The Flood Girls

by Richard Fifield

  After breakfast, Jake walked around the trailer court and then ventured farther into town. He had on his headphones, the cassette playing as loud as it could possibly go, despite the repeated warnings from his mother. The headphones were old, at the point in their life that he had to repeatedly wiggle the connection in order to get both sides of them blaring. Once he found the sweet spot, he held his thumb there.

  He wanted to see if Quinn looked different as a thirteen-year-old. He walked past the Dirty Shame, and he wanted to have coffee with Rachel, but Tabby’s car was parked in front.

  He cut across the softball field, the grass still wet from the sprinklers. His loafers stained from the water, and it pained Jake that he would have to ask to borrow Bert’s boot spray. He continued up Main Street, listening to Sinead O’Connor, and passed the post office. The movie theater had no poster outside, and the marquee announced that it was closed for repairs. This happened a few times per year, when Ron, the owner, went fishing in Idaho, or when the roof collapsed. The roof was constantly leaking, and more than once, Jake had been caught in a sudden deluge during a movie. Ron offered no refunds for this. Sometimes, little pieces of the ceiling would fall during a screening, coating the audience with tiny clouds of plaster. Jake was amazed that nobody had been injured—even going to see a movie in Quinn was a dangerous proposition.

  He finally decided that thirteen didn’t feel any different. His shoes were wet, and he had not worn socks, so he squished his way up the front steps and entered his house.

  Rachel was waiting for him, sitting in the kitchen with his mother. On the kitchen table, there were two things: a gift-wrapped box and a pale blue envelope.

  “Happy birthday, kid!” Rachel leaped up to hug him. “The box is from Athena.”

  Inside were a Rocky Horror Picture Show T-shirt, the sound track on cassette, and the movie itself, the VHS still wrapped in cellophane.

  “You’d better hide those from Bert,” warned Krystal, as she began to clean up the baby, who still had some red sauce on her cheeks.

  The envelope contained a fifty-dollar gift certificate to JCPenney.

  “From the Flood Girls,” explained Rachel. “Ginger has this idea that your underwear and socks come from the thrift store, and they won’t stand for it. I didn’t want to correct them. I know that Krystal buys you those things.”

  “I do,” said Krystal as she picked up the baby. Jake could tell that she was trying to prove she was a good mother.

  “The nearest JCPenney is in Boyce Falls,” pointed out Jake. “This is great. I can use it to order stuff from the catalog, right?”

  “Wrong,” said Rachel. “I’m driving you there. Today. And we’re hitting every thrift store on the way. You can buy whatever you want. My present to you.”

  * * *

  Jake bought two complete suits in the town of New Poland, one seersucker, the other houndstooth, and a half-used can of leather spray. In Boyce Falls, Jake purchased two pairs of slacks, one pair bright red, and the other gray with tiny pink squares. He also picked out a stack of paperbacks and a winter coat, green wool with a giant black fake-fur collar. Rachel paid for everything.

  At JCPenney, he used the gift certificate and spent twenty-nine dollars on new white T-shirts, packages of socks, and a collection of boxer shorts in every color. He spent the remaining twenty-one dollars on a pair of white sneakers, a purchase that Rachel balked at. Jake insisted that she trust him, and he promised that he would never, ever use them for sports.

  They drove back to Quinn, Rachel slightly speeding. The trip to Boyce Falls and back had taken the whole day, and it was six o’clock when they arrived in Rachel’s driveway. They carried his bags of purchases into his house, and he was thankful that Bert was still gone, on yet another long drive with Reverend Foote. He would be home within an hour, because somebody had to watch the baby. Jake would not. It was his birthday.

  They ate yellow cake with chocolate frosting, and Krystal gave Jake presents: Bert gave Jake a bag of deeply discounted birdseed. Krystal gave Jake a new Walkman and new headphones. As they ate the cake, Krystal began telling tales from her nursing career about teenagers with tinnitus. She was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  Krystal came into the kitchen with Laverna, who was holding a black bandana. Knowing Laverna, Jake did not think this was particularly strange.

  “We’ve got a date,” announced Laverna. She approached Jake with the bandana and tied it around his eyes.

