chapter Twelve
There are five shirts, three pairs of pants, a skirt and a zillion scarves on the bed. Shoes block the door, and there’s a bottle of perfume in each hand. Someone tell me why I do this and why I care so much. Nothing’s going to come of it.
Tonight, Mama and Daddy are at an important meeting. R.J. is on his way back to college. Except for me and the dogs, the house is empty. I’m trying to figure out what it is I think I’ll accomplish tonight when the alarm on my phone signals it’s time to go. The city bus is scheduled to arrive in five minutes. I grab my coat, my purse, my phone and my keys. And lip gloss.
The bus ride, though frigid, is uneventful. I spot Isaac’s car before I step onto the sidewalk. It’s directly in front of Felix’s, and it’s practically the only one on the block. Downtown is deserted, probably the result of the other night’s revelries, but the bar is still open. He waits for me by the bus stop sign. We fall into step but don’t say a word.
Percy isn’t at his usual post beside the door. Instead, Isaac opens the door for me and places his hand on the small of my back. Polite. Dominant. Intimate.
I draw in a sharp breath when I see where he directs me. The booth in the corner is dark, opposite the stage, and the last place anyone ever looks—its occupants are usually drunk and sucking face.
Excited? Terrified? My stomach can’t decide what it wants to be, though it turns over at the prospect of Isaac having as much of an agenda as me. I slide into the sticky seat first, glad I decided on tight jeans instead of a skirt.
So far, we haven’t spoken a word. My pulse kicks into overdrive when he sits with his entire right side pressed against my left. He turns to me, elbow on the table, and effectively blocks my view of the bar and the waitress who comes to take our drink order. He answers for me but never takes his eyes from mine.
Whoa. Hello, caveman.
When he leans in close, his dead, narrowed eyes bore a hole through my head. “What?” he growls.
If my heart beat fast before, it gallops now. All the things I wanted to ask him? Out the window. He seems so angry. At me?
“I w-wanted to know if you were all right?” I hate how that comes out as a question.
My weakness makes him seethe even more. Between his clenched jaw and flared nostrils, I swear he’s about to take a bite out of me.
“Why?”
“Um, why what?”
He smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. I didn’t think it was possible, but he moves even closer. I squeak when my back hits the wall.
“Why,” he snarls, “do you want to know how I am? Why do you ask me to meet you here?” His lips are exactly the width of one white piano key away from mine, and I can’t stop staring. “Why do you insist on baiting me? See, I’ve had time to think over the last two days. Can you guess what I’ve been thinking about?”
I swallow—hard. I don’t trust myself to speak, so I shake my head. The back of it rubs the wall. His eyes travel the length of me, down, then back up, lingering on my chest, my neck, my lips. Finally, he looks me in the eyes again.
“I’ve been thinking about every time you batted your eyelashes at me, and the time you kissed me in your room. About you licking your lips and crossing your legs every time we meet here. You showing up at my house in the middle of the night wearing next to nothing. Mostly, I’ve been thinking about that ballsy move you made after your recording and how close I came to throwing your pretty ass on the floor.”
Oh, sweet Jesus. I can hardly breathe, so it takes me a couple of tries to croak out an answer. “Oh?”
“Until the other night, I figured it was some juvenile experiment of yours. Pushing the boundaries.” He traces a single finger down my arm from shoulder to elbow.
I should be scared. Normal people would be scared. I try to look past him, but he’s almost on top of me. I draw in a shaky breath.
“What’s wrong, Juli? Isn’t this what you wanted?” His hand slides up my thigh and squeezes. I’m panting, not sure if it’s from fear or something else. Maybe both. He presses his scratchy cheek against mine, then rims the curve of my ear with his tongue.
He whispers, “How much did she pay you?”
“What?” I go from just about pissing myself to plain old pissed in an instant. I put all my strength into shoving his wall of a chest.
He chuckles. “Have you thought about changing your major to theater? The world needs more talented two-faced bitches.”
That does it. I pick up the beer the waitress left on the table at some point and toss it in his face. Instead of getting angrier, he laughs and sticks out his tongue to catch a drop that slides off the tip of his nose.
“I rest my case.”
“Isaac Alexander Laroche, I don’t know what in hell you’re talking about, but you better explain fast. I came here to make sure you were okay after you went all lunatic fringe the other night. Not because I want something from you. And certainly not because somebody paid me!”
