that way, I was just making a joke – the excuses run like diarrhea forever.

“Sixth grade. Joe bounced my face off the school steps.” I pointed to my scar. “Principal fucking Harris chuckled a bit, telling me boys will be boys. When they came for me on the steps, you’d think someone, anyone would step in, protect me, defend me. When Mark smacked me around, you stepped up. Why can’t we have more people like you, less people like Joe and principals who make excuses for them?”

I waved everything away. “Rhetorical question. Just know, Keith, the world you live in and the world I live in are very fucking different.”

Because I sometimes live in the corniest fucking universe imaginable, Keith dropped to his right knee looking up at me. “My lady, I do pledge not to serve you, but to serve those you speak of, to see this different world. To be your – their – champion.”

“If I had a sword, I’d knight you. Rise, though, Sir Keith. People are staring.”

“Fuck those people who stare.” He regained his feet. “What of Michael Roberts?”

“He needs a job.”

“I’ll see him in school tomorrow, talk to Mr. Connor today.”

“He’s only sixteen.”

“I was younger than that when I started here. Mr. Connor rewards good work.”

 

I stowed my bike in the office at Playland, draping my wet clothes on the furniture. Mary Locke wanted to talk. I didn’t, waving her off. I didn’t much feel like lying about Bill behaving himself.

“Toby, right?” Sara behind the counter at the florist couldn’t have been any older than me.

“Uh, yeah.”

She presented the single white carnation. I nodded.

“I was passing Bailey’s. I’ve known Pamala for a long time. I mean, we’re not friends. We talk when I get dinner.”

“Ok.”

“You guys made me cry. All night.”

I bowed by head. “Thanks for saying that.”

“Thanks for being you, Toby.”

 

I stood on the mall outside Harvest Chateau watching Pamala, her energy, her enthusiasm, her smile, her laugh melting my bones. I wondered if not for Pamala, whether I’d taken Antoinette’s hand earlier, lying dead on the cold leaf littered ground.

Spotting me, Pamala hurried to the railing, extending her hand. Stepping through the stream of people, I took the hand sharing the carnation, my left hand going to the side of her neck, my thumb raking under her ear.

“What are you doing?”

“Watching you.”

“That’s what I mean.”

“I was thinking about washing your hair.”

She rolled her eyes, blushing. “I have to go right home tonight.”

“I know, you said, which is why I’m here watching you.”

Glancing behind her, she nodded, Diane nodding back over the distance. “I can take a break.” She stepped over the railing.

“Let’s get those photos done.”

“We’re not dressed for it!”

“That’s the idea. I’d like us as we are, not all peacocking.”

“I love you, too.”

 

The fire sang, dancing – mesmerizing. I sat near on the floor, watching. The book slapping shut called me from the pyre.

“It just dawned on me I’ve never thanked you,” Tex said from the Lazy Boy.

“For?” I didn’t turn.

“Your generosity.”

“Not something I’m known for.”

“You like to think that, the bitter-edged person you confront the world with. Like an armor you wear.”

“Given half a chance, people will be assholes. I’ve got receipts.”

“Don’t we all. Don’t we all. Sometimes, when we’re open to it, we find a nugget of gold.”

“We have to dig through an awful lot of shit to find that nugget.”

“I thank you, Toby, for your generosity and for being my friend.”

“I don’t have friends.”

“Something else you keep saying. Just try saying you’re welcome and leave it at that.”

“You’re welcome, Tex. Thanks for being a nugget.”

“Paul. You can call me Paul.”

I turned, sitting cross-legged, looking up. “Tex is your clown persona, the armor you put on to confront the world.”

“People. You’re right. Are assholes. Even when not given half a chance. Out there, I’m the beggar come to the door. Most people can’t even see me. Of those who do, the assholes are not kind. Then you get the real assholes who offer help but all they’re really doing is making themselves feel good. Look, they boast. I helped out a beggar! Once in a very great while, there’s you.”