  “Okay,” Jake said, and he trusted all of them, so he said nothing as he was led out of the house. Rachel held his hands, and he could hear a car door opening, and then he was sinking down, and he knew they were in Laverna’s car. Jake remained silent as the motor roared to life, and listened as Laverna gunned it once they hit smoother streets, revved it to make a spectacular noise.

  “We just passed Bert,” explained Rachel. “Don’t worry. We made sure to wave.”

  They slowed, the car making angry sounds as Laverna slid to a stop. Rachel helped Jake out of the bucket seat. She led him into a building that smelled familiar, and then she was assisting him down a slight slope. Rachel maneuvered him into a cushioned chair.

  He was confused when the blindfold was removed, because he was in a dark place. He could sense Rachel on his left and Laverna on his right.

  Then he smelled the popcorn.

  Just then, the movie screen flickered to life, and in the bluish light, Jake turned around in his seat in the front row and realized the entire theater was empty. It was just the three of them.

  Rachel presented Jake with popcorn and a soda.

  “Laverna arranged all of this,” she said.

  “Ron owes me a favor,” said Laverna.

  “Thank you,” said Jake. “It must have cost you a fortune.”

  “Just wait, kid. It’s gonna be worth it.” Laverna popped a handful of Junior Mints into her mouth, and she squeezed Jake’s shoulder with the other hand.

  The movie began, and Jake shivered.

  Somehow, Laverna had performed a miracle.

  It was the new Madonna documentary, Truth or Dare. It had been out in the big city theaters for only a few weeks, but Jake knew that it would never, ever come to Quinn.

  Tonight, it had. Jake was certain it was a one-night engagement.

  * * *

  The movie was amazing. It seemed that Ron even turned up the volume. The concert footage was thunderous.

  After the credits rolled, and the screen flickered out, Jake could talk again.

  As they entered the lobby, there was Ron, who sighed as he stood beside the popcorn machine.

  Laverna stopped Jake with one hand. “Ron has something for you.”

  Ron grumbled and reached below the counter, and handed Jake a rolled-up poster. Jake pulled off the rubber bands, revealing the movie poster for Truth or Dare. Madonna was lying in the foreground, one hand disappearing into her crotch, wearing a black dress and surrounded by silky bedsheets. She looked out at them expectantly. Above the title, the tagline read: THE ULTIMATE DARE IS TO TELL THE TRUTH.

  Jake swooned and hugged Laverna fiercely. He hugged Rachel, too, as Ron crossed his arms and stared at the three of them.

  “Not really my cup of tea,” said Ron.

  Jake knew exactly where the poster would go—behind the clothes hanging in his closet. Bert would never see it, but Jake would know it was there, always there, and that was enough.

  He knew it was an unlucky number, but thirteen might just be his best year yet.

  The Tournament

  Before Laverna booked all their rooms, she called Rachel.

  They went to Jake’s house together, waited for a time they knew Krystal would be home. They hoped both Floods together would be enough of a persuasion.

  “He’s part of the team,” Laverna explained.

  “He’s really the heart of our team,” Rachel said. “He’s like our good-luck charm.”

  Bert, like a wall, shielded their view of the livin
g room, rising up, his face scarlet, upper lip slick with perspiration.

  “No,” he said. “Absolutely not.” He reached his arms up and supported himself on the doorframe. “Our debts have been paid in full.”

  “Krystal paid her debts,” pointed out Laverna. “You still have a bar tab.”

  “I’m not afraid of you, Laverna Flood.” Bert stepped out onto the porch, and Laverna found herself stumbling backward. The heat from Bert was palpable.

  “You’re done,” he said. “You’re done filling my kid’s head up with nonsense. We’re trying to teach him some humility.”

  Rachel peeked around Bert. Laverna was impressed that her daughter was so fearless, but she knew her attachment to Jake was a deep, unexplainable thing. Laverna could see Krystal on the couch, the baby on her lap.

  “Krystal,” said Rachel. “You know this is ridiculous.” Laverna pulled Rachel back as she pled, as Bert began to clear his throat, a sound that could have been mistaken for a growl.

  Bert took another step forward, and Laverna stood in front of her daughter. Bert would not dare strike Laverna Flood. She waited for Krystal to respond, barely visible in the darkened living room and the shadow of her husband.