I wiggle my way up until I can step from the seat onto the table and down the other side. I bolt for the door, but just as I hit the icy night air, a strong hand grips my arm.
“Did I give you permission to leave?” Isaac shoves me against the brick exterior of the bar. Percy picked a heck of a night to be off.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
I clench my hands into fists. “Look, Isaac—Mr. Laroche, Mr. Hyde, whatever. I don’t know what this is about, but you’re clearly unhinged. When you care to explain all this to me, you know where to find me. Until then…” I only waver for a second. “F*ck off.”
Isaac grins and slowly walks backward down the sidewalk. He disappears into his car and peels out.
It’s then that the sobs work their way free. It’s dark, it’s cold, and I don’t know when the next bus is supposed to be here. I wander around to see if there’s a schedule posted somewhere. A couple of streets later, I pull out my cell and make a desperate call.
“Me-ow, I was just thinking about you, kitten. What’s up?”
“Dave—Isaac—he’s—something’s wrong.”
“Okay, calm down. You’ve got my attention. First thing, are you okay?”
“Yes. No.”
“You’ve got to do better than that. Are you injured? Bleeding?”
“No,” I whimper.
“Has Ike been injured?”
“No.”
“Is he there with you?”
“Not anymore.”
“Where are you?”
“Downtown.”
“So, you were with Ike, but he’s not there now? He left you alone at night in downtown Mobile?”
I rub away the tears and gather myself together. “Kind of. Look, that’s not why I called. I’m okay. A bus will be by soon. Isaac—”
“No, screw Ike. He can take care of himself. You stay on the phone with me until you get home, understand?”
“I’m okay, honest. But Isaac isn’t. There’s something really wrong. Something really bad happened on New Year’s Eve. Have you talked to him since then?”
“No.”
I give him the short version of events, leading up to this evening’s bizarre encounter. “Then he licked my ear and said How much did she pay you? What on earth does that mean?”
Dave mumbles something I can’t understand.
“Dave?”
“Hmm?”
“What are you doing?”
“Reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.”
“Um?”
“Thinking of England?”
“Dave! How can you be like that at a time like this?”
“Kitten, with your accent it’s like listening to soft porn. How can I not?”
“Whatever. Listen, I see a bus. Why don’t you call Isaac and try to make some sense out of this?”
“First, no. I’ll stay on the phone with you until you’re home. Second, I already figured this out.”
“How?”
“Well, I don’t always think with my—”
“Okay! I get it. So what have you come up with?”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Hon, he thinks Heather’s mom paid you to seduce him.”
I’m pretty sure my jaw flaps open and closed a couple of times, like the catfish Daddy and R.J. catch.
“Why—I need a minute to think. Hang on.”
“I’m not going anywhere, doll.”
The bus screeches to a halt. I climb on and don’t even care that it smells like yesterday’s vomit. There’s only one other person, and he’s far in the back. I sit up front.
Think, Juli, think. Isaac believes this was a setup? That Marcie Swann recruited me to come on to him. Why? In case he ran into Heather and thought about rekindling their relationship? Last I heard, she was dating a senator’s son in Tuscaloosa. What other reason could Mrs. Swann have? I mean, it was years ago, and he stayed up north for almost a decade. Surely she didn’t intend for him to stay out of Mobile forever? All for a youthful indiscretion with a teenager… Oh, snap.
“Dave? Still there?”
“Yep. Just listening to you breathe. Got a little hot and heavy. Did you figure it out?”
“I think so. He thought I was her bait, that if I could lure him into something physical, she could say he still, um…”
“Prefers fresh meat?”
“Yeah, that.”
“I told you fifteen will get you twenty.”
“Dave, this is serious. What can we do?”
The smelly man in the back of the bus stands and moves two seats up. Two seats closer to me.
“First, we’re getting you home safe. Then I’ll call Isaac and see if I can talk some sense into his dumb ass. You said your dad’s a lawyer, right? If push comes to shove, we may have to tell him everything.”
“I can’t! He’d freak. And my mama…”
Smelly guy moves three seats closer.
“That’s a last resort. Let me talk to Ike and go from there.”
“Okay. Hey, my stop is coming up, so…I guess I’ll wait to hear from you again?”