“I get as good as I give.”

“Not the point. I hear things. Toni needs a place to live. You turn her away. You offer me your garage, even give me a key, food, the kitchen, washer/dryer. Compared to most hobo people, I live like a king.

“Levy took offense that I live in the garage, not in the house. Given you’ve been raped by men and I’m a man, I completely understand why you don’t offer up a bedroom. Levy put his hands on you over it yet didn’t offer me a room in his house. He was offended because it made him feel good about himself.

“I came to fix your windows at a fair price. You could have paid me that, sent me back to the railroad tracks to sleep. You literally gave me shelter from the storm. Your generosity raises you well above the mass of men.”

“You don’t see the darkness I carry.”

“I don’t care about the darkness you carry.”

“OK. From where you’re sitting, I’m a rare nugget of gold. I’d still argue I’m nothing special. Watching people, I doubt I’m even a human being at times. On the other hand, Paul, you crossing my path has been a gift to me, a rare nugget.”

“At the risk of sounding like you, I’d say I’m not a nugget of gold, rare or otherwise.”

I shrugged. “I should have killed my brother when we moved into the apartment. I knew he’d rape me, just a matter of when. Killing him to prevent the rape was one option. Moving out, another, which I didn’t trigger quick enough.”

“Killing people is not as easy –”

“I’m pretty sure I could kill a man, stop by the mall, and eat a hot dog with no problem. Rare gem, indeed.”

“Nugget.” Tex stared past me into the fire. “I knocked a girl up.”

“By girl do you mean a minor?”

“Fuck no, Toby. I don’t fuck children. We were in our twenties. We were in love, not so real and true.”

“I’ve wondered about that, my mother and father, ever being in love real and true.”

“Yeah, huh. They loved, then became enemies. That’s what happened with Georgeann and me. Things were great, you know. I don’t want to say like you and Pam – nothing is like you and Pam. We were close to that, though. Somewhere between little Johnny getting born and little Johnny walking, everything went to shit.”

His eyes found mine. “I loved the idea of being a father. I loved how I dreamed the future would be. I’d be everything to that child my father never was to me. I gave all my money to her and the baby, food, rent. Lived on the street. I was doing warehouse work. I got fired for smelling bad. Got a job at the track, didn’t pay much, didn’t pay enough. She got a lawyer, legal aid or something, got a judgement against me for child support, which I’d have gladly paid if I had it.

“The horses moved. I moved with them. So, Toby, your nugget of gold ran out on his child.”

I watched the fire for eternity. “Have you been in touch at all?”

“I can’t. I could get arrested. I’d kill myself before I spend a single night in jail ever again.”

“Arrested for?”

“Back child support.”

“They arrest you for that? That makes no sense, how can you –”

“We had a fight. I may have hit her.”

“Hit her?”

“Twice. But you have to understand –”

“I really don’t, Paul.”

“I guess you don’t.”

Another eternity melted by fire watching. “Do you want to be a father? Answer me true and real. You seem to really like the clothes you wear.”

“I’ve never considered the possibly. My clothes are pretty comfortable.”

“Consider the possibly. I could go to Texas with a bag full of money. Don’t be giving be any bullshit like oh, Toby, I really want to be a good father to my son because it makes you feel good about yourself. Real and true, Paul. I’ll consider it. Know this: there’s nothing that says a parent must love a child, or that a child must love a parent. There is nothing inherent about love.”

He stood. “If nothing else, Toby, I feel better just telling you. Can I shower?”

I looked up at him, smirking. “Please do. You’ve earned a hug, but it can wait until you don’t smell so bad.”

 

I dressed in Pamala’s light blue terry pajamas with a smiling cloud design, which were slightly big on me, but smelled like her. I made tea as I like it – just tea, not as Antoinette liked it. Sitting back by the dwindling fire, I would have evoked Pamala if she’d not asked me not to make her a wraith. I drank her scent from the pajamas.

With two squeaks of the faucets, the distant whisper of running water fell away.