  Krystal refused to look at them. Meekly, she pulled the baby tighter and spoke through the blanket, her voice muffled, but the words rang out clear enough. “I don’t think so,” she said. “And I would prefer it if he didn’t know it was an option. I don’t want to feel guilty.”

  “See?” Laverna protested. “You know how much this would mean to him.”

  “The answer is no.” Bert’s face was a flame, and fittingly, he grabbed a piece of kindling from the pile beside the door. He pointed the splintered piece of wood at Laverna’s chest. “We’re trying to spend more time together as a family.”

  “Jesus,” Laverna had said.

  “Watch it.” Bert snapped the piece of kindling in half. Laverna flinched at the crack. “We’re circling the wagons.”

  “I know an Indian,” said Laverna, and before she could lie and insist that Ronda was handy with a bow and arrow, Bert shut the door.

  * * *

  The Flood Girls took four vehicles to Missoula, mostly because Diane and Rachel had overpacked. Laverna reserved a block of rooms at the Thunderbird Motel, including one for Bucky, even though he did not umpire at this level. He tried to pay Laverna for his room, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Laverna trusted Bucky with Frank, and hoped he would help keep the girls in line.

  At seven, Athena knocked on Laverna’s hotel room door. Laverna couldn’t fathom how this woman could have possibly saved her daughter’s life. Athena wore a black dress, and between the enormous breasts hung ropes upon ropes of necklaces. The dress was empire-waisted, the skirt full and dangling with ribbons. She looked like a fat wife of a medieval king.

  “Aren’t you hot?”

  “You must be Laverna,” Athena said, and pulled her into a hug.

  Laverna glared at her daughter over Athena’s shoulder. “Don’t believe everything you’ve heard,” she said. Doors opened down the hallway, and the Flood Girls emerged, all of them dressed for a night on the town. Except for the Sinclairs, whom Athena was especially taken with. Although the Flood Girls were ready for dinner, they waited while Athena somehow sweet-talked the Sinclairs into lip gloss and chignons. They refused to abandon the jean skirts.

  At a Mexican restaurant, Laverna grew entranced with Athena, and the margaritas. She never blended drinks at the Dirty Shame, because it was too much work, but this was something to reconsider.

  Halfway through her third margarita, Laverna told Athena the entire story of Jim Number Three, and grew a little weepy. A waiter made the mistake of approaching her.

  “I’m really sorry, but dogs aren’t allowed in here.” The waiter, a pudgy brown-faced man, pointed at Frank, curled up between Laverna’s heels.

  “Fuck you,” said Laverna. “Your people eat dogs.”

  “That’s Koreans, ma’am.”

  Laverna slammed her fist on the table. The waiter took a step backward; Athena jumped from the table and reasoned with him, gesturing around the room at the lack of customers, at the banquettes filled with paired members of the softball team. Frank was allowed to stay.

  Rachel sat with Bucky at another table, and Laverna caught her rolling her eyes. She threw a balled-up napkin across the restaurant, and it landed in Rachel’s enchiladas.

  Laverna was hopped up on tequila. She hollered across the room. “Athena says that my break up with Jim Number Three is symptomatic of my low self-esteem!”

  “You don’t have low self-esteem,” said Rachel. “I’m pretty sure about that.”

  “She said that I push people away before they can hurt me,” shouted Laverna. Red Mabel raised a margarita in the air.

  “That I agree with,” said Rachel. “Too bad you didn’t push away that Clinkenbeard kid.”

  “Your mother was victimized,” said Athena. “There’s a lot of trauma there.”

  “My mother has traumatized an entire town,” pointed out Rachel. “Even the children.”

  “Your mother is an alpha female,” declared Athena. “I’ve never met any woman quite like her. She’s ferocious.”

  “She bites,” warned Rachel. Laverna responded by baring her teeth.

  After dinner, the majority of Flood Girls wanted to find single men and dance. The minority (the Sinclairs) did not, as they had cable television in their room. Laverna sent them away with Frank, and instructions on how to find the porn channels.

  With Athena and Rachel as designated drivers, the Flood Girls invaded Missoula. At the Forest Lounge, Laverna once again commandeered Athena, because she was a really good listener, and she had no desire to flirt with the dirty hippies and the rowdy fraternity brothers.