“Sure thing, kiddo. And chin up. Everything will be fine.”
“I hope so. I’ve got to get off now. Talk to you soon.”
“Love ya, kitten.”
“You too, Dave. And thanks.”
I scramble from the bus before smelly guy gets any closer. I’ve had enough of scary people crowding my personal space for one night.
***
Gravel crunches as I step into the dark alley behind the studio. My breath catches when I see Mama’s car through the studio window. She’s not supposed to be home for another hour at least.
Can I pretend I was in the studio the whole time? Not likely, since her SUV is parked on the other side. Daddy’s car is gone. It’s just Mama in there. I can tell her I was doing homework at a friend’s house. Or…crap. I smell like cigarette smoke and bus fumes. Panic tickles the back of my neck as my adrenaline kicks into overdrive.
The house is dark except for a light in Mama and Daddy’s room. I stand in the yard and look up, trying to get a glimpse of her silhouette. There’s no sound but the distant traffic and buzz of power lines.
I creep to the back door and turn the knob at a snail’s pace so it won’t click. I put my hip into it—it’s really stuck tonight—and I’m rewarded with a loud shudder from the glass.
At the top of the stairs, I hear a wet choke and a gag, like someone throwing up. She must be sick. No wonder she came home early. I toss my purse on my bed and take a few tentative steps down the hall toward her door.
There it is again, a hacking sound. Now I’m really worried. Against my better judgment, I step into her cavernous room to see if she’s all right. If she’s sick, maybe she’ll let me help her. She might let down her guard.
The bedroom is empty. But the door to her bathroom is wide open, and she’s on the floor. Every hair on my arms stands on end.
“Mama, are you—”
I never finish my question. I see for myself that she’s definitely not okay. She kneels in front of the toilet with the fingers of one hand down her throat. She glances up at me with watery, mascara-smeared eyes, and I know.
Mama’s off her meds.
I leap back to make a run for it but slam into the door frame. Pain shoots down my shoulder. She catches me by the arm and drags me down the hall toward my room. One hundred years of family pictures bounce off the wall and crash to the floor.
She wipes the vomit splatter from her mouth with the back of her hand and sings, “Oh-ho, no you don’t! I know you were out tonight, and I know who you were with, you little slut! Get in your room. I’m going to teach you a lesson.” She slaps me across the face, and I stifle a cry. “You know who saw you? Know how I found out?”
From the light that filters through the window, I see her eyes contain an unnatural mania.
“Answer me.”
She slaps me again. The sting brings unwanted tears.
“I will tell you, darling daughter. Marcie Swann saw you enter a bar with Isaac Laroche. The man you threw yourself at New Year’s Eve. Don’t think I forgot that little incident.”
She leans closer.
“I told Marcie she must be mistaken. My daughter’s in her studio day and night, practicing for her big audition.” Her voice gets louder and higher with every word, and she waves her arms over her head. “She and Isaac Laroche are just colleagues, I said.”
She’s so close I can taste the vomit and acid on her breath. Bile rises in the back of my throat.
“Mama I didn’t—”
“And do you know that when I came home, I knew you wouldn’t be here. I knew you’d be an embarrassment. But then I thought, no, even if my daughter’s willing to put out, Isaac Laroche wouldn’t do that to us after we defended him.”
“Mama—”
“We almost got kicked out of the Mystics for helping him. Did you know that? The Swanns tried to blacklist your daddy’s practice. You have no idea the work I put into restoring our good name, all because your Daddy insisted on doing what’s right. ‘It’s the right thing to do, dear. He’s just a boy.’ God, I got so sick of hearing that. Your little antics the other night brought it all up again. R.J. might get kicked off court, and they might ban both us and the Laroches—and your precious Mr. Cline—from the ball.”
She shoves me into the wall. I don’t think about the pain tingling at the back of my head. Instead, I think about how much she loves this part—the opening act to her monthly attacks. I’m her audience, and she loves a reaction. It’s a play we’ve rehearsed time and time again.
First, she comes at me with her right hand, then her left. I know what’s coming and what’s expected of me—she seems to get off on the fear in my eyes. But this time I change the script. Instead of turning the other cheek and letting her get it all out, I grab her left wrist before her palm connects with my face. Her surprise couldn’t be more plain—or frightening.