The front door yelled at me with a loud bang, then another, followed by a crash, the door flying open. Because I live a cliché – I’d say the doorway was filled with a dark form, but I’m not that corny – the doorway dwarfed the figure, dressed in black, black ski mask revealing just his eyes. He was alone, I could hear a car idling at the curb.

I’d have figured he came to kill me, an ill-conceived plan, him not having a weapon. I didn’t bother with the What do you want? I thought it could be one of Bill’s shenanigans dressed up as some kind of test.

He seems confused, maybe unsure, looking around, stepping across the foyer, watching me casually wrap my hair back in a high ponytail. The frigid air of winter rolled through the door, across the foyer, into my living room, washing me with the smell like wet dog and vomit, stale liquor, tobacco, and pot.

“Randell Cunningham,” I snarled. “Come for a rematch, huh?”

He pulled off this ski mask. “Ha. The floor’s not wet. This will go much better for you if you just relax and enjoy it like the others do.”

He had a head and a half on me, maybe fifty pounds.

I crouched, preparing to bring my palm up his nose when he rushed me, his right hand taking my left wrist, his left hand taking my throat, pushing me against the wall, on my toes. Tex came halfway down the stairs, sitting, watching, working a towel on his head.

“I’m going to fuck the gay right out of you,” Randell sneered.

The pressure on my windpipe prevented a witty retort.

He released my wrist, reaching down, taking the top of my pajama bottoms, pushing. I quickly raised my arms, clasping my hands together, yanking down hard on is arm. My neck released, I dropped crouching to the floor, coming up quickly, my head smashing into this face. He reeled back, covering his nose with both hands.

“Ah, you aren’t going to cry – again, are you,” I choked out, following him, picking up the Britannica Volume 4, Delusion – Franssen Tex had been leafing through, bringing the book to the side of Randell’s head, then again. Backing away, he stumbled over the Lazy Boy to the floor.

I fetched the baseball bat from the foyer, hovering over the whimpering boy. Tex came over my shoulder.

“Real tough guy,” Tex said.

“You could have helped.”

“You told me repeatedly you don’t need my help.”

“You’re an asshole, Paul.”

“I know.”

“For the future, Paul, if you feel I could use your help, feel free to jump in.”

“A pleasure. What do you want to do with him?”

“Kill him. Bury him in the backyard.”

“Car’s running out front. He’s got friends.”

“Dig a bigger hole?”

“Too many loose ends, too much work, Toby.”

I shrugged. “You’re right. Break his arm. I want him to remember this night every time he tries to throw a football.”

“You sure?”

“I am. I’m going to go get his friends to take this trash out of here.”

Randell’s scream pierced the cold night air as I, in my pajamas, barefoot in the three inches of snow, crossed the walk to the car, opened the driver’s door, grabbed the kid by the front of his coat, dragging him out, spilling his beer. “Come get Randell,” I commanded.

The boy on the passenger side cursed, jumped from the car, hurried around to be greeting by my swing, going for a homerun, the boy bouncing off the car.

I menaced the first boy. “Go get Randell.”

 

“I really did tell you next time, I’d take a comfortable seat and watch.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fuck you, you’re still an asshole. You need to make it look like you don’t live in the garage. Bill has an appraiser coming tomorrow. I don’t know what kind of busybodies they are.”

“OK.”

“Plan on being here in the morning. I don’t care what Carol wants you to clean.”

Tex laughed.

“I want to go see Mary first thing. Paint is coming. Someone needs to be here.”

“That’s me.”

“Call the lumberyard. See if they won’t deliver what we need to fix the doorjamb. If they won’t deliver, call Red Rover, ask for Rex. Drop my name.”

“I could patch in.”

“Fix it. Replace what has to be replaced.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, help me drag the Lazy Boy over to the door. You can stay in the back bedroom tonight.”

“Oh, a real bed. You’re just spoiling me now.”

 

  

 

Part twelve