  Laverna brought Bucky to help out, but he was useless after his third margarita. She had never seen him drunk before; apparently drunk Bucky had issues with gravity and depth perception. Terrified, he took refuge on the top of a Def Leppard pinball machine, and Ginger and Rachel took turns babysitting.

  All night long, Laverna tried to be a good coach. She had finally found an excellent assistant coach, and her name was Margarita. When Laverna caught Diane and a hippie smoking marijuana in the women’s bathroom, she snatched a handful of the hippie’s long beard and flushed the joint down the toilet.

  She bought Ronda six beers in total, and although Ronda did not speak, she smiled each time Laverna appeared with another bottle. The tequila filled Laverna with emotions, and she delivered a speech, thanked Ronda for her years of service and apologized for white people. Ronda stopped smiling, and escaped onto the dance floor. Laverna was shocked, but apparently Ronda had a thing for George Michael.

  Ronda was the only person dancing to the beat. Tabby, Della, and Martha slow danced to “I Want Your Sex,” despite the tempo. They had been slow dancing to every song, clinging to a trio of pimply and overweight frat boys who couldn’t believe their luck. Laverna stumbled onto the dance floor every twenty minutes, making sure the boys did not get too handsy.

  At some point, Laverna lost Diane. She and Athena checked every Suburban in the parking lot, but Diane had just disappeared into the night.

  “I don’t care if she’s high on dope and howling at the moon,” said Laverna. “As long as she doesn’t get arrested. She’s the best shortstop I’ve ever seen.” Laverna began weeping, and Athena patted her hand, pulled her back inside the bar.

  Red Mabel drank at the bar with the better-looking frat boys, all transplants from the Eastern Seaboard. Adoringly, they bought Red Mabel drinks all night long, and she regaled them with hunting stories. When a handsome boy from Pennsylvania dared question the veracity of Red Mabel riding on the back of a mountain lion, she got into the first and last fistfight of the night. Laverna knew she was justified, and was delighted when his fellow frat boys booed him and drenched him with beer. Of course, Red Mabel was victorious, and nearly broke the nose of the boy fr
om Pennsylvania, careful not to injure her hand. There was a big game tomorrow.

  When she wasn’t policing her softball team, Laverna continued her therapy session with Athena. When her obsession with layering was diagnosed as issues with intimacy, Laverna did not punch Athena. She held her tongue when Athena called her out for being a control freak, and a martyr. Instead, she wept openly, buried her face in Athena’s massive breasts. She apologized for being drunk, but Athena encouraged her to let it all out. So she did, and the rest of the Flood Girls were just as carefree and feckless.

  An hour before closing time, Laverna had lost count. She was a bad umpire, as far as tequila was concerned. Ten? Twelve? She was loaded, just as she hoped the bases would be in the morning.

  She could hear Athena counseling her, or maybe talking makeup secrets, as she was apt to do. It was just noise at this point. Laverna’s ears and eyes were full of tequila, and her senses narrowed to one corner of the bar. Rachel tossed her hair and massaged Bucky’s shoulders. Laverna leaped from her seat, could not feel the table slam across her thighs, hear the crash of shot glasses and the screech of Athena’s chair skidding backward.

  Laverna had a handful of Rachel’s hair, and she screamed as she yanked her daughter away from Bucky.

  “What the FUCK?” Startled, Rachel grabbed her mother’s forearm, and Laverna could barely register the pain as Rachel pinched until her mother let go. Now Rachel was standing, and Laverna was ready for this. This was why she did not drink tequila. Laverna alternated between quaking with sobs and blind rage.

  “DON’T TOUCH HIM!” Laverna pointed to Bucky, who stared up from the floor, frightened.

  “It’s okay,” he said, in a small voice.

  “NO!” Laverna shoved Rachel against the wall, and Athena was there, stepping between them. Red Mabel attempted to shove a pool stick into Laverna’s hand, and encouraged her to beat her daughter with it. Athena knocked it out of Red Mabel’s hand, and it clattered to the floor. The noise was not enough to free Laverna from her tequila tunnel. She shoved Rachel again, and her hands wrapped around her neck.