She smiles.
“Fighting back, are we, darling? Did your piano teacher show you how to fight? Does he like it rough, too?” She cackles at her own insult.
“Stop, Mama!”
She twists her wrist, but I grip harder. I dig my fingernails in until I feel one sink though her thin flesh. She wails and jerks her weight back, pulling me across the room and onto my bed. She’s so thin I could take her if I didn’t shake so hard. She lands on top of me. I twist away and shove with my knees, but she has hold of my hair. She yanks me back down and slaps me over and over, cursing and laughing like a lunatic. Her small hands feel like glass blocks pummeling my cheeks into my teeth. I swallow the taste of blood and fear.
“Come on, jailbait, show me what he taught you.”
I pull up my knee and wedge it between us. I shove as hard as I can into her stomach. She heaves and rolls onto the floor.
“Crazy bitch!” I kick her in the ribs but I can’t bring myself to put much force behind it. She’s so skinny I’m afraid I’ll break them all. Still, for a sliver of a second, I realize this is the first time I’ve defended myself. The first time I’ve hurt her back. For once, I’m not numb.
It doesn’t last long.
She catches my foot and pulls. I go down hard. I put out a hand in a feeble attempt to catch myself, but I land on my left arm. Pain shoots up my shoulder. All the air leaves my lungs, taking with it any chance I had at getting out of this in one piece.
Mama stands, dusts herself off and glares at me with her hands on her protruding hipbones. “Are you finished yet, honey?”
Where does she get the energy to do this? I’m nearly twice her size; this shouldn’t even be a fair fight. Seeing her sickly hands on her hips makes me think of that almost-perfect day we went shopping in the fall, when we went to lunch and talked like a real mother and daughter. I was so tempted to take her hand and tell her I love her.
She puts her index finger on her chin and looks out the window. “What should your punishment be, hmm? For starters, we could report Isaac Laroche to the police for statutory rape. Would you like to see your knight in shining armor behind bars? No conjugal visits there, I’m afraid.”
“But we didn’t—” I can’t catch my breath. Did I collapse a lung? Telling her sixteen is the age of consent won’t matter. And the pain in my shoulder makes it hard to even think.
“I don’t care if you did or if you didn’t. Marcie thinks you did, and that’s all that matters. Image and reputation, sweetie. Haven’t I taught you a thing?” She paces the room. “You know he doesn’t love you. They never do. They get what they want and then it’s ‘Get me a sandwich. Bring me a beer. I’ll be home late tonight.’ Is that what you want? It’s too late, isn’t it? At least I waited until I was married.”
“Please, Mama…didn’t do anything. Swear it.”
I beg. I’ve done it before many, many times. If only I could black out—go numb—this would be so much easier. I need to get enough wind to make a break for the door.
She wanders over to my desk. She snatches something off the top and that’s when she suddenly pivots and smiles the most insane smile I’ve ever seen. The light from the window casts her face in shadows, so she looks like the devil in female form, come to put me through hell for sins I haven’t committed. Though I wanted to.
Does that make me guilty? Do I deserve this after all?
“I know.” She waves something small and square in her hands. “What’s the one thing you want most? Ah, yes, to go to the New England Conservatory in Boston, Massachusetts.” It’s the case for the CD from the NEC. “All those hopes and dreams. You know, I had hopes and dreams, too.”
She tosses the CD aside, lowering herself down to straddle me. Her nose is inches from mine, and that fetid breath washes its acid bath over my face. I could head butt her, but she grabs a handful of my hair and slams my skull into the floor. Tiny fireworks fizzle under my eyelids.
“We don’t always get what we want. And sometimes, dearest, when we do, it isn’t worth the price.”
She mutters to herself and chuckles at whatever’s going through her deranged mind. I’m about to go out of mine when she shifts off me and lies down on my bed. The woman is on another planet. I use that opportunity to inch toward the door. The pain makes it hard not to cry out. So close, I’m so close.
I miscalculate. My shoulder bumps the open door, and it bangs against the wall. Three short steps and Mama towers over me again.
“Oh, honey, really. Stop trying. It’s so pathetic when you fight back.” She takes a deep breath and blows it out. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re not leaving this room. And you’re not going to Boston.”
She lifts her right foot and smashes it down on my injured shoulder.
I don’t remember screaming.